I had a case of nerves even while packing for my trip to NYC. Just the process of what to include or not include could be a signal to me about what I expected to happen or not happen while traveling on my own for the first time in years. The sexy lingerie? It was just to feel good about myself, even though no one, especially a man, would see me in the skimpy, transparent bra and panties. The sheer, see-through baby doll nightie? It just feels comfortable to sleep in at night. And packing my diaphragm and spermicide? Just a sensible habit. No woman travels without protection, with or without her husband. I did make a mental note to also pick up some condoms at one of the airport shops before boarding. And I made sure that my husband, David, didn’t get a glimpse of what I had finally packed. He’d imagine all sorts of unwarranted scenarios that would never happen. Twenty-five years of marriage and reaching the milestone of my 50th birthday reduced my patience for nagging based on his insecurities.
And I really didn’t need the aggravation of having to explain myself over this trip. Especially since it was his fault I would be on my own on this trip in the first place. He brought up an important project at work that couldn’t wait. The real reason was he just didn’t like my sister and her family in NYC, the intended purpose for this trip. He always expected me to accompany him on trips to his family, but saw no reason to reciprocate. It didn’t help that David’s boss was an attractive woman who always seemed ready to demand his presence for any high-priority project at work. She seemed to have a knack for making him choose between work and his family. And he seemed too ready to oblige her whims. Fortunately, we were now at the empty nest stage of our lives, so our grown children no longer suffered from his absences for work.
I finally felt able to relax once David had left for work and I got changed for the trip. Instead of the usual jeans and sweater, I put on my favorite snug fitting gray sweater minidress, with black hose and low pumps. I always felt confident and sexy in the outfit, especially in New York City, where I’d be staying for the next week. The Uber driver even gave an approving glance when he picked me up for the ride to the airport. He insisted on opening the door and ‘assisting’ me with a helping hand getting into and out of the car. I was under no illusion that he actually just wanted to watch the hem of my short dress ride up as I entered and exited the vehicle. I made sure it hiked up provocatively each time to give him maximum view of my thighs. I gave him a good tip for his unabashed appreciation of my remaining, if diminishing, physical assets. Nothing like unspoken, visual foreplay with a total stranger to get ready for the coming week, I thought to myself.
I arrived downtown at the Ned NoMad by late afternoon. The taxi driver was equally solicitous as the Uber driver had been in helping me in and out of the cab. So the behavior hadn’t been a ‘one-off’ by one overly horny driver. The male gaze I was getting was apparently a universal phenomenon today. I’ll have to wear this outfit more often, I thought to myself. David and I had stayed here many times before, so I felt comfortable with the hotel and the neighborhood. The hotel restaurant on the ground floor encouraged mingling of the guests with its communal dining setup, which I’ve always enjoyed. But this would be the first time dining without David by my side. I hate to admit it to myself, but I often suffer from anxiety in social situations when by myself. After checking in and going upstairs to my room to unpack, I briefly considered changing into something more plain and drab before going back down to dinner. Slacks and a sweater? Nope. This has worked all day, so I took a deep breath and headed to the elevator.
As I entered the restaurant, the hostess guided me toward a table with 2 other women my age who had a chair available. Perfect. But as we were walking in, a handsome gentleman sitting alone looked up, did a double-take, stood up and pulled out a chair for me. The hostess paused to check my reaction, and uncharacteristically for me, I took the offered chair and sat down. The man held my hand momentarily as I sat down, holding it for just an extra beat that gave me an electric charge I hadn’t felt in some time. Good grief, I thought to myself, one brief handshake and I get turned on by a complete stranger? I felt my anxiety creeping back up instead of diminishing.
My anxiety started to subside once we started talking. He was my age, good looking, with an expensive Rolex watch on his wrist, casually dressed in a blue Oxford shirt, tan slacks and leather top-siders, trim and fit looking for a man my age. No sign of a ‘dad-bod’. And no sign of a wedding ring, not even the tell-tale pale circle of skin denoting a recently removed ring. Hmm. Life-long bachelor? Gay? I reminded myself to stop overthinking and just relax.
We ordered appetizers, and he ordered a bottle of wine for us to share for our meal. I could definitely use a glass to calm my nerves.
“So what brings you to Manhattan?” He asked.
“Visiting some family and art museums while I’m here”. Which was quite true. I planned to check out MOMA, the Met and The Whitney while here.
“What a coincidence. I’m here with some colleagues on our annual spring trek to the city to check out the latest exhibitions. Perhaps you could join us some day this week if your schedule allows. That is, if your husband doesn’t mind”.
Another one of those little tingling sensations, this time warmer and longer lasting, surprised me at his suggestion. He explained he’s an Art History professor from the University of Pittsburgh, and his colleagues are professors from several other Universities in the Eastern US. His invitation intrigued me, though I wondered if I would be a bit out of my league in his circle.
“Oh, my husband definitely won’t mind. He’s back home in Colorado on business”. I don’t even know why I blurted this out. It definitely sounded like ‘too much information’.
He gave me a concerned look. “That’s crazy. If you were my wife, I wouldn’t think of leaving you alone here for an entire week!”
That set off another wave of warm tingling for me. My body was getting out of hand. But I liked the feeling. And the second glass of wine didn’t hurt my mood at all. The food and wine encouraged more conversation. John, I learned, has been a widower for a decade, which explained the long missing wedding ring. He didn’t make a big deal about it other than to add that staying at this boutique hotel had been a regular stop for them during his museum visits each year. I doubted he lacked for female companionship over the last 10 years, just looking at him, but I definitely didn’t pry any further. But I had to catch myself from staring at him quite so much. And he definitely wasn’t averse to gazing at my breasts in this tight dress from time to time. Which only turned my warm sensations to just this side of a flood ‘down there’.
We finished our meal and the bottle of wine. It was finally time to head to our rooms, and we walked to the elevator. We were the first ones to the lift, and several other younger couples were behind us as the doors opened, so we moved to the back of the elevator. I had forgotten how small it was as we crowded in, John and I at the very rear with him behind me, his back to the wall, and me in front of him and the other couples in front of us, chatting and oblivious to us as they punched the buttons for all the intervening floors below ours. This was going to be a slow ride.
The elevator lurched as it went to the next floor, and I lost my balance for a moment. John instinctively placed his hands gently on my hips to steady me, and just as instinctively, I leaned back into him, my back torso against his front torso. I made no attempt to pull away or appear startled by the physical contact. And he maintained his grasp on my hips. Each lurching stop increased our mutual contact, and I was hoping he couldn’t notice my breathing becoming somewhat ragged over the chatter of our fellow passengers. That warm, moist feeling between my legs was threatening to become torrential. And my backside could definitely feel the beginnings of his arousal. This was becoming the elevator ride from hell or heaven, depending on one’s point of view! All I could think about was getting to my room, getting into my bed and pleasuring myself into oblivion. But I had to get there first. Finally, we were the last two on the elevator. Instead of moving apart as the space now allowed, neither of us attempted to move apart. I continued to rest against him as he continued to hold me, a little more firmly than before. I closed my eyes and imagined him lifting up my dress and entering me from behind right there. Or going to one of our rooms together and lowering myself onto his stiff cock and riding him until I was totally wasted by an endless series of orgasms.
Fortunately, we reached my floor, the elevator signal dinged, the spell was broken, and I quickly exited the elevator and headed to my room while John continued to his room on the next floor. I had no idea what he was thinking. I took off my clothes, especially my soaking wet panties and got in the shower. I even ran my underwear under the shower and hung them up to dry, since I had only brought enough to last for the trip. I didn’t feel like explaining to my sister why I needed to use her washer and dryer for my lingerie. I got into bed and masturbated to the fantasy of my elevator companion using me anyway he desired. Then drifted off to sleep after wondering how to avoid him for the next few days.