Friday Night Delight

If I had seen it coming, I might have got out of the way. But I hadn't see it coming. And I hadn't got out of the way. So, wham! the falling sign (as I later discovered) struck me a glancing blow on the side of the head and sent me sprawling -- inelegantly -- across the hotel foyer.

A bellboy was first on the scene. 'You OK, señor?'

And then, less than five seconds later, the duty manager was crouched beside me. 'Would you like me to call a doctor, sir?'

'Whoa. What happened there?' I asked.

'There seems to have been a mishap with the sign that is being replaced,' the duty manager said. 'I'll have Melinda call a doctor.'

I got myself to my hands and knees, and then to a sitting position. Did I need a doctor? Probably not. 'I think I'm OK,' I said.

The duty manager sent the bellboy to get a glass of water. 'Are you sure, sir? Here, let me get you a chair.' He helped me to my feet and then rushed off to get a chair from the nearby tour desk. 'Perhaps if you sit for a moment, sir.'

I remember starting to brush myself down. I did this not because the floor was dirty, but because, well, that's what you do after you've had a spill.

'Are you sure you don't need a doctor?' the duty manager asked.

'I'll be fine,' I said, continuing to brush myself down.

The duty manager offered me his immaculate white linen handkerchief. 'A coffee, perhaps?' he said. 'Or something stronger?'

'I think I'll just go up to my room and sit quietly for a moment or too,' I said.

'Of course, sir. I'll get someone to bring a coffee and a glass of brandy to your room.' And then he added: 'Our maintenance teams are always most careful. This is most unusual. And most regrettable. On behalf of the hotel, may I offer our most sincere apologies?'

Under the watchful eye of the duty manager, I made my way gingerly to my suite on the third level and collapsed into a chair near the window. It was starting to rain.

I guess I must have dozed off for a few minutes. When next I opened my eyes, it was beginning to get dark outside. And the rain was pelting down. The tropical storm that had been threatening all day had finally arrived.

My knees ached. And there was a lump on the side of my head -- presumably where the breakaway sign had clipped me. Also, I felt hungry, really hungry. It had been a long time since breakfast.

Before my spill -- and the tropical downpour -- I'd planned to explore Old San Juan. Now I decided the old town could wait until another day. Tonight I would stay in and get something to eat in the hotel restaurant. I remembered reading somewhere that the hotel restaurant served excellent steaks, so it wouldn't be too much of a hardship.

Unfortunately, several of the hotel's other guests had also decided not to venture out. When I presented myself at the restaurant, the maitre d' studied the reservations book. 'The best I can promise is about 90 minutes,' he said. 'The rain, you understand.'

'Tell me about it,' I said.

'If you'd like to give me a name -- '

It was at that point that the duty manager suddenly appeared. 'Good evening, Mr Pattison. How are you feeling now? Better, I hope?'

'Yeah, not too bad,' I told him.

The duty manager turned to the maitre d'. 'I think table 12 for Mr Pattison,' he said.

The maitre d', who had previously looked frazzled and worried, suddenly brightened up and started treating me like royalty. 'But of course, Mr Valez,' he said. 'If you'll just follow me, Mr Pattison.'

I followed him to what was clearly a see-and-be-seen table reserved for unexpected celebrities and VIPs. 'Here you are, sir. May I get you a cocktail perhaps?'

A drink? Yes, that made sense. I ordered a Medalla Light, and settled down to study the menu. Two minutes later, certainly no more, the maitre d' personally returned with the beer.

'Thanks,' I said.

'You're most welcome, Mr Pattison.' The maitre d' poured the beer and then, in a confidential tone, he said: 'Your good friend, Miss, er, Jilly Brown, asks if she might possibly join you, sir.' He discreetly indicated a well-dressed woman in her mid-thirties standing near the entrance.

Jilly Brown? The name meant nothing to me. Although I had a vague idea that I had seen her somewhere before. She certainly wasn't my 'good friend Jilly Brown'. But she looked pleasant enough. Perhaps she'd got me mixed up with someone else. Or perhaps the bump on the head was affecting my memory. That said, if she wanted to join me, well, why not? 'Of course,' I said. 'Please tell her that it would be my pleasure.'

The maitre d' escorted Miss Brown to the table. 'Jilly,' I said, 'what a pleasant surprise.' I said this partly in jest and partly just in case she really was someone I was supposed to know -- a friend of my sister or something like that.

As soon as the maitre d' went off to get her a Bacardi mojito, the lady fessed up. 'Look, I hope you don't mind,' she said. 'It's just that he said it was going to be at least 90 minutes for a table and, well, you looked like a nice man.'

Well, at least it wasn't my memory. That was a relief.

'You're more than welcome,' I said. 'Actually, they told me 90 minutes too. But then, suddenly, they found this table. I had a bit of an accident earlier and I think they were feeling a little guilty. Probably worried that I'll sue them or something.'

'Yes,' she said, 'I saw your little accident. I was just arriving. Are you OK?'

'A bruise or two,' I said. 'But, apart from that ....'

For two people who had only just met -- and met under slightly odd circumstances -- Jilly and I got on remarkably well. Looking back, I can't remember precisely what we talked about, but she was most congenial company, nevertheless. I seem to recall that she said she was in San Juan for some sort of conference -- as, indeed, I was.

Conversation was easy. The steaks were as good as the restaurant reviews had suggested. And the Gimblett Gravels Cabernet Sauvignon that mysteriously arrived at our table turned out to be the perfect accompaniment to the food.

By the time we were savouring the last few drops of the wine, I had forgotten all about my aching knees and the bump on my head. 'So, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?' I asked.

'Well,' she said, 'I was going to take a walk. But it's hardly walking weather, is it? So maybe I could give you a blow job.'

I must have looked a little taken aback.

'Oh, not here,' she said. 'Nothing so crass. You'd have to come up to my room.'

I liked her humour. 'But of course,' I said. 'Although why stop at a blow job? Why not go for the full bodies-in-slow-motion, Vangelis-in-the-background, no-holes-barred, sex of the century?'

'Up to you,' she said. 'But we need to start somewhere. I thought a blow job would be as good a somewhere as any. I'm quite good at it,' she added. 'Well, put it this way: I've never had any complaints.'

She was joking of course. Or was she? 'Are you serious?' I asked.

'About the lack of complaints?'

'About the, um, blow job.'

She smiled. 'Why don't you come up and find out,' she suggested.

I signed the tab and followed her up to her room.

I had assumed that all the guest rooms -- or suites, as they were -- would be decorated in a similar manner. But her suite was totally different from mine. It was altogether more feminine -- although not in a frilly way.

I also have to say that going from a pleasant chat with someone you've just met to a 'Come up to my room and I'll give you a blow job' is quite a jump. For a moment or two, neither of us seemed quite sure what to do next.

'Look,' she said, 'why don't you get us something from the minibar, and I'll slip into something a little more comfortable.'

'Rum and Coke?' I suggested.

She nodded. 'Why not?' she said. 'It's appropriately Caribbean.' And then she disappeared into the bathroom.

I remember grabbing a couple of glasses, putting a handful of ice cubes into each, and adding the contents of a couple of surprisingly large miniatures of rum. I had just finished topping the glasses with Coke when Jilly reappeared. Gone was her business suit. In fact, gone was everything except for a string of pearls, an over-sized men's shirt with the top couple of buttons undone, and cinnamon-coloured stay-up stockings.

'Very nice,' I said.

'I'm glad you like,' she said, undoing a further button to expose even more of her breasts. 'I didn't bother with a tie. I thought it might be overly-formal for a Friday night.'

'Probably right,' I said.

I was about to hand her her drink. But, instead, we embraced and kissed. At first it was all rather tentative, awkward even. I guess we were both trying to figure out where to next. But quickly the passion grew. After a few moments, her hand squeezed between our bodies and she began to loosen my belt. She worked deftly and, before I knew it, she was freeing my cock -- which was also growing.

'Very nice,' she said.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. One minute we were standing in the living area, getting to know each other. The next there was a trail of abandoned clothes leading to the bedroom where I was flat on my back, my erect cock in Jilly's mouth and my tongue exploring the delicate folds of her hot wet vulva.

It was easy to see -- or at least it was easy to feel -- why Jilly had never had any complaints. She certainly knew how to take you to the edge and hold you there. Three or four times I thought, oh-oh, here we go. But, each time, Jilly backed off just enough to keep me hanging on for more. Her technique was pure magic.

After a few minutes of this Friday night delight, Jilly raised herself up and positioned herself, reverse cowgirl style, over my cock. The subdued light in the bedroom somehow combined with the brighter light from the doorway gave me a perfect view as her fingers spread her prominent labia and then of her swollen cunt lips engulfed the glistening head of my cock. A gentle breeze from somewhere had slightly cooled my saliva'd cockhead and, as I plunged into her that first time, it was like plunging into hot chocolate sauce, smooth and velvety.

Again, Jilly controlled the pace perfectly. Four, five, maybe six times, I was on the verge of exploding, but each time she sensed the exact moment to back off. Finally, she too was ready. As she pushed for the line, we both abandoned all hope of hanging on for just a little longer. And somewhere, from the atrium, from another room, from goodness knows where, I thought I heard -- albeit faintly -- the theme music from Chariots of Fire. Of course, this may have just been in my head.

'I could do with that drink now,' Jilly said.

The ice had melted nicely.

When I returned to the bedroom, Jilly was sitting cross-legged in a large armchair that I had previously failed to notice. Her copper-coloured hair which had been pinned up, now hung down to her bare shoulders. For a moment, she looked completely different. It was as though I had walked into the wrong room.

'Hello', she said. 'I hoped you'd drop by. Terrible weather, isn't it?'

'I imagine so,' I said. 'Although it's difficult to say with these heavy drapes.'

'Open them if you like,' she said.

'I don't think we're really dressed for the outside world,' I suggested.

She looked down at her own naked body -- naked, that is, except for her pearls and her stockings (which, by some trick of the light, had turned from a cinnamon colour to more of a navy) -- and then she looked across at my even more naked body. 'No, I suppose not,' she said.

I handed her one of the drinks and she took a sip.

'So ... what now?' I asked

'You could fuck me,' she said. 'I do like a good fucking on a Friday night -- especially if there's nothing worth watching on TV.'

'And is there nothing worth watching on TV?' I asked.

'Re-runs,' she said with some authority. 'It's that time of the year. Of course, there's always the possibility that they'll rerun something you'd like to see a second time but, in my experience, that seldom happens.'

'Right,' I said. 'Well, in that case ....'

Getting started the first time had been, well, a little awkward. This time would be easier. We would couple like perfect parts of a well-oiled machine. Except we didn't. It was as though we had only just met.

'Oops!'

'Sorry.'

'OK?'

'Yeah.'

'Is that better?'

'Umm ....'

'Perhaps if, umm ....'

'Yeah, that's better.'

'Bugger!'

'What?'

'I just whacked my toe.'

'Sorry.'

'No, not your fault.'

But then, suddenly, everything just 'clicked'. Somehow or other -- don't ask me how -- Jilly had managed to slip into a pair of high heels and, with the added height, her beautiful arse and pulchritudinous pudenda were perfectly positioned for me to enter her from behind.

By another bit of good fortune, my cock, which is generally adequate without being noteworthy, chose this moment to extend another inch or so. And, as I took it in hand for the forth-coming task, I also thought I detected an additional touch of heft. Longer? Fatter? Heavier? Could it be?

But there was no time for such weighty consideration. Jilly was ready. I was ready. In all probability, the entire world was ready. It was time for some good old-fashioned, no-nonsense rogering. I grabbed her womanly hips and in I plunged, all the way, until my balls were slapping against her shapely arse.

'Oh, yes,' Jilly said huskily. 'Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck my hungry cunt with your beautiful fat cock. Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!'

And I did. I did. I did.

When next I opened my eyes, it was quite dark outside. And my head really ached. But at least the rain seemed to have stopped.