Erotica: Oil

I was in Austin for a conference. One night my colleague and I were looking for something to alleviate the boredom of the endless round of meetings and workshops, so we went exploring.


I saw him across the room, in the nightclub. He looked lost. I have lost soul radar, and it was going nuts. I walked over to him and said in his ear, "you look lonely... want to join us?" He was drunk, of course. He told me later that he'd been drinking steadily for a couple of hours, maybe more. He'd been with some friends, all of whom paired up, leaving him alone. I didn't know that. All I saw was a man in a shirt and tie, bespectacled... I have a weakness for men in glasses. Especially cute men in glasses, and he was cute.

I brought him to our table. He sat down, and I introduced him to my friend. "This is Ken... I invited him to come have a drink with us." He asked what we were drinking, and promptly bought a round.

He was sweet, and gallant, even when he was drunk. A real estate broker by profession, he was a Southern gentleman by upbringing. He opened doors for us, and took my elbow as we walked back to the hotel proper. I suspected that was less chivalry and more lust, a suspicion confirmed when he leaned in as he opened the door, and I felt his breath on my neck.

This was the point, of course, when alarm bells should have been going off... but there were none. I have a pretty decent grasp of character, and I've learned to go with my gut feelings. I didn't have any bad feelings about him.

He walked us back to our suite, and after conferring with Sarah privately (thank god for sign language) we invited him to come in. We had a little seating area, and the three of us started out chatting. Sarah quickly tired, and took her leave to climb in bed. Ken and I stayed up for a couple more hours, talking about everything, touching each other casually, and finally kissing, until I was sure he was sober enough to drive home.

He promised to come to the hotel bar the next night, as he reluctantly left.

I spent the day waiting. Anticipation is powerful, someone once told me. I felt that power that day, in the midst of my meetings and presentations.

That evening, Jane and Chris came to the bar with me. Deaf women, both, they were a lot of fun, and I didn't worry overmuch about how they'd feel about my flirtation with Ken. Besides, I didn't even know if he'd show up... so why worry about it?

He showed up.

What followed was a fascinating evening. The two women were pacifists to the core, and then there was Ken. He was... not a pacifist. Let me put it this way: at one point, he mentioned something about bombing Iraq and killing every man, woman, and child. I spent most of the evening interpreting between the three; by the time Jane and Chris said their goodbyes and went to bed, I knew what I wanted.

So, when he "whispered" to me that he wanted to take me back to his house... I was ready.

Of course it was stupid. Of course I shouldn't have gone. I kept waiting for those alarm bells... they remained silent all through the drive to his house. He touched my leg in the car, maintained contact nearly constantly. The tension between us was palpable, anticipation made flesh.

Once we arrived at his house, he seemed a little less sure of himself. He gave me a beer, and showed me around a bit. Me? I was nervous as hell.

We sat on his couch, close together. He reached out to stroke my hair. I turned to him, and he kissed me with surprising force. I melted. Tangled together, we made out on the couch like teenagers, until he sat up and said, "Can we go upstairs?"

My nerves returned, but I nodded. He took my hand and led me upstairs. He stopped in the kitchen for a second and grabbed a bottle... I didn't see what it was, but I assumed it was alcohol. God knows I needed the drink... I was a bundle of nerves.

His bedroom. His bed. It was high, so high... more than waist-high on me, at least. He kissed me, again with the force and authority that made my knees weak. I reached down to touch him, to feel how hard he was, and sunk to my knees, pulling his pants down as I went. He let me explore with my tongue for just a little while, his cock buried in my mouth. He pulled me up and kissed me again, as he eased me up onto the bed. Before I knew it, his lips were wrapped around my nipples, and my clothes had disappeared, as had his.

There was a surreal quality to every moment... the play of light and shadows, the slight intoxication, the nerves and adrenaline and arousal all combined to create a dreamlike scene. His tongue and fingers brought me to climax and then he left me lying in the bed, my breath coming hard and fast. He was gone for what seemed like several minutes; in reality it was probably less than one. He came back and showed me the condoms he was carrying. I smiled and started to turn towards him, but he gently pushed me back and closed my eyes with a kiss. I felt, rather than saw, him reach for something... and then I felt it.

Oil. Not just a little bit of oil, poured into the hand for a massage. No. Oil, silken and sliding over my stomach, running in rivulets towards my cunt, pouring over my breasts and pooling at the base of my throat. Oil, and his hands... his fingers brushing over my clit and moving down my legs. Spreading oil down my thighs, my shins, rubbing it between my toes. Tracing a path back up my body, pouring more on my breasts just to push it out onto my arms, through my fingers. Not rubbing it into my skin, but making certain every inch of me was slick, slippery as the fingers he'd buried in me minutes before.

I lay there, every nerve in my body at attention. He made one last pass over my body, throat to toes, and then sat up on his knees. Sitting astride, he poured oil over his chest, and I watched as it slid down his body, his hands pushing it down and around his hips, his thighs, his cock. And then he slid, really slid, down onto my body.

No words. Sensations and dreams. Appetites. Passions. Body against body, slipping and sliding together. It was that night that I really understood the meaning of the word "sensual."

We slid together until the wee hours of the morning. I fell asleep for a little while, the hot scent of sex and oil in my nostrils. I woke to him watching me in the near-dark of pre-dawn, and told him, "I have to go."


As I walked into the lobby of my ritzy hotel at 4am, my hair greasy, a sheen of oil still on my skin, I felt dirty... dirty, naughty, excited, hot. I lathered up in the shower before sliding into my own bed. I smelled how hot I still was, smiled, and rolled over to snatch a few hours of sleep before I had to get up and give a talk on self-care. Little would my colleagues know how much self-care I'd been indulging in the night before...