Too often I find myself thousands of miles from home, alone in a hotel. Then one evening as I'm nursing a drink at the bar, I notice you looking at me. Your ears prick up at my English accent as I order another drink, and you slide closer to initiate conversation. Several drinks and much flirting later, the bar begins to close - forcing us to decide on our final destination. Return to our own rooms? Or something else? You excuse yourself for one last bathroom visit as I drain my final glass.
As you return, your hand grabs mine and into it pushes something. Something silken, warm. I look down to find the panties you've just slipped off in the bathroom. You lean in, and with a whisper: 'Now you can come to my room, and take the rest off'. No more encouragement is needed as I'm lead to the elevators, painfully hard. Riding alone, the doors close to take us upstairs...and we're on each other.