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The revolving door swung open with a flourish. Althea was distracted by the sudden movement and looked in the general direction, only to see another businessman arriving early for the evening. The hotel was full tonight, unexpectedly, though one could certainly understand the reason. The blackout in the northeast had suddenly set everything on its ear, especially here in New York City.
Forty-five minutes into the blackout of the entire North East, Althea Rogers-Jackson, day manager of the relatively small, and independent hotel of just over a hundred rooms, wondered what the rest of the night was to be like. So far, outside of an immediate rush to rent any remaining rooms, there’d been little change from normal, for his hotel had power, at least on the first floor.
Reporters on the TV in the lounge were spreading throughout the city to sample reactions from the citizens, send video of the uncontrolled traffic mess at rush hour in Manhattan, and to position themselves for the coming darkness of night and whatever that might bring. Though everyone had their personal predictions, only time would tell what was in store for the people of the city, and Althea in particular.
The news that hours would pass before the blackout could be remedied, maybe even days, did little to settle nerves in that first hour of sudden helplessness. Traffic lights suddenly showed our dependence on them by simply refusing to work. Elevators also went on strike, some with passengers still aboard and between floors. People fought back the images of 9/11, insisting this was nothing of the sort, just a temporary glitch in some of the comforts of modern life.
For emergency vehicles, it was pretty much the beginning of a normal evening. Though a few extra calls came in to help the stranded elevator riders, those who couldn’t walk down a flight of stairs for food, and the normal fire and heart stoppages, it was the preparatory call upon their services that demanded their full attention. All police were reporting to for overtime to protect property and keep the piece. And just about every other city service employee was somehow involved in the melee of pitching in to overcome yet another adversity in the financial capital of the world.
Just as the streets were suddenly a sea of people deciding what to do to get home, the lobby of Althea’s hotel was jammed with guests or would-be guests, most now being turned away. The last of the available rooms were gone. She looked from the crowd her front desk personnel were attempting to politely push away, back to the more stately gentleman who’d just breezed through the revolving door.
He was about six feet tall, dressed casually, and didn’t bother with the front desk. He walked swiftly by her too, passing within an arm’s length, smiling, and made for the elevator.
“They’re out, I’m afraid,” She said, wondering why she was being apologetic. This was New York. There was an emergency. Most hotels didn’t have ANY power. Many were putting their guests out on the street for one safety excuse or another. She should apologize for not having elevators?
He turned to look at her and hesitated. In New York only for a meeting in the morning, he’d arrived from his small town home in Colorado just a couple hours ago. Having taken a walk to get a look around at his old haunts in the area, he’d quickly tired of the novelty of the blackout, and was once again forced to focus on the gray, dirty old buildings, the people who looked anywhere but right at you, and the noise of horns as traffic tried to unsnarl itself. It was the same as when he’d moved away, just a few more lights, a few more cars and trucks, and a lot more people. He even recalled the first blackout he’d endured in New York when he’d lived here. “Funny,” he thought, “When I am here, I can’t wait to leave. When I’m somewhere else, I can’t wait to get back.” His answer to the dilemma a few years ago had come for him. The company he worked for had moved him to run a new division out west.
In this trip’s rather ominous start, the hotel employee looked quite refreshing in her blue “uniform” suit and white blouse. His alertness was rejuvenated by the button between her breasts, fastened but with the material pulling nicely under just the right amount of strain. Her skirt was short, probably shorter than they liked at the hotel, but her name tag, a bit more elegant than the others, told him she was higher up the food chain. He smiled, trying not to look down at her in a condescending way, but only due to her shorter height. He guessed that to be about 5’2”, though the modest heels brought her up a couple inches. With shoulder length brown hair, the man thought, petite, pretty, and sexy in her confidence and officious pose. “Thanks. Of course. Well, it’s only five floors up so I guess I’ll get some exercise.” He looked around, not really that interested in getting to his room anymore, and asked, “The uh, stairs?”
She took longer than necessary to answer. Her mind was running lickety-split. The image of her husband, a handsome Italian thirty year old with classic short black hair and still a fine young body, flashed cebeci escort through her vision, followed immediately by the stately gentleman before her, old enough to be her father, but attractive all the same. His silver-gray hair was short, but long enough to retain a wave. Some men could carry such a color and still look virulent. His well-trimmed beard was salt and pepper and he was obviously self-confident enough not have to color or transplant hair. He seemed fit, and handsome. Althea also felt a familiar itch as she measured him up.
“Oh!” She said after looking at him for far too long, “Over there, across the lobby.” He started to walk, but from somewhere deep within her, came the words, “Excuse me, Mr….”
“Randolph,” He turned abruptly, pleased with the opportunity. “Friends call me Randy,” He smiled at her, never giving her his first name.
“Uh, well, hmmmm…” She was struggling for the words when she finally just came out with, “My husband is meeting me here to help out tonight. I uh, have to work as you might imagine. Would you like to join us for a drink? In the lounge over there?” She nodded toward the side of the lobby to the left of the front desk. What the hell was she doing! She immediately scolded herself. This was her place of employment! She had no idea who this guy was! She didn’t even know if her husband was still open to the idea. After the flood of self-flagellation subsided, she managed to reason that all she had done or committed to so far was a friendly drink with her husband in the middle of yet another New York City crisis. Feeling better already about her actions, she was prepared to hear his response.
“Why sure. I would love to, uh…” He hesitated more from the surprise of his good fortune, than to make a decision. He too reflected on the unusual chain of events, but accepted the invitation as one might a dinner offer from a Captain aboard ship. He felt lucky..
“Althea Jackson. I’m the day manager here, and I am going to be here probably all night as you can imagine.” She put a hand out in front of her smile.
Taking her delicate, white skin in his considerably larger palm, he said, “My pleasure, Althea. Say, if there is anything I can do to help, please… well, I’m here for a meeting right around the corner and I kind of feel like a resident, having lived here before.” He continued to hold her hand, not shaking it, just feeling it grow hotter and hotter in his.
“Really? You lived here in the city?” She asked, putting pieces together, unable to take her eyes off his friendly and disarming face.
“Well no, on Long Island. But I commuted to my office in the city, just around the corner here. I arrived today, just for the night and a meeting in the morning, and happened to be walking around looking at the city when the power went out. You know, I was your age for the last one of these things.” Ouch! That was a dumb thing to say. Now she would surely think of him as some dinosaur.
“Oh were you?” She asked, acting intrigued, though Randy sure didn’t know why.
He wondered why she was suddenly looking right through him, as if deep in thought. In an attempt to keep the conversation going he asked, “So, it seems you have lights here still, at least in the lobby.”
“Yes, well, our generators are for emergency power only. We can support some basic needs here on the ground floor, some security too, but nothing above here. I’m afraid we are turning people away. Seems we filled up quickly and one person just said he’d arrived from a major hotel that had just had to evacuate its building. I’m afraid this is going to be a pretty crazy night.” She hesitated a moment, then smiled again and said, “Maybe it will help to have your experience close by.”
“Well,” He chuckled modestly, “I don’t know about that, but please feel free to call on me for anything at all.” They stood silent for a moment before he added, “Perhaps I’ll meet you later? For that drink?”
She suddenly smiled with a look of confidence, as if she’d made up her mind about something, and took his arm with her hand to lead him to the lounge. “Yes, Mr. ah, Randy, I am sure you will see me later. But let me get you a seat, one with enough room for my husband and myself when he arrives, and make your stay just that much more pleasurable, for all.”
Randy let her lead him across the lobby floor as he pondered her wording and tone. In one of the big mirrors he could see her face had taken on a new appearance – she was almost cocky, as if she knew something he didn’t. She had detached herself from the moment and had gone somewhere else, but the look didn’t seem to fit. Oh well, he thought, perhaps it was just a natural expression for her. After all, she’d just invited him to sit with her and her husband. If not dinner, it was drinks with the “Captain” and “First Mate.”
Half an hour later, having not seen more than a second or two of Althea in passing around the lobby, a good looking and fit Italian fellow walked right up to Randy’s cushioned chair and said, “Hi. I’m Mick, Mickey Jackson.” He put out his hand and stood there waiting for Randy to çukurambar escort make the next move.
“Hi, Mickey, uh, do I know you?” He rose to shake the man’s hand, not knowing if he might be a client or someone he should know, like…
The man laughed and said, “I see my wife didn’t tell you my name. I am Althea’s husband.”
“OH! Oh yes, of course, Mick, or Mickey. Which is it?” Randy shook hands a little more vigorously now, with the relief he hadn’t fucked up too badly.
“I use them both, or my friends do. Your choice.”
“Whichever then. Good to meet you. Sit down, let me buy you a drink.”
The two men sat and Mickey ordered a Vodka screw driver. The drinks were still coming with ice, so Randy figured that was one of the higher priority systems left in the power loop of the generators. Ok by him, though he didn’t drink at all anymore – dulled the senses at some of the most interesting of times. Plain ol’ ice water was his drink of choice now, but he took another Perrier, only because he would have felt guilty occupying such a valuable chair without buying something. It still left his mind clear and open to all opportunities. “So you are here to help your wife through the night? I think that’s terrific.”
Mick took a fourth of his glass in a couple swallows and let out a deep breath as if he’d earned that one. “Yeah, well, actually, we thought you might like to help too.”
Randy looked at the younger man, about the age of his sons from his first marriage, and wondered what the hell was going on. The man was smiling a similar smile to that of his wife a short while before, confident, knowing, yet mysterious. Both looked as if they knew something he didn’t, “All right, Mickey Jackson, why don’t we level with each other? You and your wife have something on your minds, if I’m not mistaken, and somehow it involves me.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “I’m a New Yorker from the past, my friend, so don’t try to play me for some country bumpkin.”
Mickey took another swallow, his self-confidence waning a bit. “You’re right, Randy.” He put his drink down, shifted in his chair to better face the man, and continued, “We are wondering, well, I have always… hmmmm. How do I put this?”
Randy shifted too, but toward Mick, not away. His interest was peaked for sure. “How about the flat ass truth? Hmm? Let’s put the cards on the table. What are you worried about?”
Mickey looked around first to locate his wife, and then when he didn’t find her, to see that no one else could hear. “Randy? We’d like to know if you would like to spend the night with us.”
Randy sat back in his chair. Of all the things he was prepared to hear, this was not one of them. As he sat back and considered the ramifications of the question, or proposition, he spotted Althea in the mirror, standing behind his location, peering around the corner of a large column, waiting for a reaction. What did she expect, Randy wondered, a fistfight? He sat up and leaned in to Mick, looked around conspiratorially, then said, “You want me to spend the night with the two of you. I assume you are referring to something a bit more meaningful than simply my staying in the hotel?”
Mickey’s nerve and enthusiasm were coming up again. The guy was easy to talk to, he thought. No bullshit. “Yes, I mean, we mean, we’d like to come back to your room with you, and do, well, just about anything that comes to mind.” He leaned his head to one side, “Is that clear enough?”
Randy decided to have some fun with him. “Not exactly. Call me dense. Why don’t you spell it out, so I truly understand?”
The younger man fidgeted in his chair, then moved on boldly, “Ok, Randy. You’re right. It’s just that, oh shit. Ok, here it is. My wife has always wanted to see me suck off another man, and then get fucked by him.” There, it was said. He looked at Randy to see if there was an immediate revulsion. There was not. He wasn’t too worried at this stage about repercussions, for he and his wife could simply deny any charges, in case they’d read this Randy wrong. But he was surer than ever they had not. “Are you adverse to spending time in bed with a man?” His natural boldness, something his wife had been so terribly attracted to, had returned.
So that was it, Randy thought. These two kids were overdrawn on hormones and needed another stiff one in bed with them. He thought about it for a full minute, leaning back, twiddling a stir stick in one hand propped on an elbow on his chair. Suddenly he said, “No, not necessarily. But then again, I haven’t exactly been longing for the role either.” Certainly he’d never had the fantasy to be with another man, or so he told himself. He wondered if truly, deep down, he hadn’t had such a thought at one time or another.
He had learned over time however, life is short, too damn short, and he never heard of anyone going to the worms complaining they’d done or seen too much of life! “Tell me this: Your wife is up to this? Getting seen, touched, even fucked and sucked by a stranger? Cause I’m not going up there just to be played. I get to do some playing too.” He was being demetevler escort as bold as possible now, so shit didn’t happen later.
Mick smiled, eager and looking a bit like an excited puppy and said, “That is exactly right. We both are. But more than anything, she wants me to get fucked by a man, while she watches, and masturbates.” His voice trailed some weakness at the last words, but he held his head high anyway.
The older man sat back, then leaned forward again. “All right, so why me, why not some stud like you, your own age?” He looked around the lobby, and spotted another guy more like Mick’s age, walking toward them. “Like him.”
Mick’s lips curled just a bit at the corners, “My wife said you would ask that.”
“Yeah? And what did she, or both of you decide as the answer?”
“Well, we decided to choose an older guy, I mean older than us, no disrespect,”
“None taken. Go on.” Randy was waiting.
“We decided that we didn’t want to take a chance on someone coming between us emotionally, the way we are asking you to kind of come between us physically…”
The explanation was a surprise to Randy, but entirely believable. “So you decided on a father image, someone too busy elsewhere in his life to come back for more.” Randy had put it even more bluntly than they had when discussing the eventual possibility.
“Yeah…” He wanted to say more, to add some kind of caveat to lessen the blow, but decided to leave the truth hanging where it was. This guy seemed like he could take it.
Randy considered the situation. They were both good-looking kids. She was hot the way she walked and talked, and looked, and he had some kind of aura around him that… Hell! He could be their father! What the hell was he even considering this for? Hmm, his other conscience thought, interesting opportunity though. She was free-willed enough to want to play with herself while watching her husband get fucked up the ass, and Mickey was free willed enough to want it to happen, and then let a stranger have his way with his wife. Randy smiled as he wondered what else they might do with all that free will. He thought more about the possibilities, and the risks, and looked at each of them as he considered their proposition. In the mirror, he could see Althea looking like a kitten waiting patiently to be fed. Sheesh! He thought, this is too good to be true!
Randy put his drink down while he asked for the check. Looking briefly at his watch to see the time at three minutes after six, he observed, “By my watch, nighttime started three minutes ago.” He rose from his chair as he closed with, “We’re wasting some very precious daylight upstairs.”
Randy and Mick entered Randy’s room after walking up the five flights. Mick admired the man’s stamina, as he seemed to breath no more heavily than he, twenty-five years younger. Both of them considered the night ahead in silence, it being a bit much to attempt to talk while slugging it out with other guests walking up and down the stairwell around them.
Back in the lobby of the hotel, Althea had whispered a loud “Yes!” to herself, and continued to tend to the special needs of the hotel for the evening. The night manager had finally shown up and they agreed on a division of duties and schedules for the special care of their guests through the night. She did not reflect on the facts that her husband was in the hotel, or that she would not need the pull out couch in the main office for her time off later, only that she would be available if needed, all through the night. She went to the kitchen and had three meals prepared and sent to room 512.
Sometime later, the trip up the stairs was nothing to Althea. She did this kind of thing all the time at the hotel, walk up and down in lieu of using the elevator. She counseled the staff to follow her example and there was a noticeable improvement in timeliness of the elevators for the guests. This is also a good part of what kept her so thin and fit. She didn’t like taking time out of her day for exercise, but the stair climbing each day, sometimes as many as two hundred flights in a single shift, gave her strong legs from hips to heels, and lungs to match those of a devoted runner.
She thought about what her husband had gotten them into on this very strange night. She thought of it as him, even though the original wish had been hers. It was Mick who’d never forgotten her fantasy, and kept reminding her to keep her eyes peeled for a candidate she liked. She tried to find someone attractive to her, to him, and yet not likely to be a “cling-on” when it came to saying goodbye after a one-night-stand.
Then creeping signs of guilt shifted the responsibility for the acts they were about to commit to her own reckless wishes. Countless times, she’d pictured him on his knees with a man’s cock in his mouth, or his butt thrust upwards and his head turned to the side and flattened on the mattress, his hands gripping his ass cheeks and pulling them apart. She’d seen it as clear as if she’d been right there, a man’s cock pushing up against his puckered asshole, spreading his muscle outward like the shutter in one of his cameras. She’d heard him groan under the sudden but short lived pain, a shudder that quickly turned to a chill and then a warming glow that voiced itself in the sound of low, guttural groaning, the true indicator of his appreciation of the stiff cock up his ass.
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