Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [11]
My shoes sank down into the plush red carpet as I exited the elevator. Arrows pointed both right and left with various ranges of room numbers. Suite 531 was the last room on the right; next to an exit door. As I walked down the hallway, I wondered exactly what Donna had in mind for me. I knocked three times on the door and waited. I had never been nervous about entering a hotel room, but there was something different that day. It seemed that I would be expected to do more than stick my dick in a piece of pussy.
“The door is open. Come in and lock it behind you,” I heard Donna say through the thick door.
I turned the knob and walked in. The light in the hallway reflected against a mirrored closet. I stopped and glanced at myself in the mirror. My stomach felt a little pudgy from the meal, but it was not reflected in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair before proceeding. The living room had a desk and two sofas. There was an additional table with four chairs; for meetings, I assumed. I heard two women’s voices coming from behind a closed door located on the left side of the room.
Donna’s voice, the softer of the two, came from behind the doors. “We’re in here.”
I pulled the door open and stepped into the bedroom. Donna was seated on the bed in a short nightgown that didn’t cover much. Her back was against the headboard and in her hand was a full glass of what I presumed to be liquor. Her long legs extended off the bed into the lap of the same white woman that I had seen the first time Donna and I had fucked at her job. The white woman’s glass was half-empty. I looked over at the bottle chilling in the bucket. It was a bottle of Dom Perignon and next to it was a glass filled with ice.
Donna extended her hand toward the white woman. “Donald, this is Kathleen.”
“Donald, Donna has told me so much about you,” Kathleen said, pushing out her right hand to mine.
“Is that so?” I said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Anything worth proving?”
“Not necessarily worth proving, but definitely worth experiencing,” she said, putting down her glass and taking the one next to the bucket and filling it up.
“Come, Donald, sit on the bed.” Donna gestured to the space vacated by Kathleen. I sat down on the firm, king-sized bed as Kathleen handed me a drink.
“You like Dom Perignon?” she asked as she went over to the dresser and leaned on it.
“Anything but Cristal. It seems once a rapper puts a drink in a song the drink becomes diluted,” I replied.
“Donna wasn’t sure that you’d come, but I think she teased you enough. They say if you tease a man, he will go to the ends of the earth to find out what’s behind it. In this case, all you had to do was take the elevator to the fifth floor.” Kathleen twirled her drink with her finger, then sucked the liquid from it.
“Are we fucking, planning an assassination, or are we going to sit here and bullshit?” I asked, looking over at Kathleen’s creamy thighs and her pencil-thin lips that I could imagine impaled on Donna’s labia.
“What’s the rush, Donald? You’re not invited to the party at home,” Donna said, running her fingers over her nipples. “We’re here for a lot more than fucking. Pussies and dicks are a dime a dozen; as you know. This here is a lifetime opportunity. I picked you because I know your history and, as the junk emails would say, you need a change.”
Donna took her toes and ran them down the back of my head.
“I’m listening,” I said as Kathleen, with those long, beautiful legs and blonde pussy hairs, approached the bed. I had heard that a lot of white woman dyed their pubic hair.
“It’s not dyed,” she said, as if reading my mind.
“I’m not selling shampoo, so I really don’t care,” I replied as I pulled her toward me.
Donna reached over my shoulders and started to loosen my shirt.
“What would you do for freedom?” Donna said, as