Title: Friendly Traveler's Inn: Room 303
Part: 2 of 4

Chapter 2

	Margot let herself and Vernon into her room.  The interlude in the
Jacuzzi had been, overall, quite pleasant; Vern had set her off twice before
he let go, and anal sex with John had turned out to be quite satisfying, too,
after a somewhat rocky start.  Natural lubrication had been sorely lacking,
and the foaming waters had been a hindrance, rather than a help.  After Margot
had emitted a couple of loud screams, John dropped to her pussy to lube
himself up, but stress had left her somewhat dry there, too, until Vern lent a
hand, playing with her clit and chewing on her neck.  John had grown some
sense and added a little spit, and the second attempt went a whole lot better.
Once lubed, Margot found that she liked the feel of John poking her insides;
the occasional twinge seemed to make it better.  Who'd have thought she'd be
so sensitive there?  Vern had kept up the attack on her clitoris, bringing her
a quite satisfying cum that dragged John along for the ride.

	They'd all relaxed a bit in the aftermath, and Margot had decided that
the group thing had run its course, for tonight.  Choosing between the men
wasn't difficult; Vern was just better at everything, including plain ol'
common courtesy, so they said goodbye to John and came back upstairs, where
Margot planned a room service dinner, a cuddle, and a nice long, slow bout
that she could fall asleep after with a man draped across her - if she didn't
have to share him with Pamela.  She didn't look forward to that scenario;
Vern's race might be an issue with Pamela, or even just the fact that he was
male, and despite brave talk, she wasn't ready.  And Vern seemed really happy
with her; she didn't know how he'd deal with having to split his attention,
and she didn't know how SHE would react if Vern decided that Pamela was a
closer fit to his preferences....

	Well, might as well take the bull by the horns.  Margot wondered what
tale Pamela would have ready to cover the disappearance of the undoubtedly
imaginary Alan; she hoped it would be good for a laugh, at least.  "Make
yourself at home, Vern," she announced, "I'm gonna pop over and look in on my
girlfriend, okay?"  Vern nodded distractedly, and headed for the bathroom.
Margot marched to the connecting door, knocked once, and threw it open,
announcing herself with, "Well, Sweetie, how did you..."

	...Then her eyes started processing their inputs.  Little Pamela was
sitting on the lap of some guy seated in the recliner, wearing a white terry
robe that was twin to hers that gaped open from neck to hem.  From where she
stood, Margot could see that he was very visibly fondling Pamela's right
breast with his left hand.  The couple broke a kiss at the interruption, but
when Pamela started struggling to get covered and organized, the man pinned
her arms to her sides, and said, "No," in a quiet voice, then proceeded to
nuzzle aside the robe with his nose, and lock his lips on Pamela's again-
exposed nipple.  Pamela froze, and then slowly settled back into his lap, her
eyes pleading at Margot not to embarrass her.

	Margot merely smiled gently.  Pamela was SO hung-up!  Why, when she'd
frigged herself watching the sauna show during their visit last month, she
thought the poor fool was going to move out or something, afterward!  "So,
Alan DOES exist, huh?"

	"Uhn huh," Pamela's voice was thick.  Margot couldn't ever remember
seeing her that red, either.  Somehow, she didn't think it was embarrassment.

	"Can I use my hands again?" Alan asked Pamela, quietly.  She nodded,
and he recaptured her nipple with his fingers while turning to Margot.  "Hi.
I think we met at the elevators."

	"Oh, yeah."  The face WAS familiar, actually.  "How's it going?"

	"We're taking our time, but we'll get there, I think.  Don't you,
Dear?" Alan asked, turning his attention to Pamela.

	Pamela went beet red, and tucked her head.  Margot could lip read
readily, but only Alan could hear her quiet, "Yes."

	Margot was in no mood to let her off the hook.  Apparently, Pamela had
hooked a live one - and someone who would put up with the symptoms of her
peculiar case of arrested development, too.  In Margot's opinion, the man
needed all the help he could get, so.... "What was that, Sweetie?"

	Pamela had been rooming with Margot for over a decade; she knew that
tone - and she knew what she had to do about it!  "Yes, Margot.  I said 'Yes'.
We're gonna fuck - soon!  Okay?"  She buried her head in Alan's shoulder.

	But Alan's big right hand pulled her shoulder back, exposing her face,
and he raised her chin with his left hand so he could lock eyes with her.
"Correction:  We're going to make love, soon!" he chided.

	Talk went out the window; Pamela's throat locked - so she nodded her
head, and Alan released her chin and let her hide again.  Margot judged that
she was hurting things more than helping, so....  "I was going to invite you
to dinner, but I see it's handled.  Y'all have a good time; if you need
anything, Vern and I are next door."  She engaged Alan's eyes, directly.  "If
she gets stupid, holler and Vern and I will hold her down for ya.  She'll
thank us, later."  With that, she closed the connecting door.  Turning to
Vern, who was settling himself against the headboard of the bed, she
announced, "Seems like things are under control in there, after all."
Climbing onto the bed next to him, she added, "Want to hand me that book?  I
think the menu is in there.  I need to eat so I'll have energy to play with
your joystick again...."


	Pamela watched the door close, remarking without heat, "Some friend -
offers to hold me down so I can be raped..."

	Alan chuckled, "We're working on something altogether different, I
hope."

	Pamela nodded, then queried diffidently, "Alan?  Maybe you can do the
robe now?  I want to..."  The way her hand twitched spoke volumes.  Suddenly,
she wanted to be up close and personal with that iron bar she'd been sitting
on for twenty minutes.

	Alan nodded, "Okay, sounds like it's time."  He handed her up, then
rose, and turned for the bath.  When he got to the door, he turned and
directed, "When I come out, I'll be nude beneath.  You be, too."

	Pamela had her thumbs in the waistband of her panties before he was
through the door; the crotch was soaked, anyway.  After a moment, she dropped
the robe, too, and then turned off the TV and the lamp.  This left things a
bit too dark, so she pulled back the light masking layer of the curtains,
allowing the parking lot lights to pour dimly through the sheers.  Yes, that
was better; she moved to turn down the bed.

	Alan undid the cuffs of his dress shirt, eyeing himself in the mirror;
aside from a certain maniacal gleam in his eye, he looked no different than
usual.  Apparently, Pamela had no brief against his moustache - he'd dealt
with women who did, and usually they weren't worth it.  He'd forgotten hangers
- to Hell with it.  The dress shirt got draped over the side of the bathtub,
followed by the undershirt...  He stepped out of his trousers, added them to
the pile, and sat down to pull off his socks, absently ruffling his thin patch
of chest hair.  Funny how as you get older, hair grows everywhere but on your
head, where it belongs...  Standing again, he shucked his briefs, kicking them
up and catching them.  Glancing down at his half-hard cock, he muttered, "Once
more into the breach, Dear Friend...."  He collected the robe, shrugged into
it, took a quick look in the mirror at the graying visage displayed there,
growled in disgust, and stepped out.

	Pamela was framed in the light from the bathroom behind him, standing
beside the turned-down bed - nude - distractedly fluffing her pubic hair.  It
was an incredibly cute picture; Alan stood there taking it in, grinning.
Pamela was well past the point of being a swimsuit model, but she contrived to
be coltish, despite the adjustments that age was making to her form.  It was
sad, really, Alan reflected, in a world full of men doing without, she'd been
missed totally.  "I figured we could move to the bed," Pamela announced
diffidently.

	"Good idea," Alan agreed, reaching behind him to click off the
bathroom light.  Knowing that if he stopped to ogle, it would leave her
flustered, he stepped in and collected her for a kiss, taking possession of
her narrow back with his hands.  The kiss extended itself, and Alan put his
hands on autopilot; at this point, Pamela was pretty clearly committed - she
wasn't going anywhere.

	Pamela managed to multitask, so she knew better where Alan's hands
were than he did, concentrating on the kiss - and when he started squeezing a
handful of her left ass cheek, something lit off....

	Alan noticed it when the ardor of her oral response - already quite
nice - took a sudden exponential leap.  Alan struggled to regain parity, but
it required considerable effort.  The grasping hand went on standby, which
might have cooled things - but Pamela decided she needed skin on skin contact.
She tore open his robe and entered its confines, pressing her breasts against
his chest hair and her mons against his erection....

	... For Alan would have had to be dead to have lacked one, under the
stimulation he was getting!  As it was, he had just over six inches of flesh
attempting to emulate steel pipe as it jutted from his loins.  Pamela found
this, ground her pubic mound against it and moaned into his mouth.

	That ended the kiss; Alan, surprised, brought himself up to date over
the circumstances of their embrace.  The hand was still there, on her ass, so
he put it to work, actively assessing the soft flesh there while he nibbled
her neck.  Pamela was apparently having difficulty breathing, and her half of
the embrace was a clutch; she was apparently trying to merge with him,
standing up!  Surprised, Alan murmured, "I know you don't remember much from
previous engagements, but do you remember enjoying it?"

	"Yessss..."  Pamela was soaked.  The first gentle squeeze of her ass
had sent a wash of dampness along her vagina, and the feel of the burning
shaft she was rubbing against had turned it into a flow.  Pamela's inner
thighs were wet; she couldn't bring herself to back off.  It was all too
different - and too good!

	Alan was discovering a wet scrotum, with only one possible source.
"Let's lie down - you can lie on top.  If we don't have to stand up..."

	Pamela backed off a minimal distance, reluctantly, and Alan backed
onto the bed.  She took him at his word, immediately crawling atop him and
pressing herself to him urgently.  Alan, unable to believe it, rubbed her
back, her ass, and her wet thighs.  After a moment, Pamela murmured thickly,
"I...  want it."

	"Take it, then - at your own speed.  I'm more than ready," Alan
replied.  Pamela was the next thing to a virgin, at her age - no need to go
all macho on her.  He wondered briefly about birth control, but at their ages,
it was doubtful that he could impregnate her; she was probably menopausal.
She probably had it handled, he figured - after all, she was pretty compulsive
- and if he brought it up it might ruin the whole thing for her...

	For the record, she didn't.  For the record, she was on the cusp of
ovulating.  It had never been an issue, and she'd never given it a moment's
thought.  And THIS was NOT the moment!  Pamela slid herself up along Alan's
body, intent upon discovering the point where the tip of his erection touched
her vulva.  She reached it, and reached awkwardly back. How sensitive was that
thing?  Would she hurt him if she grabbed it too hard?   It seemed pretty
robust in the movies...

	Alan divined the issue beneath her hesitation and said, "Here, let me
get it."  He reached between them, and began drawing the tip of his cock along
her slit.  It was soaked; her inner lips had spread open long since.  She
moaned at the contact, and Alan gritted his teeth - she was piping hot, oily,
and wet, and he wasn't even IN yet!  He found the spasming opening and held
himself there, "Okay."

	Pamela started backing.  Her mouth was open, and her eyes were wild -
and every sense was focused upon that sudden, stiff yet soft fullness at her
opening.  This was - she didn't have words - monumental?  Stupendous?  As his
glans cleared the ring of muscle at her opening, Pamela began to
hyperventilate.  "Easy," Alan cautioned, "It's not going anywhere.  Settle
down; you don't want to pass out before you cum!"  For his part, Alan was
loving it!  He'd been married for a time, and had enjoyed the attentions of
any number of 'professional' women - but this kind of enthusiastic response?
Never!  He leaned up and collected her lips, providing an excuse for control
as she continued to impale herself on his member.  She settled down some, but
it wasn't much of a kiss; Pamela's attention was elsewhere.  Alan settled for
giving, not concerned about reciprocation - if it helped balance her, fine.
And even if it didn't, he had plenty, anyway.  Besides, HE needed the
distraction, or he was going to paint her insides white before she even got
seated!  Alan was pretty amazed; now that the fear had leaked away, the woman
was quickly becoming a tigress!

	In a moment, she was fully mounted, her clitoris pinned between her
pubic bone and his in a mix of their wiry pubes.  And at that point, her
inexperience became evident.  During the insertion, Pamela had just stretched
her legs out alongside Alan's and supported herself primarily on her arms
while driving back.  Now, she was tight against him, but her extended legs
gave her no freedom of movement with which to execute the frenzied movement
that her body was clamoring for, more and more loudly!  Pamela whined in
frustration, and Alan backed off the kiss to discover what the problem might
be.  "I can't..." she wiggled a little bit, trying to drive herself back and
forth, and Alan got the picture.

	"Draw your knees up, so you're kneeling straddling me - then you'll be
able to thrust back and forth," Alan directed.  He opened his mouth to mention
that she could get up off him to make the move and not emulate a
contortionist, but the look on Pamela's face said she wouldn't even consider
it as she worked one knee up and then the other.

	Once in position, she complained, "But now we're not..."  Alan divined
the new problem; in the old position, they'd been very much skin on skin -
now, she was being driven to sit more erect, or at least rise up a bit.

	"It's okay," he soothed.  "You need to be able to maneuver.  We can
cuddle after, and in the meantime, I can play with these."  He brought his
hands up to cradle her drooping breasts.  Pamela felt that this position
accentuated their sag and made them look awful, and it showed on her face;
Alan believed otherwise, however, and he went to work on her nipples, which
apparently maintained a direct connection with the depths of her vagina,
because her eyes immediately lost focus and she moaned, a pulse going through
her channel.  Alan flexed his erection in return, and Pamela's body informed
her that looks were unimportant at the moment, but how the current activity
FELT was paramount.  Instinctively, she set herself into a motion as old as
time, raising and lowering herself on Alan's erection.

	Previous interludes had been precipitated by Margot getting her
seriously drunk just to countenance the idea of interacting with a man, which
had led to a pretty vague condition when she'd gotten around to actual sex; at
least once, she'd passed out during the act, because her metabolism just
couldn't tolerate the alcohol and the amount that it took to make her brave
continued to work on her as time progressed.  In no case had she ever been
truly lucid when push had come to shove - she remembered bits and pieces of
some pretty good stuff, and a couple of moments of pain, but never the whole
show.  That made THIS time her first, in many ways - and it was a real eye-
opener!  The sensations were intense; there was something about the texture of
Alan's penis - okay, cock - that was MUCH better than any old dildo!  And she
hadn't even... Oh SHIT!  Pamela's orgasm announced itself as imminent, and
with a low moan, she went into overdrive, pushing the speed of her up and down
motion on Alan's cock to the very limit for the ten strokes that came between
realization and actuality, then went totally rigid, back arched, a grunted
"UuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUHHHH!" and the spasms in her vagina announcing her
climax.  Alan, dumbfounded, watched Pamela's eyes roll up.  A few seconds
elapsed while Pamela tried to impale herself three inches deeper than Alan had
cock, then suddenly his hands on her breasts were carrying her weight as she
collapsed.

	This only lasted a few moments, however, before Pamela began to feebly
resume motion, sucking in big gulps of air.  It occurred to her that on those
other occasions, it might not have been just the alcohol that had rendered her
unconscious.  "Sorry," she gasped out, "Suddenly, it was just there..."

	Alan lowered his hands to her hips to help her move, and chuckled,
"Nothing like knowing I got you there. You okay, or do you want me to drive
for a bit?"

	"I, uh, from there?"  Alan could come up from below?  With her weight
on him?

	"I can," Alan gasped, demonstrating, "But it's easier to roll over and
do it from the top...."

	The shattering slamming Alan was giving her from below was marvelous,
but there was no way he could keep it up!  "Let's roll over," Pamela offered.

	"Hang on, then!" Alan directed, and initiated the roll.  Pamela
instinctively dropped her torso onto him, and suddenly, she was on her back,
Alan kneeling between her spread legs.  "Hmmph, not quite perfect," Alan
grumped, and proceeded to anchor her by holding her impaled by the hips as he
scooted them to his left, away from the edge of the bed.  Pamela used her
hands to kind of duck-walk her upper body to keep up, and before she was
settled, Alan took full charge of their coupling, his arms braced under her
thighs holding her open for solid strokes along the plane of her vagina.  Alan
set a serious pace, for two reasons:  He wanted her to cum again before he
did, and he was unbelievably aroused!  That prostitutes fake orgasms is a
given; that Pamela had NOT, a certainty.  This VERY obvious evidence of her
capacity and his capability layer itself atop his already strong arousal,
bringing him to a point where control was difficult; the elapsed time since
his last sexual encounter only added to this, leaving his control on an
unsteady, wavering seat that threatened imminent collapse into orgasm.  But he
just couldn't slow down....

	Pamela welcomed the shattering attack.  It brought a hammering urgency
with it that she'd been unable to inflict upon herself, and the mild pain on
impact blended itself with the flashes of pleasure at her clitoris and the
deep rub of his shaft on her walls.  It seemed like she leaped a step on the
way to orgasm every time his pubic bone struck hers.  Conscious thought wasn't
possible; her legs in the air, draped over his forearms, she was nonetheless
rubbing her hands along his lower back, her fingers urging him to greater
effort.  The background roar of her arousal rose to meet the flashes,
surpassed them, and exploded into shockwaves as Pamela wailed, "OH, GOD!!!" at
the top of her lungs and clutched Alan to her, trying instinctively to find a
way to feed ALL of him into a belly cramping with the contractions of her
orgasm.  In the midst of all this, there was a familiar ping from her left
ovary... one that had never meant anything much, before.

	"AAAAUUUGGH!"  Release, for Alan, went from something fought against
to something absolutely required with the first powerful pulse of Pamela's
vagina.  He buried himself, assisting her efforts, and the top of his head
came off as he erupted into her quaking vaginal passage.  This was... well, he
MIGHT have cum like this when he was twenty, MAYBE.  He collapsed atop Pamela,
releasing her legs, which crossed over his back as she continued to try to
swallow him whole via her nether orifice.  When sanity returned, he reflected
that his seminal vesicles had been given a thorough cleaning; his cock was
STILL pulsing softly, almost a minute later, buried in an EXTREMELY wet, warm
place....  Alan was shaking with reaction, but he was laying atop this little,
bird-like woman who he HAD to have fifty to seventy-five pounds on, despite
her height....  "Are you okay?  I should get off - I'm heavy..." he muttered,
concerned.  God knew where he was going to come by the strength to do it....

	But Pamela's ankles remained crossed over his back, and her hands
rubbed the backs of his shoulders.  "No," she husked, "I want to sleep like
this...."

	THAT had to be the sweetest thing that ANY woman - including his ex -
had ever said to Alan.  He began nuzzling her neck to conceal wet eyes while
Pamela luxuriated in her human blanket.  Lassitude took them both....


	Pamela's and Alan's near simultaneous screams of completion were by no
means quiet; they found Margot kneeling astraddle Vern's knees while she
sucked and tongued his sizeable erection.  Vern didn't come from whatever land
of the giants that black porn stars appear to, but he had a respectable, thick
eight inches, and Margot was in the midst of gathering herself for a first
attempt at deep-throating it when the couple's blended screams bled through
the wall.  Vern chuckled as Margot's eyebrows rose, "Think she got her some?"

	"Mmmmmm hmmmmm," Margot hummed happily around Vern's buried shaft.
Vern's eyes bulged, and Margot realized she had a new technique to play with.
Deep throat forgotten, she set up a steady, humming purr.  Vern lasted all of
forty five seconds before stiffening, trying to find a place to put his hands
without choking her by driving her onto his cock, and filled Margot's mouth
with something that had started out merely tasting weird, but over time had
come to be ambrosia to her.  When he finished, powerful arms reached under her
armpits and literally lifted the stocky woman into Vern's embrace while he
husked, "I'd been planning on leaving that load in that pretty pussy of
yours!"

	"It's okay," she chuckled, masking her surprise at Vern's strength by
nuzzling his neck, "You'll be ready again after supper, and I wanted an
appetizer."

	Vern rubbed his hands on Margot's broad back, thinking, 'Now, THIS is
a woman!'


	Time passed.  Alan awoke to a combination of the unaccustomed chill of
having no bedclothes over his back, a certain urgency in his bladder, and
dents from the warm but bony body he was still lying on - and, surprisingly -
in.  He figured he would have shrunk to a nub while asleep - especially after
THAT cum - but he was still half-hard.  Lying there for a moment, he detected
slow, rhythmic pulses in his female sheath of flesh - that must explain it.
Alan gently removed lax arms, (the legs had apparently fallen away of their
own accord, although Pamela's upright knees framed his hips), and began to
work his way free - without waking her, if possible.  It appeared to be;
Pamela was sleeping the sleep of the just, snoring softly.  Alan managed to
get himself into the air and stood back to feel a sudden chill on his crotch;
he was soaked - both of them were, on examination.  Was all of this cum, or
had Pamela soaked them in lubricant, too?  He drew a sheet over her to keep
off the chill, and then padded off to the bath.

	It is a commentary on Alan's state of mind that he never even
considered leaving.  But, all in all, it wasn't surprising.  When a man has
sex with a woman, gets up, and goes home, the interlude is rapidly shelved.
But when a man has sex with a woman, goes to sleep, and wakes up still in her
liquid embrace, THAT is when the jaws of the mink-lined trap - while perhaps
not yet closed - have enveloped him.

	Alan returned to the bed with a towel and a damp washcloth in hand.
He momentarily dropped them on the night table while wrestling with the alarm
clock - much to do before the morning's meeting, and there was no need to
stress either of them by causing one or both to be late for work - then
recollected them for the next task.  Gently, he drew back the covers and went
to work with the cloth.  Pamela stirred and murmured, and Alan murmured, "Roll
over, Dear; I'm going to put a towel down."

	Pamela hadn't really surfaced; it had been a long time since she'd
been this relaxed.  The comforting feel of the heavy blanket or pillow she'd
cuddled up with was gone - maybe if she rolled over like the deep voice in her
head was telling her to, she'd find it...

	Alan draped the towel over the place on the bottom sheet where things
were a soaking puddle, and pulled up the top sheet and comforter/bedspread,
paying attention to where Pamela was groping and clutching for it, then slid
in to spoon himself to her.  Pamela clutched the bedclothes to her, but just
as she realized that this wasn't adequate, a comforting warm, soft surface
conformed itself to most of her back, and a tendril slithered under her arm
and collected a breast.  Pamela sighed and tucked herself back into the
embrace, immediately relaxing.

	Alan didn't, however; he'd assumed that sleep would return when he
returned to bed, but Pamela's soft ass and smooth back - and the soft breast
in his hand - banished it.  An erection made its presence known immediately,
though, rising between the cheeks of her soft ass, pointed toward the source
of the damp warmth that it had enjoyed so recently.  After a bit, unable to
stop himself, he began to move it gently, sliding it slowly along the furrow
between her legs.  Pamela accepted this, even to the extent of again becoming
wet and backing her ass toward him, sighing, as her dreams turned erotic.
Alan's fingers closed on her chubby nipple as his confidence rose, and
Pamela's arousal rose.  She awakened, slowly, to serious heat - but the source
of her arousal was also the cure.  Alan became aware that Pamela was awake
when her hand settled on the underside of his cock, pressing against her.  In
a moment, a thick contralto voice husked, "Put it in..."

	Alan pushed Pamela forward a bit to facilitate his insertion, and slid
his erection into a thoroughly wet opening.  Both of them sighed in pleasure
at the penetration.  Alan made no effort to go wild; instead, he pulled Pamela
back against him, sliding his left hand under her to capture her left breast,
as his right recollected her right.   Pamela moaned and arched her back,
adding her motion to the slow stroke.  Alan leaned over and kissed her neck,
murmuring, "Sorry, I couldn't sleep..."  Pamela had nothing to say - she was
too busy moaning gently.  This type of sex had little in common with the
shattering pounding they had given each other earlier in the evening, but it
was every bit as nice.  They lay there, barely moving, Pamela wiggling and
clenching while Alan moved slowly in and out, neither moving very much - just
enough for constant stimulation.  This way, it took a while for Pamela to
climax, but the journey was almost as pleasant as the arrival; Pamela came
three times, gently, in thirty minutes - soft, yet powerful surges of release.
But Alan wasn't getting quite enough stimulation to make the final ascent, so
he began a more urgent motion, which stoked a hotter matching fire in Pamela.
Both began looking for purchase that their current position didn't grant in
order to increase the urgency of their coupling, and became mildly frustrated
when it was not forthcoming.  Finally, Alan grunted, "I think we should roll
up and do doggy, now."

	"Okay," Pamela agreed.  She had a serious fire going, and only one
thing was going to douse it.  "Will we have to...?"

	"Disconnect?  I don't know."  Alan pondered.  "Roll up, and I'll try
to follow."  Pamela got an arm under her to push off, and made the first
attempt, but Alan wasn't quite ready, and she collapsed back.  Alan understood
instantly, "Sorry.  I'll count to three, okay?"  Alan got his left hand under
him and did the count, "One... Two... THREE!"  He gave a powerful heave to
match Pamela's, and they ALMOST made it, but disconnected during the jar that
occurred while they settled onto their knees.  "Damn!" Alan exclaimed, "So
close!"  He knelt up and drove himself into Pamela in one stroke.

	"Ooogh!" Pamela moaned.  She dropped onto her forearms and pushed back
- this was just what the doctor ordered!

	"Like that?" Alan asked.  Pamela nodded.  It seemed that Alan had
somehow found new depths to play in, and the force of his stroke brought him
solidly into contact with her erect nub of a clitoris.  Alan took the nod,
grasped Pamela's narrow hips, and began to drive.

	This wasn't going to last long for either of them; Alan was opening
new horizons for Pamela, and the feel of her depths and her pubic bone sliding
along the underside of his penis was THE THING to get Alan off the ground,
headed for high flight.  Alan picked up the pace, bringing a rhythmic slap as
they pounded together, and Pamela lifted her head and moaned in pleasure.
This spurred Alan on, and he increased the pace even further.  Pamela began to
vocalize, gasping, "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" with every impact on her clitoris, music to
Alan's ears.  In a few moments, the urgency began to climb, topping out with
"OH!  OH!!!  OOOHHH!!!  NNNNNGGGGGG!" as she dropped her head and thrust a
climaxing vagina up to her impaler, and Alan went rigid and spewed into her,
teeth clenched and muscles rippling as he instinctively tried to penetrate her
womb directly.

	Exhausted and sated, he dropped forward onto Pamela's back, kissing
her neck.  "I bet we can get down, though.  Roll left, Dear."  Pamela
basically collapsed, but it worked.  Alan collected the bedclothes one-handed,
resumed clutching her breasts and the pair again drifted toward sleep.


	Tuesday morning was bittersweet.  Alan had remembered - late - to set
the alarm, but hadn't planned for any distractions from his normal routing -
even pleasant ones.  And the amount of time it left to get ready was even more
inadequate for Pamela!  The pair struggled up, discovered the time, and were
instantly rattled.  Alan threw himself out of bed, threw on his robe and ran
into the bath to collect his cast-off clothing.  Emerging moments later, still
in the robe, he gave Pamela a quick peck and announced, "I'd like to spend
more time, but my stuff is in 421, and I have a nine-thirty meeting!"

	Pamela, scrambling, replied, "I can't dawdle either - I'm going to be
late!"

	Alan hit the door, threw "Bye, Dear," over his shoulder, and was gone.
Pamela rapped on the connecting door, threw it open and wailed, "Margot!  It's
almost seven!  We've got to get out of here!"  Then she ran for the shower.

	Fifteen minutes later, watching Vern carefully write out his contact
information on a hotel pad while buttoning a blouse, Pamela realized that she
and Alan had blown that step.    Pamela consoled herself with the fact that
she had his room number, and knew that he was staying more than one night; of
course, that meant that SHE would have to take the next step....

	Alan remembered this in the shower, but by the time he'd managed to
return to Pamela's room, the women had rushed out.  He consoled himself with
the thought that the assignation was SUPPOSED to be anonymous - perhaps it was
best.  But Pamela had been VERY nice, OBVIOUSLY not a professional, and a real
boost to his ego; Alan would have been pleased to have her spend the week.
Granted, she was the luck of the draw, and theory said that even better was
available - but Alan had a tough time believing it.

	In the car during the commute, Margot inquired perfunctorily, "So,
Sweetie, did you have a good time?"

	"Oh, wow!"

	"Mr. Alan Whatever was good, then?" Margot smirked.

	"Ohmigod!  After I stopped acting like Super Chicken, everything was
just incredible!" Pamela enthused.

	Margot glanced up from her driving (it was her day), and queried,
grinning, "Can I get the gory details?"

	"Well, all right - some of them, anyway," Pamela chuckled.  "It all
started with that stupid system.  I don't know what I did, but while I was
looking him over, I apparently hit the wrong buttons for about the sixth time
- and the screen went blip! - and he was on his way!  I totally freaked, but
it didn't take him any time to come down one floor, so the next thing I knew,
there he was!  I threw open the door, moulting chicken feathers, trying to get
my tongue to work to tell him I'd changed my mind, and he said something to
the effect that it wasn't necessary to get all worked up - we could just
pretend to be an old married couple and pass over the uncomfortable stuff.
The next thing I knew, he was inside, the door was closed, and he was hanging
his coat in the closet, as cool as a cucumber!"

	Margot laughed.  "Smooth!  Then what happened?"

	"Well, I was jumpy, and he kept doing things that would scare me -
then he'd back off and let me get used to it...."

	"Oh?  Like what?"  Margot flicked her a glance.

	"Well, he hugged me, and asked me how my day was...  He gave me a
couple of seconds to realize that he was playing the game, then he kissed me
on the neck. By the time I got ready to have a fit, though, we were just
holding hands, and he was asking me about dinner!" Pamela recounted.

	"He IS smooth!" Margot opined, encouraging Pamela to continue with a
wave.

	"Um, we ordered dinner, and I decided to check on you.  There you were
in the Jacuzzi with Vern and..."

	"John," Margot supplied.

	"Yes, John," Pamela broke off.  "You were putting on quite a show.
Alan had apparently seen you...."

	"We were coming out of the elevator when he came in, I guess.  If you
hadn't taken him, I might have let him beat out John - or help..." Margot
grinned, eyeing Pamela sidelong.

	"What you were doing wasn't wild enough?"  Pamela's eyes widened.

	"Well, no sense in half-measures," Margot grinned.  "I was going to
get my money's worth.  Sounds like this Alan would have been a definite
improvement over John."

	"If you think he might have, then I can be certain he WOULD have!"
Pamela opined.  "He was...  Wonderful, once I settled down."

	"How long did THAT take?" Margot chuckled.

	"I was well on the way until YOU robbed me of any control of the
situation by basically telling him he shouldn't fail to...."  Pamela's
accusation ran aground on foul language.

	"Fuck you?" Margot supplied, smirking.

	"Yeah!  I got all tight because you hadn't left me any options!  There
you were, a... a DICK in each end, telling him he should be sure and not take
'No' for an answer!  I might as well have been there in the water next to
you!"

	Margot laughed, unfazed by Pamela's righteous indignation.  "So, I
painted you with my brush, did I?"

	Pamela realized she was skirting the edge; Margot would not be happy
at being called a slut, even if she'd acted like one.  "Well, you have to
admit, it was pretty embarrassing...."

	"For you?" Margot countered, "I was the one being televised...."

	"Why?" Pamela asked, "Surely you didn't HAVE to...."

	"No," Margot ruminated, "but it was fun!  It added a layer to things.
I'd do it again!"

	Pamela shook her head.  "Well, after that, I figured he was just going
to roll me onto the bed, stuff my panties in my mouth, and go to town - but he
didn't.  He took things real slow, pushing things, but not dragging me along,
while we watched some silly sitcom.  I don't remember it - just his hands on
my hip, my ass, my belly...  Then he brushed my hair out - my, that felt
good!"

	"He WHAT?"  Margot gazed at her, incredulous.  "He brushed out your
hair?"

	"Yes," Pamela smiled, remembering.  "That's when I really started to
relax."

	"I guess!  The man's a wonder!  When are you seeing him again?" Margot
inquired.

	"I - We screwed up.  In the mad rush this morning..." Pamela faltered.

	"... You got squat," Margot finished, smiling grimly.  Should she
needle Pamela?  The top answer was that he'd done it deliberately, and they
were done.  But Pamela had apparently had a REAL good time - busting her
bubble right off would be kind of mean.  Better to let her down easy, later.
"So what happened then?"

	"Well, dinner came - the waiter acted like he expected to get in on
things, or something.  We started dinner, and got to talking about how
formally we both were dressed.  He teased me into pulling off his tie, and
while I was at it, he snatched my shirttails out!"  Pamela smiled, "I got
upset, and accused him of trying to scare me - and he accused me of acting
like a schoolgirl!  Then we were kissing...."

	"What happened to dinner?" Margot prompted.

	"We sat down and finished it," Pamela replied mildly.  "Alan said
something about having my stomach growl during kissing.  Anyway, we ate, and
played footsie under the table.  I lost - Alan got his foot in my crotch...
After that, when he suggested that I change into a robe, I was more than
ready."

	"So you wandered off to the bathroom, and when you got back, he was
still there..." Margot smirked, but it was all cover for her real purpose.
Had she stripped for him?

	"Yeah, I didn't want to show him that ungodly bra...." Pamela fell for
it, hook, line and sinker, and Margot hid her surprise.  This Alan was a
jewel!  He'd basically baby-sat poor Pamela, which made him a good Joe, in her
book.  Obviously, she'd acted like she had no clue - because she didn't - and
he'd patiently put up with the empty-headed twit.  There were areas where
Pamela could run rings around Margot, but sex wasn't among them.  Pamela
blithely continued, "I'd come back and we were kissing in the chair when you
showed up."

	Margot grinned a toothy grin.  "So, when did y'all fuck?"

	"We didn't!" Pamela announced primly, and Margot raised an eyebrow.
"We made love - twice - soon after.  I sent him off to change, and got naked,
and, well, things just worked.  I came twice the first time - and I don't know
HOW many times the second!  It was wonderful!"  Pedantry gave way to
enthusiasm in her tone.  Margot smiled and shook her head; that cry last night
had definitely been an orgasm, then, as she'd suspected.  There was a moment
of silence, then Pamela ventured, "How about you and... Vern?"

	Margot smiled.  "We managed another run or so," she admitted.  Vernon
had proven more than mildly potent; he'd managed to hold up for almost an
hour, on the second pass.  Margot had cum multiple times - and he'd been an
accomplished kisser, too!  But there had been things they'd not gotten around
to - things Vern had dangled before her, like a nice long session of pussy-
eating....  Yes, she planned to see Vern again!

	Pamela approached her next concern VERY carefully:  "What about his...
race?"

	"Oh, Sweetie, that's all crap!  He's not superhuman, or anything,
although he's got a big johnson.  But I picked him because he was a nice guy -
and if I see him again, it'll be for the same reason!  Be happy you got your
hooks into Alan - or maybe YOU would have ended up with Vern!"  Margot eyed
her girlfriend, watching the play of her expression as she imagined sleeping
with a black man - and delighting in it.  The thing was, under the right
conditions, Pamela probably WOULD sleep with a black - but she'd have to be
drunk enough to be uninhibited....

	Margot let Pamela off at work with a quick, "See you after five!" and
drove on toward her own job.   Pamela made probably twice what Margot did, but
she bore her no ill-will; she was more capable, no doubt of it.  Besides, she
was good hearted....  Letting her down easy tonight was gonna suck.


	Pamela started the day on a high note, buoyed by the fact that she'd
had great sex with a wonderful guy - but as the day wore on, Margot's comments
raised the other half of the equation:  Undoubtedly, she'd never see Alan
again.  By the time Margot picked her up at five-thirty, she was wistful.

	"What's the matter, Sweetie?" Margot asked.

	Pamela sighed.  "We're done, aren't we?  Alan and I?"

	Margot had been dreading this, but at least Pamela had gotten there
first.  "Most likely, Sweetie.  The Inn's little matchmaking system is
designed for anonymous sex, not long-term relationships - that's all either of
you expected, anyway.  Didn't you say he was from out of town?"

	"What about you and Vern?" Pamela queried.

	"Well, despite your worries over his color, Vern is a nice fella - and
he's a local.  Last, but not least, we told each other where we could be
found!"

	Pamela sighed, "Yeah, that was stupid."

	"But was it deliberate?" Margot raised the ugly part of the issue.

	"I... don't THINK so," Pamela mumbled as the thought sank in.

	"It's a classic tactic, Sweetie - the 'Oh!  Gee!  I gotta run!' thing
has been around a looooong time..."  Margot eyed her friend sadly.  "What DO
you know?"

	Working her way through this was unpleasant for Pamela.  "Well, we
didn't exchange full names, but I'm pretty sure his IS Alan.  His name in the
system was Alan 136.  He's here for a conference of some type.  And he's in
room 421 - he mentioned THAT twice!"

	Margot pondered this.  "Hmmm, well, if he'd been smart, he'd not have
told you his room number - I'm sure there were ways around it."  Eyeing
Pamela, she continued, "You realize he has NOTHING to chase YOU with, so if
you wanna see him again, it's ALL up to YOU!  Do you think he's still there?"

	Pamela pondered this.  "He didn't say how long he was in town for, but
I got the impression it was more than one day...."

	Margot shrugged.  "You'll have to call the Inn, then.  But if he's
from out of town, its still gonna be short, at best....  And you're chasing
him, which is NEVER good!"


	"Reception, Roland speaking.  How can I help you?"

	"I'd like to speak to Alan 136,"

	The dapper guest clerk frowned.  These were always a pain...  "One
moment.  To protect our guests, we do not normally connect calls to people
with just their hosting numbers.  Alan 136 may also have opted to have calls
from people he hosted with blocked.  I assume you had a hosting identifier?"

	Pamela knew fear.  "Pam 887."

	Roland checked the system.  Yes, they had been together, apparently -
at least for dinner.  And Mr. Hamilton had NOT opted to block her calls - but
he might have, if he'd been aware of the possibility.  This Pamela was a
pretty unprepossessing bird from her photo.  He sighed.  "Usually, we kind of
expect that if you were developing anything serious, you'd have exchanged last
names..."

	"Oh," Pamela blinked.  "Um, well, we were pretending to be an old
married couple, kind of deliberately.  I know what room he's in!"  'At least,
I THINK I do,'

	Roland swallowed a chuckle.  An interesting fantasy, that - not HIS
cup of tea, certainly, but to each his or her own...  "I'll accept that."

	"He's in 421." 'I hope.'

	Roland nodded to himself, satisfied.  "I'll connect you."

	Pamela managed not to sigh her relief into the phone - but it rang six
times without a pickup.  Roland came back on, "Mr. - ah - Alan 136 does not
appear to be in his room.  I'll connect you to his voice mail."

	Pamela DID sigh then - it would have been considerably easier on her
to talk with him directly.  Now, she'd have to couch this just right...
"Alan?  It's Pamela.  We, uh, didn't get around to exchanging numbers or
anything, this morning, and since you have no way to find me...  I'm not, um,
that is, you needn't feel obligated, but, um, things went pretty well...  God,
I'm doing this VERY poorly!  Anyway, if you'd like to call me...."  Pamela
related her number and hung up.

	Margot smiled cattily.  "That went well," she simpered.  Pamela
blushed, glaring.

	Six-thirty came, then seven, seven-thirty...  At eight, Pamela retired
to her room.  Margot heaved a sigh as she watched her ascend the stairs; the
complications of young love were even worse when you were no longer young.
Pamela had appeared to be quite placid, but for her to go up to bed before
eleven was telling in and of itself.  No, she was taking it hard....


	Alan made it to the office on time, and spent the day in boring
meetings over product specifications, then at an unplanned but obligatory
project team dinner.  It was almost nine when he got back to the room.  The
message light was flashing, but they always did when you didn't bother
configuring your voicemail, didn't they?  He spent another fifteen minutes
settling in before he turned his attention to the phone.  The "You have one
message," announcement didn't surprise him; it was probably a lengthy greeting
and system setup missive...  But, "Alan?  It's Pamela..." got his attention,
quickly.  He scrabbled for a pen and took down the number, then replayed the
message to ensure he'd gotten it right before deleting it.  After cradling the
phone, he immediately picked it up again, and began punching numbers - then he
had second thoughts, and hung up.  Then he had third thoughts....  'This is
ridiculous!  Get your shit together!' he chastised himself, and then composed
himself and thought about the situation VERY HARD - for about ten seconds -
and picked up the phone.

	"Hullo?"

	Alan blinked, thought hard, "Margot?"

	"Alan?"

	"Yes."

	"I'll go get her.  Gimme a minute, she's upstairs."  Margot heaved
herself out of her easy chair, grumbling about telephone extensions, and what
they ought to do about them - but by the time she reached the top of the
stairs, she was grinning from ear to ear.  When she tapped on the door and
popped it open, Pamela was in her nightie, face down on the bed.  "Sweetie,
there's a man on the phone..."

	"What?"  Pamela's head came up.

	"I said, Alan's on the phone..."  Margot got the Hell out of the way,
chuckling; Pamela didn't appear to touch the floor between the bed and the
door.

	Pamela was a streak going down the stairs, but she composed herself
before picking up the receiver.  "Alan?"

	"Hi."  'Now what?' Alan wondered.  "Sorry, I had to go to some stupid
dinner, and just got your message."  He paused, wondering just how far to go,
then shrugged.  "I, uh, pretty much agree with your assessment of last night.
I'm, uh, only in town until Friday, but there isn't anyone I'd rather spend my
evenings with...."  'Shit, why don't I just ask her to marry me, too?' Alan
grimaced.

	"I see...  Yeah.  Okay, when?" Pamela asked.

	On the spot, Alan temporized, "Well, it's a bit late, tonight...."

	"But we'd be going to bed, anyway," Pamela retorted, then blushed and
murmured in a small voice, "Omigod, did I say that?"

	Alan blinked, stared at the receiver for a moment, then laughed
gently, "Yes, you did.  In that case, I guess you ought to come home,
shouldn't you, Dear?  I'll wait up for you..."

	"I..."  Pamela was having a hard time dealing with her attack of
insanity, "I..."

	"You ARE coming home, aren't you Dear?  You know where to find me?"
Alan could NOT keep the amusement out of his voice, but it didn't REALLY
matter....

	"Yes, Room 421."  Pamela decided that she'd just flushed the remnants
of her pride down the toilet - but it might be worth it!  "I'm coming.  Give
me..."  She thought quickly, "Forty-five minutes."

	"Should I draw you a bath?"

	"Huh?  Uhhhhh, okay!"

	"I'll see you then."  The phone went dead.

	Margot was smiling crookedly.  "You know, Sweetie, we girls usually
play a bit harder to get...."

	Pamela grimaced.  "I know, but he's only here until Friday, and my
mouth just got ahead of me."

	"Well, it was the wrong thing to do if you wanted to preserve your
dignity, but the right thing to do if you wanted to make the most of things."
Margot grinned.  "Better get ready - unless you're going in a nightie!"

	"Um.  He's seen me naked, of course, but if I had a flat or
something..."  Pamela headed for the stairs, Margot in tow.

	"Better pack a change of clothes - maybe two!" Margot offered.

	"Two?"  The pair entered Pamela's room and she started snatching
things from the closet.  "Why two?"

	"You're gonna want to see him tomorrow night, and I've invited Vern
here," Margot responded.  "It might be more convenient for both of us, seeing
as how you're all uptight about Vern's color..."

	"Oh, he's okay," Pamela demurred, but she snatched two blouses out of
the closet, anyway.  "I'm more concerned about what OTHER people might think."

	"I'm not," Margot replied mildly, "If they want to think I'm chasing
him for his cock, they'll be half right.  He's pretty sweet, and he's gentle,
and he doesn't care that I'm ...."  A wave finished the thought.

	"Well, maybe, but what about the crazy orgy stuff?" Pamela challenged.
"Is he gonna sit still for you making porn videos with three or four guys?"
She eyed Margot sidelong to let her know she was kidding.

	"Well, he survived the first time," Margot laughed.  "I'm not too
worried - especially since I don't expect to have much of a career as a porn
star!"

	"That's the work clothes," Pamela announced, zipping her two-suiter.
"What do I wear tonight?"  She threw the nightie over her head.

	"Well, I wouldn't stand on ceremony," Margot opined.  "You've already
made it pretty clear that you're a shameless hussy.  Why not just go casual?
Sweatshirt and stretch pants, no bra...  You're gonna get out of 'em right
away, anyway, apparently."

	"Um, yes, and into the bath."

	"Bath?"  Margot blinked.

	"He asked me if I wanted him to draw one...."

	"Damn.  He combs your hair, and bathes you...  If you weren't ALREADY
chasing him shamelessly, I'd advise it - he's something!"  Margot shook her
head.

	Pamela forced her head through the neck of a pink sweatshirt.  "Thanks
for the vote of confidence!"

	"I'm just razzing you, Sweetie," Margot chuckled, "You guys don't have
time to be laid back - and besides, you've ALREADY had sex.  I think he's
pretty nice, and the pair of you ought to get in as much fun as you can."
Pamela started gathering things, and Margot stood there, half-hoping this Alan
managed to piss her off some way before Friday - or she was going to have a
mighty depressed girlfriend on her hands come the weekend!  Still, bittersweet
experience is better than none....