I saw him watching me. I was in and out of the lobby of the Montecito Inn some years ago when my father was the manager there. I was thirteen. The Inn was on hard times, little business and the place was somewhat shabby, not elegant like now or when it was new. There was no other bell-boy person to help guests with luggage, so I earned some tips by doing what I could. I hung around the lobby evenings when the few customers we got were expected. Reservations were not needed; we always had lots of vacant rooms. The guy in the bar adjacent to the lobby kept an eye on me. It was a broad open doorway between the lobby and the bar and he was seated facing out. I knew my pants were a little tight, my tiny ass showing for those who were interested in that sort of thing. I looked back at him, as he stared at me. Our eyes met on several passes, or maybe he was making passes at me and I, in my sweet innocence, or ignorance, just enjoyed catching his eye. He was alone, maybe forty years old, stout looking, still had most of his hair, dressed in a dark business suit. I had smiled ever so slightly in his direction on several of my hurried walks through the lobby and, although I was not certain of his intentions, I was certain he had noticed me. It was not the first time I had that flirtatious exchange of glances with a male guest, but most of the time it was just an amusing way to entertain myself, giving naughty ideas to solitary travelers. People always seem to be less inhibited when they are alone away from home. No wonder they get themselves into mischief, sometimes.
As I stepped out of the elevator from a trip upstairs, the guy from the bar was standing in the lobby not ten feet away with two medium suitcases and facing the elevator like he was just waiting for me to help him. I started to ask, but talk seemed unnecessary and I just took his bags and stepped back into the elevator. He pressed the number 4, the doors closed, up we went. I followed him down the dim hallway, waited as he turned the key, and followed him into his room.
"Lock the door," he said quietly, watching my face intently.
"I don't ..." I started to say, then turned and locked the door. As I turned around, he took off his jacket, threw it on the bed, and said, "Come over here."
"I don't ..." I started to say, then stepped over to him and again started, "I don't ..." without finishing. My heart was racing, my head unclear. I wasn't clear at all what I kept starting to say.
He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed down. Without a word, somehow I knew to get down on my knees and, as I did, I repeated,
"I don't ..." I said it, without knowing what word came next. But there was no time to figure it out; he unzipped his pants and rather suddenly, it seemed, there was his prick bouncing in my face and the instant I said again, "I don't ..." it had slipped into my mouth and I quit trying to say anything. His hands were on my head, pulling me into his crotch and his hips were thrusting it in and out of my mouth. I finally had time to think, what on Earth was I about to say. Could it have been, I don't think I should be here? I don't want to do this? I don't usually go down on the first date? Christ, I didn't even know what the hell I was about to say. And I started to say it several times. But whatever it was, I didn't finish the thought, much less the sentence, and, in any event, I was down on my knees giving the nice man my best blow job. While I contemplated whatever my mind was avoiding, the man from the bar was seriously fucking my face and soon it was all over as I swallowed his donation to my nutritional intake for the day. Which, I might add, I enjoyed. My reluctance to his sexual aggression was gone and I was soon on my way to helping other guests, with a big tip in my pocket. Hotel work was great for me.