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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Erotica · #949817
Is this Life, or Memorex?
         The heavy messenger bag was sliding off my shoulder as I grappled with my purse, a water bottle, and my room key. The little "snick" of admittance was a blessed sound indeed. I pushed into the room, dropping my stuff on the neatly made bed. It was dark in the room; had been for hours. I thought briefly about turning on the television, but didn't have the heart for another rerun of "Friends" or the latest installment of "The Bachelorette". Somehow I'd lost my taste for anything that smacked of romance these days. I flopped on the bed, kicking off the pumps that had become painful at least three hours prior.

         What had happened to Laura's promise that this would be my chance to unwind? "A good opportunity to get away", she'd said. "A chance to find myself" on the company's dime. All I had to do was sit through six neverending hours of dry and boring drivel, and then supposedly the night was all mine. I'm sure Laura was sitting at home in front of her TV right now, helping one of the kids with their homework while she waited with bated breath to find out who was outs with the Bachelorette tonight. Sitting there envying me; imagining all the fun things I was doing that she was missing. She was the one who had pressed me to take my one and only cocktail dress, certain that I'd...what? Be invited to dinner with the President? Attend some black tie function? Be swept away by some rich, good looking stranger?

         I groaned as I rubbed some life back into my aching feet. I'd been rubbing elbows with men, all right: harried businessmen with haunted eyes trying their best to stay awake in "How to Manage the Difficult Client 101", and computer nerds who were only hot for my laptop. I guessed that I should be grateful. I tried not to think about what my mother had always told me about the perils of girls travelling alone, but finally, sitting here in this lonely room all by myself, I could see her point. I got up and pulled the heavy drapes; the room seemed too large and vulnerable suddenly. The only man I intended to see this weekend was the room service boy, whom I'd rung for dinner and who had become accustomed to my comings and goings, letting himself in with his master key to leave my food on the little table. I had to remember to give that boy a generous tip. The last time he'd brought me a meal, I'd discovered too late that my bra was tossed carelessly over the lamp where it had landed after my fever to change out of my work clothes had passed. To his credit, though it was directly next to the table, he didn't bat an eyelash. Have these guys just seen everything? Or do they go to some special class on discretion? One had to wonder.

         I wandered into the bathroom to wash off my makeup, and the large room seemed seductive, somehow, with its soft globe lighting and the oversized tub in one corner. You had to say that for travelling on the government's dime: the accomodations tended to be slightly better than average. I peeled off the stale businesswoman's attire, dropping skirt and shell in a careless puddle on the cool tile floor. There was a stash of intriguing packets and bottles in the complimentary basket that begged to be explored and experienced. I found a delightful little bottle of mocha-scented bubble bath...just the ticket.

         While the bath ran, I pulled up my hair and pinned it, taking off my makeup like a good girl. The woman that stared back at me from the mirror was tired, jaded. I smiled at myself but succeeded only in looking feral. I turned away. Maybe a good long soak would improve my outlook somewhat. It had better, I thought. Tomorrow I had three more classes and one of my coworkers would be joining me after dropping off a vehicle that had been sent over for service. After the seminar was over, I'd have to carpool back with him. The thought made me shudder. I'm a very private person, and I love the sound of my own solitude. With my luck it would be Pete that they sent over, who loved only the sound of his own voice and had what couldn't be above a grade 4 level vocabulary, not counting the four letter words.

         I shook off the thought and slipped into the blissful embrace of the tub, loving the feeling of the thick bubbles sliding across my skin as I sank deep into the center of the mound. The water was hot enough to take my breath away at first, just like I liked it. I hovered above the level of the water a moment, easing my way in. The heat was intoxicating, draining away my stress and tension. I closed my eyes, sleeking my hands down my thighs, delighting in the way the bath product made my skin feel, so soft and silky. I slipped down so low in the tub that my sigh of satisfaction blew a nest in the bubble clouds. I was tired, so tired...it was definitely dinner first and then to bed for me after I got out of here. I heard the door to the room open and close, and was glad I'd pulled the bathroom door semi-closed.

         I felt myself sliding into a daydream, a familiar state these days. Sometimes it seemed like the only joy in my life was the life I lived inside my head, there where things worked out exactly the way I wanted them to, where I was young and sexy and the eyes that I wanted to turn on me only had eyes for me. And that brought me back to Bonner again. Bonner...always Bonner... Bonner was a coworker, and a good friend. My best friend. And I could tell that he liked it just that way. But there had been heat from the moment we met, that curious startle of recognition when two souls that have known each other before are reintroduced. I couldn't imagine what my life had been like before his blue eyes had smiled into mine, before his laugh had infected my soul. Before I'd fallen in love with him. But that was impossible, wasn't it? He wasn't mine to claim. Only in my dreams.

         In my dreams we laughed together, we worked side by side on projects, we met at the coffeemaker with an easy familiarity. My mind added the details to the reality..the lingering caress of a hand as the carafe passed from one to the other, the kiss of my hip against his shoulder as I stood beside him to proof a report, his artisan's hands pulling me close for a kiss before we picked up our things to leave for the day. That kiss, that fantasy kiss... it intoxicated me, fascinated me, obsessed me. I had nearly convinced myself that if I could only have that one kiss, that precious kiss, that I would be satisfied for a lifetime. That I could go on living this parallel life of propriety like a dutiful monk, resigned. I imagined what those laughing lips would taste like as they met mine. Would he be a good kisser? Asking, dancing, never demanding... would he kiss me once, just once, but lingering...lingering... breaking away with real regret, his hands searing their heat into the skin of my sides as he held me loosely.

         I touched my own lips, feeling the slick of moisture against my lipflesh, tasting the subtle soapy flavor of bubbles from my fingers. And suddenly it wasn't my lips that craved his touch, as if denying my own denial. "Oh, Bonner..." I breathed an agonized moan. And suddenly, the events of the past few weeks and the stress of this conference weighed down on me, and I found myself crying. I wept for me, for what I'd missed in life, for what wasn't meant to be, for the sheer loneliness of being alone, again, as always. I was big tough me all of the time. My motto has always been "Never let them see you weak." But here, in the safety of my nice anonymous hotel room, the floodgates had been overcome and there was no relief in sight. I sat up in the cooling water, my face bent over my knees (the same knees, I observed dispassionately, that needed a shave) buried in my arms, and cried like a child. What was the use anymore? I retreated into the arms of the fantasy-Bonner, where I had come so many times to expend my pain.

         And suddenly, I could feel him all around me, smell that rustic scent of tobacco and denim that was so uniquely his own. My wish-dreams were getting rather vivid indeed these days. It must be the state of perpetual deprivation and loneliness that was driving me insane.


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