Blues in the Night
story codes: MF


Blues in the Night,
by Rajah Dodger©

The bar where Fred sat was crowded and dingy, but it had a
television. On the screen, the Cowboys kicker shanked what would
have been the winning field goal; a mixture of groans and cheers
echoed in the crowded bar. The brunette sitting on Fred's left cursed
and slammed her beer down, splashing his left cuff.

"Oh hell, I'm sorry!" she spluttered, trying to dab at his sleeve
with a napkin. "Look, I'll pay for the cleaning bill..."

"That's okay," Fred reassured her, gently removing her hand from
his wrist. "I guess you were rooting for the Cowboys, huh?" The
woman grunted, muttering something unintelligible and downing the
last of her beer. Fred didn't mind; the bet he'd just won would pay for
plenty of shirts.

Fred hadn't particularly noticed his neighbor before, but now
took the time to give her a once-over. Peach blouse, small earrings,
the start of crows' feet - she had the look of someone who'd been
around the block a few times. On the other hand, she had a pretty
face through her anger, and Fred felt like sharing his good fortune.

"Tell you what," he said, and when she didn't respond he tapped
her on the shoulder to get her attention. "Tell you what, you can
make it up to me by being my guest for dinner - that is, if you can
recommend a good place."

She looked at him suspiciously, then blinked and smiled -
surprising him with alert blue eyes and seeming to lose at least ten
years from her face. "Don't mind if I do," she replied, extending her
hand. "My name's Sharon - what's your line?"

Fred was surprised at the strength of her grip. "Fred Sanders;
I'm in town for the pipeline convention." Sharon withdrew her hand
and slid off her barstool, picking up her purse. She was taller
standing than had been apparent, and Fred continued while he broke
a hundred and left the bartender a tip, "I'd have been at the hotel bar
tonight, but they were only showing the home team's game. I found
this place to see the game, but it doesn't look like the menu's worth
staying for." He chuckled at his own wit, while Sharon smiled
appreciatively.

She ticked off the options on her fingers as Fred put his wallet
back in his pants pocket. "Well, there's a good Italian place a
couple of blocks over, and Chinese and Mexican near there as well
as a Moroccan place with real belly dancers." She gave him an
appraising look and continued, "Of course, the best place to eat in
this town is on the east side, barbeque to die for and authentic Dixie
swamp blues. But that's a drive from here, I'd have to give you
directions and we all know how men are about directions!" Her voice
and face gave him mixed signals - part humor, part challenge.

Fred decided to let the insult to his gender slide. Barbeque and
blues sounded good to him, and since Sharon's car was closer than
his hotel garage they agreed to let her do the driving. She set a brisk
pace as they walked to the car, and Fred admired her legs as her
skirt swirled about her knees. He was soon glad that Sharon was in
charge, as the route went through several parts of town that weren't at
all to Fred's liking. Her radio was tuned to a local channel playing
music that seemed almost familiar, bluesy but more raw and
energetic than anything he had heard back home.

The sign at their destination said "Hank's Rib Shack", and its
run-down exterior made the sports bar look high-class in comparison.
The food inside, however, made the drive more than worthwhile. As
did the company - Sharon turned out to be a school teacher and a
lively conversationalist, listening with equal interest to his stories
about drilling clients. The band was loud but tolerable, and after her
second beer Sharon dragged Fred onto the small dance floor where
they bumped and ground their way enjoyably through some slow
blues numbers.

Time just flew by, and when Fred looked at his watch he couldn't
believe it was almost midnight. He had two client presentations to
run in the morning, and a laughing woman at his table who bore no
relation to the one who'd been swearing at the television earlier in
the evening. It took some convincing, but Fred managed to get
Sharon out of the building and into the car.

That left him with a different problem - they were in Sharon's
car, in an unfamiliar part of town, and she was in no shape to drive.
Fred even had to fasten the passenger seat belt, reaching across her
partly-unbuttoned blouse to get the buckle. She smelled of beer,
barbecue and perfume, and wriggled against him as he tightened the
belt. She was coherent enough to give him directions back to the
hotel district, and by the time his hotel was in view he had made up
his mind to put her up for the night. His company had booked a suite,
so Sharon could take the bed and he could sleep on the living room
sofa.

It was with some embarrassment that Fred made his way through the
hotel lobby, with Sharon leaning on his shoulder and breaking into
random attacks of the giggles. She pulled herself together in the
elevator long enough to thank Fred demurely for keeping her off the
road. Then she kissed him - not a chaste polite thank-you, but a
moist full-lipped body-pressing kiss that left Fred wondering how
much of a gentleman he really wanted to be.

The elevator doors opened, and Sharon held Fred's hand as she
went with him down the hallway. When he reached into his wallet to
get the room card, she leaned against the wall, one leg extended with
the tip of her shoe drawing circles in the carpet. The lock released
and he pulled the door open, gesturing for Sharon to precede him.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said as she passed him. Her words were
just slightly slurred. Fred carefully locked and bolted the door
while Sharon took a look around the suite. "Quite a place you have,
Fred, just what did you say you do for these pipeline folks?"

"I'm a systems analyst and conversion specialist," he repeated as
he moved into the living area. "I'm in charge of making sure our gear
fits their needs."

"And do you often fit your gear into their needs?" She giggled,
then broke into uncontrolled laughter at the look on Fred's face. "Oh
relax honey, you let yourself in for that one."

Fred let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding, and
smiled at the truth of her comment. He had fed her quite a straight
line. "Okay," he said after he chuckled, "let's get you set up. The
bathroom's out here, so if you'll kindly take care of that first you
can have the bedroom for the night. I've got early meetings tomorrow,
so I hope you don't mind but you'll have to be awake and out by eight."

Sharon appeared surprised, then pleased, and headed for the
bathroom. Fred hung up her jacket and went into the bedroom to turn
down the cover and retrieve some of his papers. He heard the sound
of the toilet flushing, and soon Sharon stepped into the bedroom. She
yawned as she set her purse down by the bedside and smiled at him.

"Fred, I just want to tell you how delightful it is to be with a
gentleman. I'm sorry I had too much tonight, and you're being so nice
letting me crash here. I just wish I could make it up to you." She
yawned again and sat down on the side of the bed, smiling at Fred.

In other circumstances Fred might have taken that as an
invitation, but Sharon seemed to be feeling the effects of the evening
and he needed his sleep. Anyway, he'd already gotten lucky once with
the football game, so he stood up and smiled back at her. "Think
nothing of it, Sharon; I just wouldn't have felt right worrying about
you driving home at this hour." With that he turned and headed toward
the bedroom door.

When he passed the doorframe and turned to close the door, Sharon
was sprawled half on and half off the bed, softly snoring. He sighed
and went back into the bedroom to the bed. First he lifted Sharon to
a sitting position and carefully unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a
flesh-tinted bra that clung to the curves of her breasts. She
wriggled and sighed as he removed the blouse; when he went to
hang it carefully over the back of the desk chair, she flopped
backward onto the pillow, her skirt flipping up to show a strip of blue
between her thighs. Returning to the bed, he unzipped the skirt and
slid it down her warm legs, leaving the dark blue panties in place. Her
feet curled and she murmured, "Oh John, yes," as he tugged at the
sheet and maneuvered her body onto the mattress. He smiled
ruefully; at least someone was having nice dreams. He draped the
sheet over her and turned off the bedroom light.

Fred pulled the door behind him, then undressed for his own
makeshift bed. The room was cool enough to be comfortable, but not
so cold that he would need a blanket. He had a small headache and a
not-so-small erection. In the bathroom, he brushed and flossed, then
pushed his briefs down to tend to his other needs. His cock stood out
heavily, and he had to force his mind onto monthly sales projections
before his groin relaxed enough to finish his business.

Afterward, realizing the alarm clock was in the bedroom, he
called the front desk for a wake-up call, stretched out on the sofa
and covered his midsection with a towel for modesty. He twisted and
turned until he found a position that let him drift off.

Something woke him in the middle of the night... sounds from the
bedroom. He got up, wrapping the towel around his waist, and
knocked gently on the door. Getting no response, he pushed it open
quietly. Sharon was lying on the bed, her head propped up on the
pillows and the sheet pulled down. The flickering colors from the
television screen played over her face and bare breasts, nice-sized
handfuls with large dark areolas. Her eyes were closed and her chest
rose and fell regularly; one hand was resting on her stomach, the
other hidden beneath the sheet.

On the small screen, a woman bearing a vague resemblance to
Sharon was twisting her nipples and moaning as another woman knelt
between her legs, asscheeks flaring at the camera. Any annoyance at
the extra hotel charge was set aside by the sudden surge of blood to
his cock, swelling inside his briefs and pressing outward against the
towel. He switched the set off, but the images remained active in his
mind. When he got back to the sofa and eventually to sleep, his
dreams were active and erotic.

The woman in his dreams raked her fingernails over his nipples,
and his hips rocked under the wet slice of her pussy. The rough
material of the sofa cushion scraped against his bare bottom... bare
bottom? Fred's eyes blinked open and he looked upward into
Sharon's amused gaze. She was sliding herself backward and
forward over the length of his cock, with an extra wiggle over the
sensitive head.

"Gee, you're a sound sleeper," she purred, "and such a gentleman,
too! I really expected you to join me in bed earlier, but the sofa works
for me."

Any response Fred might have mustered was silenced by her mouth
descending hungrily onto his. Her fingers slithered around the crown
of his cock and he felt the slick caress of lubricated latex.

Satisfied, she pressed his tip inside her and settled her weight down
onto his thighs. Her muscles swallowed his length and squeezed
tightly - very tightly indeed. She broke off the kiss and sat atop
him, playing with his balls, feeling them swell. "Oh yeah, Fred,
don't tease me, you don't know how long it's been since I was with a
man!" The rising tide of urgency within Fred kept him from putting
words together. He certainly wasn't of porn movie size, but it was
obvious that Sharon found his dimensions to her satisfaction and that
knowledge stoked his own arousal. Sharon's hips writhed clutching
him deep inside her and her fingers stroked and teased, darting into
his most private sensitive spots. Soon enough, yet too soon, he found
himself lost in the moment, his legs gone stiff and his body arching,
lifting her into the air with the lust-driven force of his orgasm
magnified by the rolling massage of her internal spasms round him.

Sharon sat above him triumphantly with an open-mouthed look of
bliss on her face, her breasts jiggling in the half-light percolating
through the windowshades. Her own spasms brought out everything
Fred had to give, and even the full furniture cushions weren't enough
to keep their passion from beating out an audible rhythm on the hotel
room floor.

Sated, the two collapsed together, bodies intertwined and
stretched out fully on the sofa. Sharon's fingers teased gently at
Fred's left ear as he sank into a post-coital slumber.

*RINNNNGGGGG*

Fred shook his head blearily, looking up at the ceiling and
trying to figure out where the phone was and who was calling him.
When he finally stumbled over to the living room desk and heard the
automated voice wish him "Good Morning,' some of his brain began
working again.

Sharon was gone. If it weren't for the definite scent of sex in
the air, Fred might have thought he had dreamt the previous night. He
headed into the bathroom and started cleaning up, shaking his head
in bemusement. Bemusement got left at the station, however, when
he got out of the shower and couldn't find any of his underwear.

A thorough search of the room showed two things missing - all of
his underwear, and all of the bills in his wallet save for two
singles. Just enough for a beer at the sports bar. He sat on the
sofa, bewilderment and anger mixing uncomfortably, when his eyes lit
on a small flash of blue in between the cushions. It was Sharon's
panties, and there was a note inside them.

"Hi, Fred. I meant what I said about you being a gentleman...
but since you wound up getting into my pants I figured you wouldn't
mind if I got into yours! Enjoy the panties! -- S."

Fred looked at the blue fabric in his hand. He lifted it to his
face - it still bore her scent. His cock rose at the memory, and he
slapped it absently. It wouldn't help, of course. He grinned, then
he laughed out loud at the situation. If this were in a movie, he'd
probably be rolling in the aisles; the joke just happened to be on
him. At last, he slid the feminine garment up his legs, so that he
could finish getting dressed. It was small, of course, and the
material slid teasingly against his cock with his every motion. He
wondered what his customers would think if they knew the source of
his good humor today.


© 2006 Rajah Dodger

Rajah Dodger is a Houston-based computer professional who enjoys
science fiction, classical music, comic strips, women and dogs.  When the
muse takes him by the throat (or other responsive part of his anatomy) he
turns into an erstwhile composer of erotica.

He started writing back in the ancient BBS days, and has survived over a
decade of criticism and support from those in the electronic world to
continue occasionally composing these offerings.  He cites as his literary
influences Mark Twain, Robert Heinlein, and deirdre.