It’s about half an hour past check-in time and I wait in the lounge while he parks the car. From the bar, I watch the lobby bustle with guests. It’s mostly families today, kicking off summer vacations promising sun and fun– and leisure time spent enjoying the luxury amenities of this grand hotel. Dads and moms, harried, but smiling–looking forward to a change of scenery and a break from the daily routine.

But that’s not why we are here. I beam like a Cheshire cat, unable to suppress the secret smile that rises to my lips. He takes care of the details at the desk and walks over to join me, giving me a wink and a smile. “Let’s check out the room first.”

In the elevator he can’t keep his hands off me. Giddy with excitement. The room is just as I had hoped. Plush linens, comfortable bed topped with big, fluffy down pillows and duvet—contemporary furnishings and a lovely view of the pool and waterfall from a small balcony above. “Mmmmm, it’s perfect”, I sigh, drawing the black-out drapes across the large window.

Downstairs in the bar we order drinks. I skip my usual glass of wine, opting for a dry martini. Hard liquor goes straight to my head–and I love how it bolsters my courage. He orders a micro brew and we settle together into a corner booth.

The bar is quiet this late afternoon and it’s just the two of us. We smile nervously at one another, sipping our drinks. “I love your legs,” he whispers. ” I always have. The way your muscles are defined–so sexy.”

“Thanks. Yoga.” I smile, crossing my right thigh over the other and adjusting my tight little black mini skirt. I wore my high heeled Mary Janes with the  thin ankle straps. I’ve always loved playing with the juxtaposition of good girl versus bad girl.

He kisses me and it feels electric. And again. He leans in, playing with a lock of my hair.

“Do you want to have dinner first?”

I shake my head. “You know I don’t like to have a full tummy when…”

The drink hits me quickly and I am anxious to get started. The gin burns hot in my throat, warming me from the inside. “Hey, you wanna go up?” Our drinks are still half full, but I can’t wait. We slip out of the bar, glasses in hand– and into the elevator.

“Fourth floor, going up.”

I asked for this. I finally gathered the courage– even if it doesn’t seem to make sense. Even if it’s not like me at all. I asked, and he said yes. And he knows how I want it. He understands how a slow turning desire can become a burning need, demanding satisfaction, and that this is not a sudden fascination for me. That this has been waiting below the surface for so long–so many years before Hollywood slapped a shiny coat of paint on it for mass consumption.

This is not that. It is something darker and far more compelling than a silly game of tie-me-up. This is not about him. This is about me. This is about feeding a deep and ancient hunger inside and I don’t have to explain.

To be continued…