He Left His Door Open

During summer last year, after a long day at work in a foreign city (and with an early-morning appointment the next day), I returned back to the hotel, too exhausted to explore the city any further. Instead, I made my way to the rather empty hotel bar and ordered a glass of scotch, no ice. Still in my suit, I sat down at an empty table and began browsing through the morning newspapers, always amazed by the fact that grammatically misconstrued platitudes could be taken seriously as world politics. The bar was basically empty, except for a roughly 40-year-old, well-groomed and rather attractive professional sitting across from me. He wore a grey suit, a blue shirt, with an attractive, silken tie with yellow-and-grey stripes. His salt-and-pepper hair was receding at the temples, but he looked very attractive and nodded in acknowledgement as I -- somewhat unconsciously -- checked him out.

Apparently, I must have looked at him a little longer than is usual, as he turned a little towards me, spreading his legs a little, while placing his hand right on his crotch, outlining the position of his apparently hardening penis. Nervously, I drank a zip of my scotch. I could not resist not to look back at him. He was smiling, while his right hand was beginning to slowly open the zipper and slide into his trousers. He opened his legs a little further, and as I kept on watching his actions with some -- I assume -- noticeable interest, he revealed, with a broad grin over his face, his by now proudly erect penis to me, softly sliding down his foreskin, touching its head with his left index finger, and tasting what must have been his pre-cum. He was clearly well-endowed and had a nice bent to his cock.

Hearing the waiter approach, he hastily re-zipped his not-so-little friend, paid for his beer, and—while leaving the bar—passed by my table, looked back, saying "Have a great night." He took his room key out of his pocket, showed me his room number, and walked up the stairs. I had become very horny, and my heart was racing a little faster. I finished the scotch, paid, and -- without too much thinking -- followed this man. Lo and behold, the door to his room, as if by accident, was left slightly open. I stood in front of the door for a few moments, took my courage, knocked, and entered the room, closing the door behind me. No-one was there, but I saw steam coming through the bathroom door. He must have heard me coming. When I peeked into the bathroom, I saw him standing in the filled bath tub, facing me, naked and wet, smiling broadly over his attractive face, while holding his erect penis in his hand. At that moment, I did not need much encouragement to undress as well, and in a very comparable state, I stepped into the bathtub, where I was greeted by the jet of warm water and the smell of expensive shower gel.

Like my body, his was essentially without any body hair, with his pubic area being trimmed. Without too much forewarning, or -- for that matter -- any conversation, he began to shower me with deliciously warm water, before he began to rub his shower gel all over me, my chest, my arms. I stood up, so that he could touch my behind, softly fingering my anus, and -- while kneeling in front of me -- my legs. Finally, what appeared to have been a really long time, he directed his attention to my balls and my throbbing dick. What a pleasure it was to feel his carefully manicured hands all over me, watching him looking up my face. He rubbed my penis carefully, patiently, and very sensually, before taking its head softly into his mouth.

He stopped, though, and stood up, moved behind me so that I could feel his hot penis in the crack of my arse, while he rubbed my chest, my stomach, and everything else below it. His hips moved rhythmically, and the soap and the water on our skins made the movements very smooth. I turned around, touching his body, first sliding my hands down his sides, before tenderly caressing his chest. I was transfixed by his -- now ever more attractive -- dick. I had always been a little afraid of exploring my bisexual side without protection, but nothing kept me from taking his penis into my eager mouth, moving my lips and my tongue softly up and down his shaft and, even more softly, around the head.

He turned on the showerhead, and its warm water, together with the moisture of the bathroom, with its dim lights and reflections in the mirrors, intensified the sensations of the tender, warm skin in my mouth. He put his hands on my head without pushing, he simply followed the movements of my head, we were in perfect sync. I clearly felt the change, the increased tension, and I gave in, overcame my fears, and let him come right on my tongue and in my mouth. "You're good," he said, while he gave me a towel.

I still had a terrible hard-on, and he pointed through the open door out to the balcony overlooking the city. It was one of those very mild summer nights following a sweltering day, and it felt terribly good being naked outside, watching the traffic and the city lights. I stood there, with both hands on the railings. He kneeled in front of me, placed in warm lips around my penis and began to reciprocate. His lips and tongue were delicious, with the sensations being heightened by the silken night, the street lights, and the distant sounds from the city created an atmosphere of complete, almost surreal bliss that has remained one of the most remarkable moments.

We both had wedding rings on and never exchanged our names. I've often regretted, though, not having let him fuck my arse. I had been too nervous...