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This is a rewrite of my recently submitted story “At the Conference” which I asked to be deleted (but Literotica never did). I submitted an earlier DRAFT copy in error. I apologies to my readers for the sloppiness of the original story and want to thank my editor DawnJ for her editing.
I really do appreciate constructive comments and this revision is a result of those. I appreciate your high ratings and that will encourage me to write future stories.
I had flown into Las Vegas the night before. I arrived at McCarren Airport after ten o’clock local time. It was a long trip, and I was exhausted. I grabbed some dinner at the Aria hotel and where we would meet the next morning. I went to bed very late (based on Boston time), and our small conference started at eight o’clock. Las Vegas time (eleven o’clock Boston time). I needed to shower and dress before the meeting, so I got up at seven o’clock. The great about flying west is that you gain time.
The purpose of my trip from Boston to Las Vegas was a meeting with a group of professionals chosen to develop new standards for a library cataloging system. I am not a professional librarian. I am a professor of computer science at one of the 200+ Boston schools of higher education. I was selected to be on the committee because of my expertise in a particular area of “fuzzy logic” searches used extensively in library science.
There were eight people on the committee including myself. There was a business analyst from the software company that had developed the software and six other professional librarians, all with doctoral degrees in library science. The librarians were from across the country, and all were close to my age or older, except for one woman, Michelle who I guessed was about thirty.
I am recently divorced. My wife had an affair with one of our local police officers. A story for another time. I am reasonably handsome for my age with a full head of hair, only slightly graying at my temples. I am average build, tall and have been working out regularly since my divorce earlier in the year. I felt pretty well for a professor of fifty-eight.
I looked over at Michelle. She was a painfully shy woman. She hardly ever spoke at our meetings. She was very bright with a Ph.D. from a Chicago university. Her research skills and preparation more than made up for her lack of verbal participation. She was quite tall and always dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a baggy sweatshirt. I would guess she was average in weight, but I really could not tell based on the clothes she wore. Her hair was always tied back in a single long ponytail. She had thick, heavy-rimmed glasses on a face that never had a hint of makeup. She was married and wore a tiny diamond engagement ring next to a thin guard band. I did not know much about her. Our interaction was limited to our professional email exchanges and a hello or goodbye at our conference meetings.
It had been another long and tedious day. After lunch, I had honestly had trouble staying awake and had had to stand up regularly to keep my attention on our discussions. Now it was 5 p.m., and we thankfully adjourned. I was ready for a drink. My fellow committee members were all lightweights when it came to drinking. Of the four women, only two would drink alcohol (never Michelle), and the three men would have just a glass or two of domestic beer.
I suggested that we meet at the Aria’s Sage Restaurant Bar at six o’clock. that allowed everyone enough time to drop off their computers, check their Emails, and call home. I went to my room and dropped off my meeting materials, made a couple of phone calls and returned several Emails. The Aria’s rooms are lovely. I wondered how the committee members got their schools to pick up the tab for a fancy place like this.
I got to the bar and waited for the others to arrive. As I expected, only four of the members showed up. Two of the women and both men. To my surprise, Michelle was also there. She had joined the group for drinks after working hours only once before and never drank alcohol. She sat alone at the bar while the rest of us discussed the day and our agenda for tomorrow.
I was halfway through my first glass of scotch, and I glanced over at Michelle. I noticed what I could only think was a martini in front of her. I watched as she quickly downed that drink and ordered another. Very surprising, I thought and returned to my boring business conversations.
An hour later, people began to leave for dinner. We had different taste in food and various limits on our expense accounts, so we all made separate dinner arrangements. I finished my second glass of scotch and was about to leave when I noticed Michelle was staring at me. I smiled and waved goodbye to her. She looked me straight in the eyes and with her right index finger made a repeated curling gesture and beckon me to come over to her. I looked behind me to make sure the gesture was meant for me. I saw no one else behind me, and I walked over to her.
She sat on the bar stool, with what I guessed poker oyna was a third martini glass half empty in front of her. She took her martini glass and raised it to me and with a shy smile said, “Hello.”
Her hello was slightly slurred, and part of her martini swirled out of the top of her glass. I now suspected that this martini was more than her third.
“Hello,” I replied and smiled.
“Buy me a drink,” she said and quickly drank down the remaining liquid in her glass.
“Are you sure you need another?” I asked. “You haven’t had dinner yet.”
Her smile broadened, and she didn’t say a word. She bit her bottom lip, apparently in thought.
I walked a little closer to her. I wanted to be polite, even though didn’t want a companion for dinner and asked casually, “What are your plans for this evening? I think I will order room service and make it an early night.”
She got off her stool and stood next to me, and wobbled slightly. What happened next surprised me. She grabbed my tie and pulled my face quickly to hers. She was about 5 foot 10 inches tall. Her lips met mine, and before I could react, she caught my bottom lip between her teeth and gave my lower lip a slight bite.
I was shocked, speechless. Michelle then leaned over to my left ear and whispered, “We are going to dinner. After that, you are going to take me dancing. I am going to have some more vodka martinis, and then I am going to take you to my room, and we are going to fuck like rabbits.” She let my tie go, and she pulled her head back from my ear and smiled.
Sure I had heard wrong, I faced her and said, “What?”
She moved back to my ear again and repeated quietly and very slowly, “Fuck Like Rabbits.” She stopped at each word.
Well, this was unexpected. I once again looked into Michelle’s face. She was smiling. I decided she had a beautiful face except for her “Coke bottle” eyeglasses, and she didn’t need makeup either, I now thought.
I took her left hand by the fingers and brought her hand up to her eye level. I Pointed to the ring, and I said, “I am not sure that is a good idea.”
She pulled her hand away and approached my right ear this time, and whispered, “I think it is a terrific, wonderful idea.” She then licked my ear with her tongue.
A shudder of electricity went down my back. I pulled away very confused and said, “Well let’s start with dinner, okay?” I figured that after some food she would begin to sober up and she would become rational.
“Okay. Dinner first,” she agreed and reached down to pick up the substantial ugly tote bag that served as her purse.
“Okay. How about the Aria Buffet?” I suggested. It was a casual restaurant, not too pricey, and I knew she could get something to eat quickly.
“I think we can do better than that,” she insisted and winked. “I need to freshen up. I meet you back here in an hour, and then we can go to dinner. How does that sound?”
“Fine,” I replied, and before I could say another word, she kissed me on the cheek and headed toward the elevators.
Good God, what is going on and what am I getting myself into? I thought.
I went back to my room, took a shower, and changed into a sports jacket. I decided to go without the tie. I checked my email inbox and sent a few replies. I checked my watch, and it was time to go, but what was I going to do? I couldn’t in good conscience take advantage of this inebriated woman. My instincts as a gentleman were still intact, but I had to admit she did have a pretty face, and I hadn’t had sex in a couple of months.
I shook my head once again and looked at my watch, sighed and headed for the door. I reached the bar a couple of minutes late. I was relieved to find that Michelle was not there. I hoped that the alcohol had done its job and she was now fast asleep on her bed. She would have a hangover tomorrow but would thank me anyway.
I stood at the bar and ordered another scotch. As the bartender poured my glass, I noticed a tall very slender brunette stood with her back to me at the other end of the bar. She had on a tight, very tiny mini-skirt that showed most of her thighs, strappy high heels, and a white silk blouse. She was tall, and her skin was untanned.
I looked at the sexy young woman. Wow, I thought, if only thirty again.
It was my rule never to date women any younger than 40. Young women often came with baggage, such as young children. Younger woman also generally had different short-term goals and long-term expectations.
I continued to stare at the hot young lady, I thought, Someone, will be a lucky guy tonight. Just then, the woman turned to face me and started to walk toward me, and smiled.
When she got within ten feet, I thought my eyes deceived me. That hot young woman was Michelle! She had makeup on, no glasses and she wore her hair down straight over her shoulders halfway down her back. She held a small evening clutch purse with sequins that covered it.
I knew my mouth was open. Michelle stopped in front of me. She smiled, canlı poker oyna crossed her ankles, with her arms at her side, turned around in a slow pirouette. This was the first time I had viewed her legs. Michelle always wore jeans. Her legs were long, and she had muscular, shaped calves. She was much thinner than I thought. Her baggy clothes disguised this fact.
“Will this work?” she said and smiled.
“Ah, yes, absolutely,” I managed to mumble as I took a long drink from my scotch.
“Hold it, soldier,” she laughed. “Pacing, pacing,” she continued.
Wow, she seemed to have sobered up quickly. Now I noticed her makeup. It was nice, not overly done. She had eyeliner, a little blush, and red lipstick.
“I feel like a nice steak,” she said.
Still confused, surprised, and unnerved, I said, “I just assumed you were a vegan.”
She laughed out loud. “Not everything is as it appears,” she offered back.
“I guess not,” I said with a smile and a shrug.
She then leaned over to my ear. I could smell perfume. I couldn’t recall that before. It was subtle. She said into my ear, “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”
We went to Jean George’s Steakhouse. It was pricey, but I could afford a good steak. My outside consulting work, for which I am paid very well, supplemented my meager professor’s salary.
Unfortunately, no regular tables were available, but we were able to get two “Wine Alcove” seats.
I ordered a glass of red zinfandel and Michelle ordered a glass of champagne. Michelle indicated she was famished and we ordered quickly off the menu. I ordered the 18-ounce Prime Bone-in Rib Eye, and Michelle ordered the 6-ounce Tajima Wagyu Filet. We also ordered some trumpet mushrooms and truffle mashed potatoes” to share as sides.
Once our order was taken, and we had started our drinks, we began a long conversation. Michelle had grown up in Carmel, Indiana, north of Indianapolis. She went to Purdue for both her undergraduate and master’s degrees. She completed her doctorate at the University of Chicago.
She married her high school sweetheart. He never went to college. His name was Mark, and he was an electrician. Married for 12 years, Michelle had discovered, just before her trip to Las Vegas, that Mark had an affair with a bartender/waitress at a local restaurant. That news was delivered by Mark’s girlfriend who announced, in a text message to Michelle, that she was pregnant with Mark’s child. Michelle had been on birth control since her marriage to Mark and volunteered that she had been a virgin on her wedding night.
With that disclosure, she laughed. “The bastard insisted that I take the pill, while he was banging the waitress bareback,” she said, as she took another sip from her glass of champagne.
She added that while the situation was a shock to her, and she was angry and upset, she just needed to plan out her next steps and go on with her life.
I shared my story of my ex-wife and our local police officer. Michelle laughed as I laid out the bizarre and humorous details of the end of my marriage.
“Well, we do share some things in common,” she mused as we finished our meal.
“How about some dessert?” I asked when she finished the last of her champagne.
She shook her head no and replied “Step two. Dancing.”
She offered to pay half the bill, and I refused. I asked the waiter, as I signed the check, where we could do some dancing.
“The Jewel Nightclub here at the hotel would be convenient,” he offered.
“How does that sound to you?” I asked Michelle as I pulled her chair away from the table so she could stand.
She replied and grabbed my neck and pulled my face to her lips. She gave me a long and lingering kiss. Then she smiled and said, “Sounds marvelous. Let’s go.”
The dance club was a bit too noisy for regular conversation. We needed to direct our discussion from month to ear. Each time I leaned over to speak, I smelled Michelle’s perfume.
We found an unreserved table near the dance floor and sat down. I ordered another scotch and Michelle ordered a vodka martini. It was now about ten o’clock. The club had only ten couples. I suspected that it would not get busy until much later. The music was loud and the crowd young. I felt old.
I asked Michelle where her glasses went. She indicated that she wore contacts. She preferred eyeglasses for work, but contact lens for “play.” She smiled shyly as she shared that last bit. She then dragged me onto the dance floor. I hadn’t danced for years and felt very awkward, but the scotch had done its work. People dance better medicated by alcohol, I thought.
Michelle was a surprisingly good dancer for a librarian. I asked, in a loud voice over the music, how she had learned to dance so well.
“I studied ballet for ten years as a child,” she answered back into my ear.
There was that perfume again. “Well, that explains those incredible legs,” I offered.
Michelle smiled and leaned into my ear, said, rather loudly I thought, “Oh, you are internet casino just trying to get lucky.” She once again licked my ear and sent electric shocks down my spine.
She saw me shake and laughed out loud. “Sensitive?” she asked.
I responded with a nod.
“Well, I will need to keep that in mind,” she mused.
We danced to a couple more songs and then I begged for a rest, “Take pity on an old man.”
She only smiled at my comment and explained that she found me very sexy. She had always had a secret “thing” for smart older men.
As we sat down at our table again, I could see that Michelle was perspiring a little. She was not wearing a bra under that light white silk blouse. Michelle was not well endowed in her chest, but her size A breasts were perky as her small nipples demonstrated themselves through the sheer material. I am attracted to slender petite women.
We continued our conversation, and thirty minutes later the disk jockey decided to slow the music down and played a romantic ballad.
I got up and offered my upturned palm to Michelle. “Well this is more of my style,” I suggested.
She smiled and took my hand, and we went back to the dance floor.
I pulled her close to me, my hand at the center of her back. I had learned to dance during my college days, so I was pretty comfortable in leading a dance with a woman.
After a couple nicely executed turns and changes in direction, Michelle said, “Well professor you are full of surprises. You are a marvelous dancer!”
“I think your vodka is helping my dancing,” I countered.
Michelle laughed and leaned into me as the dance ended. Her perfume turned my head, and after she nibbled my earlobe, she whispered, “Time for bed. My bed.”
We got back to the table. Michelle remained standing and said, “I have to get a couple of things ready. Give me thirty minutes and then join me.” She handed me a note with her room number.
She kissed me on the cheek and headed in the direction of the hotel’s elevator. I took my time and finished my scotch and paid the bill. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I said to myself.
I reached the elevators and hit the button for Michelle’s floor. Tourists talked about their winnings or complained about their losses, crowded in. After two or three stops I reached my destination.
The Aria is a large hotel. It was a long walk to Michelle’s room. As I reached her door, I knocked on it. I waited several seconds and then tapped on the door again. After an additional half a minute, I got no response. I checked the note that Michelle had given to me to make sure I was in the right place. Yes, this was the right room.
I considered that maybe this was some elaborate joke. I was about to walk away when the door opened slightly. I saw Michelle peek out of the crack in the door. “So sorry,” she said nervously. “Give me another minute and let yourself in.”
She left the door open a crack. About a minute later, I heard her say from farther in the room, “Come in.”
I opened the door. It was dark but seemed to have low lights further into the room, and I could see the city lights through the windows. I closed the door behind me and walked through the entryway that leads to the part of the room containing the bed.
The room was lit by candlelight. On the bed was Michelle. She wore a black negligee. It was stunning and made of lace. One piece moved from her “V” shaped thong over her small hips which split into two lace strips about two inches wide that stretched up her slender figure to a choker around her neck. These thin black strips barely covered half her small breasts. She wore a cuff of the same black lace around each wrist which were attached to a tiny silver chain which joined together and then attached to the black choker around her neck.
She had a glass of champagne in each hand. She sipped from one and lifted one for me to take. I had had some erotic experiences in my life — my ex-wife had a crazy wild side — but I had to admit, this hit a new threshold.
I sat on the bed and took the offered champagne. We clinked our glass and drank together. I finished my first sip.
“You look amazing. Incredible,” I offered.
Michelle smiled and took another drink from her glass. I noticed she still had on her black high heels. God, she looked sexy. I put my glass down on the nightstand closest to me. I took Michelle’s and placed it next to mine and leaned over and put a hand on the back of her neck. I pulled her face to mine and kissed her, slowly at first, and then more urgently. Our tongues explored each other slowly, carefully.
We finished our kiss, and she reached over to her champagne glass. She drank the liquid and immediately kissed me again. I was surprised that besides a tongue, I was also rewarded with a fair amount of the bubbling fluid. This exchange of fluid was so erotic that I grabbed her back with both hands and pulled her tightly against me.
Michelle replaced the glass on the night table and then placed her hands on both sides of my chest, restricted by her lace wrist cuffs held together by about two feet of the light silver chain. I kissed her neck, and as I did, she maneuvered her lips to lick and kiss my ear. She could feel me physically shudder all over.
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