Mystery Lover App

^^^

"Adam, I'm late!!!!" My girlfriend, Zoey, shouted into her phone.

"That's okay, Honey," I said, attempting to calm her down. "You can take a later flight. Boston has lots of flights."

"I'm not that kind of late!" Zoey screamed. Her voice sounded scared, angry, and desperate.

"What kind of late are you?"

"I'm pregnant, you bastard!"

"Oh."

"I'm not going on the trip."

"Why not?" I ask naively.

"Because this trip is all about drinking and skiing."

"Yeah, and catching up with your friends."

"PREGNANT women shouldn't engage in high-risk behavior like skiing, and alcohol is out."

"You can still come and have fun."

"And do what? Sit alone in the room? Pregnant women can't use the sauna or hot tub. I can't eat sushi, smoke, and I have to cut back on coffee. And the last thing I want to do is tell my college friends that I let myself get knocked up by a high school drop-out."

That hurt comment stung, and I asked, "Are we breaking up? I know we've had our issues and that the reason you took the Boston project was you'd be away for three weeks and have time to think about us. Last week, you said you didn't want to break up, and that you were looking forward to seeing me and going on this skiing trip with your friends."

"That was before I learned I was pregnant. It was fun dating a big, brawny stonemason, but I need to rethink this. This doesn't fit into my plan for my life. I'm supposed to be a couple of rungs higher on the career ladder before I have a child. I'm going home to my mother to think."

"What am I supposed to do? I'm on the plane."

"You can decide for yourself," she said. "Everything is paid for, and we can't get the money back. I'm going to my mom."

I didn't get to decide. The door to the plane was closed, the boarding ramp removed, and the flight attendant had told everyone to turn off their phones. I put my phone away as a stewardess walked by doing her final check. The plane began to move. No one was getting off this flight.

A couple of beers and four hours and fifteen minutes later, I landed at the airport near the resort. I picked up my rental car, drove forty-five minutes, and arrived at my destination.

Checking in was a breeze. I told the clerk my name and said, "I'm part of the George Miller party. I believe you have a four-room suite for us."

She punched the keyboard, looked at her monitor, and said, "Yes, sir. Everything is in order and paid for. How many keys do you want?"

"One will do."

A machine spat out my key card. The attractive, middle-aged woman handed it to me and said, "My name is Sally, if there is anything I can do to make your stay with us more enjoyable, don't hesitate to ask."

I nodded, returned her smile, and went to the suite. The others were there. I had met Zoey's sister, Gigi, and her wimpy husband, George, before. Her sister asked, "Where's Zoey?"

I'd thought about how I'd answer this question. I felt no obligation to tell them the truth, and I knew it would embarrass my girlfriend, so I lied.

"Zoey is very disappointed that she couldn't make it. Something came up at the last minute. A work thing. You know how conscientious she is."

"Yes, that sounds like Zoey," George said.

Introductions were made, I changed for dinner, and I went to the resort's restaurant with the three married couples. I sat quietly, drinking a Coors Light while the rest of them shared fancy French wines. It didn't take me long to regret being there and to realize that the chance of me getting back together with Zoey wasn't good.

I loathed the people I was sitting with. They were condescending, pretentious snobs. I declined dessert or an after-drink liqueur and escaped to the casino. I had a good run on the craps table, took my money to a high-stakes poker table, and my luck continued.

I'm a decent player. The luck I spoke of referred to my table mates. Two were in their cups, another was clueless, and the one competent player at the table never got cards when there was a decent pot. I stayed longer than I planned, but you do that when lady luck is on your side.

As I rode the elevator to my floor, I thought, "On the bright side, It's late, they should be in bed, and I'll be spared another story that begins 'When I was at Harvard/Vassar...'.

I opened the door to the suite, and it looked like a bomb had gone off. Clothes, shoes, partially filled glasses, empty bottles of whiskey, tequila, and wine were everywhere. The smell of marijuana hung in the air. I saw a small pile of white powder on a glass-top table.

I also saw a body on the couch. It was Gigi. She was easy to recognize, not because I had met her before, but because of the three women in the suite, she was the only one with tits. The other two were snooty, super-thin women who had neither boobs nor butts.

I went over to her. She was asleep sprawled out on the sofa, lying on her back. The decorative blanket that had been on the sofa partially covered her. I looked at her exposed breast. It was a nice size and shape.

There were empty shot glasses on the coffee table, and they had her shade of lipstick on them. I suspected those shots were responsible for her condition.

I said hello, and she grunted and rolled onto her side. "Hello, Gigi. Are you awake?" I asked and got no response.

I got out my phone and filmed her. I told myself, "Adam, you're not likely to get laid on this trip. You might as well enjoy the view." I took another moment to admire her breast and capture it forever on my phone. It had a large, dark areola, and her breast was tanned.

"Nice boob," I said. She said nothing and appeared to be sound asleep.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," I said as I lifted the blanket and saw her other breast. It was tanned and just as appealing. She had a decent body: nice tits, a flat stomach, and tanned shapely legs. A thong covered her sex.

As I filmed her, I said, "Gigi, inquiring minds want to know. Do you tan topless or au naturel?"

She appeared dead to the world.

"Sweetheart, do you wear a thong swimsuit or nothing at all when you sunbathe?"

She moved and scared the shit out of me!

I dropped the small blanket. It landed on her head and shoulders as she rolled onto her stomach. She giggled and said, "Georgie, are we playing the mystery lover game? Goody!" She sounded drunk.

"Georgie!" she whined. "Let's play! I have the blanket on my head, and my face is on the cushion. I can't see anything. I promise I won't peek. Rub my butt and finger me through my panties."

"What the fuck? Is this for real?" I wondered. "Can I get away with this?" I took a chance and caressed her bottom.

"Mmmm," she moaned.

I used both hands, and she moaned as I groped and squeezed her butt cheeks. She spread her legs and I got an erection.

I looked at her thong. The thin, translucent material was all that separate me from her pussy. I wasn't surprised that she had no pubic hair or that she had an all-over tan.

I continued to touch her bottom. She never raised her head or attempted to remove the decorative blanket.

While I groped her, I asked myself if I was going to fuck her. Zoey had been in Boston for three weeks, and I hadn't masturbated while she was away. I'd saved up so I could flood her pussy with cum. My dick was aching to be inside someone's quim. Gigi was drunk and didn't know I was the guy with her, so why not fuck her?

I pushed the coffee table out of the way, turned back to Gigi, and brought her legs off the sofa. I placed her knees on the floor. Her head was still under the blanket, and her hips were still on the sofa. I kicked off my shoes and removed my pants and underwear. I knelt behind Gigi's beautiful ass and filmed my aching cock an inch away from sliding into her warm, wet tunnel.

All had to do was pull her thong aside and shove it in. I imagined doing it and we both groaning, "Ohhhh."

But I didn't do it. I was bothered by the word 'shove'. 'Drive,' 'push,' or 'thrust' weren't any better. She was drunk and even a condescending, pretentious snob doesn't deserve to be raped. I stood and put my underwear on.

"Don't stop," she whined. "I've used the mystery lover app before, and I know the rules. You can't talk. You're an anonymous stranger selected to have sex with me."

"Mystery lover app??? What the hell is she talking about?" I wondered. I grabbed my clothes, phone, and shoes, and hurried out of the room. I went to my bedroom, looked at my erection, and said, "I owe you one."

I went into the bathroom, stripped, and hopped into the shower. I washed and thought about what had happened. I stroke my dick as I fantasized about screwing Gigi.

I saw my hand pull her thong aside, exposing her hairless pussy. It was a deep pink color, wet and ready for me. "Fuck me," she begged. I thrust and sank half of my dick inside her. "Ohhh," we moaned and we both pushed, forcing the rest of my cock inside her.

"Ohh. You're so hard and so big. You're not my Georgie," she snickered.

She moaned, sighed, and moved her hips as I fucked her. We went at it a good while. She let loose a high-pitch squeal and froze. I felt her pussy pulsate and knew she was orgasming, so I let loose a torrent of cum. Oh, God! Did it feel good!

My cum landing on the wall of the shower. I took several deep breaths, cleaned my dick, and got out of the shower.

After I used a towel, I changed into my Cozy Earth pajamas. Zoey has seen them on Oprah's list of favorite things and bought us matching PJs. I had to admit, they were nice. They were soft and kept me warm in the winter.

I stepped out of my room and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I was drinking it, Flora, Zoey's college roommate, came into the kitchen. She was nude and didn't acknowledge my presence. She appeared to be stoned.

"Hey, Flora," I said. "Are you okay?"

Being a red-blooded male, I scanned her body. She was very thin, medium height, and had shoulder-length, light brown hair. She didn't have breasts. Instead, she had small, pink nipples on a flat chest. She was hairless around her sex and had a landing strip of dark pubic hair on her lower abdomen.

She bumped into the island and bounced off it. I reached out and steadied her as she regained her balance. I asked, "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"I'm thirsty. I want juice. I'm not supposed to have alcohol because I took a Xanax before my flight. I'm a nervous flyer. Mixing Xanax with alcohol will intensify the side effects of both substances."

She raised a cupped hand to her mouth and whispered conspiratorially to me, "I had a couple of whiskey sours earlier. I'm very drunk."

She sounded drunk. I guess that's why she was so comfortable being nude in front of a man she'd only met a couple of hours ago. I ogled her naked bits, and she didn't appear to care, so I filmed her with my phone.

I got her some juice; she drank it. She put the glass on the counter and walked back to her bedroom. For a skinny woman, she had a cute behind.

^^^

I woke the next morning, yawned, stretched, and scratched my balls. "That was a good night's sleep," I said. I used the bathroom, shaved, showered, and got dressed.

As I left my bedroom, I said, "Time to find out if I'm in trouble."

Ethan and Eddie were in the kitchen. We exchanged greetings as I poured myself a cup of coffee. Ethan was one of Zoey's exes. He had a big head, great hair, and an undeveloped body as if he'd never worked out or played a sport in his life. Eddie was another skinny, rich bitch that went to Vasser. She had big, round, blue eyes and short blonde hair. They had recently married. She had a diamond almost as big as the Rock of Gibraltar on her left hand.

Gigi and George and Frank and Flora came out together. I greeted them warmly. Everyone smiled and looked happy to see me. I said, "Can I get you some coffee?"

"Yes, please," George said. He and his wife sat at the table, and I brought over mugs. Sugar and creamer were in front of them. While they added the final touches to their coffee, I asked, "Gigi, how did you sleep? When I came in you were on the sofa."

"I slept like a baby," she replied. She blushed and added, "I drank too much last night.

Flora said, "I'm afraid I overdid it too."

The others talked about going skiing. I kept glancing at Gigi and Flora. I was pleased that I saw no signs that either was upset with me.

^^^

We went skiing. I considered myself a decent skier, but these Western mountains humbled me. My day was made worse by the fact that everyone else was up to the challenge.

I know this will sound sexist, but it pissed me off that the women outclassed me. They glided effortlessly and unafraid down the toughest runs while I was shitting myself and fell frequently.

After three hours, the women called it a day. Ethan, Frank, and George decided to stay. I went with the women. The women showered and headed to the spa for manicures, pedicures, and facials. I showered, laid naked on my bed, and casually stroked my dick thinking about the nude and nearly nude women I saw last night.

"Gigi is a kinky girl. What was all the talk about a mystery lover?" I said to myself. I put my dick away, got dressed, and googled mystery lover. I was presented with links to songs, books, a movie, an indie rock band with that name, and a book store in Western Pennsylvania that specializes in, wait for it, mysteries.

I adjusted my internet search. I added terms such as 'sex', 'sex for hire', and 'I want someone to sleep with my wife'. I found a phone app where you can find a mystery lover for yourself or someone else.

I downloaded the app, opened it, and set up an account. The process was similar to opening a Twitter or Facebook account. I was offered two choices: be a mystery lover or find a mystery lover.

I checked the page for people wanting to be mystery lovers. It asked the questions you'd expect - age, sex, height, weight, race, cup/dick size - and they wanted pictures. Naked pictures of your body.

I looked at the page for people looking for a lover. 'Who is it for? Self or someone else'. If it was for someone else, you had to enter a name and their phone number.

Up popped a checklist asking, 'What do you want?' Male or female, race, age, fitness level, etc. 'What do you want them to do?' Go to dinner, have a coffee, or have sex? Under 'Have Sex' was a checklist of every kind of sex you could imagine: kissing, heavy petting, oral giving, oral receiving, intercourse, anal, BDSM - light, medium, or rough, golden showers, etc. It was pretty straightforward.

Then it gave you the usual boilerplate stuff: 'We aren't responsible for anything. We aren't encouraging criminal behavior. Only responsible adults can use the app...blah, blah, blah.'

The next page discussed the process. It said that you needed to log in, go through the checklists, and enter the name and phone number of the party to receive the mystery lover.

It said a text will be sent to that person, explaining that someone was made an appointment in their name to have a rendezvous with a mystery lover. They are sent a checklist, a menu of actions, from which they can choose what pleases them and how far they are willing to go.

If they accept the invitation, a time and place are set for the hookup. They are asked for a safety word. If they utter that word their mystery lover will stop everything and leave.

There was some discussion about the mystery lover. He/she can wear a mask, and will not speak or do anything that would disclose his/her identity. The recipient agrees to do nothing to attempt to discover their mystery lover's identity.

"That matches up with what Gig said," I said to myself. "She did not attempt to discover who I was."

I wondered if Eddie and Flora were familiar with the mystery lover app? I bet they were. They're friends. They run in the same circles. I should send them invitations and see what happens. If they refuse the invite, I lose nothing, and they won't know it's from me. If they accept, I'll bang the snooty bitches.

Zoey had said some condescending things to me, suggesting I'm not in her league. I'd bet the odds are ninety to ten that she will break up with me. What better way to pay her back than to sleep with her best friends!

To get the ball rolling, I needed the women's phone numbers. I considered my choices. I could ask for their numbers. I couldn't think of a good reason to do that, so I decided I'd find a phone and search their contacts.

I did a quick scan of the rooms. I didn't see any phones out in the open. I suspected the women had them on their person, so I didn't risk rifling through their drawers in their rooms.

An hour later, the women strolled in refreshed from their trip to the spa. They said hello. Gigi went to her room. Flora sat on the sofa, got on her phone, and checked her emails. Eddie went into the kitchen, cut up some fruit and cheese, and asked, "Flora, want a snack?"

"Yes. Let me give you a hand." She put her phone down and went into the kitchen. As stealthily as a ninja, I walked past the coffee table, picked up her phone, and took it to my room.

When I was in my bedroom, I scrolled through her contacts and hit pay dirt. I wrote down the three numbers I needed. I returned to the living room, dropped her phone off, went into the kitchen, and had some fruit and cheese.

I returned to my room and thought, "Who should get the first invite? Wait. Why overthink this? Let's send it to everyone and see what happens." I got my phone out and went to the app.

I returned to the living room. The women were sitting around chatting. Their phones chimed, and they glanced at the message. Gigi and Eddie smiled. Flora's face had a questioning look.

They took a minute to read the message. Eddie and Gigi typed a message and sent it. A moment later, my phone chimed. I bet they had accepted the invitation.

I walked out of the suite and paused in the hallway to read their answers. They were game and wanted to know when and where. I typed, 'TBD. I'll get back to you soon.'

"Fucking cunts!" I said under my breath. "Willing to cheat on their husbands with a stranger."

I took the elevator to the lobby and walked to the desk. The woman who had checked me in was there. "Hi, Sally. I'm Adam Salvatori. I'm part of the George Miller group."

"Yes. I remember you." She smiled and said, "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have any rooms available?"

"No. Never during the Christmas holiday and ski season. We always sell out."

"Umm. Do you have any room? Maybe there was a water leak or you're redecorating?" I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "The room doesn't need to be in pristine condition. I'm looking for a private space where I can meet my lover. If it had old carpeting, you're painting the walls, or repairing the ceiling it wouldn't matter. I need a room, a bed, and a door that locks."

I slid a one-hundred-dollar bill across the counter. She smiled as she took the money, leaned forward, and said in a hushed tone, "I might have something. It will cost you more."

"How much?"

"Five hundred for me and two hundred for Franklin, the maintenance guy. He will clear out the junk and bring in a bed. It'll cost you a hundred dollars a day for Marie from housekeeping to change the bed, wash the sheets, and tidy up."

I flash her my pearly whites and a fistful of hundreds I won at the casino, and said, "No problem. I want to see it."

"There's one more condition which I'll explain later." She straightened up, looked at a colleague, and said, "Clarence, can you cover the desk? I'm taking my break."

A young man nodded, and we left. As I walked beside her, she said, "The services department had plans to expand. They wanted to add another room for massages and put in an infrared sauna."

"Infrared?"