Peering In

The rock group Giant has a song that begins: "Sometimes love feels like an empty room." During a Christmas party a few years ago, I shared a place in time with a man, a friend, who took a step outside of his empty room and left me standing in the dark with his lingering feeling of loneliness.

It was my second Christmas party with this client, but it would be my last. The project on which I was working would end at the New Year, and my times of living out of a hotel room for two nights a week would be over.

The party was (as it always is) an elegant, coat-and-tie affair that served lobster bisque and roast duck, presented by waiters from under a shiny, silver dome. Everyone from the mailroom clerks to the $3 million-a-year CEO attended, and all of the 200 or so ladies, draped in their most extravagant party dresses, came away with a hoity-toity keepsake.

I wore a black, sequined cocktail dress with a plunging open back and long sleeves. It fits me with an obsessed tailor's precision and sparkles like moonlight off the undulating ocean. My legs were adorned in a swirl of black lace hosiery and tall, black pumps. When I took off my coat at the coat check, several men wanted me to notice their eyes coveting what they saw. It's what I wanted, isn't it? And yet I pretended not to notice. How silly we humans are.

Wes is a country boy who went to college and left behind the one-streetlight town in which he was born. Tall and big-boned with thick, dark hair, he is never without a smile, especially on those Saturday mornings when he would make a brief stop at the office carrying his five-year-old son, Cody, on his shoulders. He would stop by my desk, with his smile coming from across the room like the rising sun. "Good morning," he would say, his smiling words wrapping around me and giving me a big hug.

But there are things that will wipe that public smile off his face. I know those things. I've gently indulged my pleasure and watched that smile melt into closed eyes and an incredulous, open mouth gasping in reflex. We had fun in my hotel room. We had fun in an empty office in the company building. And one time, we had fun in a storage closet off a hallway with the office in full bustle. He stood, leaning forward and looking down with his hands up high grasping the shelving supports. I knelt. Luckily, no one needed printer paper.

But Wes and I were about more than just sex. We had spent much of the Spring sitting on a sunlit retaining wall, him eating his bagged lunches and me balancing a fast-food salad. The light-jacket Spring became Summer, and his bagged lunches became a meal in a cooler for two, with lunch meats, fresh greens, iced tea, and checkered napkins.

At the Christmas party, after the sumptuous meal had been served and the dance floor was crowded with well-dressed professionals and their significant others, Wes and I stood in a hallway near the busy foyer, away from the loud music, where we cheerfully talked. All the while, Wes' eyes ran their hands over my body, from my propped breasts right down to the tall heels of my pumps. I let him have his fill, enjoying his flattering attention, while I idly chatted about springtime plans. "We're thinking about Jamaica, but I told..."

He interrupted. "You're killing me, you know that?" I could not contain the smile that pulled across my face. "You look fantastic. You are absolutely killing me."

Before I could comment, two women passed by on their way to the rest rooms, one of whom I worked with. "I'm coming to see you on Monday," she said as she walked by. "I need your help."

"I'll be there," I responded, and as I briefly looked away, Wes curiously pulled a curtain aside next to us that revealed an empty room. It was a bar area with sinks and built-in coolers that was unused for this event, and it was randomly stuffed with folding tables and stacks of chairs. It was separated from the Christmas party by a pull-out partition wall, except for the five feet next to us, which was covered by a shear brown curtain.

He looked into the dark space, and then his eyes measured me. I gave him a blank face that so obviously challenged his next move. Wes took hold of my hand as he casually looked around. When he saw that no one would notice, he quickly pulled me behind the curtain. He led me to the back corner where chairs were stacked next to the bar, and he pulled me up against him. "You look good enough to eat," he said softly.

"Did you not get enough dinner?'

"I didn't get the dessert I wanted."

I looked up at him with demure eyes. "Well, you need to have your dessert."

Wes looked at a stack of chairs next to us. "Sit up here," he whispered while patting the seat, and with his hands around my waist he helped me hop onto the stack. I pulled off my pumps for fear one might noisily fall, and he took that as a signal and immediately reached up under my dress to remove my underwear. His zealous clawing was slightly comical, but once his arms were buried elbow deep under my dress he abruptly stopped, because instead of underwear, all he felt was smooth, naked skin.

I felt his hands, puzzled and uncertain, feel their way around. He felt the tops of my thigh-highs, and then his hands gradually ventured up and found the teeny-tiny strap that crossed around my waist from the lacy, little patch I called panties. Comprehension eased across his face and his eyes, provoked and excited, came up to meet mine.

Time stopped. He had discovered my sexy, little secret, and more than that, we both realized that he had the dominating position of standing between my open legs, his belly even with my passionate treasure. He pushed my dress up higher, and his eyes slowly meandered down to observe my vulnerable, little mound clothed in nothing more than a sheer, veiled whisper of virgin white. At first his eyes popped like bubbles at the naughty, contrasting white, and then they drank in the scene with gusto and wiped their stubbly mouths with their sleeves. I watched him stare at it, exposed and presented like a succulent gift, and then his gaze returned to mine, holding my eyes with a provocative gloat that poured liquid heat into my faltering chest.

He slipped an index finger under the breath of white lacy patch, pulled it aside, and began to lightly stroke my delicate, womanly folds with the back of his fingers. I let out a long faltering breath and closed my eyes. Pleasure, delicious strokes of pleasure were nestling within me.

"You're leaving us soon," he said, my eyes still closed as I soaked in the good feelings. All I could do was to nod. "I don't want you to leave. Ever."

I swallowed. "Everything's done," I swallowed again, "we're just cleaning up..."

A loud woman addressing the people out in the foyer blared like a car horn, "Have you guys seen my husband?" It was Lynn, Wes's wife. Her voice smashed through the idle chatter outside our dark rendezvous. I could envision her out there with her hair pulled up like poolside and the same dowdy dress and flat shoes she wore last year. She and lazy were best friends.

Wes stopped stroking my teased folds, and we heard a male respond. "He was here just a minute ago. He might be in the men's room."

"God!" She stormed. "He's like a little boy. He gets lost if I don't hold his feeble little hand."

Lynn's sandals clacked as she angrily marched away, and once she was gone the same male voice subtly remarked, "I think I'd stay lost." People tried to stifle their chuckles.

Wes was shamed and his eyes sank. I looked at him uncomfortably, embarrassed for him, and with concern and pity. But he didn't need to be embarrassed around me. I was well aware of Lynn's history of knife-edged condescension. He had confided in me about it many times and it was frequent gossip within the company.

He squeezed the naked tops of my thighs. "Don't you want to get lost with me, Velia? You and me? We can leave everything behind." His voice was frighteningly serious.

"Wes, I've told you," I said. "I don't want to leave my husband. I'm one of the lucky ones. I have a fantastic marriage."

The mood fell still. "It's not fair," he said, softly brushing my black hair from my shoulder. His mind thought while his eyes watched his fingers toy with my hair. "He's one lucky guy," he said sincerely, but our calm solitude had the edgy tension of him standing between my splayed legs. He looked at the slender, manicured strip between my open thighs, undressed with the white patch pulled aside. "He is one very, very lucky guy."

He began to lightly kiss the inside of my legs, decorated in black embroidered lace. His lips touched every inch from my smooth knees right down to the naked furrows between my legs and my ready pussy. He closed his eyes and tenderly rubbed his cheek against my thigh. His lips brushed almost imperceptibly against my labia. "God," he whispered, "you smell like heaven." I could feel the warm, tickling feather of his breath - right there.

He grabbed a chair off a stack, and he sat down between my legs like an earnest connoisseur. He pulled at my waist urging me to slide toward him, and just like that, he was perfectly positioned to enjoy the forbidden dessert that I so impatiently wanted him to indulge. He looked at my hot, little ember with adoration. "I'm gonna remember this," he said, and then he began to lay gentle kisses on it.

I looked around the dark room to be absolutely certain...to quell that last little bit of concern that someone else might lurk in shadows. But we were alone, and being in the dark and looking out into the lighted space made it easy to see through the sheer curtain. I could distinguish the people passing by on their way to the rest rooms, and the exhilaration of danger made my skin prickle and my passion burn. I like sex under such risky circumstances.

Let It Whip by Dazz Band boomed in the ballroom beyond the foyer, while I lie there in the darkness with my legs splayed, enduring a tortuous teasing - tiny little licks, kisses, the tender touching of his lips. "Please, Wes. Please," I thought. His fingertips lightly stroked at the very bottom of my ass near my most private spot and his breath, I could feel his warm breath. I was beginning to squirm, and I feared that our situation might be interrupted and I would be left in my tormented state. "Please, baby," I softly begged, "Please."

Wes' slow tongue licked a firm, hot flame through my wet folds and I unwittingly cooed, "Ooo..."

He looked up, "shhh...." I nodded with a worried look, uncertain if I would be able to comply. I was too aroused; my nerves were in a froth like a restless sea. He smiled at me, and then he happily returned to licking my fervent treasure.

His satisfying attention soothed my nerves, and I relaxed into his luxurious care. I listened to the muffled music and calmly watched Wes so eagerly relish the sweet delicacy between my legs. I put my hand in his hair, and I gently rocked into his handsome face. He sucked in a mouthful, and his tongue and lips began to knead hot, little surges of my gasping pleasure. I had to put my hand over my mouth to quiet my short breaths. "Oh God..." I muttered, while my hand clenched his thick hair.

Suddenly, I could feel it rolling up from the depths of the ocean. Extravagant pleasure, edgy and daunting, was quickly filling my veins, my pores, my ability to think, and soon it would overflow in a gush I feared I could not keep quiet. Wes, his face buried and bobbing between my thighs, enthusiastically dined on my lavish pussy, holding me high up near the rapture, and I unconsciously clawed for safe purchase. I wanted...I needed... It was too late. "Oh God," I worried, "here it comes..."

Like a massive dam burst, a torrent of hot pleasure raged through my helpless, shuddering body. My blinded eyes opened wide, and I could hear a woman moaning. Somewhere in the grandiose chaos I could see her crying in orgasm. Me! It was me, and I bit down hard on my hand. Wes, my benevolent ruler, commanded my lascivious convulsions - on and on and on I shuddered and shook and clenched, until finally I collapsed into reality and I heard myself pleading, "Stop....stop...."

I was slumped and completely still. My skin tingled like cold rain, yet my body seemed to radiate wet heat. I could feel the seatback against my shoulders. I could hear the voices again. Wes wiped his glistening mouth. "That's some sweet, sweet pussy," he whispered, and he placed one more kiss on its swollen folds. I breathed in deep, shaking breaths and stared unfixed at the acoustical tile ceiling. I didn't care where I was.

Finally, I calmed my way back down to Earth, and Wes helped me out of the stack of chairs and directed me to, "lean over this table." He stood behind me, and I could hear him unbuckling and unzipping in a fevered hurry. He lifted my dress, and easily guided his thickness into me as I rolled my ass up to meet him. He set his feet, firmly planting his stance, held onto my hips, and then he cocked back and slammed into me. His large hands pulled at my hips with each forceful plunge, again, and again, and again. I could feel my breasts swing with each greedy thump, and then he stopped, repositioned his stance again, and started the hard, demanding fuck all over.

He was ravenous, like an insatiable glutton who couldn't possibly get enough. He wanted pay for what he had given, and I was more than willing to submit. He grabbed at my silky ass and squeezed the womanly flesh while he tried to possess me with each demanding, pounding penetration. "You are fucking gorgeous," he praised in a breathless whisper.

He pushed me down to lay against the table. I felt the cool surface against my cheek, and my naked ass felt the breeze of the open air, like a light stroke of cool, soft linen. Wes spread my legs wider with his knee and moved his feet even closer until his pubic mound was pressed against the bottom of my round, presented ass. With his hand firmly against the small of my back holding me against the table, he began a commanding, deep fuck such that with each penetration, he waddled his hips and completely buried even the thought of his ambitious cock.

I was shamefully wet.

Back in the Love by Spencer and Hill boomed in the ballroom and I could feel the bass beat in my chest as it resonated through the table. I had, again, lost all conscious attention as to where we were, and if anyone had peered behind the curtain, we wouldn't have known. As far as I was concerned, I was getting the fuck of a lifetime, and I couldn't have cared less what might have been going on around me.

Wes' powerful strokes began to lose their timing and shortly thereafter he stopped moving. I could feel his leg muscles tense; his hands unknowingly held me down tighter. He was pausing on the very edge, and then he plunged and grunted and plunged and grunted and plunged. I could feel his cock pulsing and I pushed my ass up to meet his plunges as he emptied himself into me in our risky seclusion.

He stopped moving and panted. I felt rewarded by his satisfaction, and I felt the familiar closeness he and I had shared over the past year. But we quickly became aware of our surroundings, and like an obnoxious child the sound of the people intruded on our privacy and came to stand close by. We reluctantly pulled ourselves together, so close that I could smell the pleasing mix of sweat and starch in his Oxford shirt. He kept glancing at me. I kept glancing at him. Both of us were trying in vain to hold on to intimate moments, because soon my time with the company would be over.

"You'd better go," I whispered.

Wes sat down on the table. "Wait. How much longer before you leave?"

"The contract's up at the end of the year."

He took my hand. "I want to keep seeing you."

"How would we do that, Wes? We live so far apart."

"I don't know," he said. "I want to find a way. Besides Cody, you're all the happiness I have."

I felt a surge of fear. "Why don't you leave her, Wes?"

"It's not that easy."

"Why?"

"Custody," he said. "She'll win custody." He looked down like a man defeated.

He was right. She probably would win custody even though she spent little time in raising their young son. Either way, a custody battle was not something Wes would put his son through. As he stared at the floor, I could see into the empty room in which he was trapped.

People walked by the curtain. "We'll talk on Monday," I said, "but you need to get back. You can't stay back here any longer."

"We'll find a way, right?" He said squeezing my hand. "Right?"

I pulled on his fingers. "Get up. You have to go." He took a few steps and turned around. "Go," I waved. He looked both ways out of the curtain, and then he stepped out and headed for the men's room.

I reached down, slipped on my pumps and then pulled my hair through my hands. I walked a few steps toward the curtain but then stopped and looked back at the room. The top of the bar had a sheen like new asphalt on a deserted street at night. Drink glasses sat motionless as if waiting and hoping for happier times. The chairs were unused, stacked and stored.

The darkness in the room began to close around me like the haunting spirit of someone else's loneliness. I walked the remaining few steps to the curtain. The hallway was clear. I checked my posture, blew out a nervous puff of air, and stepped out.

It was an empty room again.