The Game

We met online, and as luck would have it, we lived in the same city. During our second chat, I invited Matilda out to dinner. She accepted, and we arranged to meet at The Old Federal the next evening.

The Old Federal was a heritage-listed pub that had been tarted up to attract the well-heeled mob, who liked the adventure of slumming it on the edges of a recently gentrified part of town. And they had converted the first-floor veranda into an alfresco dining room replete with cloth napkins.

Our waiter seated us at a table for two beside the veranda rail. It gave us a view of the comings and goings, the clandestine deals, and the not so clandestine soliciting on the street below. A veritable cornucopia of distractions should the conversation falter. As we relaxed into the wicker chairs and sipped pre-dinner drinks, we dispensed with the weather and how lucky we were to have such a warm evening for our first meeting.

"Wow, that guy in the third doorway from the corner has done three transactions in the last five minutes."

"I heard he was planning to open a drive-through franchise next week."

"Macca's eat ya heart out."The street was living up to its potential. And so, with the help of a bottle of red, the conversation flowed. We were both in fine form, picking up the ball and running with each other's play.

After our meal, I ventured, "I think I shall call you Molly, Matilda is so formal, and you don't strike me as a Malt kinda girl."

"You're right; I'm not a great fan of beer."

"Perhaps I will call you Moll for short."

Matilda sat up straight, and without the hint of a smile, "In your dreams pal."

I smiled inwardly, Rory my man, I think you may have just hit pay dirt.

"So, Moll," I smiled, "what would you like for dessert?"

"I think I'm about done here."

"Agreed, I'm full too, somewhere less conspicuous would be nice."

Still, with a straight-face, Matilda inquired, "Your place or mine?"

I had indeed hit pay dirt. That was six months ago, and we have been co-habiting for the last five of them. Molly had become my muse, a muse with benefits. For not only did she like the photographer, she liked the camera. And the camera liked her. Slim as she is, the camera added just enough pounds to enhance her feminine charms.

While her boobs are small, they are a perfect fit for a wide-mouthed champagne glass and have an almost classic line. A gentle ski slope held upright by a firm foundation. So fine indeed, that I have made several studies of them. The best of which shows them in conversation. They aren't symmetrical, her right nipple is a fraction smaller than the left but counters that with an elevated outlook. They are buddies comfortable in their gossip. Highlighting once again, it is our imperfections that make us unique.

But I digress. Adventurous as our lovemaking was, and that night-time quickie in the local primary school shelter shed aside, it was starting to lose some of the spark that energised our first encounter. Hence, The Game.

We had agreed to pick up each other on a mid-week evening at the local Sheraton hotel piano bar. Saturday night's Billy Joel would have given way to a conservatoire student who was happy to let the piano speak for itself.

Molly had gone to a friend's place to dress, and I had, unbeknown to the Moll I was hoping to meet, taken a room in the Sheraton. I dawdled over my toilette and had an in-house burger to line my stomach. When I entered the ground floor bar, Molly was in situ.

She was wearing a little black shoestring dress that displayed what cleavage she had to its best advantage. Over which she had donned a bolero jacket made from the same material. Apart from her red clutch bag and the matching come fuck me heels, she was Matilda. Straight backed with hands demurely clasped in her lap and with a lemon spritzer on the table, she was an out of town executive with a free night on her hands.

Armed with a dry vermouth on ice and a list of rejected pickup lines, I walked over to her table adjacent to the dance floor.

"Hello, how are you?"

"I'm good, and you?"

"Well, I woke up this morning, so it can't be all bad."

"It's essential, I'm told."

"The alternative doesn't bear thinking about. May I?"

"You're number three. So, OK."

"Number three?"

"I never let the first two sit. Can't be seen to be too easy or obvious."

"Of course."

"I tell them I'm waiting for my husband to come back from the loo."

"Does it work?"

"The empty glass helps."

"I thought that was just a slack glassy."

"No glassies here mate, this is the Sheraton, only waiters."

"Same act, just an up-market performance. Don't they take them away?"

"I don't let them. When they pick it up, I lean forward and flash them a glimpse down my top as I retrieve it from their grasp. Tits, or no tits? Bra, or no Bra? I put them out of their misery, I mean, it's for my own protection."

"So, are you waiting?"

"Not just at the moment."

"Does it work?"

"A two slipped through once."

"You were asleep at the wheel?"

"She just sat down, waved at the glass, and enquired if I thought he would mind."

"Was she disappointed when he didn't show up?"

"Not that I noticed. And I know I didn't mind. Oh my, did I just say that?"

"You did."

"You must think me a terrible chatterbox."

"Not at all. It was an interesting tale. And I've a golden rule to never interrupt someone telling tales out of school."

Molly's laugh skipped round the room.

"And if a gentleman caller is persistent?"

"I let it be known that he is a humourless son of a bitch."

"Is he?"

"Is he what?"

"A humourless son of a bitch?"

"I don't know; I'm not married."

"And if a pretend marriage doesn't dent his ardour?"

"I catch the barman's eye and mouth help."

"And that works?"

"Every time in a joint like this. It's more than his job's worth to have a hysterical female create a scene in his bar."

"Have you?"

"What?"

"Created a scene in a Sheraton bar?"

"Not yet."

"I stand warned."

"You're sitting."

"You're right, I am. Would you like another drink; your Spitzer is looking a tab warm. Care to share a bottle of wine?"

"If it's red."

"How about a Brown Brother's Shiraz."

"A bottle of Murray River mud? Why not."

"You're into red wine?"

"Guilty as charged."

" Then I'd better get the yellow label."

"In this bar?"

"It's a big pub, I'm sure they've got a cellar."

After I had convinced the waitress to go and look, Matilda inquired, "Do you come here often?"

"My first time," I lied.

"So, you're not a local?"

"Nope, I'm here on business."

"Which is?"

"This and that. Sell a couple of bottles of Doctor Good."

"Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves? .... They call us, Gypsies, Tramps, and thieves, but at night all the men would come around and lay their money down. Is that your favourite song?"

"The lyrics have a ring of truth to them. What's your favourite song?"

"I could have danced all night. From My Fair Lady."

"I know. You're into show tunes?"

"I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, And still have begged for more."

"I could have spread my wings and learned a thousand things."

"I never knew before."

All the eyes in the bar turned our way. All 16 on them, attracted by our laughter cartwheeling across the dance floor.

"We've become the centre of attention."

"Perhaps we should become a double act?"

"Slow down Speedy Gonzales; I don't even know your name."

"Relax, my thinking hasn't gone past tonight."

"You changed the words."

"Only one, and you picked up on it."

"Aw, come on.... Keeping up's so easy."

"And, anyway, learning stuff is fun. The more you know, the more you get to appreciate."

"I hated school."

"Ah, that's only the building blocks, pretty boring stuff really, the basics. But necessary if you want to become a professional."

"Such as?"

"Ambulance chaser, drug dealer, tooth snatcher."

"Ugh, imagine staring into people's gobs all day."

"Worth every penny when you have a toothache. And, aeroplane pilots."

"Aeroplane pilots?" "Anyone who can safely get a three-story building back on the ground while I'm in it is worth their weight in gold."

"So, you do a bit of flying?"

"It comes with the territory."

"So, you do more than sell patent medicine."

"I'm an advance man for a theatrical troupe. Eyeballing the actual to see if it meets the specs."

"The specs?" "The lighting, the acoustics, the dressing room layout."

"The dressing room layout is important?"

"Essential. Got to figure out how to make them seem all alike."

"Why?" "Principal singers are Prima Donnas of the first order."

"The Sopranos?"

"Hell no, they're lovely, it's the Tenors. Dummy spitting is the first thing they learn at the conservatoire. And if they've had a good review. Talk about where they think the sun shines from."

"You're kidding? And do they often stay at Sheraton hotels?"

"Only the household names, the MD. And the advance man."

"And the others?"

"Flea bags or share apartments."

The waitress appeared with the requested bottle and opened it with a flourish.

"Can you let it gasp for a couple of minutes?"

"Certainly sir. Shall I put it on your room tab?"

"Sure, seven fourteen. Anyway, enough about me. What brings you to this den of iniquity?"

"Now, that's lame line."

"The carpet between here and the bar is littered with them."

"Such as?"

"Um..., Hi Juliet."

"Juliet? My names not Juliet."

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."

Her giggles tripped round the room. Once again, drawing furtive glances our way. Including the barman, who nodded his approval.

"That's a bit over the top Romeo."

"A rose by any other name...."

"OK, it would've worked."

"So, how do you keep your nights apart?"

"Better. Like you, I'm an advance man, err, advance woman."

"Hmmm, I like advanced women."

"I'm sure you do."

The other couple in the bar exited across the dance floor, hand in hand.

"Seems I've become the lone woman in the joint."

"A lamb amongst a pack of wolves?"

"A vixen amongst a few old rams."

"A foxy lady?"

"If you say so."

The waitress came over and poured our wines.

"So, what does an advanced woman do?"

"Like you, I check out places to see how they stack up."

"What sort of places?"

"Hotels mostly."

"You're in hospitality?"

"I am."

"That covers a multitude of sins."

"I'm an executive Housekeeper. I compute how long it takes to clean a room."

"A connoisseur of bedrooms?"

"Clean bedrooms. A connoisseur, hmm, perhaps not. Although, I have seen quite a few."

"Ah, I think I'll let that one go through to the keeper."

"You're wise to."

"So, how do the Sheraton's bedrooms stack up?"

"Not too bad, about a seven out of ten. The beds are too soft, and they don't have headboards. My preference is a hard bed with a headboard."

The piano that had been tinkling in the background chose then to insert itself into our conversation.

"The Blue Danube."

"So, it seems, Da da, de de, de de, de da ... Da da ... Not sure Mr. Strauss would be all that amused."

"He's got the tempo right. Can you waltz?"

"Well, sort of. More of a shuffle than a waltz. Can You?"

"I Learned to as a kid, but it's been years."

"Shall we?"

"Are you sure?"

"You'd better lead."

"You don't mind?"

"Them that can, do, them that can't, improvise."

She hadn't forgotten much and made my following her look good. So good the piano man played the tune through a second time.

"That was fun. Thank you."

"You weren't rusty at all. You made me look like I knew what I was doing."

"Well, you only stood on my toes twice, so I was able to concentrate. I'm famished."

"Want to try their toasted sandwiches and coffee?"

"That would be nice."

I caught the waitress's eye.

"Perhaps we should move to a bigger table. This postage stamp will struggle to hold our drinks and the coffee and sandwiches."

"Good thinking Sherlock." I placed the order, and after our drinks had been moved to one of the circular booth tables lining the walls, we decamped. Sliding along the bench from either end, we met in the middle.

"Leather."

"Leather?"

"The bench is leather. Real leather."

"Well, it is the Sheraton."

"Comes with the territory I'm afraid.... noticing the furnishings."

"Of course."

Looking around, I noticed that apart from us, just a couple of stragglers remained. And as the barman delivered our nibbles, the pianist was quietly shutting up shop.

"The piano man's gone."

"So has the waitress."

"An early night trumps a tip in the bush."

"Droll, very droll."

"Well, at least that's an improvement on lame."

"Only just."

"Nice sangers."

"And decent coffee, none of that instant muck."

"It is the Sheraton......"

"Are you checking out my cleavage?"

"Busted."

Molly slid her index finger inside her bodice and discreetly lifted it away from her chest.

"Is that better?"

"Oh yes, much. That's the loveliest boob I've seen in ages. A real champagne titty."

"A connoisseur. Have you seen many?"

"A few, and yours is by far the best."

"She may be small, but she does have a certain je ne sais quoi."

As Molly regained her modesty, I placed my hand upon her stockinged knee.

"That didn't mean you could take liberties."

"Will you create a scene if I do?"

"Not much point now, there's no-one to take any notice. Will you excuse me, I think I need to go to the loo."

"Looking for a lost husband?"

"In the ladies? Hardly."

I sat and surveyed the empty bar. The barman appeared out of nowhere.

"Are you done, sir?"

"I thought you were open to 11?"

"We are sir."

"Well, I may just dawdle a bit. Can you top up both glasses, please?"

"Very good, sir."

Shortly after he had left with the empty bottle and debris from our midnight snack, Molly returned.

"Ah, that's better."

"P for relief?"

"Hm... sort of."

"Now, where was I?"

"You were threatening to take liberties."

I slid my hand up to her stocking top.

"So I was."

My hand then encountered pubic hair.

"Did you have a wardrobe malfunction in the loo?"

"I wouldn't call it a malfunction. I am a grown-up."

Molly reached for her bag and pulled out some tissues which she folded and slid beneath her.

"I don't want a wet spot on my dress for all the world to see."

She placed her hand on my lap.

"Oh, and you're pleased to see me."

"You noticed."

"The tent was a bit of a give-away."

"Thank God for tabletops."

"A second finger would be nice."

She slid a little further forward on the bench.

"Even a third, if you can do it without being obvious."

"That's a bit of an ask. They're attached to my arm, and its rubbish at keeping secrets."

"That's a shame."

"And if you keep doing that it will tip over the table."

"You like my touch?"

"Would you like to come up to my room for a nightcap?"

"Can you be trusted?"

"Trusted to be what?"

"A gentle man. A kind man. A generous man."

"There's only one way to find out."

As we rose to leave, I passed my hand beneath my nose.

"A rose by any other name...."

Molly pulled my hand down, and as we headed, hand in hand, for the elevator on the other side of the foyer, we swapped names. Upon reaching the seventh floor, John and Jane started down the corridor.

"Not the penthouse?"

"I'm not the MD. Yet."

"Are you planning a coup?"

"Hell no. Gerry's a good bloke. But I know his blind spots, and he knows I know. So, he cuts me some slack. Hence, the Sheraton, rather than a flea-bag."

"Nice work if you can get it."

"And if a partnership isn't forthcoming..."

"So, you are planning a coup..."

"Here we are, room 714. You know seven goes into 14 twice."

"Is that so?"

Opening the door, "Ladies first."

"Why, thank you, kind sir...."

"Well, out of 10?"

Jane punched the bed, scoped the mini-bar, and poked her head in the bathroom.

"A seven, a decent bed, and it'd get a nine."

"Do you reckon that couple in bar were married?"

"Don't know, but they were going off to fuck."

"Really?"

"I could hear her squelching as she crossed the floor."

"Your radar is that good."

"It's a finely tuned instrument."

"Are you sure it wasn't you squirming in your chair?"

"You don't miss much."

"I was wide awake."

"Flatterer. Well, if you want to sleep with me, I'm a hundred for the night."

"A Hundred?"

"Yep. And I know you fed and watered me. That's why I'm giving you a discount."

"A hundred is a discount? Can I put it on the room tab?"

"Afraid not, it's not one of our pubs."

"You mean you can do that?"

"You can. As long as Joe and the pub get their cut, they're happy to pass on tips."

"Who's Joe?"

"My boss."

"Do many of your girls do that?"

"Some do, and a couple of the boys do even better. You're shocked?"

"Gobsmacked more like it. I'm a babe in the woods. Do you take EFTPOS?"

"Afraid not. But there's a machine in the foyer."

"Trust me till the morning?"

"Hm, the toasted sandwiches were a nice touch. A crowded foyer in the morning? OK. Now, how about that nightcap."

"Your poison my dear?"

"A G and T kind sir."

"Coming up. I think I need a scotch."

"Now, I'd better rekindle your ardour."

And with that, Jane slipped out of her jacket and laid it on the bed. Then hooking her fingers in her shoe-string straps, she lifted them from her shoulders and let the little black dress fall to the floor. And there she stood in all her glory, accentuated by her suspender belt, stockings, and those come fuck me heels.

"You like? Or are you a bum man?"

She turned and touched her toes and smiling round her legs, winked.

"That will cost you extra."

Standing again, she turned and placed her hand on her mound.

"Oh, I'm still damp downstairs."

Stepping towards me, she claimed her proffered drink in one hand and with the other felt my crutch.

"Good, you're pleased to see me again."

After taking a swig from her glass, she placed it upon the bench that I was trying to lean against nonchalantly. She then took the drink from my hand and put it beside hers. Reaching up, this semi-naked Aphrodite, slipped my jacket off my shoulders and slid it down my arms before tossing it on the floor. Popping the buttons of my shirt, it too, joined the jacket on the floor.

"Hm, nice. You're no Mr. Atlas, but you're in pretty good shape."

"Home cooked meals are few and far between."

Jane then kneeled before me and bending down, removed my shoes, followed by my socks.

"Men look so silly in their socks when they're naked."

She then consigned my trousers and my jocks to the floor. I stood there naked as the day I was born, if somewhat bigger and definitely more aroused. Jane kissed and then licked the tip of my manhood.

"I do love the taste of pre-cum."

"Don't stop!"

"Slow down tiger. We've got all night. Trust me; you won't be disappointed."

Standing up, Jane took my hand and started backing towards the bed.

"Oh no. Beds are for sleeping in, especially soft ones without headboards."

I picked her up by the waist and deposited her upon the bench. She kicked off her shoes.

"I know I like a hard bed, but this is ridiculous. If we are going to fuck here, I need some padding."

"At a hundred bucks, padding, is your problem."

Slipping off the bench, Jane skipped across the bed, picked up a pillow, and tossed it on the counter before parking herself on it.

"Not a biggie really. I'm sure you could have done that if you put your mind to it."

"You're right, I apologise."

"Apology accepted. Now let's wake up the neighbours. I'm hot to trot. Fill me up. Oh my, you do."