Chicago Hotel Adventure Ch. 03

Wes smiled. What the fuck else could he do? “Look, she didn’t rub herself, she didn’t snore, she didn’t sneeze, and she sure as hell didn’t show me her tits.”

Could they see how his breathing had sped up?

“But you tried to sneak a peak, right?” Wally asked.

“Of course,” Wes said. He sipped his water.

The rest of the lunch consisted of deconstructing Faith’s sexual prowess and the developing of a psychological profile that would help Roger get away with even more the next night. The four-man caucus determined that Faith was probably looking forward to a little bondage, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to buy some silk scarves or something while they were walking around this afternoon? Roger agreed he was running low on contraceptive supplies, so they made plans for after lunch.

“I’m gonna go see a movie,” Wes said.

“Awesome,” Roger said as handed his credit card to the waiter after the meal. “What are we gonna see?”

“I thought I’d see ‘The Barbarian Invasions.’”

Tom asked, “What the fuzzy fuck is a ‘barbarian invasions?’”

“It’s Canadian,” Wes said. “It’s in French with subtitles.”

Roger held his hands up, as though asking for a sign. “You’re telling me you want to spend your afternoon in Chicago watching a film you’ll have to read? That’s fucked up, Wes.”

Wes shrugged.

“Whatever, dude. We’re gonna find the world’s largest Lego store, then get some cigars and beer for tonight. Sure you won’t come with us?”

“Thanks, though. And thanks for lunch, man.”

“Hey, you earned it. East coast represent.”

Tom and Wally congratulated Wes again, and the other three guys left. Wes threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to make up for the lame tip from the others. Once outside, he took a stroll in the direction of the big river that ran through the city.

At 5:30, Wes returned to the hotel. Music was coming from the banquet hall where students would be getting their dinner. Once in the hall, Wes saw a captivated crowd standing around Sylvia, playing her cello. It was the Kodály she’d performed that afternoon, and she was doing a bang-up job of it. How strange to see a girl in a bright yellow t-shirt and red shorts producing one of the saddest sonatas in the whole of the last century. When she finished, the crowd erupted into cheers. Even the cooks behind the buffet line called out their hurrahs. Some professors from the Music department patted Sylvia’s back. Wes made his way through the crowd.

After several students had filed past to congratulate her, Wes shook her hand. She couldn’t help but smile when she realized it was him.

He leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t eat dinner. Trust me.”

She look at him, nodded a confirmation. Wes left. He went to Sylvia’s floor and found a group of writers sitting in a circle in the hallway, talking about the Democratic presidential candidates. Wes listened but didn’t offer any comments. After about ten minutes, Sylvia exited the elevator, cello in hand. She saw that Wes saw her, then she went to her room. A moment later, she poked her head out and beckoned him. Wes thanked the students for letting him sit in, then got up and knocked on Sylvia’s door. She let him in.

After the door closed, Wes pressed Sylvia against the wall and kissed her. First came the tongue gymnastics, then the slow, open-mouthed gobbling, finished off by lingering pecks on the mouth and cheeks.

“Congratulations,” Wes said.

“Congratulations,” Sylvia said.

“Let’s celebrate.”

Sylvia put on her best “Yes please” face and cupped her tits in her hands. “I bet I know what you have in mind.” She put a playful hand on Wes’s chest. “But Faith’s on her way back. She said she’s not going to Roger’s until after 11:00.”

Wes said, “I bet you don’t know what I have in mind.”

Sylvia crossed her arms. How could it be that even her impatient look conveyed her longing?

“Get dressed for a formal night out. At 8:00, go down the stairs to the twenty-eighth floor. Take the elevator to 2, and I’ll be waiting for you.”

“What is this about?”

“You said you wanted to go on a date in Chicago.”

Sylvia’s face lit up like a little girl’s. “Oh wow! Wes, what are you thinking?”

“Do you trust me?”

The question struck a deeper, non-player chord in the girl, but she kept smiling. “I do.”

“Leave your purse here. I’m taking care of everything.”

“What about the curfew?”

“The professors haven’t been on these floors past 6:00 either of the past two nights. It’s a non-issue.”

“And Faith?”

Wes shrugged. “You’ll just have to find a way around her. Talk her into going to Roger’s early, escort her to a friend’s room and leave her there… sneak out when she’s not looking… it doesn’t matter. When she sees you’re not here, she won’t care.”

“But you won’t be here, either. We’ll be gone, together.”

“We could be in any of a hundred rooms with any of a thousand students. There’s more than one school staying at this hotel, you know. We could say we met new people, or, I dunno, we’ll just make something up in the morning.”

Sylvia raised her eyebrow. “When are we getting back?”

Wes kissed her. “Remember the plan. I’ll see you on 2 in two hours.” With that, he left.

At 8:07, the elevator doors opened onto the second floor. Wes was waiting as Sylvia stepped forward. She wore the same stunning red dress from her performance, now with a wrap around her shoulders of some material Wes couldn’t name, fuzzy like velvet. Wes wore his Armani. Sylvia curtsied.

“You take my breath away,” Wes said.

“You’re handsome, stud. So tell me what’s next in our adventure.”

Wes took Sylvia by the hand and led her to the stairwell. They walked down one flight and then another. When Wes opened the final door, they were in the basement. A couple of maids looked disinterestedly as the two passed by. They pushed through a door into the alley, then back to the street. Wes called for a cab, and one stopped. He saw some students they knew on the opposite street corner, but no one recognized the two in their formal dress.

“L’Espalier,” Wes said to the cabbie, and he gave the address. Sylvia wrapped her arm around Wes’s. She was about to speak when something out the window caught her eye. Wes saw the city illuminated by streetlamps and billboards at street level and bright shop windows. People walked in singles and in packs. The two lovers watched in silence as the city of Chicago passed before their eyes like a glorious movie scene. The cabbie turned on the radio, and a love song came on. The kids looked at each other and smiled. Sylvia giggled. Her perfect dark curls fell across Wes’s neck, and he touched them lovingly.

The cab took them to a neighborhood filled with specialty shops, mostly at the feet of brownstones. They were dropped off at a tiny door with the sign “L’Espalier” above it. Behind the door was the smallest bar Wes had ever seen. People packed the place so tightly that those standing up were literally pressed against each other.

“Wesley for 8:30,” said Wes to the maître d’. Sylvia held his hand, and they enjoyed the noise of the bar for about five minutes before they were called forward to a narrow staircase leading upward. At the top of the stairs was a formal, modern dining room with significantly more elbow room than the bar.

“Who’s in that round booth?” Wes asked.

“It’s reserved,” said the maître d'. He was a tall kid in a black turtleneck, only a little older than Wes himself.

“I bet we’ll be done before it’s needed,” Wes said, and he produced a twenty. He put it in the guy’s hand and, without asking, proceeded to assist Sylvia into the booth. He looked back and gave the maître d' a thumb’s up. The dude shrugged and returned the thumb, then went back downstairs.

The waiter introduced himself and asked if they’d like anything to drink. Wes pulled his driver’s license out and handed it to the waiter without waiting to be asked. “A ’95 Bordeaux if you have it, nothing later than ’97.”

“Very good, sir. We do have the ’95. By the bottle or glass?”

“Bring the bottle. I hate to rush things, but we have a big night planned and I’d like to order now, if I could.”

“Would you care for a menu?” the waiter asked, although he made no effort to grab one.

Wes turned to Sylvia. She obviously could not believe her eyes. “Go ahead,” she said.

Wes said. “First course, the foie gras and the grouse with duck. For the main, I’ll have the pot-roasted poussin. Sylvia, are you in the mood for fish, beef or something else?”

“I’d love a nice veal,” she said.

“Tell us about the veal,” Wes requested.

“It’s roasted,” said the waiter, “with a crab strudel and pistachio brioche stuffing, covered in a light cranberry red currant sauce.”

“Do you like a touch of fruit on your veal?” Wes asked.

Sylvia said in a clear, direct voice, “I’m going to give you the best sex you’ve ever had.”

“The veal sounds good,” Wes muttered dryly. The waiter couldn’t keep a grin off his face as he left.

The wine arrived quickly, as did the bread and the first course. Wes and Sylvia sat very close to one another, thick as thieves. They discussed the escapades of the two previous nights, but also talked about past lovers and secret fantasies they’d never shared with anyone else before, some embarrassing and dark, some embarrassing and involving the stars of 80’s sitcoms. Sylvia spoke of her father’s death when she was only eight years old. Wes told of his sister’s death in a car wreck the year previous. They shared all their courses and nursed the wine slowly. Neither had more than half of their second glass.

“How can you afford this?” Sylvia asked.

“Don’t ask silly questions,” Wes said. “It’s enough for you to know I don’t waste money every Friday night on alcohol and strip joints. I started college with a savings account, and this is as good a way to spend it as any.”

“You know this wasn’t necessary,” Sylvia said. She dangled her wine glass between her fingers, swirling the red liquid around.

“If that’s the discussion we’re having,” Wes replied, “it wasn’t necessary for you to want me.”

Sylvia licked her lips. “I do want you,” she said.

The waiter brought dessert, chocolate satin mousse with fresh spring berries for Sylvia, a fig tart with port granite and black pepper crème fraiche for Wes. After they finished their desserts, an older man in a suit asked them if they’d enjoyed their meal, and Sylvia said it had been perfect. “You two look great together,” said the manager.

This embarrassed the hell out of both of them, and they laughed at each other’s shyness. “Thank you,” Wes finally said.

“You don’t know this,” Sylvia said, “but you’re looking at two finalists for the All-State Artistic Tournament. We’re going to be famous musicians some day.”

“Excellent!” said the manager. “You go to school in Illinois?”

“No, we’re from the East Coast. This is the national level of the all-state tournament, but the whole thing is still labeled all-state. It’s fucked up. Pardon me.” She giggled. Wes knew she wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but she didn’t seem too bad off.

“What instruments do you play?”

“She’s a cellist,” Wes said, “and I play the piano.”

“Jazz or classical?”

“Classical. Tomorrow I’ll play Brahms’ sonata in F minor.”

“I do love Brahms,” the manager said. “Can you play it without the sheet music?”

Wes nodded. “I’m competent.”

“Would you favor the room with a performance?” With this, the manager waved his arm toward a baby grand in the corner.

No words came. He looked at Sylvia, who was as surprised as he. She said, “This night couldn’t be any more perfect if you turned my dress to gold. It’s your call.”

That did it. Wes stood, shook the manager’s hand and walked to the piano. As he did, the manager twisted a knob on the wall, turning down the volume of the pleasant music from loudspeakers. Wes sat quickly at the bench, not giving himself time to change his mind. He opened the drawer, positioned his fingers on the keys, and began. Without bothering to see if the room had stopped to listen, Wes proceeded into the happy, passionate moments of the sonata’s opening lines. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said that the wine was making his play bolder; certainly his entrance into the recapitulation was stupendous, and when its harmonic fifth measure arrived, he could almost taste it on his tongue.

Too soon the piece was done, and the room behind him exploded into applause. He turned a deep shade of red but did not fail to turn and wave gratefully. Sylvia ran to his side and kissed him on the cheek. The manager lifted him to his feet and presented him again, and the room cheered once more. One man who did not cheer sat directly in front of Wes. He called the manager over and whispered in his ear. After this, the manager returned to Wes’s side.

“Mr. Craftsman is a regular here, and he requests the honor of purchasing your meal this evening. I do not intend to charge him for the wine, which is on the house, but he would be insulted if I did not send him your bill.”

Wes placed his hand over his heart and bowed slightly toward Mr. Craftsman. The gentleman tapped his temple in acknowledgement, then returned his attention to his companions. Wes handed the manager a twenty to give to their waiter. Knowing it was time for a perfect exit, Sylvia took Wes by the hand. The sound of scattered applause surrounded them as they headed down the stairs. No one in the bar seemed to know what had just happened. Moments later they were in their second cab of the evening.

“Drive,” Sylvia said to the cabbie.

“Where to?” the cabbie inquired briskly.

“In a minute, just go.” Sylvia commanded. The vehicle lurched forward. Sylvia draped herself over Wes and made love to his mouth and neck and cheeks. Wes held Sylvia in his arms and caressed her. No word other than “fiery” could describe her, from her disposition to the temperature of her flesh. Then she dramatically collapsed with her head on Wes’s chest, looking up at the streetlamps flashing by.

Wes gave the cab driver an address, then rested his hand on Sylvia’s propped-up knee. Sylvia laughed loud -- “Ha!” She sat up and laced her fingers into Wes’s. They glided through the city like a graceful pair of predators, tracking something tasty.

“I hear music when I’m with you,” Sylvia said, perhaps to herself.

“What kind of music?” Wes asked, just as softly.

“Continuous. Umm… sonatas, suites. A lot of Bach.”

“Major keys or minor?”

“Minor, mostly.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Sylvia embraced Wes around the arm. “It is,” she said as she smiled.

The car made a thump-thump sound as they crossed a tall bridge. Wes remembered a time as a young child when he and a fellow grade-schooler had kissed with puckered lips in her backyard, and he had convinced himself no girl would ever be able to make him feel that way again. This was precisely how Sylvia made him feel, precisely.

The cab stopped.

“Hey, this isn’t our hotel,” Sylvia said.

Wes flashed a big, toothy smile. “Surprise,” he said. After paying the cabbie, he helped Sylvia out. They went through the relatively small lobby and got on an elevator.

“We can’t stay here, can we?” She hadn’t lost faith in Wes’s plan, but she at least had to ask.

“No, we can’t, but that’s not why we’re here.” Wes punch the button for the top floor, where a restaurant and health club were. They got to the floor and Sylvia saw that the “health club” was no more than a workout room and a door to the pool. Wes turned off the lights in the workout room and turned the sign to the “Closed” position. A turn of the deadbolt locked the door.

“I searched all afternoon for this place,” Wes said.

“What is this?” Sylvia asked. The excitement in her voice was apparent.

Wes grinned. “I got the impression that you liked spending time with me in the shower. I thought maybe you’d like a romantic midnight swim.”

Sylvia’s breathing could be heard. She was clearly visible in the light from outside the glass door. “Does it matter that it’s only 9:00 and someone could catch us?”

“Not to me.” Wes took her through the door into the swimming pool room, and he turned off the lights in here also. A wall of windows filled the place with moonlight and the brightness from the city below, filtered through the condensation on the windows from the heated chlorine water.

Sylvia left Wes behind and walked to the other side of the pool, where she stood clearly visible in the moonlight. She dropped her shoulder wrap onto a deck chair, then unzipped the side of her red dress. She slipped the straps off her shoulders and stepped out of her clothes. There she stood in an intimidating black lingerie ensemble, with a strapless , garter belt, black stockings and the high heels.

Wes blinked. “Holy shit,” he said. “Sylvia…”

“I did some shopping this afternoon. You like?” Sylvia put her hands on her hips. She turned in a small circle. Wes saw the straps of the garter belt biting a bit into Sylvia’s ass cheek.

He nodded like an idiot, already undoing the knot in his tie. He watched as Sylvia unfastened the and set it aside, freeing her silky, olive-white torso from the garment. Shadows obscured the sight of her breasts but not the bouncing silhouette. She unsnapped the garter belt and put it away, then stepped out of her panties. Finally she kicked her heels to the side and unrolled her stockings.

Wes barely realized he had undressed himself to the boxers as he watched her. He had to stretch the elastic far from his body to pull his boxers over his erect penis. Sylvia dove into the water fearlessly, and Wes cannonballed in as well, protecting his member from the impact. They swam to each other and stood on tiptoes. The smell of pungent pool water filled Wes’s sinuses.

Sylvia kissed Wes hard on the mouth. She pressed her naked body against him under the water. Their limbs tangled, sliding smoothly together in the warm liquid world they shared. Wes moved his hand between Sylvia’s legs and slipped the tips of two fingers inside her pussy lips. There he felt thick cream, warmer even than the pool water.

The girl leaned her head back into the water. “I want you so much,” she whimpered.

Wes moved the tip of his hard cock against her pussy. She pulled herself down, not giving him time to be gentle, and an instant later she was filled with eight inches of thick, burning, blood-filled flesh. Sylvia kissed Wes on the lips again as her pelvis started to move. The two bodies created waves in the surface of the water, and it sprayed and splashed between them. Each time a wave crashed over Sylvia’s face, she tossed her curly hair and flung the water away, gasping for air.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Wes said.

“Fuck me,” Sylvia pleaded. “Fuck me so hard. Fuck me in the water, fuck me hard, boy.”

The lights in the pool room came on. A girl in gym clothes stood with her hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god!” she shouted. Her cry echoed painfully loud in the room. Embarrassed both by what she saw and by how loud she had been, she turned away and said awkwardly, “The pool is closed, you guys.”

“Settle down,” Wes ordered. Sylvia thought about how bold he was becoming, the more time she spent with him. “You work here?” Wes asked.

“Of course!” said the girl. She looked like a girl, but perhaps she was in her thirties.

Wes said, “I’ll give you fifty dollars if you turn and lock the door behind you right now, and I’ll leave another fifty for you to find in the morning.”

That shut the bitch up, although she managed to eek out, “I won’t be here in the morning.”

Sylvia dug her claws into Wes’s neck. She still had Wes’s cock inside her, and he had no way of knowing what she was thinking while being on display like this.