Room 36 - Hot Horizon Hotel
26th January 2016
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It was Australia Day, exactly three years after I first met Lolita’s family, and once again we hit the beach for the festivities. It was a perfect day, not too hot or humid, and the subtle breezes drifting off the ocean and over the beach toward us were warm yet refreshing. However, the perfect weather had drawn crowds to Surfers Paradise in the thousands. The beach was packed—families, tourists, teenagers, elderly couples . . . it seemed like all of Australia had decided to come to the Gold Coast today.
The first time I’d ever dipped my toes in beach sand was on the 4th of January, 2013. That was the day I’d arrived on the Gold Coast to take up my position as night manager at the Hot Horizon Hotel. The beach had mesmerized me then. It still mesmerizes me now. There was something timeless about the wild purity of the ocean, the endless grains of sand and the golden sun. I loved it. If I had my way, I’d live near the beach for the rest of my life, much to my mother’s horror. She hoped I’d one day return to my hometown of Mildura. But that would never happen, not while my stinking bastard ex-fiancé and his future wife, my ex-best friend, were still living there.
Calvin, Lolita’s husband, was waist-deep in the ocean, clutching at his son’s boogie board as he prepared Maddox for the next wave. Even from this distance, the love between father and son was evident. Calvin was the perfect husband, the perfect father, and the perfect provider. And to top that off, he was handsome. No, he was more than that; Calvin had top-model looks that turned heads, and yet there was this naïve innocence about him that made him even more attractive.
Any other woman would have their hands full with a husband like that, but not Lolita. She was a goddess in her own right. Her body was known to have both men and women drooling. All of it was her own, too. Lolita’s figure did not need enhancing.
“So tell me, babe. Have you had any more secret rendezvous?” Lolly pushed her painted toes into the sand and flicked the grains away.
I tipped my head at Savannah, who was building sandcastles a meter or so away. “Not here.”
Lolly tutted. “Don’t worry about her. She won’t even notice us until she wants food again.”
Six-year-old Savannah had her copper hair in a messy ponytail pulled high on her head. She wore a hot pink sun-shirt that had ‘Girls just want to have sun’ scrawled across the front. Her sunglasses kept falling down her zinced nose, yet she persistently pushed them back up and then carried on digging in the sand. Savannah was adorable and audacious all at the same time. She was her mother’s daughter.
I wriggled down my deck chair to move my legs out of the shade of the umbrella and into the sun. “I met this guy.”
“And . . .” Lolly was just a little too eager.
“Will you let me tell it?”
She peeked at me over her Chanel sunglasses. “Sorry.”
A beach ball rolled toward me, and I waited until a young boy grabbed it and ran off again before I spoke. “His name was Henry Addison. He was a tad older than me.”
“How much older?”
I scrunched up my nose. “A bit over double my age.”
Her jaw dropped. “Whoa. And?” She leaned toward me. “I bet he showed you a few moves.”
It was my turn to peer at her over my glasses. “How’d you know that?”
“Honey, you’ve only had sex with boys. It’s about time you found some real experience.”
“Alexander was twenty-four.” I pointed out.
“He was a self-centered prick.”
She had that right. I’d only had sex with two men before I’d started dating Alexander. The first was Will, who I’d lost my virginity to. But I was so drunk at the time, I wasn’t entirely sure it’d actually happened. The other man was Ryan, the supervisor at my dad’s work, who insisted that we kept our relationship a secret. The forbidden sex we had was exciting, but it was always so quick it’d be over before we’d even removed our clothes. So, no, I couldn’t really say I’d experimented much before I’d settled down with Alexander. I glanced at Lolly. “Did you play around before you met Calvin?”
She tugged her sunnies off, pulled the band out of her hair, and tussled her long blond tresses over her shoulders. “Of course, babe. A girl’s gotta experiment. How else do we figure out what we want?”
“How many did you try?”
“Oh, I don’t know, twenty.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Fifty.”
“Fifty!” I gasped.
“What?” She waved her hand at me. “I lost my virginity at seventeen and I met Calvin at twenty-two. That’s five years of experimenting. And look, I did alright.” Her husband was walking toward us with Maddox on his shoulders. The sun glistened off Calvin’s sculpted muscles; his smile was magnificent. He had one of those grins that captured me. I’d always believed a smile told so much more than happiness. Smiles were often lined with sorrow or loneliness. I’d know—I’d used those smiles myself.
“What’re you ladies talking about?” Calvin dropped Maddox onto the towels laid out beneath the second beach umbrella near ours. Maddox dove straight into the Esky and pulled out a juice drink.
“Sex,” Lolly whispered, and I slapped her arm.
“Oh great, my favorite topic.” He grinned at me and wriggled his eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes.
Calvin tugged his towel off Lolita’s beach chair and dabbed his face and arms, then he tossed it back at her and reached into the Esky. “Want a drink?” He removed a Corona for himself and plucked the top off with an opener that was a permanent fixture to the cooler box.
“Ready for a wine?” Lolly’s raised eyebrows expressed her eagerness.
I checked my watch; it was two p.m. My shift started in seven hours. Plenty of time. “Yes please, I’d love one.”
Calvin poured Shaw & Smith Sauvignon Blanc into our classy plastic wine glasses. He handed one to each of us. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Our plastic cups clunked together with a dull thud. It wasn’t quite the same as a glass. But the wine was still cold, crisp and delicious. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed a glass of wine. Night shift had done that to me.
Maddox ran off to help Savannah build her sandcastle. The kids giggled as they played in the sand, and Calvin hummed a tune as he rubbed suntan lotion onto Lolita’s back. As I alternated my gaze between each happy member of this family, I vowed that one day I would have this—a family I adored, blissful contentment, and relaxing days on the beach where I could forget life for a while.
“Jane was just telling me that she had sex with a sixty-year-old.”
Calvin’s eyes bulged, and I gasped.
“We didn’t have sex, and he wasn’t sixty; he was fifty-nine.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Still not having sex, hey?”
I glared at Lolly.
“What?” She huffed. “Cal and I talk about everything. Especially you.”
I wanted to crawl into the sand and have the kids bury me beneath a giant castle.
Calvin sat at the end of Lolly’s deck chair to rub lotion onto her legs. “I think it’s good that you’re experimenting.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Great. Just great. Everyone has an opinion.”
“That’s all we have, babe. Opinions. You’re the one who has choices, and what you’re doing with these men is your choice. The fact that you choose not to have sex with them, just a little pleasure . . .” Again, she said pleasure like she had a plum in her mouth, and I resisted tearing her tongue out, “. . . shows that you’re in control. Though I think that’ll change.”
I frowned at her. “Why?”
“You’ve already changed a little. You’re more confident, relaxed. This’s good for you. And it’s only going to get better.”
I frowned deeper at her comment. I hadn’t realized I’d changed. Maybe I’d needed sex more than I was willing to admit.
“Hell, Jane, what are you worried about?” Calvin tilted his chiseled chin at me.
What was I worried about? It was a good question. Dozens of things were worrying me. But there was one thing that played on my mind over and over. “What if I eventually fall in love, and the man of my dreams finds out what I did?”
“First of all”—Lolly held up her finger—“you will fall in love one day, and you’re going to be the happiest woman on this beach. Besides me, of course.” She ran her hand over her husband’s bicep.
Calvin leaned over and they kissed, just a quick, comfortable, loving kiss. “Of course,” he said.
“Second, you’re already twenty-eight.” Lolly sipped her wine.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Chances are you’ll fall for man who is older than you. So unless he’s a complete tosser, he may have played the field a bit himself.”
Calvin pointed his beer at me. “You’ll both have to accept that what’s in the past is just that. The past.” I’d never seen Calvin this serious. “It’s the future you need to work on.”
“Well said, honey.” Lolita blew him a kiss.
“I’m hungry.” Savannah was at Lolly’s side in an instant, dusting sand off her hands.
“Savannah! Go over there to brush the sand away.”
As Lolly flicked the grains from her flat stomach, I thought about what they’d said. Maybe there was some benefit to experimenting.
I’d slept with three men in my life. It’d nearly been four, but I couldn’t include Joel Parkinson in my score. We’d dated for five weeks, which was a huge accomplishment for me at that time. I was a late bloomer, and at seventeen I hadn’t had much more than a quick pash or two and one great fondle.
Joel was rugged and cheeky, and I’d thought he was the hottest boy in town. Especially as he was the lead guitarist in a band. Joel and I had been at a party, rolling in the hay, literally, and pashing so much I’d thought my lips would be forever bruised. I was ready to lose my virginity. The two glasses of bourbon and Coke I’d gulped down would’ve helped, too.
So Joel and I sneaked down to his car, and after hours of heavy kissing, which was probably all of about six minutes, Joel lost his load over the back seat of his beat-up Toyota Camry. I didn’t even realize he’d had his jeans down. After that night, I saw very little of Joel, which was a shame really, because I’d liked him. Embarrassment, or something, kept him away. So no . . . I can’t count Joel as one of my sex partners, which means I’ve had sex with only three men in my life. Will, Ryan and Alexander.
Lolly offered me a packet of crisps—cheese and onion, my favorite—and I accepted. She, on the other hand, munched on a Granny Smith apple. The kids were now set up under their own umbrella with a feast of sandwiches, carrot sticks and juice drinks. Once they’d eaten those, they could chow down on their treats of crisps and jelly snakes.
“Anyway, back to our discussion,” Calvin said, after he had the kids settled. “I reckon if you’re having fun, and I can guarantee the men are loving it, then there’s nothing wrong.”
“I agree. Do it for one year, and come Australia Day next year you’ll be a whole new woman. A wiser, more experienced woman.”
“A year!” I gasped.
“Sure, why not? Make it your plan. Every week for twelve months you try something—ahem, someone different. You never know what you’ll experience. Or who you’ll meet.”
She was right about that; the four men I’d met so far this year were all very different. Yet each one had shown me something about them that I’d liked. “Twelve months.”
“Yes, babe, twelve months. You won’t even be thirty.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “I’ll nearly be thirty.”
“Exactly. Now’s your chance. Grab the opportunity by the horns and ride that baby like there’s no tomorrow.”
“Literally.” Calvin laughed. As we raised our glasses and thumped the plastic together, I began laughing with them.
“But don’t forget, babe. . . I want details.”
“Me too.” Calvin’s grin was magazine worthy.
The rest of the afternoon slipped by in a beautiful haze. We swam in the warm ocean, and allowed the waves to crash into us and over us. We basked in the sun and let the cool wind lick the saltwater off our bodies. And we finished off our bottle of Shaw and Smith white wine. The last thing I wanted to do after a day like that was go to work.
But of course, I did.
***
The Hot Horizon Hotel was at full occupancy again tonight. It seemed everyone was here to enjoy the Australia Day festivities. Most were families finishing off the school holidays with a couple of days at the beach. I managed to sneak outside when the second set of fireworks started at ten p.m. and watched the sky explode in a rainbow of colors. Each firecracker released with a bang that reverberated through my chest and milliseconds later brought a new color to the black sky. It was the perfect end to a magic day on the Gold Coast.
A very tall man, standing slightly in front and to the side of me, caught my eye. He leaned against one of the marble pillars with a glass of red wine in his hand. I should’ve done my job and informed him that alcohol couldn’t be consumed in this area. But no—I didn’t want to spoil it for him.
He may have felt me staring because he turned, looked right at me, and inclined his head. He had dark hair and a full mustache that reminded me of Tom Selleck in the Magnum, P.I. shows my father watched over and over. Not too many men could carry off a mustache like that, but on Selleck and this guy it looked just right. The music echoing up from the beach hit a crescendo, and the fireworks geared up for the big finale.
I smiled at him, and he turned back to the colorful spectacle.
The fireworks finished with the night sky full of red, white and blue flares, and the families around me clapped and cheered. Within minutes, everyone who’d gathered in the front courtyard with me had disappeared back inside. I returned to my station behind the lobby counter and, as if possessed, my fingers began checking the hotel register in search of my tall stranger. I flipped through the registration documents, scanning the photo I.D’s until I found him. Mr. David Lawson, thirty-eight years old. Checked in all by himself. I’d found my next conquest.
No, no. Conquest wasn’t right. I’d found my next adventure. Better.
It was a busy night with people coming and going in all states of drunken happiness, although some were not so happy. One bunch of ladies were doing their best to escort a young woman who looked like she’d been crying for a week through the lobby. Despite the amount of hurt I’d suffered at the hands of my cheating bastard ex-fiancé, I was proud to say I’d never made a spectacle of myself like that.
***
When the sun’s morning rays crept onto the marble lobby floor, it surprised me. Normally I was checking the clock almost every twenty minutes or so. Not this shift, though, thank god. I grabbed my green tea and sat outside to watch the sun breathe life into a new day. A tractor was on the beach, raking the sand for any rubbish left behind after yesterday’s festivities, and I suddenly wondered if anyone had found my engagement ring that I’d pegged from my balcony last week. I hoped so. At least it would’ve put a smile on someone’s face.
Back behind the counter, I watched the clock tick past 6.30a.m. and continued to study the plain black minute-hand as I waited for my bastard boss to turn up. His constant tardiness was downright rude. It was more than that, though. He was the hotel manager—a person I should look up to. It was damn hard to respect someone who didn’t respect me. Why did I tolerate it? My alter-ego, Memphis, wouldn’t put up with that shit.
It was nearly seven when Needledick finally strolled through the door. My boiling blood heated my cheeks, and my jaw ached from clenching. I was close, way too close to taking him down with one of my karate moves.
“Quiet night?” Needledick asked, as he put his lunch on the counter.
His question couldn’t have been further from reality. I stepped up to him and smelt stale cigarette as I poked my finger at his chest. “I will not put up with you being late any longer.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“You start at six-thirty a.m., not six-thirty-five, not six-forty-five, and not”—I pointed at the clock—“seven o’clock. From now on, I walk off my shift no later than six-forty, whether you’re here or not.”
With that, I turned on my heel and felt his dagger eyes in my back as I strode to the elevator. My heart pounded like a freight train as I waited the eternity for the brushed-silver doors to open.
Once in the lift, I just about crumbled at the magnitude of what I’d done. Plain Jane did not do confrontations. But I just had. For the first time in my life, I’d stood up to someone. Damn, that felt good. By the time I reached my room, I was floating on an air of achievement. I was on top of the world. I was ready for anything.
I was ready for Mr. David Lawson.
I showered and quickly transformed myself into sexy, confident Memphis. This time I chose to wear my silver six-inch heels with rhinestones around the ankle strap. They weren’t exactly new, but I hadn’t worn them yet. It occurred to me that seven in the morning may not be the ideal time for shoes like these, but I decided to wear them anyway.
I felt good in these heels, sexy and in control as I made my way up to David’s room on the sixth floor. At his door, I was torn between knocking on it and barging through it. Both methods had worked so far. I chose to knock.
My breath caught in my throat as I waited for him to open the door.
When he did, I blinked up at him. He was much taller that I’d thought. At least six-foot six, I decided. “Can you help me please?”
“Oh, of course.” He glanced up and down the hall, frowning.
“May I come in?”
He ran his fingers over his mustache and under his chin. “Okay.”
I squeezed past him and as I walked to his table I heard the door click closed. I quickly stripped out of my trench coat and tossed it onto the table beside a large brown brief case.
“What can I—” He stopped mid-sentence, and his jaw dropped at the sight of my French maid costume. Happy with that reaction, I carried on with my ruse.
“I hate being alone when I’m horny, and I was wondering if you’d stay with me while I pleasured myself.”
He blinked. Blinked again. Silence filled the room.
David was dressed for work. Dark slacks, light blue button-up shirt, top button undone, and a red tie loosely slung around his neck. But David had become the Statue of David, frozen to the floor.
It was time to take charge. “Here,” I said. “How about you sit on the bed.”
I put my hands on his hips and smelt musky deodorant and minty toothpaste as I guided him backward. I’d become the master, and David was my puppet. My little escapades required taking charge from time to time, and I was surprised at how easy it had become.
He sat on the bed, tucked his hands between his knees as if trapping them, and lowered his eyes away from me.
I raised my foot onto the bed, drawing his attention, and wriggled off my strappy silver high heel. I lifted my skirt, hooked my thumbs under the elastic lace at the top of my stocking, ready to glide the fishnet off, and that was when he began to squirm.
David swallowed. He actually looked petrified. It sure was a passion killer. I needed to forge some life back into him.
With my hand around his tie, I tugged him a fraction closer. “Would you mind taking my stocking off please?” I raised my skirt higher, showing off the decorative lace at the top that held it in place.
“Me.” He palmed his chest.
I wanted to point out that nobody else was in the room. “Yes, please.”
His eyes fell to my thigh, and I hooked a thumb into the lace, showing him what to do. “Your turn.”
His fingers trembled as he peeled down my stockings. The poor man was terrified. It was suddenly very important to me that by the time I finished with David, he knew he was worthy.
“Do you want to take my dress off?”
His eyes darted about the room. Maybe he thought he was on camera or something.
“Don’t worry we’re not having sex.” I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Just a little fun.”
He still didn’t move, so I undressed myself and tossed my French maid costume on top of my discarded stockings.
His azure blue eyes were on me now, scanning up and down my body as if in disbelief.
“You don’t have to do anything. Just watch. Okay?”
He nodded and smoothed down his mustache again. Improvement. That was good.
I flicked my bra off, and his eyes just about jumped out of their sockets. Definite improvement. His tongue lashed out over his lips, providing moisture to the dryness.
“Would you like to touch?” I circled one nipple with my fingertip.
In complete silence, he raised his left hand and, almost trance-like, he collected my breast into his palm. He wobbled it, as if judging the weight. His breathing had become rapid and his pink tongue flicked across his lips.
“You can taste if you like.” I couldn’t believe I’d said it aloud, but the urge to please this man, a man who seemed so broken, overwhelmed me.
His breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate this time. His height meant that, even sitting, he had to bend down to sample me. He ran his hot, slick tongue over my nipple, licking it like an ice-cream. He rolled his tongue around my sensitive bud, around and around, then he flicked back and forward over the tip. When he wrapped his lips over my nipple and sucked it into his mouth his bushy mustache provided a lovely soft cushion. It was a complete contrast to the rough stubble of my previous lovers.
With his eyes closed David licked, nipped and sucked my breast and when a little groan tumbled from his throat the now familiar sensation of lust blossomed inside me.
Yet I needed more.
I grabbed David by the shoulders, shoved him backwards, and he flopped onto the bed like a lifeless doll. His feet remained on the floor as I crawled onto the bed, and with my knees on either side of his waist, I straddled him. It must’ve been something I’d seen in a movie, because I’d never done this before, but the second I fell forward onto my hands, I realized the benefits of it. My breasts were in the perfect position for David to enjoy as much as he wanted.
His cock was growing, filling his pants with rock-hard muscle. I used the pole to rub my pussy up and down. The friction of my lace underwear and the benefit of his cast-iron rod, set off a pulse between my legs that resonated through me.
While his mouth savored my breast, his other hand worked its magic on my other mound of flesh. The orgasm growing inside me had me grinding my hips back and forward, rubbing his constrained cock up and down my vagina with a primal need that overtook my mind.
It was agonizing pleasure, but still it wasn’t enough. I stood up, my feet on either side of David’s waist, right above him. His eyes honed in on my knickers. I have no concept of where the idea came from, but I remained standing above him as I tugged my underpants aside and drove my finger into my moist crevice. As he clutched at my ankles as if holding on for dear life, I masturbated over Mr. Lawson until my fluids sprinkled onto his business shirt in dark splatters.
Some of my juice must have landed on his arm because he raised his wrist to his face, sniffed first, and with his eyes closed, he ran his tongue over his own skin. Seeing him do that drove another wave of ecstasy through me. I reached down, grabbed his hand and showed him what to do.
As I yanked my lacy underwear aside, David plunged his index finger into me. My legs threatened to buckle as the tide of pleasure drove through my body. I rubbed my clit, applying both pleasure and pain to my already sensitive bud. He added an extra finger, stretching me as he drove them in and out with glorious precision. In and out. Slow, then fast. He changed it up, keeping the sensations alive and unpredictable.
The point of release was here.
Fireworks coursed through my veins, across my eyes, over my clitoris, shattering my body into glorious slivers of ecstasy. I imploded. Exploded. Crumbled to a million pieces.
David must’ve sensed I was about to fall as he clutched my hips and I dropped to my knees, then flopped onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and I was on the verge of tears at the familiarity of it. I could’ve stayed there for hours. Maybe I did.
After an eternity, I crawled off the bed. “Thank you so much.” I collected my clothes from the floor and shoved them into my bag. “You were really amazing.”
A smile lit up his face. It was that smile. The one of pure elation.
“My name is Memphis, by the way.” I tugged my trench coat over my nakedness.
“I’m David.”
“I know.” He remained sprawled on the bed with remnants of my juices staining his clothes and the drunken look of sexual gratification on his face.
I returned to my room riding the now familiar high.
Each one of these erotic experiments taught me something. I’d always put men up on a sexual pedestal, but based on my recent experience, men had as many insecurities about themselves as I did. As much as they were teaching me something about myself, I was hopefully showing them something about themselves, too.
It was satisfying for both of us.
This was a new concept for me. The three men in my life, who I’d actually had sex with, had been focused solely on themselves. I’d just been the avenue to help them climax. After their sexual release, I’d been discarded without a second thought. Not anymore, though. I was in charge now.
Sex was so much more. Sex was to be enjoyed. Explored. Experienced.
And boy, was I doing that.
I grabbed the diary Lolly had bought me for Christmas turned to the 27th of January, 2016, and at the top of the page I wrote Mr. David Lawson, room 36 - My Mysterious Manager.
I scribbled down the details of what we did, but this time I also wrote what I’d learnt about myself, and how I thought I’d helped a complete stranger. I signed off as Memphis.
After placing the diary back onto my bedside table, I strolled to the bathroom, and on impulse, I turned on the bath taps. I filled the tub to the brim, stripped off, and as I glided in, I allowed the warm, soapy water to sooth my weary body. I closed my eyes and revisited the conversation I’d had with Lolly and Calvin yesterday afternoon. Twelve months seemed like a long time. But then again, January was already nearly over.
Could I really do this Memphis naughty twin thing for one year?
Twelve months? Fifty-two interludes?
If it made me feel as good as I did right now, then hell yes, I could.
Later, as I crawled into bed, I tried to imagine what my next forty-seven men may look like and what wonderful sexual adventures we would explore.
It was a wonderful way to drift off to sleep.
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Other Books in The Rise of Memphis Series:
The Rise Of Memphis - January Chronicles
The Rise Of Memphis - February Chronicles
The Rise Of Memphis - March Chronicles
The Rise Of Memphis - April Chronicles
More books are on the way too!
Check out http://www.kittykendall.com/ for all the yummy details.
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About the Author
Kitty collects junky jewelry, classy shoes and expensive perfume and her favorite night out is dinner with family and friends and a couple of great bottles of wine.
Kitty writes contemporary romance for intelligent people who want to read fun, sexy, clever, stories about strong women, exotic locations and consensual, casual sex with intriguing men.
The Rise of Memphis series follows one woman’s journey into sexual discovery and the hunky men willing to fulfil her desires. Each book contains a solid story, descriptive enticing situations and a dash of humor. These books are perfect for a quickie on your lunch break or for easy holiday reading.
Read more at www.kittykendall.com.
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Turn the page for a sneak peak of the February Chronicles...