*It’s been a while since I’ve done this*, I muse to myself as I walk to the hotel bar. It’s a windswept cold and grey day, with sheets of rain rippling towards the Mississippi River outside. A small group of people are assembled at the end of the bar, awkwardly spaced between convivial and socially distant. After a number of years and strains of the pandemic, life finally is slowly knitting itself into a new normal. It only took 3 vaccination campaigns and over 6 million deaths to get here. The new normal does not even remotely resemble the old normal of yore. Masks are now ubiquitous fast fashion item. Although social distancing is not as strictly enforced now, a combination of routine, fear, and ergonomic chances have left its scars on our collective social fabric. I pull up to a barstool that commands a great view of the room. I’m a people watcher at heart, so I always try to perch where I can see most of the room.
My phone softly chimes as a beacon notification pops up for me to enter my drink order. Another feature of the new normal. I select a whiskey old fashioned and a bowl of salty snacks. The turbulent flight definitely has dulled my appetite for heavier fare at the moment. I have traveled extensively for work and pleasure for much of my adult life, but this has been the first time that I’ve flown since early 2020. There is definitely more turbulence in the air. The flight to here was more of a theme park ride than I ever cared for it to be. The bartender brings me a drink and a bowl of pretzels with a nod and a softly spoken “here you you,” pausing to check my pronouns on her phone, “sir.” I nod and smile with my eyes, thanking them.
I sigh as I lower my mask, a conservative Ralph Lauren affair, down to my chin as I take a sip from my cocktail. I sink back into my thoughts, musing on the arc of my life thus far. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I’m undeniably middle aged. A riot of salt and pepper hair on top of my head and in my nearly trimmed beard. I’ve been told that I am handsome all of my life, and yet I have never believed the sincerity of those comments. However, I have to admit that I have held up well in my early fifties. What I do know with certainty is that I have been married for decades. My wife is generally pleasant but has been asexual for most of our marriage. I’ve manage to keep a measure of fidelity, with allowances for my own sexual expression kept to a secret constellation of online throwaway accounts. We never brought children into the world, something that we are thankful for as it seems hell bent on dissolving into a dystopian shitshow.
Lost in my musing, I never noticed you walking into the bar. You settled in the seat next to me unnoticed. You would have remained unnoticed as I remained deeply wrapped up in my thoughts. However a piece of the new normal snapped me out of my reverie with a notification of your presence, social engagement preference “Open to conversation”, and pronouns “she/her/hers.” As to still foster conversation while simultaneously discouraging stalking, all other facts about you remain a mystery. I turn to look at you. You are dressed smartly in a dark grey business suit and a white blazer. Your Hermès mask is emblazoned with a dark grey and pink tartan. Your dark eyes capture my attention, intelligent yet playful.
“Hi, I’m Hannah,” you say with a disarming sweetness and a jarring New York City accent. “Hey Hannah, I’m Scott,” my right arm jerking as I arrest my impulse to snake your hand. Your eyes twinkle in a friendly way, as you gently suggest that “It’s hard to get used to.” I nod and pivot the conversation, asking you “What brings you to the middle of the country, Hannah?” You groan theatrically, as you explain that you are out here for a month for business travel, but you cannot wonder if it’s a low key punishment and/or exile. I offer sympathy and commiserate, quipping that sending somebody, namely me, from Miami to St. Louis in February was sadistic and cruel. Your laughter was genuine and charming, and I find myself trying to discover ways to elicit more of it.
With some people conventions can be brief, perfunctory, and quickly over. Others can be superficial, never plumbing the depths of human connection beyond the veneer of our superficiality. It is a rare occasion that two people connect deeply and naturally. We share more about each other, deepening our connection. I find our that you feel frustrated with your career’s lack of progression and opportunity, your absolute hatred of the dating scene, and a love for takoyaki (Japanese octopus balls). In turn I share that my career pays the bills but does not ignite my passion, my frustration with my marriage (navigating deftly around the sexual dysfunction), and my graduate school experiences in Nagoya, Japan. I discover that you are an expert in digital marketing. I share that I am an operations manager, quipping that it’s a glorified way of saying that “I herd cats.” I was rewarded with more of your laughter.
As the night wore on, our conversations became more intimate and the distance between us closed. Our phones chime in unison as they notify us that we are fully vaccinated with the latest booster and our pre-flight viral tests were negative. The new normal making itself known intrusively. There was an undeniable magnetic draw between us. Our age difference evaporating in light of our connection. We discovered together that I’m 52 and you were 35, which mattered not one jot or tittle to either of us. We noticed the time, nonplussed that the evening has rapidly deepened into night. Your eyes locked with mine, two deep brown pools framed by your mask and your medium length chocolate brown hair. Your hand brushes my knee, then rests there hesitantly. I relax my legs, to signal that I didn’t mind her hand there. You seem conflicted for a second before you ask “have you ever considered an affair?”
The room spun, but the warmth of your hand caressing my knee anchored me. Under my mask, I bite my lip. All of these years of furtive online encounters told the truth of something I never admitted until now. “Hannah, I fought valiantly against temptation, and I have come up short,” I say softly. Your hand inches up my thigh as our phones chime again, triggered by our elevated heart rates. We grab them, both consenting to something more than a greeting. I grab the tab, indicating that I was picking up yours as well. You shoot up an eyebrow, your hand sliding further up my thigh. You softly suggest in a voice a small margin above a hoarse whisper that “it’s on me tomorrow.” A bold declaration, perhaps; a declaration that nevertheless thrills me. Your hand lingers on my upper thigh as our eyes flash “let’s go” to each other.
“I’ll walk you to your room, if you don’t mind,” I suggest as we walk out of the hotel bar. Your eyes smile as you nod. “I’m on the fifth floor, I was going to take the stairs, but we can take the elevator,” you offer. I shake my head, “I’ve been strapped into a plane seat and then a bar stool today, I prefer to move a bit.” You lean closer into me for a second as we walk to the stairwell. I open the door for you, and follow you in. The door shuts behind us and the sound reverberates in the stairwell. Immediately, out of sight from others, we slide our masks down. Your face is remarkably beautiful. Your eyes widen appreciatively at mine. You draw near and crane your head up towards mine. Our lips draw near as we both ignore the persistent chiming of our phones. Mere centimetres apart, a rush of warmth floods my body as our lips hover closely to each other. Your right hand comes up to the back of my head to close the distance. Our lips met in a supernova of unbridled passion. This kiss of ours deepens as both of our phones chime insistently. We break our kiss long enough to tell our digital assistants that we consent. Your lips return to mine in a fury of hot passion as you slowly press my back against the wall.
My arms wrap around your waist as our lips part. Our kisses went from hot and wet to feverish in relatively short order. My hands began to slide down to your ass, framed nicely by your soft dark grey wool skirt. Your hips press back against my hand as you create a space between us so you could rest your right hand on my sternum, while your left hand found it’s way to my ass. Your hand drops down to my stomach, slowly wandering to my belt buckle. Your fingers deftly unbuckle it before unbuttoning my slacks. Small moans erupt into our kiss as you unzip my pants and slide your hand into my boxers. *Oh god, Hannah*, I thought as my erection comes springing after you fished it out of my boxers. Your hand is warm as you lovingly grab my hardness and begin to stroke it up and down. We moan into our kiss, from the intoxicating mixture of passion and risk. The fact that anyone could walk through the stairwell door elevates our excitement.
You stroke my member slowly as my hands begin to knead your ass. It is toned and pleasingly round, an observation that fuels the intensity of my hardness. I move my hips towards your hand, in concession to the pleasure you are inflicting on me. You break our kiss slowly, kissing my neck as you gently descend. Your eyes never break your gaze on mine as you kneel before me. Your warm breath caresses my glans as you continue to stroke my shaft. A glistening drop of precum forms a bead at my tip. Your tongue flicks out to taste it, and I see stars. Your lips part as you take the tip in. “Oh fuck, Hannah,” I moan looking down into your warm, yet sultry eyes.
You drop your jaw wide as you slowly take in my cock. I strain to resist the urge to shift my hips forward. I rest my right hand on your head, which was rewarded by yours cupping my balls. Your left hand grabs my ass as your mouth begins to rhythmically work my shaft faster. It has been well over a decade since I had a warm mouth on my shaft and it feels fucking wonderful. I leak copious amounts of precum as your mouth as you repeatedly play with my cock on your mouth. I gasp and moan loudly as you lick my manhood from the base to the tip, your tongue swirling circles on my gland. You more aggressively suck on my cock, tightening and loosening your jaw. With a slight gag, you grab my ass as you press the rest of my length down your throat. I grab your hair as you repeat deep throating me, encouraged by my groans of pleasure reverberating up the stairwell.
Your sucking became faster and faster as I groan your name, and invoke god in a litany of voluble erotic mantras. My body begins to tremble as grab locks of your chocolate brown hair. I meet your sucking strokes with my own hip thrusts. Your eyes implore me to not stop, your right hand caressing my balls to encourage me to unleash. My body begins to uncontrollably shake as your hand clenches my ass to pull my cock deeper into your mouth. With a roaring groan I cum hard, pumping gobbets of semen into your mouth. Your eyes twinkle with a sense of satisfaction. My body shakes uncontrollably as your jaw loosens and your lips press tightly around my manhood, working my cum out. You glance at me as you release my cock and lick my love juice from your lips.
A bang of the door above thunders with an sharp clap. You quickly get up and we frantically zip my pants up. The security guard walks down the stairs as we slide our masks back on. “Is everything okay,” he enquires, eyes full of suspicion. You assure him that it was, and that I had stubbed my toe on the doorstop. He shakes his head in disbelief, but walks on and exits to the lobby. As soon as the door closes behind him, we remove our masks again and kiss passionately. The taste of my semen floods my mouth as our tongues slide and writhe together in our kiss. We break our kiss, and walk up the stairs hand in hand.
*(Please comment if you would like for this story to continue.)*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/l9ddgf/mf_str8_oral_affair_cheat_a_chance_encounter