Drunkenly kicking off his expensive loafers, Jamie shuffles across the hotel suite and heaves his six foot frame into a deep leather wing chair. With a sigh he flips open his laptop and stares at the screen. Writing is the last thing he wants to do right now, but he hasn’t written a single word all day, and he just can’t afford not to.
The SFGate generously offered to sponsor his attendance at the journalistic conference in Napa, but when they offered to put him up in a dive hotel off of the highway he declined and booked himself a more luxuriously appointed room not far from his favorite winery. When he booked the suite he thought he’d have company, but now he’s alone.
After a long day of reviewing grammar, corporate guidelines, and journalistic integrity he’d hit the hotel bar with a few colleagues and now his thoughts are warm and slow after one glass too many of a spectacular california red. With a sigh he begins typing and hesitantly picks his way through a piece he’s working on, gradually immersing himself into the story. The amber California sun has long set and the room is dark when Jamie halfheartedly types out a few final sentences and shuts the laptop with a heavy sigh. He’d done what needed to be done and not a word more – tonight his heart isn’t in it.
He pushes himself away from the desk to flick on the lights and grab a beer from the mini-fridge. After a long pull of the cold drink he puts down the bottle and sits at the end of the king bed to undo his tie and unbutton his crisp white shirt. He feels a pang of sadness as he looks around the tastefully decorated room. The room was made for romance, and the stone fireplace across from the white-clothed king bed demands an offering of sex. “Not tonight,” he says out loud as he pulls back the sheets and sinks into the bed. The white linens scratches against his skin as he pulls off the rest of his clothes and slides under the covers, clad only in a tight pair of tight black boxer briefs.
It doesn’t take him long to drain the first bottle of beer twist the top off of a second, which he’d left waiting for him on the beside table – dripping cool condensation onto the expensive dark wood. He heaves another sigh and turns on the tv. The news drones on for under a minute before he flicks his way to the pay per view channel. He ticks past the New Releases section before arriving at the Adult options. The videos available are the same low quality garbage available in any hotel in America – heavy on the “teenage” girls element, with a generous bent on bukkake and angry, but very chesty, moms.
Jamie didn’t care much about the content. He was lonely and seeking solace in the guilty pleasure of hotel porn. He relaxes as the bulge stirring in his black boxer shorts seemingly comes into control – worked up partly by the selection of movies in front of him, and partly by thoughts of the blond woman who should have been enjoying this beautiful Napa Valley suite with him.
He chooses a video for $8.99 that promises a to be full of youthful football players and their sophomoric cheerleading counterparts. Taking another long pull of beer, he’s momentarily distracted by the ridiculous storyline before it leads, shockingly quickly, to a scene with two muscled college jocks circling three cheerleaders, who smile up at them from their place on their knees on the floor of the locker room. The cheerleaders are clearly old enough to have their own kids in college, but he didn’t care. The movie was nonsense, but it satisfied a baser instinct. He pulls the band of his black underwear under his heavy balls and massages his thickened cock in his fist. On the TV a coach comes into the room and takes charge of the younger gang – forcibly deciding which athlete gets to enjoy the pleasures of which cheerleader. It’s only when the coach helpfully coaxes the jock’s oversized cocks into the the girls that Jamie’s brain truly checks out. The room is filled with the sounds of sex on tv, and the rhythmic thwapping of his fist sliding up and down over this rock hard cock. His ass presses deeply into the bed just as the coach is showing unexpected cum over the students writing on the locker room floor. Jamie tenses up and shoots a milky spray of cum onto his smooth, lightly furred stomach and chest.
Before long his thoughts are slowing down again and he’s sleeping soundly under the covers, and the room is lit only by the flickering of the muted tv cycling through endless images of the hotel and local attractions.