Friday, 12 January 2007

Robbing the cradle part II :: Hotel encounter

***Back to part I***

I don't know why I arranged to meet him. Maybe because he contacted me a month later, again on IRC, saying "Im in easy internet cafe Bond Street Are you free?"

Maybe because the photos he sent were so average snapshot looking, yet he was... well, a hot 17 year old. Apparently he was on the "varsity" football team, and although I have never been into sporty types, I could tell even from the pictures of him wearing T-shirts that he was quite the hottie.

Maybe because I had a day off.

Maybe because I was dying to see that cock I had fantasized about since the last time we chatted.

"I'll meet you at Trafalgar Square in an hour," I said. "Stand at the base of Nelson's column; look American."

I figured that if we met there, I'd be able to get away if he turned out to be a 45 year old pig or the like.

I quickly showered, and put on my one night stand pulling pants; a pair of black silk French knickers. I considered not going all the way with suspenders and seamed stockings, but then I thought, hey, this kid's come all the way from America; I better give him a good one... I put on a lacy bra to match, and wrapped up in my long camel winter coat and a pashmina to keep my neck warm. I grabbed a holdall and filled with the necessary props, so excited I almost forgot to lock the flat on the way outside.

On the tube, I felt the silky lining of my coat against my skin; I could feel myself moisten just thinking about the things I could do to him and the thought of his tongue on my hot crotch...

The ten stops to Charing Cross seemed to take forever. I couldn't wait. I put my large holdall on my lap, and managed to sneak my hand inside my coat behind it. Closing my eyes, I let the rocking of the tube tease my fingers against my slippery clit, it was hard like a smooth hazelnut already and I had to bite my lip not to moan.

And then, as I exited to Trafalgar square, unbelievably, he stood there. Trying not to look nervous, wearing a long-sleeved blue tee underneath a short-sleeved white one, oversized baggy jeans and holding a Jan-Sport bag in his right hand, a camera around his neck, looking every inch the tourist.

I walked up to him. "Matt?" I said. He jumped about five foot in the air. "JGF?" "That's me," I replied. "Want to show me your hotel room?" He nodded, listlessly.

I hailed a cab and we both got in the back. "So, how are you enjoying London so far?" I asked. He said he liked it, trying to sound as blase as a 17-year old could, made harder obviously by the fact that he felt compelled to throw in comments about his annoying parents who wanted to do cultural stuff.

I asked if he'd been introduced to English girls yet, and he looked me straight in the eyes for the first time. "I'm so goddamn horny, JGF, I've been thinking about you since I got here. I want to lick your pussy so bad. I've been jerking off twice a day thinking of you. And you're even hotter than you looked in the pictures." His rather posh yet unmistakably East Coast American accent ran like melted honey down my back. And I remembered how, when you're 17 and away from home, you can say anything. Do anything.

As we pulled up outside his hotel, which lived up to his accent more than I'd hoped, we were chatting like old friends, although I was unable to retain any of what he said. He was just telling me that his parents had taken him to see Chicago the night before, and that he found the display of suspenders ridiculous. "Noone actually wears those, do they," he said as he paid for the cab and walked towards the door was held open for us.

Well, almost noone.

To be continued

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