A Sunday Evening Hookup (aka: Maybe This is Why It's Been 2 1/2 Years) ...

Let me just say that I'm already kicking myself and kicked myself all the way home last night.

Sunday Night.
The Post.
Desperate Housewives season finale (and by the way, I don't think Brea's husband really died, but we shall see).

After watching the twists and turns of the various conflicts of 4 suburban women, I decided to twist and turn my ass over to Woody's for a few beers. I haven't been there on a Sunday night in several years and I remember it always being alot of fun without the hassle of attitude you'd find there on a drugged up Friday or Saturday night. Early on in the evening they have country western dancing that, about 9 o'clock or so, starts to merge into disco which eventually turns to techo house music around midnight or so.

I arrived there shortly after 10 o'clock, paid my $2.00 cover charge (a small fee to keep the 13th street riff-raff from coming into the place), walked around the first floor to see if there was a small chance I would know anyone and then headed up to the disco on the 2nd floor. I purchased a beer and walked around the perimeter of the dance floor seeking a familiar face. Alas, the only person I recognized was my ex's (you know..."Bob") friend. I always had a problem with how this friend always stuck his nose into matters that didn't concern him, but I guess that's an easy way for "Bob" to get the scoop on people before he makes his own move (that's only my assumption). Anyway, we exchanged a few cordial words and I was on my way (to any location other than standing next to this guy and trying to fake niceties).

I found an empty cocktail table on the opposite side of the dance floor and took a seat. The music was great (old 80's dance mixes) and I soon found myself dancing in my seat as my mind flashed back to those times when these songs were at the top of the dance charts and I would be out there on the floor hamming it up under the strobe lights and lasers.

I finished my beer and headed up to the bar for a fresh one. It was then that I noticed a very attractive man standing next to me, beer in hand, watching me order. He looked to be about my hight, with a slightly stocky, but muscular build, thinning dark blond hair, mustache and goatee, and a really cute butt. I gave him a quick smile as I paid the bartender and was going to head back to my stool, but he quickly spoke up.

"So, is this the most exciting place to go on a Sunday night?"
"Actually, I haven't been out here on a Sunday in a number of years, but it still draws the biggest crowd."

We continued making small talk, commenting on the music, the weather, jobs, etc. He mentioned he was up from Atlanta on a conference until Tuesday and Staying at the Park Hyatt-Bellvue Stratford. There really wasn't any sexual talk going on. The conversation was quite enjoyable and light and, when I told him that it was time for me to go, I gave him my email address and there was a light kiss good-night. That was about it.

I downed the rest of my beer, and headed downstairs. I did one final walk-through on the first floor and headed towards the front door. That was when I saw The Man From Atlanta walking towards the exit also. He gave me a quick wave and I smiled, then he disappeared out the door. I reached the door a few seconds later and, when I exited the building, found him standing outside waiting.

"So do you want to see my room?"

I chuckled, thinking back to our earlier conversation when he was describing how fancy the hotel was and, if it were up to him, he'd be staying at the Holiday Inn Express.

"I've got to get home. I have to work tomorrow."
"But you have to see this room to believe it."
"If I go up to your room, then one thing will lead to another and next thing I know, I'll be late for work."
"I won't keep you. I promise..."

The conversation went on like this the whole short walk up Walnut Street to Broad Street. I must admit, I was intrigued by what the inside of the hotel looked like. In it's hayday, it definately was a classy destination spot in the city, rivaling some of the world's most exclusive hotels like The Waldorf Astoria or Plaza hotels in New York City. Crystal chandeliers, bronze staircases, ornately carved ceiling moldings. It was an opportunity that probably wouldn't come my way again any time soon. In fact, I've been living in the city for nearly eight years and coming into the city for an additional eight and this was the first time I've ever been invited into the building, outside of the food court in the basement.

"Okay," I agreed. "I'm only coming in to see the room. Then I gotta get home."
"Sure." He answered with a crooked smile.
"I mean it."
"I know you do."

As we walked towards the entrance to the hotel, little did I know that the next 20 minutes or so would be one strange occurance after another. The first was the comment made by the bellhop as we made our way through the revolving door:

"Have fun, guys..."

I was taken back by the oppulance that surrounded me. Dark paneled walls, richly colored carpeting, fine furnishings, incredible artwork, dazzling chandeliers, a curving grand staircase heading up to the 2nd floor, hand painted murals across the ceiling. It was like stepping back in time to the Victorian Era, a time when people actually dressed for dinner and the elite walked these very rooms.

"Wow..." It was all I could manage to say.
"I know." my partner chuckled. And then, as if reading my mind, he added: "I feel a bit under dressed."

We got into the elevator and he pushed the button for the 15th floor. As the car rose, I continued my silent mantra: I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and--"

Ding.

The doors opened and we stepped out into an elaborately wallpapered hallway. Blue walls with a floral pattern vined their way down the length of the hall towards his room. Crystal chandeliers hung above at intervals of about 15 feet and I wondered if these were the fixtures that had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. We turned a corner and continued commenting on everything around me. All he could do was laugh, knowing that he had done that exact same thing a few days before during his first trip down the hall.

He unlocked the door and we stepped into his suite. I was immediately taken back yet again. For starters, the room was huge to say the least. From where I stood (on a raised entry hall) the room looked to be at least 40 feet to the window and about half that length in width. A brass railing separated the entry from the rest of the room and you had to step down three stairs to enter the actual suite. A king-size bed stood directly infront of me, with a high headboard and luxurious white-on-white bedding. (I even took notice of the wrapped pair of white tericloth slippers sitting on the bedspread). To my right was a large kitchenette with a long bar (not stocked, that I can see) and a small fridge and sink. The walls, like the hallway, were adorned with a subtle, yet bold floral wallpaper and heavy blue draperies covered the large window in the seating area towards the front of the room. The sofa and wing back chairs all were covered in unique fabrics that still matched the rest of the color scheme in the room.

Again, my extended vocabulary came into play: "Wow..."

He chuckled and then leaned in to kiss me. A sweet and playful tongue made it's way into my mouth as I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. I remembered my mantra:

I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...

And then a second mantra intertwined itself with the first.

I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
What the fuck's wrong with me?...
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
What the fuck's wrong with me?...

I pulled from his embrace.

"So what's the view like from the window."
"It's not much of a view. Let me show you the balcony."

Balcony? I have walked past and looked up at this building countless times and never once saw a balcony.

We walked through the livingroom and there, to the left of the window (the drapes were drawn), was a door. He opened the door and lo and behold there was indeed a balcony. What surprised me most was the view. What you could never suspect from down on the street was that up here, in the hotel, was a 15 story atrium. All interior rooms had their own balconies that looked down into what could only be described as an open area that greatly resembled an outdoor French cafe scene. Blue and white striped awnings covered each balcony matching the blue and white striped umbrellas in all of the tables located a few stories below. I never would've guessed that such an incredible setting could be found in such an old building, and I told this to him. He agreed as we made our way back into the suite.

Once inside, he wrapped his arms around me again and started kissing me. I didn't exactly fight him off, but I did mention (through muffled kisses) that I had to work in the morning and I needed to get home.

"What's an hour gonna change?" He asked.

I laughed (I always tend to laugh if I get nervous around someone).

We kissed some more and I pleaded my case some more.

"Thirty minutes?" He suggested.

Through a soft chuckle I told him that, although I am very tempted, I just simply cannot stay. I was attracted to this guy and I knew from my work schedule over the next few days that I would most likely never see him again. The two mantras battled it out in my mind as we continued an awkward dance of kissing and groping and pulling back, kissing and groping and pulling back. The whole time I slowly made our--rather my way towards the door. I finally broke free from his grip and, with quite the finality in my voice, I took the three steps to the raised landing and announced that I was heading home.

"Are you sure?" He asked, resting his arms on the railing which, from where he stood still in the main suite, was at his chin level.

I turned and looked down at him and it suddenly dawned on me that, from where we both were currently standing, me up on the landing and him looking up at me from the other side of the railing, we were perfectly stationed for what could be some incredible oral sex.

He seemed to have the same thought, as he smiled mischieviously and stuck out his tongue.

I chuckled again and fought the tightening in my jeans.

"I don't think you're so sure." He said, not moving, but looking down at my crotch.

I bent down and took his tongue into my mouth. It was warm, wet and wild and I grabbed the back of his head and kissed deeper. But, unfortunately, I was sure. I pulled back and stood up. "I have to go."

"Fifteen minutes."
"I caaaaan't." I laughed, reaching for the doorknob. I leaned back over and kissed him again. And stood up. Leaned and kissed, stood, grabbed the doorknob, released it, leaned and kissed again.

Finally, I grabbed the doorknob and turned, opening the door. It was then that I noticed the really cute sad puppydog eyes this guy had and I could feel myself being drawn back into the room. But my first mantra seemed to be winning the battle and I said my good night and me, my mantra and my stiff dick all stepped out into the hallway. I reached the elevator and pressed the down button. I heard a door open from behind me and he leaned out and tried waving me back into the room. I smiled, but the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, a mixture of sadness and relief coursing through my body. And a hard dick to boot.

Once the elevator doors closed, I realized something strange. This wasn't the same elevator I was in a mere 10 minutes before making my way up in the building. I had automatically pushed the bottom most button without looking. Now I looked. It read "Garden".

Holy crap! I'm in the wrong elevator.

The doors opened and I stepped out into an unfamiliar hallway. I walked down and, to my amazement, stepped into the ground level of the atrium I had just been looking down upon a few minutes before. I looked up the rows of balconies above me and wondered which was his. Should I call up to him? I had already had all sorts of thoughts running through my head from the second he rested his arms on the railing and looked up at me and rolled out his tongue--"Are you sure?..." Without going into any great details, let me just say that more dirty images of all sorts started surfacing in my mind again and what little time my hard-on had to try and simma-down, it suddenly sprang back to life and my jeans seemed to grow three sizes too small.

I made my trek back down the hallway and turned left when I spotted other elevators. I pushed the down button and, while waiting for the elevator to arrive, developed the sudden need for reajustment. I shoved my hand down the front of my pants and moved everything around. As I did this, I slowly turned and there, standing in the hallway with me, was a man of about 30 years, shaved head, goatee, tight fitting t-shirt. Like a deer caught in a set of headlights, there I am, standing in the middle of a hallway, in a ritzy downtown hotel, my arm shoved down the front of my pants, my hand wrapped around my cock, staring at this hot bald guy looking back at me.

Ding...

The elevator doors opened and, in one swift (albeit definately not smooth) motion, I pulled my hand out of my pants, spun around and stepped silently into the elevator, all the while thinking that, in a perfect world, this would've been a hot little porn movie scenerio. But the hot guy in the tight fitting tee changed all that when, not only did he not step into the elevator, but he continuously pressed the button in the hall to call another elevator like he had just seen a lifesize ebola virus cell step into the elevator before him.

After getting past my initial embarassing shock, I started to chuckle as the elevator descended to the lobby. And then I suddenly remembered the bellhop: "Have fun, guys..."

He knew exactly what was going on and, although the scene probably wasn't anything knew to him, I'm not someone who goes to hotels with guests on a weekly basis.... (okay, okay...so it happened once 2 weeks ago).

The doors opened and I stepped out into the lobby and headed for the revolving doors, readying myself for whatever this guy had to say. But luckily, he was busy writing out a slip for a car that had pulled up a few minutes before. I was going to sneak right on past him.

But then, in trying to get out of the building and get my ass home, I walked smack dab into a guy on his way into the hotel. Mid-thirties, tall, lean, dark hair, clean shaven, and a nice smile as he looked at me and said: "How're you doing tonight?"

"Good." I replied quickly.
"Why the rush? Heading out for a drink?"

What the fuck? Did I spray some sort of scent on me tonight before heading out? And if so, why the fuck can't I remember what it was?????

"Heading home." I answered nervously.

"Oooooooooooh." He said knowingly. I could even swear he winked at me, but what happened next was what clinched the night for me.

"Son, Can you grab my bag out of the trunk?" The voice came from an older well dressed woman stepping out from the Town Car.

"Sure thing, Mom." He turned to me and smiled again. "Duty calls. Have a good night."

I walked away from the hotel shaking my head in disbelief, wondering where, during the course of my life, had hooking up become such a fucking chore?

I needed a beer and I headed back to the Post Bar.

After all, what's an hour gonna change?