Heat

His tongue. It's inside me doing unspeakable things. 

Yes. YES. FINALLY.

After nearly a decade as dry as the sahara. Penance. Finally. YES.

His salt and pepper beard, soft, not scratchy. His hand at. Just. The. Right. Place.

There hasn't been time to talk. To explain ourselves. I haven't been interested. He was... older, but had lied on the apps. Typical. Had the right passport. And the Brit version of an Ivy league degree. And ambition, even if it was in an industry that was traditionally associated with stodgy old men. Like him actually.

He was acting like a teen in his voracious post divorce rebounding, hitting on everything vaguely female (and not, by accident). Yet a terrible boomer at the same time. And a little too proud of his conquests of girls nearly his daughter's age. Ew.

Post nut clarity apparently applies to women too. But in my defense, it seems I already knew it, but the volume had just been turned down waaayyy low because, well, mama was thirsty.

Does he even see me as anything other than a hole? God that voice in my head is annoying sometimes. Now that it's louder, I can't help but realize that it's making so much sense.

He's still enthusiastically hoovering my vagina, not having realized that I'm done, and had time to mentally pack my bags and leave.

I gently tap his head, "errmmmmm". 

Dear lord he's not letting up.

"Hey! Stop!" Oops, my parent voice leaked out.

He stops, and looks up from between my thighs, questioning, but happily clueless, and very very much still raring to go. Awkward.

"Errrr... I think I'm done" I gently scootch out before he can say anything, and start putting on my clothes. Uff asshole, had told him not to yank the lace, his ham fisted pawing at the hook has torn it a bit.

He's a little confused, still in a horny stupor, and I can see he hasn't understood.

By the time his brain catches up, I'm tucking my shirt into my pants. 

"Errr what. Wait" he's scrambling to sit up, and untangle himself from the sheets.

I'm putting my shoes on.

"Are you freaking out?"

"Nope!" Bag in hand, I do a quick check because damn I don't want to forget anything. Well maybe I am freaking out.

"Maybe I am"

His confusion clears a little bit, and it seems he's cottoning on to my mental state. 

"Ok wait. Let's talk about this" 

That fucking British accent. That's the one that got me into this trouble. No way in hell that's happening again.

"Sure! Sure! I'll call you. Actually you know, you message me once you're back in London. Have a safe flight!" Am i babbling? I'm babbling. 

"No I meant right now. Let's talk right now" he says gently, bed sheet thankfully covering nether regions, but leaving his torso mostly uncovered. Holy shit he's not fat, I'm not used to men his age without a paunch. I just manage to stop myself from asking him gym routine. Or the brand of protein supplement he's clearly using.

"NoooOoo I think that's a terrible idea, I think I'm going to go" I say as I scramble out the hotel room.

He tries to stand up, now concerned, but sees my face and pauses midfold, then sits back down.

I take that as permission to escape. I speed walk like the crazy person I am, out the door, down the hall, down the lift, past the wedding guests, and am gone gone gone gone. 

Have a horrible, horrible moment when the guard clicks closed the car door. Will they be able to smell sex on me. Of course not. I think.

I take my travel perfume and spray myself surreptitiously. And don't breathe properly till I'm back home, and have blocked and deleted his number. And blocked and deleted that damn app.

Never again.