Sunday, August 26, 2012
I love how the large chains now register their guests in the comfort of their rooms. Apart from the obvious convenience after a long and rough flight, it allows me to briefly lose myself in my fantasies.
They always choose the gorgeous ones for front desk duties. His English had a hint of an accent, and he confirmed he wasn't local. He's been in the country for a few years and was probably lonely.
As he gave me a tour of the suite, he seemed a bit nervous and kept running his tongue past his lower lip. By the time we walked by the king-sized bed, we couldn't contain ourselves and tore off each other's clothes.
I pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. I was rough, but he didn't mind. After all, he was there to please the customer. In between gasps, I kept on repeating, "I... Am... Checking... Innnnn!"
I reined in my runaway imagination, signed the forms and thanked him. I took up his offer of a tour of the rooftop bar. The building was one of the tallest in the city and the view was spectacular. I saw a nearby building where hubby and I stayed for a year, and I suddenly missed my better half.
I told the hotel rep that I could manage on my own and handed him a crisp bill. There was a brief flash of disappointment in his eyes, and I knew it wasn't the size of the tip. As he walked away, I speed-dialled the first number on my phone and checked in with my husband.