It's been dark for hours now, and I'm still walking down long city blocks carrying my two suitcases. It's way too warm to be wearing much of anything, but I've got my raincoat on to protect me from the stinking weather. And I mean the word stinking literally. My coat is covered in slime from a really awful dank and oily mist. A summer fog with some drizzle rolled in off the lake a while ago, and at first I thought the light rain might help clean the air of the fumes from the car pollution. What a joke. The air smells more noxious than ever now. It stings my eyes and irritates my throat. Fucking hell on whole wheat, that's what I say, really stinking weather. I tell myself not to get too depressed.
It's damn frustrating to be stuck in this city, and that's damn with a capital D. The place is absolutely hellish. Everything here is run down and dirty, and I am so incredibly eager to curse this city and shake its dust off my shoes and more on. And why don't I? There's a nationwide transportation strike going on now. The airline, rail, and bus unions are picketing everywhere and good luck trying to make a private deal for a cross country trip. Good luck.
So what is it now, my third week here? Maybe my fourth, and with my suspended driver's license I am absolutely stuck. At least my employer Competitive Capital keeps depositing my salary and my travel allowance into my account. I can still eat and sleep, not to say this dump hasn't killed my appetite.
I'm an instructor, and my training courses with the local branches were only supposed to last a few days. I can still remember the last time I was at the district hub. I tried to earn my pay, I really did. I made myself available for follow-up questions. But the classroom was deserted. I left after an hour. It was kind of embarrassing. The district manager is officially my boss while I'm stationed here, and I told her maybe I would try doing follow-up at the branch locations. She just shrugged her shoulders. It was a gesture of supreme indifference.
So I figured, what the hell? If nobody cares, I'll just coast for a while until the strike is over. I'll lie low and call the home office occasionally and leave when I have a way out. And sure enough, the money keeps piling up in my Competitive account. Some crazy accounting logic even boosted my travel allowance 30% a few days ago, some sort of automatic bonus for an extended assignment. Stupid computers, but I'm not the complaining type, not about stuff like this anyway.
So I get this bonus and I ask around for a nicer place to stay. And what I hear is absolutely fabulous. Across the city by the lake is a really grand place, a complex of tall buildings with new modern hotel rooms on the upper floors and a huge single's bar in the lower levels called Liar's Lair. The only question is: do I mind that the place is located in the city's red-light district?
Mind?! Hell no! I haven't slept with a woman since Maggie divorced me, actually since a couple of years before that. I'm not sure what I think of pure sex-for-money deals, but I do know it's legal here if you're in the right zone with the right license. A single's bar though, yeah. I start to daydream as I walk.
Maybe I'll find someone nice. Even if she's a prostitute, I won't mind if she's pleasant to be with. Wow, having a drink or a meal with a woman who isn't nagging me. Wouldn't that be different? Maybe we'll even dance. Do I remember how to dance? Will I look attractive to a woman? How about to a woman who is attractive herself? I find myself not wanting an honest answer. At fifty-five, am I too old for this? Time to think about something else.
Ouch! My wrists! That's certainly something else to think about! Maybe carrying these suitcases across town is a really stupid idea. I broke both my wrists a long time ago playing football in high school. Man, I should have thought about this before I started walking. My hands feel so cold and numb now, so cold. Pins and needles and it hurts! It feels as if my hands are submerged in buckets of ice water and meanwhile I'm sweating everywhere else. Fucking hell on rye, that's what I say, what a situation! But what choice do I have? I mean, good luck finding a freelance cabbie around here. Good luck. All the regular cabbies are out on sympathy strike with the other transportation unions.
I heard at my old hotel that the red-light district wasn't too far away, across town yeah but maybe only an hour or so of hoofing it, maybe a tad more with the suitcases. So I checked out of the old fleabag and here I am walking the streets. I must be close now. I hope the place has some vacancies. Ouch. My cold and aching wrists won't take much more of these suitcases. Yeah, vacancies. And maybe some good food would be nice too, though surprisingly I don't feel hungry. And I absolutely need a shower before checking out a bar scene. Maybe a room on the upper levels, yeah. Maybe a room with a view of the lake, that'd be nice. It doesn't hurt to dream.
I pick up the pace and I stumble and almost drop my bags as my foot sinks into boot-sucking mud hidden under a sheen of oily water. Fucking hell on Melba toast, that's what I say! Where the hell's the sidewalk?! Did somebody steal it?! This city is such a dump! I'll take any room they've got now. I sure as hell don't want to hike back all the way to my old hotel, not with all this muck in my shoe. It feels as if my foot is packed in slimy shit and my hands are getting freezer burn. Time to think of something else.
My nose catches a different odor. On top of the car fumes there's a new smell of stale grease. It's coming from the Cheap Eats joint across the street. I haven't eaten in a while, so long that I pause and stare at the neon lights showing a sleazy image of a plate of nondescript blue food, complete with fake white steam from another neon light. I laugh to myself. Neon lights, wow, that takes me back. And who would ever be dumb enough to name a restaurant Cheap Eats? Are those blue lights supposed to be a steak? The sight and the smell kill what little appetite I might have had. I move on. Liar's Lair, where are you?
I turn the corner and for a moment I'm so surprised I stop walking. Wow! The buildings are huge, a series of them right on the lake, almost on the lake anyway. There're some docks and stuff beyond. But wow, the buildings, they really do look modern and a damn sight finer than anything else around. This has to be it! With a lopsided squeaking noise from my left shoe that I'm trying not to think about, I walk through some super-thick glass doors and up to a lobby desk.
Wow, what a difference! The air inside the hotel lobby is so cool and dry, clean too. It must be filtered. I struggle to the front desk with my bags. "Do you have any vacancies?" I blurt out as I plop my suitcases to the floor. I'm just too worn out for small talk, even just to say hi.
There are several men and women stationed at the desk. They all look about twenty to thirty years younger than I do and are dressed in crisp royal-blue uniforms with shiny brass buttons. The women have a white frilly handkerchief tucked around their necks, very sharp and professional looking. A guy and a woman both make eye contact with me for an instant. The guy is closer to me but it's the woman who comes over.
The name on her badge says Cintia and yeah, she does look Hispanic, very pretty too. She gives me a bright cheerful smile and says, "Good evening, sir. Yes, I'm sure we can find you something you'll like. Would you like a room for a day, more than a day, or less than a day?"
I blink for a second. I never heard of renting a room for less than a day, and I ask out of sheer curiosity. "How short a time would you rent?"
"Two hours is normally the shortest period, sir, but if you're a regular customer other arrangements can be made." The warm professional smile never leaves her pretty face.
I blush when I realize what she's talking about. This is after all the red-light district. Here is this young woman right in front of me, very attractive and professionally dressed, talking about renting a bed for some quick sex as matter-of-factly as if I were checking into a normal hotel room. I shift my weight as I think about this, and a loud squishy squeak from my left shoe brings me back to the conversation. The woman is waiting patiently for me to answer.
"Uh, yeah. Well, I might want to stay here long term, until the transportation strike is over."
A look of instant sympathy crosses her face. "Oh, are you stuck here?"
I nod glumly.
"That really is a shame. The strike looks as if it'll last forever. May I suggest a rolling monthly rental? We have a super steep discount going on right now. It's the perfect solution for a person in your situation. It's called a special residency. And if you take a suite now the rate will be locked for as long as you're here."
I think silently about my budget. A suite? Whoa, what am I getting into? I mumble out loud, "A monthly rental? Oh hell, you don't think the strike will last another month, do you?"
Cintia leans a little closer and says, "From what I hear, sir, the unions and managements aren't even talking now." And then even more softly, "I'm not supposed to be pushing this to new customers, but seriously, consider being a special resident. It's a fantastic deal."
"Hmm..." I suddenly realize I don't even know what she's talking about. "What's a rolling monthly rental?"
"We bill you for the first thirty days up front and then daily afterwards. You have to have a major credit card for this. It's a really great deal. You can of course leave at any time."
I think about this for a moment. "So if I wind up leaving after two days, I'm paying for four weeks that I don't use? Gee, I don't know..."
"Let me give you some quotes, sir. The special residency rates are extremely competitive and guaranteed not to change. We don't offer them often, but they're available now."
"Well, I guess I could listen to some quotes."
Wow, what a cheerful smile. "So what kind of rooms have you got?"
"A very good variety, sir. What type of accommodation would you prefer?"
"Well..." Go for it, I think. Follow your dream. "Let's take it from the top. How about a really nice room, high up, and overlooking the lake?"
Cintia's fingers are flying across her keyboard. Wow, can she type. "Certainly, sir. I'm sure I can find you something... Here! Right here in Tower One, 31st floor, a corner executive suite with a beautiful lakeside view."
I suddenly think I might be wasting her time. "Oh, hell, I don't know. A corner suite? I just need one bedroom."
She nods politely. "This is a one bedroom, sir. Almost all our rooms are, considering what and where we are."
I blink. Ah yes, the red-light district. Cintia doesn't' have to elaborate.
"Your bedroom will have a fine prospect of the lake and a view of the north shoreline. The suite comes with a super-king bed and an executive desk area in the bedroom if you need it. The lounge room is very nicely furnished, all our executive suites are, and comes with a multi-media entertainment system. The bathroom is grand and comes with a wide variety of complimentary toys. There's a super-sized shower area that'll fit you and a guest very easily, plus you'll have your own private Jacuzzi."
Did she just talk about me taking a shower with someone? Wow. And I blush when I think of what sort of toys Cintia is referring to. She said it so matter-of-factly; I almost didn't catch her meaning. But no matter. "Uh, Cintia, that sounds very nice, but it's probably out of my price range."
She gives a soft sigh and types a few more strokes. "If you take it today sir, you could have the suite for... $1200, plus tax of course."
I give a small gasp. "Uh huh. And what's the tax?"
She nods sympathetically. "Well, this is the red-light district. Prepare yourself. Total tax will be an extra 20%."
I say sarcastically, "Sounds perfect then."
"Excellent, sir! Would you like a bellhop to show you the suite before you take it?"
"Cintia, I wasn't being serious! Do I look as if I'm made of money?"
My words bring on an unexpected reaction, genuine distress. "Apologies, sir! If the initial charge is too much, perhaps I can talk to the manager about billing it in installments. Or I can search for a more economical suite."
Initial charge? Installments? Am I hearing her correctly? I had forgotten what a strange billing arrangement this is. I clear my throat and reply, "Now I am confused. You're not saying the $1200 is for the entire month, are you?"
"Certainly, sir. Total with tax for the first thirty days will be $1440. That's due now, and afterwards a charge of $48 will be billed daily."
"That's impossibly cheap," I whisper. In fact, it's a lot cheaper than the fleabag I just left.
"If you're staying a while, it really is a great deal," she whispers back in a confidential tone.
Is she serious? For some reason, I still can't believe it. It's time for more sarcasm. "Do you throw in a Continental breakfast too?"
Cintia shakes her head sadly. "Actually we used to, but people didn't want it. The special now is just for a straight rental."
It finally sinks in that she's being serious. I'm blown away, and then I get this rush to lock in the deal before this dream rate disappears. Hell, my travel allowance is a fixed rate no matter where I stay. I'll be making money hand over fist. "I'll take it!" I half shout.
"Excellent, sir! Just swipe your card and key in your security code."
I do as she asks. It only takes a minute before she's handing over the suite key, a small brass-looking plate with a high-tech business end. It looks rather intriguing, and Cintia asks me to pinch the brass plate between my thumb and forefinger. "Suite 3104, sir," she then says as she hands me the key and something that looks like a red poker chip. "Plus your first night's entertainment is complimentary."
The check-in seems too fast. "Don't I have to sign in or register or something?"
Cintia's eyes sparkle with amusement. "In the red-light district?! Surely you jest, sir! Your privacy is very well protected here. In fact, almost everybody picks a new name when they walk in. After all, this is Liar's Lair!"
"Have a wonderful stay, sir. I'll have a bellhop carry your bags."
"Uh, that won't be necessary. I can use the exercise. Just point me to the right elevator." What can I say? I'm a cheapskate and miraculously my wrists are feeling okay.
Cintia sees right through me. "Unless you really prefer to carry your own bags, sir, it's our pleasure. Special residents are usually assigned individual bellhops who look after them."
"Oh gee, that sounds very nice, but..."
"And getting into your suite for the first time can be a little tricky if you haven't been here before. All gratuities of course are already included in your rate."
My mind latches on to Cintia's last comment. "Really? Wow. Uh, okay, a bellhop would be nice."
"Excellent, sir." Cintia typed a few additional strokes on her keyboard and a short distance away I hear a small bell go off. "Enjoy your stay at Liar's Lair, sir!"
What happens next stuns me. Cintia is very pretty and perhaps about thirty years old. My bellhop however looks at least ten years younger and is stunningly beautiful. My first impression is that she should be a professional model for athletic wear. What a body! Tall and graceful and she walks like a gazelle. Graceful indeed. I catch a glimpse of a nametag clipped to her halter high on her breast. She takes my two heavy suitcases with ease and says, "Hi! My name is Grace." She gives me a friendly nod with her head for me to follow her, and then she starts walking away from front desk into the interior of the building. I follow behind.
Wow, what a view of the rear of her body! And the outfit! Oh yeah, this surely must be the red-light district! Where else would anyone possibly find bellhops dressed like this?! I stare mesmerized at sandaled feet and long bare legs leading to pale yellow hot pants, the nicest pair of hot pants I think I have ever seen. They seem to be made of soft cottony material, not stiff or shiny at all, and the pants are molded to her hips and butt. With the color and softness and tightness, it's very easy to imagine that Grace is walking around with just a pair of wet under-panties on.
Wow, she is drop-dead gorgeous. I get the impression I'm watching the hindquarters of a beautiful racing horse. Grace is tall for a woman; easily my height and her sandals aren't giving her any boost. I try not to drool as I watch her carry my bags, sleek feminine calf and thigh and butt muscles are carrying my bags very easily. I know it's not polite to stare at her ass from behind, but I can't help myself. The flexing going on under her tight panties is just too good a scene to pass up. I can see the tiniest ripple of her butt under the tight fabric.
And what's above is very nice too. There's a bare midriff above the hot pants, and above that a bright orange halter top that looks like a sports bra. Topping it all off is a long single braid of thick golden hair that's tied with a red cloth. And she's also carrying a tiny red shoulder purse. The outfit looks so feminine and alluring. It's also revealing so much of Grace's body that I have a hard time imagining that this skimpy outfit is actually a uniform. But then I look around and see a number of other women wearing name tags with just the same outfits on, identical even to the white sandals on their feet. The only difference is the color of the hair ties. So I guess it's all real.
We come to an elevator at the far end of the lobby. Grace puts down my bags and shows me how to insert my hotel key into the elevator control. An interesting feature is that my room key has to be inserted before the elevator opens. Nice security, I think. A touch screen inside is lit up with the set of my allowed destinations. Grace sees my interest and says, "It's for the privacy of our customers. We are very serious about allowing our clientele to be discreet. Do you see how the screen works? All the public areas below are available to you, and this home button here will take you to your suite corridor."
I nod pleasantly. Grace is facing me now and our elevator is slowly ascending. It's hard not to stare at her front. The bright-orange sports bra is revealing the exact location of her nipples, an extremely attractive front on an extremely attractive woman. She looks so achingly young and athletic. She has very cute face, a pert nose and intelligent hazel green eyes. And in the confined space of the elevator I smell her perfume. It's nice, a light fragrance that reminds me of flowers. Just like Grace herself. She's just like a beautiful flower. So incredibly athletic and feminine, so beautiful. Her nipples, they are so well defined by her orange sports bra. I wonder what it would be like to suckle her.
I blink as I try to pull myself out of my sexual fantasy. I decide I should say something, if only to avoid being completely rude. During my daydream of Grace, I've been ogling her tits and nipples. I was fantasizing about squeezing her bare tits with my hands and suckling her large nipples. I know it's wrong, but I just can't seem to help it. I try to admire her arms and bare waist for a moment, trying to be less rude, searching for something polite to say. "Are you a swimmer?"
Grace smiles back. "Thanks! I like to stay in shape and you're very close. I'm on the varsity crew team. That's where I get all my muscles. I've noticed you admiring me." She looks at me curiously. "Have you picked your Liar's Lair name yet?"
I feel so embarrassed. She's an undergrad, maybe thirty-five years my junior. Hell, the way kids are having sex these days, she could easily be my granddaughter. And here I am staring at her tits again, about to start a new fantasy. I try to apologize. "Yeah, uh, sorry..."