He urinated, shaved, brushed his teeth and then had a bout of explosive diarrhea in the fancy hotel room toilet. He then took a shower and got dressed in his traveling clothes—a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, a tie, and a sports jacket. The shower had not made him feel much better; mentally or physically. He went to the bar—almost vomiting when he saw the Patron bottle and the shot glasses sitting there—and promptly drank six of the little plastic bottles of Icelandic glacier water, using them to wash down two Tylenol and four aspirin tablets. He then walked over and picked up the room service menu. Though food was the absolute last thing in the world he felt like having right now, he ordered a Mexican omelet and a large bottle of orange juice. He knew from previous experience that choking down some spicy, acidic food would ultimately be helpful to his cause.
It was a struggle to get the food down, but he managed it. By the time it was 9:25 AM, time to start heading down for the limousine ride to the airport, the headache had faded and his stomach had stabilized a bit. He still felt extremely tired and extremely guilty, however.
He found Mindy, Fletch, and Lancing all slumped down in the lobby chairs in front of the main entrance. All three looked considerably worse for wear. Mindy was wearing a pair of designer jeans and a long-sleeve blouse. Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and her eyes were red and blurry.
“Hey,” she greeted sourly. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Terrible,” he told her. “Absolutely terrible.”
“Join the club,” Fletch groaned. “This is what happens when you let Mindy talk you into drinking straight scotch on the way to the premier.”
“Sure, blame it on me,” Mindy said. “I don’t recall having to hold anyone down and pour the drinks down their throat.”
The limousine arrived and they stumbled inside. It took them to Midway Airport, where their chartered plane was waiting in the general aviation area. They stumbled from the limo up the boarding stairs and found seats near the front of the aircraft. Mindy sat next to Greg again. Greg cast a nervous eye at her but said nothing.
The flight attendant asked them if they would like pre-departure drinks.
“God, no,” Greg groaned.
“God yes,” Mindy countered. “We’ll each have a bloody Mary, extra pale.”
“Are you insane?” Greg asked. “Alcohol is why I feel so horrible right now.” Well, partially why I feel so horrible.
“Trust me on this,” Mindy said. “The best cure for a hangover is the hair of the dog that bit you. Have a bloody Mary now, another one once we’re in the air, sleep the rest of the way to New York, and you’ll be ready to kick some ass by the time we land.”
And, of course, Mindy was right. He had a little trouble choking down the first two swallows of the tomato juice and vodka concoction, but as he put more of it in his stomach, he did begin to feel better. And, by the time they were at cruising altitude over western Indiana, he felt almost human, although he could tell it was an artificial feeling.
“See?” Mindy said with a smile. “Hair of the dog. It works every time.”
“It would seem you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?” Greg asked.
“You could say that,” she agreed, setting down her now empty glass. “And now, I’m gonna catch some sleep. Wake me up when we land.”
“Right,” Greg said, watching as she settled herself into her chair and closed her eyes.
She had made no allusion or other inuendo to what had happened between them last night. Not even a sly smile or a sideways glance. Was it possible she did not remember that she had orally serviced him in his hotel suite? That she had let him ejaculate into her mouth? She had been even drunker than he, having consumed more drinks and being considerably smaller than him. Could it be that she had no idea that she had even done that?
He pondered that thought as he settled into his own seat and drifted off into slumber land. Just before sleep took him, he concluded that Mindy probably did not remember the events at all. And if that was the case, he was the only one who knew it had happened, right? And there was no reason why anyone else needed to know about it, right?
Alas, Mindy did remember the events of the previous night. And she also knew now how to push his buttons in the right way. She managed to feed him enough alcohol to damage his defenses at the New York premier. At the hotel bar after the premier, what started as a seemingly serious discussion about what had transpired between them the previous night drifted into a discussion of other things that Celia would not do in the bedroom.
“No butt sex, huh?” Mindy asked slyly after Greg had volunteered this information.
“Not a chance,” he told her. “I know better than to even suggest something like that to her.”
“That’s a bummer,” Mindy said, shrugging. “I really like a nice cock up my ass. It makes me feel so full.”
“Uh ... yeah, I guess it would,” Greg said, starting to realize that they were well into the land of impropriety once again.
“At least you were single for a while before you hooked up with her,” Mindy said. “You got to do all that stuff with the little starlets and extras before you committed to one person.”
“Well ... actually,” Greg said, “I’ve never actually ... you know ... had the opportunity to perform that particular act before.”
She looked at him, seemingly shocked by this revelation. “Get outta town!” she said. “You never got to tap an ass?”
And he should have ended the conversation right there, ended it and gone up to his room. He should have stopped drinking as well. He did neither.
And now, here he was in his suite in the Plaza Hotel overlooking New York’s Central Park. The dress pants of his tuxedo were once again around his ankles and his throbbing erection was once more sticking out before him like a divining rod. Mindy Snow, still wearing her maroon formal dress, was bent over the couch in front of him, the hem of her dress pulled up, revealing her bare ass framed by the garter belt that held up her silk stockings. She was spreading her butt cheeks obscenely, revealing her swollen, slick vagina and her puckered anus to his gaze.
How the hell did this happen? Greg thought desperately as he stared at the alluring sight before him.
“Come on, Greggie!” Mindy demanded. “Put some of that lotion on and do it to me! Fuck my ass!”
In his left hand he held a bottle of hotel body lotion that had been in the bathroom. Mindy had retrieved it and handed it to him right before assuming the position she was now in.
Greg hesitated, a bit of rational thought trying to worm its way in. I can’t do this! it screamed at him.
But she already gave me a blowjob last night, another part of his mind spoke up (the part that Jake would have recognized as the little head asserting its views). What does one more sin matter? She’s right there, right in front of you, and begging for it!
He found this point of view made a lot of sense at the moment. He opened the bottle up and squirted some in his hand. “Do I just ... you know ... put it on my member?” he asked Mindy.
“Yes!” she said. “But get me all lubed up first. Put some in my ass crack and then finger fuck my ass for a little bit.”
The remaining doubts disappeared like smoke as she said this. He stroked his member a few times, getting it nice and slippery and then squirted another large glob of the lotion directly into her buttock crack. The lotion smelled strongly of coconut and for the rest of his life he would associate that smell with this moment and spring an erection.
He put the flat of his hand into her crack and smeared the lotion up and down, his fingertips touching the wetness of her vaginal lips on the downstroke. He then slid his middle finger into the round bud of her anus, pushing it in well past the first knuckle. The orifice was tight and slippery.