Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Horror, Rough, Sadistic, Anal Sex, Petting, Transformation,
Desc: Horror Sex Story: Chapter 1 - One man's journey to a red-light district.
It's been dark for hours now, and I'm still walking down long city blocks carrying my two suitcases. It's way too warm to be wearing much of anything, but I've got my raincoat on to protect me from the stinking weather. And I mean the word stinking literally. My coat is covered in slime from a really awful dank and oily mist. A summer fog with some drizzle rolled in off the lake a while ago, and at first I thought the light rain might help clean the air of the fumes from the car pollution. What a joke. The air smells more noxious than ever now. It stings my eyes and irritates my throat. Fucking hell on whole wheat, that's what I say, really stinking weather. I tell myself not to get too depressed.
It's damn frustrating to be stuck in this city, and that's damn with a capital D. The place is absolutely hellish. Everything here is run down and dirty, and I am so incredibly eager to curse this city and shake its dust off my shoes and more on. And why don't I? There's a nationwide transportation strike going on now. The airline, rail, and bus unions are picketing everywhere and good luck trying to make a private deal for a cross country trip. Good luck.
So what is it now, my third week here? Maybe my fourth, and with my suspended driver's license I am absolutely stuck. At least my employer Competitive Capital keeps depositing my salary and my travel allowance into my account. I can still eat and sleep, not to say this dump hasn't killed my appetite.
I'm an instructor, and my training courses with the local branches were only supposed to last a few days. I can still remember the last time I was at the district hub. I tried to earn my pay, I really did. I made myself available for follow-up questions. But the classroom was deserted. I left after an hour. It was kind of embarrassing. The district manager is officially my boss while I'm stationed here, and I told her maybe I would try doing follow-up at the branch locations. She just shrugged her shoulders. It was a gesture of supreme indifference.
So I figured, what the hell? If nobody cares, I'll just coast for a while until the strike is over. I'll lie low and call the home office occasionally and leave when I have a way out. And sure enough, the money keeps piling up in my Competitive account. Some crazy accounting logic even boosted my travel allowance 30% a few days ago, some sort of automatic bonus for an extended assignment. Stupid computers, but I'm not the complaining type, not about stuff like this anyway.
So I get this bonus and I ask around for a nicer place to stay. And what I hear is absolutely fabulous. Across the city by the lake is a really grand place, a complex of tall buildings with new modern hotel rooms on the upper floors and a huge single's bar in the lower levels called Liar's Lair. The only question is: do I mind that the place is located in the city's red-light district?
Mind?! Hell no! I haven't slept with a woman since Maggie divorced me, actually since a couple of years before that. I'm not sure what I think of pure sex-for-money deals, but I do know it's legal here if you're in the right zone with the right license. A single's bar though, yeah. I start to daydream as I walk.
Maybe I'll find someone nice. Even if she's a prostitute, I won't mind if she's pleasant to be with. Wow, having a drink or a meal with a woman who isn't nagging me. Wouldn't that be different? Maybe we'll even dance. Do I remember how to dance? Will I look attractive to a woman? How about to a woman who is attractive herself? I find myself not wanting an honest answer. At fifty-five, am I too old for this? Time to think about something else.
Ouch! My wrists! That's certainly something else to think about! Maybe carrying these suitcases across town is a really stupid idea. I broke both my wrists a long time ago playing football in high school. Man, I should have thought about this before I started walking. My hands feel so cold and numb now, so cold. Pins and needles and it hurts! It feels as if my hands are submerged in buckets of ice water and meanwhile I'm sweating everywhere else. Fucking hell on rye, that's what I say, what a situation! But what choice do I have? I mean, good luck finding a freelance cabbie around here. Good luck. All the regular cabbies are out on sympathy strike with the other transportation unions.
I heard at my old hotel that the red-light district wasn't too far away, across town yeah but maybe only an hour or so of hoofing it, maybe a tad more with the suitcases. So I checked out of the old fleabag and here I am walking the streets. I must be close now. I hope the place has some vacancies. Ouch. My cold and aching wrists won't take much more of these suitcases. Yeah, vacancies. And maybe some good food would be nice too, though surprisingly I don't feel hungry. And I absolutely need a shower before checking out a bar scene. Maybe a room on the upper levels, yeah. Maybe a room with a view of the lake, that'd be nice. It doesn't hurt to dream.
I pick up the pace and I stumble and almost drop my bags as my foot sinks into boot-sucking mud hidden under a sheen of oily water. Fucking hell on Melba toast, that's what I say! Where the hell's the sidewalk?! Did somebody steal it?! This city is such a dump! I'll take any room they've got now. I sure as hell don't want to hike back all the way to my old hotel, not with all this muck in my shoe. It feels as if my foot is packed in slimy shit and my hands are getting freezer burn. Time to think of something else.
My nose catches a different odor. On top of the car fumes there's a new smell of stale grease. It's coming from the Cheap Eats joint across the street. I haven't eaten in a while, so long that I pause and stare at the neon lights showing a sleazy image of a plate of nondescript blue food, complete with fake white steam from another neon light. I laugh to myself. Neon lights, wow, that takes me back. And who would ever be dumb enough to name a restaurant Cheap Eats? Are those blue lights supposed to be a steak? The sight and the smell kill what little appetite I might have had. I move on. Liar's Lair, where are you?
I turn the corner and for a moment I'm so surprised I stop walking. Wow! The buildings are huge, a series of them right on the lake, almost on the lake anyway. There're some docks and stuff beyond. But wow, the buildings, they really do look modern and a damn sight finer than anything else around. This has to be it! With a lopsided squeaking noise from my left shoe that I'm trying not to think about, I walk through some super-thick glass doors and up to a lobby desk.
Wow, what a difference! The air inside the hotel lobby is so cool and dry, clean too. It must be filtered. I struggle to the front desk with my bags. "Do you have any vacancies?" I blurt out as I plop my suitcases to the floor. I'm just too worn out for small talk, even just to say hi.
There are several men and women stationed at the desk. They all look about twenty to thirty years younger than I do and are dressed in crisp royal-blue uniforms with shiny brass buttons. The women have a white frilly handkerchief tucked around their necks, very sharp and professional looking. A guy and a woman both make eye contact with me for an instant. The guy is closer to me but it's the woman who comes over.
The name on her badge says Cintia and yeah, she does look Hispanic, very pretty too. She gives me a bright cheerful smile and says, "Good evening, sir. Yes, I'm sure we can find you something you'll like. Would you like a room for a day, more than a day, or less than a day?"
I blink for a second. I never heard of renting a room for less than a day, and I ask out of sheer curiosity. "How short a time would you rent?"
"Two hours is normally the shortest period, sir, but if you're a regular customer other arrangements can be made." The warm professional smile never leaves her pretty face.
I blush when I realize what she's talking about. This is after all the red-light district. Here is this young woman right in front of me, very attractive and professionally dressed, talking about renting a bed for some quick sex as matter-of-factly as if I were checking into a normal hotel room. I shift my weight as I think about this, and a loud squishy squeak from my left shoe brings me back to the conversation. The woman is waiting patiently for me to answer.
"Uh, yeah. Well, I might want to stay here long term, until the transportation strike is over."
A look of instant sympathy crosses her face. "Oh, are you stuck here?"
I nod glumly.
"That really is a shame. The strike looks as if it'll last forever. May I suggest a rolling monthly rental? We have a super steep discount going on right now. It's the perfect solution for a person in your situation. It's called a special residency. And if you take a suite now the rate will be locked for as long as you're here."
I think silently about my budget. A suite? Whoa, what am I getting into? I mumble out loud, "A monthly rental? Oh hell, you don't think the strike will last another month, do you?"
Cintia leans a little closer and says, "From what I hear, sir, the unions and managements aren't even talking now." And then even more softly, "I'm not supposed to be pushing this to new customers, but seriously, consider being a special resident. It's a fantastic deal."
"Hmm..." I suddenly realize I don't even know what she's talking about. "What's a rolling monthly rental?"
"We bill you for the first thirty days up front and then daily afterwards. You have to have a major credit card for this. It's a really great deal. You can of course leave at any time."
I think about this for a moment. "So if I wind up leaving after two days, I'm paying for four weeks that I don't use? Gee, I don't know..."
"Let me give you some quotes, sir. The special residency rates are extremely competitive and guaranteed not to change. We don't offer them often, but they're available now."
"Well, I guess I could listen to some quotes."
Wow, what a cheerful smile. "So what kind of rooms have you got?"
"A very good variety, sir. What type of accommodation would you prefer?"
"Well..." Go for it, I think. Follow your dream. "Let's take it from the top. How about a really nice room, high up, and overlooking the lake?"
Cintia's fingers are flying across her keyboard. Wow, can she type. "Certainly, sir. I'm sure I can find you something ... Here! Right here in Tower One, 31st floor, a corner executive suite with a beautiful lakeside view."
I suddenly think I might be wasting her time. "Oh, hell, I don't know. A corner suite? I just need one bedroom."
She nods politely. "This is a one bedroom, sir. Almost all our rooms are, considering what and where we are."
I blink. Ah yes, the red-light district. Cintia doesn't' have to elaborate.
"Your bedroom will have a fine prospect of the lake and a view of the north shoreline. The suite comes with a super-king bed and an executive desk area in the bedroom if you need it. The lounge room is very nicely furnished, all our executive suites are, and comes with a multi-media entertainment system. The bathroom is grand and comes with a wide variety of complimentary toys. There's a super-sized shower area that'll fit you and a guest very easily, plus you'll have your own private Jacuzzi."
Did she just talk about me taking a shower with someone? Wow. And I blush when I think of what sort of toys Cintia is referring to. She said it so matter-of-factly; I almost didn't catch her meaning. But no matter. "Uh, Cintia, that sounds very nice, but a suite with its own Jacuzzi is probably out of my price range."
She gives a soft sigh and types a few more strokes. "If you take it today sir, you could have the suite for... $1200, plus tax of course."
I give a small gasp. "Uh huh. And what's the tax?"
She nods sympathetically. "Well, this is the red-light district. Prepare yourself. Total tax will be an extra 20%."
I say sarcastically, "Sounds perfect then."
"Excellent, sir! Would you like a bellhop to show you the suite before you take it?"
"Cintia, I wasn't being serious! Do I look as if I'm made of money?"
My words bring on an unexpected reaction, genuine distress. "Apologies, sir! If the initial charge is too much, perhaps I can talk to the manager about billing it in installments. Or I can search for a more economical suite."
Initial charge? Installments? Am I hearing her correctly? I had forgotten what a strange billing arrangement this is. I clear my throat and reply, "Now I am confused. You're not saying the $1200 is for the entire month, are you?"
"Certainly, sir. Total with tax for the first thirty days will be $1440. That's due now, and afterwards a charge of $48 will be billed daily."
"That's impossibly cheap," I whisper. In fact, it's a lot cheaper than the fleabag I just left.
"If you're staying a while, it really is a great deal," she whispers back in a confidential tone.
Is she serious? For some reason, I still can't believe it. It's time for more sarcasm. "Do you throw in a Continental breakfast too?"
Cintia shakes her head sadly. "Actually we used to, but people didn't want it. The special now is just for a straight rental."
It finally sinks in that she's being serious. I'm blown away, and then I get this rush to lock in the deal before this dream rate disappears. Hell, my travel allowance is a fixed rate no matter where I stay. I'll be making money hand over fist. "I'll take it!" I half shout.
"Excellent, sir! Just swipe your card and key in your security code."
I do as she asks. It only takes a minute before she's handing over the suite key, a small brass-looking plate with a high-tech business end. It looks rather intriguing, and Cintia asks me to pinch the brass plate between my thumb and forefinger. "Suite 3104, sir," she then says as she hands me the key and something that looks like a red poker chip. "Plus your first night's entertainment is complimentary."
The check-in seems too fast. "Don't I have to sign in or register or something?"
Cintia's eyes sparkle with amusement. "In the red-light district?! Surely you jest, sir! Your privacy is very well protected here. In fact, almost everybody picks a new name when they walk in. After all, this is Liar's Lair!"
"Have a wonderful stay, sir. I'll have a bellhop carry your bags."
"Uh, that won't be necessary. I can use the exercise. Just point me to the right elevator." What can I say? I'm a cheapskate and miraculously my wrists are feeling okay.
Cintia sees right through me. "Unless you really prefer to carry your own bags, sir, it's our pleasure. Special residents are usually assigned individual bellhops who look after them."
"Oh gee, that sounds very nice, but..."
"And getting into your suite for the first time can be a little tricky if you haven't been here before. All gratuities of course are already included in your rate."
My mind latches on to Cintia's last comment. "Really? Wow. Uh, okay, a bellhop would be nice."
"Excellent, sir." Cintia typed a few additional strokes on her keyboard and a short distance away I hear a small bell go off. "Enjoy your stay at Liar's Lair, sir!"
What happens next stuns me. Cintia is very pretty and perhaps about thirty years old. My bellhop however looks at least ten years younger and is stunningly beautiful. My first impression is that she should be a professional model for athletic wear. What a body! Tall and graceful and she walks like a gazelle. Graceful indeed. I catch a glimpse of a nametag clipped to her halter high on her breast. She takes my two heavy suitcases with ease and says, "Hi! My name is Grace." She gives me a friendly nod with her head for me to follow her, and then she starts walking away from front desk into the interior of the building. I follow behind.
Wow, what a view of the rear of her body! And the outfit! Oh yeah, this surely must be the red-light district! Where else would anyone possibly find bellhops dressed like this?! I stare mesmerized at sandaled feet and long bare legs leading to pale yellow hot pants, the nicest pair of hot pants I think I have ever seen. They seem to be made of soft cottony material, not stiff or shiny at all, and the pants are molded to her hips and butt. With the color and softness and tightness, it's very easy to imagine that Grace is walking around with just a pair of wet under-panties on.
Wow, she is drop-dead gorgeous. I get the impression I'm watching the hindquarters of a beautiful racing horse. Grace is tall for a woman; easily my height and her sandals aren't giving her any boost. I try not to drool as I watch her carry my bags, sleek feminine calf and thigh and butt muscles are carrying my bags very easily. I know it's not polite to stare at her ass from behind, but I can't help myself. The flexing going on under her tight panties is just too good a scene to pass up. I can see the tiniest ripple of her butt under the tight fabric.
And what's above is very nice too. There's a bare midriff above the hot pants, and above that a bright orange halter top that looks like a sports bra. Topping it all off is a long single braid of thick golden hair that's tied with a red cloth. And she's also carrying a tiny red shoulder purse. The outfit looks so feminine and alluring. It's also revealing so much of Grace's body that I have a hard time imagining that this skimpy outfit is actually a uniform. But then I look around and see a number of other women wearing name tags with just the same outfits on, identical even to the white sandals on their feet. The only difference is the color of the hair ties. So I guess it's all real.
We come to an elevator at the far end of the lobby. Grace puts down my bags and shows me how to insert my hotel key into the elevator control. An interesting feature is that my room key has to be inserted before the elevator opens. Nice security, I think. A touch screen inside is lit up with the set of my allowed destinations. Grace sees my interest and says, "It's for the privacy of our customers. We are very serious about allowing our clientele to be discreet. Do you see how the screen works? All the public areas below are available to you, and this home button here will take you to your suite corridor."
I nod pleasantly. Grace is facing me now and our elevator is slowly ascending. It's hard not to stare at her front. The bright-orange sports bra is revealing the exact location of her nipples, an extremely attractive front on an extremely attractive woman. She looks so achingly young and athletic. She has very cute face, a pert nose and intelligent hazel green eyes. And in the confined space of the elevator I smell her perfume. It's nice, a light fragrance that reminds me of flowers. Just like Grace herself. She's just like a beautiful flower. So incredibly athletic and feminine, so beautiful. Her nipples, they are so well defined by her orange sports bra. I wonder what it would be like to suckle her.
I blink as I try to pull myself out of my sexual fantasy. I decide I should say something, if only to avoid being completely rude. During my daydream of Grace, I've been ogling her tits and nipples. I was fantasizing about squeezing her bare tits with my hands and suckling her large nipples. I know it's wrong, but I just can't seem to help it. I try to admire her arms and bare waist for a moment, trying to be less rude, searching for something polite to say. "Are you a swimmer?"
Grace smiles back. "Thanks! I like to stay in shape and you're very close. I'm on the varsity crew team. That's where I get all my muscles. I've noticed you admiring me." She looks at me curiously. "Have you picked your Liar's Lair name yet?"
I feel so embarrassed. She's an undergrad, maybe thirty-five years my junior. Hell, the way kids are having sex these days, she could easily be my granddaughter. And here I am staring at her tits again, about to start a new fantasy. I try to apologize. "Yeah, uh, sorry..."
"Huh? I'm your assigned bellhop. I'm glad that you like me." Grace gives me a completely disarming smile. "And this is Liar's Lair. Look all you want!"
"Uh, yeah, okay. And you can call me Dave. That's my real name."
The elevator reaches our floor and she nods with a wink and exits with my bags before I say anything more. Does she believe my real name is Dave? I don't know. Maybe not. That wink was very playful.
Grace and I take a short hike down a silent hall. She tells me that my suite key reads my fingerprints when I pinch its brass plate. As we walk a door on my left chirps and opens all by itself when it senses my key. We enter my suite. Wow! The place is palatial, more room than I would have dreamed and very expensively appointed. Grace gives me a tour of everything, starting with the lounge area and how to run the multimedia system. Next is the bedroom. The bed is beyond enormous and Grace cheerfully turns down the sheets for me.
Last stop is the bathroom. It's a cavern, twice the size of my entire room at the fleabag. Cintia downstairs wasn't exaggerating about the size of the shower area either, oh no, not at all. Grace finishes her description of the suite as we wander back into my new bedroom. She then turns to face me. "I'm your assigned bellhop, so when I'm on duty and you ask for anything I'll try to be the one showing up. Otherwise just call downstairs or ask any bellhop wearing a red scrunchie. Red team is the group that serves the special residents."
I nod dumbly. I feel overwhelmed with how nice this place is.
"Anything you like, just ask," continues Grace. "It's an honor to be on red team. We're chosen for our desire to please."
I'm staring at her tongue tied. She's so incredibly cute and sexy looking in her skimpy outfit, and this is the red-light district. I can't resist a little banter. "Anything at all?"
"Well, within reason," she says back with a cheerful smile. "Are you thinking of something?"
I feel like saying, "Hey, pretty girl, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a guy! I'm thinking of asking you to ditch the halter bra and ultra tight panties right now!" But instead I mumble something about needing a place to wash my clothes. I have two suitcases packed with dirty laundry. Actually, filthy would be a better word.
Grace's eyes go wide. "Oh, I'd love to help you there. If you'll trust me to unpack your bags, why not take a shower now and leave your clothes outside the door? I can have everything cleaned and back here in about an hour."
"Really?! That sounds fantastic!"
Grace gives me a very warm smile and turns and opens a linen closet near the bathroom door. "Here's something to wear when you're done showering." She hands me a fluffy robe and some extra-large bath towels. "I'll wait outside while you undress."
With Grace waiting on the bedroom side of the door, I quickly get out of my sweaty clothes. Damn, I am covered with oily dirt, and my clothes aren't any better. I feel embarrassed handing such crud to the beautiful young woman on the other side of the door, but that's what I do. I hand her everything but my wallet through the half-open door, even my muddy shoes. Shortly afterwards I hear a cheerful goodbye and the sounds of Grace leaving my suite.
The shower feels great, lots of hot water and I couldn't believe the wide selections of finely milled soaps and fragrant shampoos. I put myself through two complete wash cycles before deciding to call it quits. Afterwards I dry off and then put on the robe. Oh man, it feels so good to be clean again, and in the cool dry air I'm not sweating and my wrists feel fine. I feel like a different person. I look in the mirror and stare for a moment.
Well, I have to admit maybe not that different. I've just turned fifty-five and I haven't kept my body in shape. Do I want to exercise? Yeah, maybe. In spite of our vast age difference, I find myself thinking of Grace as my assigned bellhop. I want to look nice for her. Should I ask her if Liar's Lair has a gym? Yeah, maybe I will.
I walk out to my bedroom and look around. A few of my personal items are arranged neatly on the dresser, but everything else I had is gone, including the suitcases themselves. I've got my wallet and a bathrobe and that's it. Well, maybe the room key too, but I must say, I do feel a little vulnerable. I don't even have a pair of undershorts to my name and my bathrobe goes down only about halfway to my knees. If the hotel sounds the fire alarm right now...
Fortunately I hear a knock on my suite's entry door before I carry that image further. Grace is back and looking more cheerful and beautiful than ever. Everything is so clean, my clothes, my suitcases, even my muddy shoes. Amazing. The shoes are dry too. How did they do that? And then a memory causes me to blush deeply. My dirty undershorts! I am such a slob. I had a big brown oily streak in the rear of my undershorts. How embarrassing! The white boxers are immaculate now, far cleaner than they would ever get with a machine washing. I look at Grace meekly. "You didn't have to do that."
"Do what, sir? And may I call you Dave?"
"Wash my shorts by hand. Yeah, sure, Dave is fine."
"Dave, I'm your assigned bellhop. It's my job to keep you happy."
"Well ... Thanks. You did a wonderful job."
Grace beams me a super happy smile over my small compliment. And then she's just standing there, waiting for me to make the next move. Should I tip her? Absolutely. I may be a cheapskate, but I'm not a dork. This woman has just washed shit out of my dirty boxers, and it was completely on her own initiative. I walk over to my wallet and pull out a few bills.
"Dave, you're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?"
"I know what my boxers were like! You deserve something extra!"
"And so do you! You're a resident at Liar's Lair now. So relax and enjoy being pampered. Seriously, I'm not supposed to take anything, and I don't want to anyway. It's my job to please you, not to take money from you. That's the job of the front desk."
"But you're a college kid, right?"
"Yep! That's me!"
"And aren't all college kids glad to get some extra money?"
"No, not this one. Seriously, I could get fired for taking your money, and I don't want to anyway. I'm a red-scrunchie bellhop, Dave. My job is to please you."
I stare at her. Her last words, "my job is to please you", they were said softer than the rest. It sounds like an invitation. Is it? It can't be, but is it? "Please me how?" I whisper.
"Any way you like," she replies sweetly with a little wiggle of her hips. "Anything within reason."
There's that strange qualifier again, "anything within reason." What does she mean? I'm standing there staring at her and my heart starts aching to hold her. I haven't felt like this in decades. She is so young, so beautiful. What does she mean? I really don't want to insult her by suggesting something coarsely sexual. Not if she's not expecting it.
So instead I bring a pair of clean undershorts to my nose and stiff. Yes, I thought so. My undershorts smell of the light fragrance of Grace's perfume. She must have done that on purpose. What other explanation is there?
"How old are you?" I whisper.
She smiles warmly back. "Twenty. I'm full grown, if that's what you're asking. See?" She takes a big breath and holds it and stands spread-eagle, legs apart and arms held horizontal out from her sides. Her eyes are full of playfulness.
I start to pant as I stare at her. Oh my gosh, she is so beautiful, so young, I never dreamed, not for decades anyway. Is she as hot for me as I am for her? Impossible! And yet, aren't her nipples just a little more visible now than they were a minute ago? And her hot pants! Oh man is she hot! I can see her vulva! The indent of her labia is clearly defined in the ultra-tight cotton fabric.
I shake my head to clear it. What am I thinking of?! Grace is a super sweet kid and I am not going to try to bed her, no matter how much my body is aching to. "Well, okay then. I really appreciate all you've done for me."
Her eyes blink as she realizes I'm ending the conversation. Her eyes glance down at my crotch and then back up to mine. "Well, okay," she says. "Just dial 6 if you want anything or have any questions." For a brief moment, an instant, there's a strange glint in her eye. I struggle to understand her emotions. Disappointment? Yes, perhaps, and perhaps something else too. But it happens so fast and Grace is too far away from me. The moment for better understanding passes. Grace gives me a final nod and a moment later she leaves my suite.
I try to wind down from my arousal. Oh man, that was tough, but I tell myself I did the right thing. And then I remember something and glance down at my crotch as Grace had done. I feel like dying in embarrassment. I have a raging hard-on pushing out straight horizontally and it's turning my bathrobe into an obscene tent. I can still feel myself throbbing for her. Grace must have seen it all and she was still sweet and playful with me. Wow.
What an extraordinary kid. My mind goes back to a bitter memory, the last time I was sexually aroused while I was still married to Maggie. I'll never forget the look of revulsion on my wife's face when I exposed myself. What an incredible contrast to now. Grace is such a sweet kid. But I did the right thing. I'm fifty-five and Grace is twenty. I did the right thing.
I sigh. Okay, I'm finally winding down from my arousal. So what now? I'm tired but not sleepy. The bed is presidential, but it just doesn't appeal to me. What's the time? Late evening I guess, midnight? I don't know, maybe not that late. This should be prime time at the single's bar. Am I up for some female companionship? Oh yeah! I laugh and shout out loud, "What the hell?! Liar's Lair, here I come!"
It only takes a few minutes to get dressed and head down to the elevator. As I make my first real study of the touch screen, I'm stunned by the enormity of the place. Back at my fleabag hotel, I heard mention the bars here were on the lower levels, and I assumed that meant the ground floor and perhaps a basement below. But no! The touch screen is indicating at least four levels below ground and perhaps a fifth. Am I reading this correctly? Five levels, is this possible? Especially so close to the lake? Very strange...
I take the elevator to the level just below the hotel lobby. It's a dance floor and I take a moment to marvel at the hotel's soundproofing. My room and even the ground floor lobby were cool and quiet. There was no hint of the raucous beat of the hot music down here. I wander around for a bit along the edges of the dance floor, trying to get my ears used to the decibels and my eyes used to the flashing lights. People look as if they're having a good time, and, pleasantly, there are a lot more women here than men. Even on the dance floor, there are a number of women couples dancing alongside the straight couples.
Is this a bar for mixed sexual orientation? I'd have no problem with that. But as I look around I notice that there's not one guy-couple to be seen. Is this a dance floor just for straight couples and lesbians then? I never heard of such a thing, but it's possible I guess. I walk around a while and begin to fret. There're are many unattached women walking around, all very attractive too, but so far I haven't seen anybody that looks within twenty years of my age. How do I approach someone for female companionship when she's young enough to be my daughter?
Not that I have a daughter. A sad memory returns: the fact that I never had children. Maggie was adamant about that, and to be fair, she was our primary breadwinner. Fucking hell on pumpernickel, that's what I say! Time to think of something else! I keep hunting and at last find someone who I'm pretty sure is on the north side of thirty. She still might be twenty years my junior, but on the plus side (and it's a very big plus side!) she's apparently alone. I watch her for a moment. Yes, she's surveying the crowd, perhaps looking to introduce herself to someone. Perfect.
She's very pleasant to the eye and wearing an alluring outfit. Above the waist she's almost bare; two small triangles of cloth are covering what are obviously A-cup breasts. It's still a cute and obviously feminine front. The triangles have a print of purple and blue swirls and are tied around her back and neck with blue cotton cords. There's a thicker blue cord of the same color low on her waist, and it's holding up a cream colored skirt that falls from very feminine hips almost to her ankles. She's wearing sandals with moderate heels, and in the swirling lights on the dance floor I catch the glint of a gold toe ring.
And then I happen to catch her side profile exactly right. The purple-blue triangle catches a bit of breeze and the side lights hit her just right and just for an instant I think I see ... Oh wow, yeah, no male nipple ever looked like that! This woman definitely has a very cute feminine front! It's time to make my move while she's still available! In a burst of courage I walk up to her and shout above the music, "Hi there! My name's Dave! I'm very pleased to meet you!" How's that for a suave and debonair pick-up line?
For an instant her green eyes look cold and I fear she's going to tell me to get lost. I'm therefore very pleasantly surprised when I hear her shout back, "Hi, Dave!" I get a cheerful smile and she continues. "It's nice to meet you too! My name is Lucia! Do you dance?"
"Well, I've been accused of trying!" I shout in reply, trying to sound amiable. Keep the conversation going! "Want to give it a go?"
Lucia shouts back, "Sure, I'd love to! But would you mind if we got something to drink first? I'm a little thirsty!"
Mind?! Hell no! I nod agreeably and shout, "I'm new around here!"
"Yes, I can see that!" Lucia replies cryptically. "The refreshments are one level down! Do you know the way?"
I shake my head and guess, "Back to the elevator?" I gesture across the dance floor in case she didn't hear me.
She leans over very close to my ear so that she won't have to shout and says, "No, there's a more direct way. And it will be quiet enough for us to talk. Follow me." Lucia has lots of rich curly black hair and it feels like cool silk against my ear. I'm thrilled at how well this is turning out.
We go through several doors and then down some stairs. The music fades out almost completely. Marvelous, I can hear normally again. We enter a large dining area and I try to strike up a conversation as we walk. "Lucia. That's a pretty name. Italian, isn't it?"
"And don't I look it?" she asks with an energetic smile. "And David, that's from the Bible, isn't it?"
"Uh..." I'm at a loss for how to reply. "Yeah, I guess. Do you mean I look Biblical?" Was that her meaning? Was she trying to say I looked old? Too old? But that would be so rude, and I had done nothing to give her offense. Maybe it was just small talk, just a playful joke. And yet, she does look young enough to be my daughter.
We come to a vacant booth and Lucia directs me with her hand to sit down. As I do she sits down with me and turns a small switch on the base of our table lamp. The switch causes the lamp base to glow a dull red. Lucia looks at me and says, "It's the custom on this level for women to serve the men. The bar won't serve you directly. So what can I get you?"
"Uh, thanks. Do you want some money?"
Lucia stares at me for a moment with her lovely green eyes. "No, my treat. What would you like?"
"Gee, I don't know. How good is the bar? Can you suggest something?"
"Sure. The bar here is world class. They'll make you anything you want. Do you like rum and pineapple together?"
"This place makes a great Bushwhacker. It's made with rum and Bailey's Irish Cream and Crème de Cacao and coconut juice and pineapple juice and something else that I forget, but it's really good. I'll get you one of those."
"Sounds great. Thanks Lucia!" She gives me a playful grin and takes off.
The minutes go by peacefully and I have time to think of my new acquaintance. She certainly is very pretty on the outside. I start to wonder what she's like on the inside. We didn't spend much time connecting yet. But she offered to buy me an expensive drink. That was generous. And that odd comment about my name, perhaps she was just trying to make a joke that I didn't understand.
And the time drifts by. I guess the bar must be crowded. I sit and wait patiently, looking at all the other couples. It's the same as upstairs, pairs of opposite sex couples and several pairs of women and lots of single women, but never pairs of men. Maybe I'll make a comment to Lucia about it when she's gets back. She seems familiar with the place. I lean back and sigh.
And the time drifts by. Liar's Lair, hell of a name for a hotel, hell of a name. Walking over here, I thought it was just the name for the bar below, but no. My bathrobe back upstairs, when I was taking off my bathrobe after Grace left, I noticed the L.L. monogram. And the time drifts by. I think of lots of things. Lucia, it'll be interesting breaking the ice, starting to talk to her. I'm so rusty at this. Wow, this is really turning into a long wait.
I look up and there's a woman a few steps away staring at me thoughtfully. I give her a friendly smile and she walks over and makes a hand gesture that mimics me turning off the red glow at the base of my table lamp. Curious, I do as she asks.
"I couldn't help but notice, you've been sitting here for an hour with your do-not-disturb light on. Do you really want to be left alone, or is someone playing a trick on you?"
I can't help myself. I give a loud gasp as her words sink in. And then I make a small grimace and say, "Hi, I'm Mr. Dumb. Mr. Really Dumb."
"Hi, Really! Mind if I sit down?" I make a gesture with my hand. The woman sits down and offers me a friendly smile. "You must be new here, Really."
"Yep. Mr. Dumb just checked in this evening."
She nods. "My name's Caitlyn. I really hate the name Really. My father and all ten of my brothers were named Really and it really drove me nuts. Would you mind really if I pick a new name for you?"
I stare at her and raise my eyebrows a bit.
"Benjamin! Would you mind being a Benjamin for a while?"
I shrug. "No, that'll be fine. Forgive me for being moody. I've just been stood up and it still hurts a bit." I look at the woman across from me. Mid-twenties maybe? She looks really nice but after just being burned, I'm more than a little cautious. "Caitlyn's a pretty name. How long have you been a Caitlyn?"
"Yeah, I like it too." She replies to my compliment but ignores my question. Or I think maybe she has, when I consider her answer carefully. She's still smiling at me. "So Ben, what do you think? Do I look like a Caitlyn?"
I blink and with a burst of fear wonder how similar this is to my conversation with Lucia. But then I decide I'm being irrational. Caitlyn is being nice and it's just a coincidence. So I lean back and tell her of my encounter with Lucia.
Caitlyn laughs. "Oh, that was so well done! The bar not serving men! Oh, that's so funny!"
Somehow it still doesn't seem funny to me, but Caitlyn's laugh is not cruel or mocking. I suddenly realize she's trying to help me make light of the issue. And she's right. Why should I stay depressed? Lucia and I never had anything going together.
"Ben," Caitlyn says, "you have got to keep remembering where you are! Liar's Lair, get it? Liar's Lair, get it?"
"I'm beginning to! Are you saying everything here is a lie?"
"No, of course not. If it were, you could just reverse everything and get the truth. If I had to guess, I'd say 20% to 30% of everything said here is a lie. That's what makes it such a complex game!"
"A game of hurting people?"
"Oh, it sure can be! Back-stabbing raised to the power of a fine art. Liar's Lair is The Place to be to hone and sharpen your back-stabbing skills!"
"Oh shit. I believe you."
Caitlyn laughs cheerfully. "You do? Nuts! Benjamin, get with the program!"
"Start lying to people?"
"Sure. Why else did you come here?"
"I just needed a place to stay!"
"An excellent lie, Benjamin! A lie so good you believe it yourself! That's the spirit!"
"What the hell do you mean?!"
"If all you needed were a place to stay, you'd still be up in your room!"
I gasp and stare at Caitlyn, my eyes wide. "Wow. You can see my soul, can't you?"
She looks at me kindly. "It's not as hard as you think. You're keeping yourself very open right now. Your soul is very readable. You came down here for companionship."
I take a deep breath. "Hole in one, Caitlyn, hole in one. And how about yourself? Are you here for companionship or to sharpen knives?"
Another kind smile. Her clear green eyes are alive with warmth. "Neither. I work here."
"Oh? That's interesting. So what sort of employer is Liar's Lair?" I give a quick laugh. "Do they treat you honestly?"
She laughs. "Good question! I'll have to ask my bellhop sometime."
"The question doesn't quite apply to me. I'm not on the payroll. Just the opposite. I have an affiliate resident arrangement. I pay a commission for the privilege to live and work here."
"Benjamin, don't you understand? I'm a prostitute."