A Night in Room 806

For my beautiful wife

I may be writing this out of my own madness. Perhaps this is some pathetic cry for help. Or better yet, maybe this is simply to serve as a warning for others that may be subject to obsession. Not your ordinary obsession over owning a possession or completing some meaningless task. No, this is a different kind of obsession, one that takes hold of your very soul, one that if un-satisfied may lead to complete and total insanity.

I was driving to the hotel pondering just how miserable my day was going. It started out positively dreadfully with another epic battle with my current girlfriend Mari and went downhill rapidly from there. Mari, you see, is what most would call "high- maintenance." She was, by all accounts, a knock-out. The kind of woman that you dream of spending time with, and appearances did not disappoint. Not only was she a beauty, but she shared my adventurous side in the bedroom as well. That is about all we had in common. While the sex was great, that's where great ended. When not sending each other to various heights of orgasm, we pretty much spent most of our time together arguing about some meaningless topic. Our friends began defining our relationship as "fighting or fucking" and I was beginning to think that one was no longer worth the other.

After escaping our latest bout, I left the apartment in plenty of time to make my flight from LAX. The familiar tones from my Blackberry, which had become my preferred method of communicating with the human race, alerted me that my flight would be 2 hours late. Could it get any worse? I tried to familiarize myself with the account I was going to visit, which was in a town that I had no desire to know even existed. As the so-called "golden-boy" of the firm, why did I continue to get such shitty assignments? This one was no different. A mid-level company needed a fresh look, and hired our firm for their new ad campaign. By the looks of it, fresh wasn't going to be enough. This company looked as if it needed to be re-invented. First it would help if they could move from the little jerk-water town they creatively called their corporate headquarters. Worse yet, I had an hour drive after I landed and then had the pleasure of staying in what the travel guides called a "beautiful historic hotel" which I translated to mean "dump."

The flight was late as predicted, and the rental car agency had trouble finding my reservation, but I was soon on the road to nowhere; my destination for tomorrow's meeting. The drive was uneventful and traffic was light, as I would have expected. The town was easy enough to find, mainly because there was nothing else around it. There was a typical town square that looked like it came from a Norman Rockwell painting. Great, I hated Norman Rockwell. This was the kind of town that should have fallen victim to the wrecking ball years ago. But, I did notice that the houses and businesses seemed well kept. I dismissed this to the fact that everything old looks better in the dark.

I pulled into a parking space at the front of the hotel. The building was lit by low light and outlined an exterior that was as if one were looking back in time. I thought that the appearance was not as bad as I had expected, in fact, Mari liked historic places, maybe she should come with me next time. I knew I was slipping. She was the last person I wanted to take to a place I was fully prepared to dislike. I needed a drink.

The front desk was dimly lit, as was the lobby, and was attended by an elderly woman busy with some unseen task. As I approached, I couldn't help noticing that the clothes she wore would have been appropriate in a different era. Period costumes! Could it get any more clichéd? It was like a bad Disney World ride that I couldn't wait to get off. What next, a bedtime ghost story?! I fought off my disdain and forced a smile, resolving to make the best of it. The woman greeted me warmly, almost as if she had been expecting me. I dismissed this; after all, I did have a reservation. The woman found my reservation and proceeded to book me into the hotel. We exchanged small talk about the weather and such as she went to retrieve my key. She directed me to room 806: "just down the hall and up the steps." I asked about the elevator and was met with a smile and a word of apology that indicated that either the elevator was out of service, or may not even exist. I asked about a room on a lower level, and was again met by the same smiling apology without an explanation. As I was exhausted from the day's events, I decided to cut my losses and call it a night. I resisted the temptation to ask about wi-fi, as I already knew I would be met by the same smiling apology. After all, my Blackberry was not getting a signal either. As I trudged dejectedly down the hall, I did notice a light on in the bar. The only thing that would get me back down eight flights of stairs was a chance to ease my pain with a little alcoholic numbing.

The first good news of the day is that the beer was cold and went down easily. The bar, like the rest of the hotel (my room included) was furnished from another era. I admired the attention to detail even if it was not my taste. The bartender wore the same costume as the woman at the front desk, and was friendly but not all that talkative, which was fine with me. My mind wandered back to the business at hand. A meeting with the client should only take a few hours and I would be back on my way to civilization. I was starting to feel better about the whole situation, but decided it was probably only my second beer mercifully dulling my senses.

The bartender indicated through his actions that it was approaching closing time, even though he didn't say a word. I took it as my cue to head up the eight floors to my room for what I hoped would be a restful and quick night. I wanted to inquire about the elevator again, but determined it would only frustrate me and only dull my pleasant buzz.

Room 806 was pleasant enough. It was furnished as I had come to expect. Every item in the room looked as if it had come from another era. The attention to detail was amazing, if somewhat impractical. The room was quite warm being on the eighth floor so I opened the large window to let the room be filled with the only slightly cooler night breeze. I would have given my left arm for a flat screen to check up on the events in the real world. I resigned myself to the fact that it was just one night, and climbed into bed. I soon fell asleep, half-heartedly thinking about tomorrow's meeting.

I don't exactly know how long I had been asleep when I awoke to a stirring near the window. I dismissed it as the breeze freshening, but something seemed different. I could sense a presence in the room. Not a threatening presence, but a strong feeling that I was no longer alone. In the light of the window, a shadowy figure began to take form. Not one to believe in spirits, I thought to myself that maybe I had more to drink downstairs that I remembered. I was now fully awake, trying to understand what was happening. The figure began to materialize into the shape of a woman. As the form gained more detail, I could see that this was no ordinary woman. She was clearly beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I felt no sense of fear, but a strange melding of curiosity and growing passion. The woman was clothed only in a sheet, the outline of her body exquisite. She had long hair that flowed across her shoulders, beautiful firm breasts and long sensuous legs. But it was her face that captivated me. Her face was a vision of pure beauty; however, I couldn't make out all the details as she appeared almost translucent in the moonlight. Her face held me as if in a trance. All sense of my curiosity was giving way to passion. I had to see more of this beauty. I had to touch her. I had to hold her.

I felt paralyzed as she approached the bed. Only the sheet covered her nude body, outlined by the low light of the window. I lay motionless, not out of fear, but anticipation of her approach. As she came nearer, I could faintly smell lilacs. I normally would not have noticed such things, but tonight, I embraced every detail: Her beautiful hair, her swaying breasts, her long legs, her translucent skin and that captivating face. I was becoming intoxicated with passion, with lust. I needed to have this woman. My cock began to swell. I had to have this woman. The details of her face became clearer with each step. I longed to reach out to her but strangely could not move. I could feel her breath now on my chest. I longed to embrace her but found that I couldn't. She was clearly in control of my destiny. I could feel the warmth of her breasts against my stomach and longed to caress them, but couldn't! I was becoming overwhelmed by the raw passion that she completely controlled. My lips ached to kiss her; my cock ached to penetrate her. She slowly moved down my body and I could feel her lips above my throbbing manhood. I could feel the tip of her tongue taste the end of my cock. I was about to go insane with passion. She lowered her lips on to me. Ever so slowly, she took me into her waiting mouth and began to tighten her lips around my shaft. By now, I was completely out of control. Never had a woman of this beauty, this passion, this skill taken me. Her body seemed to hover above me as she held me in her grasp. As I would near release, she would slow, only to prolong the moment and further inflame my passion. I wanted to take her, to taste her, to enter her, but was still unable to move. She controlled every detail of what was becoming the most memorable experience of my life. As she continued to use her mouth, my passion grew to heights that I was previously incapable of. I needed release, but she only continued to prolong my lust. My balls ached, my cock throbbed. I could hold out no longer. Each detail of her body, her face, her skill became emblazoned in my memory. I screamed out as I released myself in to her beautiful mouth and all went dark.

I awoke to the all too familiar sound of my Blackberry's irritating alarm. I had often thought that this little device's control of my life as an expression of some perverted sense of why people talk about "the good old days" with such reverence. I picked up the evil little tool only to find that I had fourteen unread e-mails, each sender convinced that the world hung in the balance awaiting my reply, and three calls from Mari. I smiled as I thought that maybe losing service last night was not such a bad thing. I always cut things a bit tight on these trips and today was no exception. I had exactly thirty minutes to be in the client's office with my game face on. As I showered I noted my cock ached much like after a particularly adventurous session with Mari. Only this time I wouldn't have to listen to her bitch the morning away. I smiled to myself. Wow, that was some dream last night. It all seemed so real, so detailed, so passionate, and so complete. I thought that I must have really needed that drink, and vowed to find out what brand had been on tap.

I hurried downstairs, all eight flights, to the front desk. No time for breakfast; just a quick cup of coffee, check out and hit the road. The young girl at the front desk was dressed in the same clothes as the staff last night. (Don't these people ever give up?) I glanced around the lobby, now crowded with people, and noticed that the furnishings took on a much more worn look that they did last night. The place was still quite charming, but like I say, old things usually do look better in the dark. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad place to bring Mari, if things would just get a little better, a little more tolerable. The young girl finished printing my receipt and I hurried out the door to three more emails and two missed calls. Isn't progress great?

The meeting went better than planned. The firm liked our proposal and accepted it right away. At this rate, I knew that I would have no trouble making my return flight to California. During the meeting, I allowed myself to drift back to the events of last night. Recalling the dream occupied more of my concentration and I had to remind myself of the business at hand. We soon concluded business and I was on my way, one hour back to the airport. I guess I underestimated this town. It still lacked the sophistication of civilization, but at least the people were easy to deal with. As I drove along, my mind wandered back to my dream. It all seemed so real.

The next few weeks went surprisingly well. The agency stopped giving me shitty assignments and they even were starting to talk about making me a partner. Mari had been less bitchy than usual, and sex was great as always. My mind often wandered back to my night in room 806. I often relived the details of that night. I started to wonder if it really was a dream. When Mari and I were together, I would picture my ghostly vision. When Mari would suck my cock, I would think back to the feelings of that night, the overwhelming passion of it all. When I would fuck Mari, I would fanaticize about fucking the ghost of my dream only to see that face again and again. Maybe I was being unfair to Mari, but I couldn't help it. The ghostly spirit of my dream was taking over my waking hours as well.

I started to have trouble concentrating at work. I hid it pretty well, at first but co-workers were starting to notice my absentmindedness and suggested that maybe I just needed some time off. Time off was just what I didn't need. When alone, I could only think of one thing, and would soon be reliving my night of passion by furiously pumping my hard cock to eruption. Mari started to notice that something was up. Of course, in her mind, it must be an affair. How could I tell her that every time I was inside of her, I was reliving every detail of my night with my ghost? I was truly beginning to go insane.

Things started to spiral downward. I knew that I needed a break. But a break is what I feared. I feared being alone. I feared the dream, if that is what it really was. The details only seemed to become more real with each passing day. I didn't spend a moment without thinking about her. The details of her face consumed me. The feeling of her touch overwhelmed me. The feeling of her mouth on my cock sent me to places that I wasn't sure I wanted to go. She was becoming my obsession.

I needed to return to the place of my torment. I made some lame excuse about needing to go see the client that I am sure no one believed. It was my chance to face my ghost, to face what I both feared and wanted most. I rushed to make all the arrangements and was sure to e-mail the hotel for a special request for room 806. I couldn't get a flight out for three days, so I made the decision to drive the six hundred miles, evidence of my impending madness, as I would normally refuse to drive distances of more than fifty miles. I feared the trip, as I knew what would consume my thoughts the entire time. I settled in knowing that if I could just get there, I might find some resolution to my madness.

It was early evening when I pulled up to the front of the hotel. I had gone over the details of my night so many times, it was as if I were returning to some familiar place, even though I had been there only once before. I hurried up the steps, anxious to check in to my room, not knowing what to expect. I hesitated; I was obsessed by a dream. That is all that it was, or was it? The young woman at the front desk was the same one that had been there when I checked out before, wearing the same costume. I allowed myself a smile, the first in too long. I introduced myself and she began to retrieve my reservation. I looked around the lobby, now familiar from my constant recollections. The young woman gave me the key to my room, number 207. I looked at the key and immediately stated my special request for room 806. There must be some mistake; I clearly asked for room 806 when I e-mailed my reservation! The young woman looked puzzled and politely said that she could give me another room, but not 806.

I started to become agitated. I asked for room 806 again. I had requested it for a reason, a reason the young women need not know, but one that was essential to my survival. Again, the woman politely stated that I could have my selection of a number of rooms, but not 806. I was about to go mad. I needed that room. I had to have that room. My very sanity relied on me having that room. Once more I pleaded, give me room 806. The woman looked confused as she replied, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry, but this hotel only has 7 floors."

To be continued.