Nob (Hill) GobblerbyISawYourMommy©
Disclaimer: This story is about an unfaithful wife. That means she cheats on her husband. Yes, it also means she is a whore, and you can probably think of many other names to call her and fiendish fantasies you wish to be imposed upon her. But here's a guide: (a) if you like stories about cheating wives, please read on; I hope you enjoy; (b) if you really, really, really don't like stories about cheating wives, then the "back" button is a quick click away; or (c) if you say you don't like stories about cheating wives but way deep down inside you really do, read on and at the end of the story rate it as a "zero," then hit the "leave public comment" button and enter your flame therein.
Dan sat at a broad, round table a few steps from the lobby bar, a vodka-and-tonic set before him. Perspiration beaded the sides of the tumbler and soaked the napkin on which it sat. The ice was almost melted, yet the glass was full.
Next to it was Dan's Blackberry. A thin, black wire connected the device to his ear. "I understand that, John. That was exactly the point I raised yesterday morning before you told me to hop a plane out here. The infrastructure simply won't work as it's currently configured. Right now, I should be in Chicago, waiting for that to happen. Next week is when I should be out here doing what you sent me out here to do today and tomorrow."
Dan paused as John, his immediate supervisor, responded. He had been talking for ten minutes, relaying the day's events to John. Dan's eyes fell on his drink. He picked it up and took a sip, almost sighing as the icy liquid slid down his throat, and cast his eyes around the Fairmont's lounge as he listened to John speak.
A few after-work drinkers, probably hotel patrons, stood around the bar. A couple – tourists, by the look of them – sat four or five tables over. An attractive woman in business attire at a table to his right, a wine glass in one hand, was reading a thick document. Two guys in suits who appeared in deep conversation were off to his left. He could hear two thirty-something women gabbing behind him. Without looking, he knew they were dressed in black, sipping Cosmopolitans. He put his drink, now almost half gone, back on the table, and signaled the waitress for another.
"I hear you, John. Mary told me they'd have it worked out by noon tomorrow, so I'm going to hole up here, try to get some work done, and I'll call her then and see if she was right. If they do, I can get started. If not, and it looks like it'll take a few days, I'm outta here. I have too much going on in Chicago to fuck around here for a week." Dan downed the rest of his drink as John again responded.
"All right, Johnny. I know I'm new at this, but I understand it and I know what I'm doing. I'll keep you posted. Oh, and my dinner's on you tonight . . . I was thinking Boboquivari's." Dan disconnected the call and pulled the bud from his ear as the waiter dropped off another vodka-and-tonic.
"You could be in worse places than San Francisco in April, you know."
Dan looked up to see the woman a table over smiling at him over the rim of a wineglass. He remained silent for a moment, and then allowed himself to smile back. "I'm sure. I've been in Minneapolis in January."
Swallowing, the woman chuckled and brushed long, blonde hair from her face. "Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear you say you'd rather be in Chicago."
"Not at all. That's what I get for talking in public."
"It just caught my ear because I'm from Chicago."
"Really? So am I. I kinda got stuck out here for a few days." Dan paused, and nodded at the Blackberry sitting silently on the table. "In case you couldn't figure that one out."
Her pink lips parted and emitted a soft laugh. Her baby blue eyes sparkled when she did that.
"So, you're from Chicago, too. What brings you to San Francisco?" Dan inquired, as they each took pulls from their drinks.
"Work. I'm a lawyer, and I've got a big client here in San Francisco, so I get out here every month or so for a few days."
The conversation lulled for a moment. Dan rose. "Forgive me," he said, taking a step toward the woman's table and extending his hand. "I should have introduced myself. I'm Dan."
"Barbara," she said, taking Dan's hand in hers. It was soft and warm. As he pulled his hand back, the tips of her nails dragged along his palm, sending a shiver up his spine. As Dan retreated to his table, she offered, "Join me for a drink, if you'd like."
"Ah, sure, but just one. I've got to get some work done tonight. I must have fifty unread e-mails on this thing," he said, picking the Blackberry up from his table and sitting across from her.
Barbara momentarily pulled her own Blackberry. "There's no escaping these things. They're great when you want to communicate, but awful when you want to get away."
"You're preaching to the choir."
As Dan finished his drink and ordered another, he and Barbara made small talk. Every five minutes or so, Barbara brushed her lustrous hair from her face. She always used her left hand, flashing her engagement and wedding rings at him.
After about thirty minutes, he looked at his watch and then back at her. "Well, Barbara, I better get up to my room. I need to do a few hours of work and then maybe get some dinner later." He rose, and Barbara offered her hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dan," she said, a broad smile crossing her features as Dan took her hand.
"It was all mine. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Perhaps you will."
Dan left her, and went to the bar to close his tab, making sure the bartender put Barbara's drinks on it. With a slight wave to her, he left the lounge and took the elevator up to his room. He pulled the tie from around his neck and draped his suit coat over a chair. Hooking his laptop up to the room's communications gear, Dan logged onto his company's network and buried himself in work for a few hours.
Around 10:00, he yawned and stretched. His stomach rumbled, and he pulled the hotel guide from a drawer, thinking of ordering room service. Before he even found the menu page, however, he slammed the guide shut. When you travel enough, room service – no matter the hotel – becomes very unappetizing.
Dan threw his suit coat back on, left the hotel room and took the elevator down to the lobby. Passing by the lobby lounge, he saw Barbara still sitting and reading. He took a quick detour and stopped by her table.
"Still here, huh?" he said, approaching her table.
Barbara looked up, startled at his voice. That wonderful smile again crossed her lips, and she slipped the reading glasses from her face. "Actually, I'm back. I grabbed a bite to eat just down Mason Street."
"Well, that's too bad," Dan responded. "I was hoping you might join me for dinner."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. I would have loved to have joined you." Barbara paused, then continued. "Probably better anyway, Dan."
"And why is that?"
Barbara looked around, then back at him. "Well," she began in a stage whisper, "I'm old enough to be your mother, for one thing. And for another," Barbara wiggled the fingers of her left hand in front of her, "I'm married." Barbara sat back, placing one of the stems of her glasses between her teeth, lightly biting it, her shiny pink lips closing around it.
Dan laughed. "Well, in that case, maybe I should leave you," he played along.
"Oh, please don't," Barbara pleaded, leaning forward. "I was just playing. Sit with me. You can order something here." Innocence radiated from her beautiful face, and kept Dan rooted to where he was.
"Sure. Why not?" He pulled out a chair and slid in across the table from her. The waiter arrived and took Dan's drink order, leaving a menu. Barbara put her reading materials away and discreetly slipped her glasses into a pocket of her briefcase. By the time his meal arrived, Dan and Barbara were chatting amiably.
"You seem to have relaxed from when I first met you this afternoon, Barbara," Dan commented, pushing his plate away and wiping his face with the linen napkin.
"I have," she said, flashing a brilliant smile. "My mind's not on work anymore."
"Well, that's good."
"Mmm-hmm. Thank you," Barbara offered, bringing the wine glass to her soft lips.
"'Thank you'? Why are you thanking me?"
"It's just relaxing being around you. You remind me of my son's friends," she responded, setting her wine glass back on the table. Her pink manicured nails twirled the stem of the glass around.
Dan groaned and turned red. "Thanks, Barbara. Had to remind me of my youth, didn't you?"
Barbara laughed, coughing on her wine. "What? I'm the old one here. What are you getting embarrassed about?"
"Oh, come on, Barbara. Old? Look, I don't know how old you are and I'm not asking--"
"Forty-three," she interrupted.
"What? Forty-three. Please! I thought you said you were old enough to be my mom."
"Well, I don't know," she laughed. "For all I know you're a college boy."
"Right. In this suit, in the lounge at the Fairmont on Nob Hill. Whatever. Anyway, no matter your age, you shouldn't complain. You look better than most women ten years younger than you."
Barbara blushed. "Thanks. I know. Well, that's not what I meant, I just know . . . well, I take care of myself so . . ."
"Right. Don't worry about it Barbara. I can tell you take care of yourself. In fact, if you weren't flashing that ring at me every few minutes, I might consider picking you up."
"Picking me up? Really, Dan. You might consider hitting on me, but it is I who determines if I get picked up. And, as you noted." She again flashed her rings in Dan's direction.
He only laughed. "Point taken, Barbara."
"Really, call me Barb. My friends call me Barb."
"Your friends, huh? But I thought I reminded you of your son's friends?"
"True, but you can still call me Barb if you want." Barbara paused for a moment. "Excuse me for a moment. Seems that I need to use the ladies room," she said, rising from her seat. "Be right back."
Dan watched as she walked away. It was his first view of her out of the chair she had been sitting in. She was shorter than he had thought, maybe five-and-a-half feet tall. Now that her back was to him, he could see that her long blonde tresses hung straight, falling a few inches below her shoulder blades. Her proportioned bottom swayed from side to side as she weaved through the tables toward the restrooms. Her bare, tanned legs stood atop conservative black heels. She was clearly comfortable in them: she moved with an easy grace.
Dan's attention returned to his drink as Barbara turned the corner out of his sight. The waiter returned, and Dan took the liberty of having their drinks refreshed. Barbara returned a few minutes later, and he watched her approach.
Sexy wasn't the right word. Beautiful worked, but was too general, too broad. Wholesome, maybe? Scrubbed? Trimmed eyebrows separated a high forehead and arched elegantly over sparkling, baby blue eyes. A proportioned, trim nose pointed down toward pink shiny lips that were almost, but not quite, puffy. So, beautiful? Yes, but very Midwestern, very girl-next-door.
As she sat, Barbara tucked her black silk skirt beneath her bottom. Though Dan's eyes searched, a black silk chemise topped by a pink cashmere cardigan sweater prevented him from discerning the size of her breasts. A strand of pearls was draped around her neck, matching a smaller strand on her right wrist. When he looked back to her face, an odd smile formed on her lips, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
"I ordered you another drink," Dan said, nodding his head at the full glass of chardonnay. "I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not." Barbara brought the glass to her supple lips and allowed some of the golden fluid to flow into her mouth. "So, I'm sorry. Where were we?"
"You were telling me to call you Barb instead of Barbara."
"Ah. Yes. That's right."
"So tell me, do you let your son's friends call you Barb?"
"No, but you're different. We don't really know each other, and we're just here having drinks, so we can have fun with it."
"Well, what do your son's friends call you?" Dan took a long drink from the tumbler as he awaited Barbara's answer.
"What do they call me? They call me Mrs. Erickson. If you wanted to be one of my son's friends, you'd call me Mrs. Erickson."
"'If you wanted to be one of my son's friends'? What does that mean?"
"Just . . . nothing." Barbara fidgeted a little in her seat, her elegant hands again twirling the wine glass around on its base. "Just that you can call me Barb, or you can call me Mrs. Erickson. It just depends on whether you're my friend, or my son's friend."
"What do you want me to call you?"
"Whatever you want. It doesn't matter to me."
Dan paused. "You really don't care what I call you?"
"Not at all," she responded, meeting his gaze.
"Sure," she said with a curt nod, before bringing the glass to her lips again. The ring on her left finger sparkled in the dim light of the lounge.
Dan smiled. "You're showing me your ring again. Warning me?"
"What? No. Sorry. There's nothing to warn you about, is there? I'm a married woman, and you're young enough to be my son's friend. Well, almost young enough."
"Okay. So, even though you don't care what I call you, what do you think I SHOULD call you?"
Barbara pondered the question as she discreetly swirled the chardonnay in her mouth before swallowing. "It depends, I guess."
Her eyes wandered around the lounge before settling back on Dan. "On how you want me to look at you."
"I don't know what you mean by that."
"Well, my friends are all women," she began slowly. "So, if you want me to look at you like I look at them, then you should be my friend."
Dan merely nodded, and took another pull of his vodka-and-tonic. "And?"
"And if you want me to look at you like you're a young man instead of a woman, then you should be my son's friend."
Dan was enjoying this game. He hoped Barbara was, too. "Which do you think I'd like better?"
"Again, that depends."
Dan smiled. "Are you sure you're a lawyer?"
She laughed. "Yes." Dan loved her laugh; it was so soft and graceful and pure.
"So, it depends on what?"
Barbara took a long pull on her wine now, and finished the glass. "It depends on whether you would like to sit here all night and have a few drinks while we talk." She signaled to the waiter, who quickly arrived. "Vodka martini, please."
As the waiter went off, Dan continued: "And if that is what I want, to sit here all night and have a few drinks?"
"Friend." Another curt nod. "Definitely friend."
"All right. And what does that get me?"
Barbara looked perplexed. "What does it get you? Well, good company for a few hours, of course. And then, in the morning, a headache and a dry mouth, I would think."
"Well, I suppose I like the good company part, but I'm not so sure about the headache and cotton-mouth." Dan finished his drink just as Barbara's martini arrived. "Sorry, could you bring me another Ketel-and-tonic?"
"Of course, sir."
After the waiter left, Barbara replied, "If you don't want the hangover in the morning, then perhaps friend is not the best choice for you."
"You might be right." Dan paused and looked around the room. Returning his gaze to Barbara, he continued, "So what if I also don't want to sit here all night and gab? What then?"
"Well, like I said, it might work out better for you if you're not my friend. It might be better if you're my son's friend." A shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, 'The choice is yours.'
"Well, you wouldn't have that hangover in the morning, for one thing," she responded, arching her trimmed eyebrows. Dan noticed that her eyebrows matched her hair – blonde – and wondered whether she was a natural blonde, or had simply obtained a thorough dye-job.
"True. I don't like hangovers, so that's nice."
"Yes, it is. Plus, you wouldn't have to sit here all night."
"Well, that part I don't mind so much, the good company part." The waiter returned with Dan's drink. "Thanks."
"Hmm. I see," Barbara said when the waiter had again left them. "I guess you could still have the good company part without having to sit here all night." She was looking at her hands, resting on the table. The pink nails of her right hand fiddled with the ring on her left. She turned the diamond so that it was facing her palm, seemed to consider it for a moment, and then turned it back.
"Really? How would that work? What would I have to do?"
"You could signal the waiter over here, I suppose," she said, tilting her head toward the departing waiter.
"But he just left. He might get a little upset with us."
"I doubt he'll get upset with me. Maybe with you, but not with me. But anyway, just leave him a big tip when you close your tab. That'll keep him happy."
"Okay." Dan raised his arm and caught the attention of the waiter, who nodded. Dan returned his attention to Barbara. "All right, if I signaled the waiter, what would I do after that?"
"You might consider asking him for the tab for our table."
Nodding, Dan caught the waiter's eye again, and gave him the universal 'bring the check' hand signal. "You know, I think I might rather sit here and talk to you all night. Maybe I should backtrack here and choose the other option. You know, be your friend instead of one of your son's friends. What do you think?"
"I think you should maybe give this option a chance. See what happens," Barbara said with a gleam in her eye. Dan heard a soft knock below the table. Subtly casting his eyes downward, he saw that one of Barbara's heels had fallen from a foot to the marble floor below.
"I don't know. It seems that if I follow this choice, you might be patting me on the head and sending me home soon."
Barbara laughed and took a sip of her martini. "Well, you never know," she said, swallowing. "But trust me here. Just wait and see how this plays out." Dan felt a whisper of fabric brush against his leg, and saw a cute, bare foot brush lightly against him. He swallowed.
"If you say so. I'll give you a little room here. After all, you know yourself better than I do."
When the waiter returned with his tab, Dan signed it and left him a forty percent tip. Showing it to Barbara, he raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Enough?" he asked.
"Sure, that'll do." Barbara looked up at the waiter with her baby blue eyes. "Sorry we had you running back and forth." Her foot traced a lazy line up the inside of Dan's left leg as she spoke.
"No problem, ma'am. Have a good evening."
"You as well," Barbara said, smiling, as the waiter departed once again.
"All right. So I want to be your son's friend, and I've called the waiter over and taken care of the bill." Dan paused, involuntarily, when Barbara's pink-pedicured toes lightly grazed over his groin. "What now? Why is this better than being your friend?"
"Hmm. I guess its not." Barbara frowned, but then her pretty face brightened. She pressed the bottom of her foot firmly against Dan's straining cock, causing him to groan deep in his throat. "At least not yet. But maybe, if you followed me out of the lounge. Maybe then it might be better."
"Really? How so?" Dan squeaked, as Barbara removed her foot from him.
"How so? Well, if you followed me, I might lead you back to my room for an after-dinner drink," she responded in a sultry voice, rising to her feet.
"Hmm. But couldn't I have been invited back there as your friend?" Dan asked, looking up at her, the feigned confusion exaggerated both on his face and in his voice.
"You know, you're right," she said, placing a hand on her trim hip, staring off at nothing, before returning her gaze to him. "I never thought of that. I guess you could have."