|White Thigh Above Stocking Top (standard:drama, 2141 words)|
|Author: Ian Hobson||Added: Jul 02 2004||Views/Reads: 23292/8294||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Inspired by Cowgirl 11's 'What is Sexy?'|
White Thigh Above Stocking Top ©2004 Ian Hobson Dave strolled casually across the entrance lobby's polished wooden floor, heading for the bar. He liked the look of this hotel; it wasn't the newest in town, but it was in a now fashionable area and seemed to be enjoying a renaissance; as well as a growing reputation for being a good place to meet members of the opposite sex. As he passed the reception desk, he noticed one of the receptionists giving him a sidelong look. He rewarded her with a smile. She was younger by at least fifteen years; but then, some women found balding men sexy. And the new suit, and silk shirt, surely helped. He was glad he'd made the investment. It was well after eight, yet the bar was still relatively quiet. There was a smell of new carpet, mixed with cigarette and cigar smoke. The background music - a BB King blues number - was barely audible. A barman was polishing glasses. 'Good evening, sir. What can I get you?' 'Malt whisky.' Dave preferred beer or wine with a meal, but after a meal, whisky. 'Any particular brand, sir?' 'Whatever you recommend will be fine... Thanks.' Dave paid the barman, and told him to keep the change; he was feeling generous. He took a corner table near the right-hand end of the bar, and sat with his back to the wall, checking out the clientele: a young couple, sitting very close and sharing a whispered joke; an overweight middle-aged man sitting alone, smoking a cigarette and sipping at a pint of dark beer; a smartly dressed couple standing near the bar, the man smoking a cigar; two other young couples sharing a table near the center of the room. The sound of high heels approaching, via the lobby, took Dave's attention. It was the other girl from the reception desk; a little older than the one that had given him the eye, and with a more businesslike expression. She stood in the open doorway and looked around, as though searching for someone, before turning and striding away. Dave took a sip of his whisky, closing his eyes for a moment. He wanted a cigarette, but resisted the urge to return to the bar for some. Quitting was hard, but he'd gone seven weeks and five days this time, and he was determined to win. The sound of high heels again, but a different, less hurried, stride. He watched the brunet enter and cross the room, aware that almost every other pair of male eyes in the room had become, at least momentarily, distracted. She kept looking straight ahead, taking the shortest route to the bar. The barman turned towards her and smiled. 'Good evening, madam. What would you like? 'A medium white wine, please.' Her voice was soft but slightly husky. She placed her purse on the bar, before pushing herself up onto one of the barstools. Dave caught a momentary flash of white thigh above stocking top before she adjusted the hem of her dress; a little black number; high neckline but low at the back. The barman poured the wine with practised ease and placed the glass on the bar. 'Are you a guest, madam?' 'Yes, room eleven.' Dave watched as the barman made out a chit of some kind and handed it to the woman to sign. 'Thank you, madam.' 'Thank you.' She swallowed a first sip of the wine, then opened her purse and took out a small mirror and quickly checked her appearance. As the mirror was returned to the purse Dave caught a brief glimpse of the woman's reflected face. He knew that she had seen him as she'd come in; and clearly, she couldn't resist the opportunity to take Click here to read the rest of this story (219 more lines)
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