Patience

Patience
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I leaned against a railing, waiting for the luggage from our plane to start dribbling onto the carousel. It had been at least twenty minutes since we landed, testing our patience yet again. Air travel requires endless amounts of patience, it seems. It had been a rough road that day, full of obstacles, delay and a bumpy flight but this would be one of the last ordeals of this journey, so we all stood quietly, trusting our luggage would begin to descend. I looked at my watch and when I looked up, I saw her.

“Donna,” I shouted, an almost involuntary reaction to the sight of my old friend in a totally unexpected place. She dragged a wheeled suitcase behind her, having come into town from some other place entirely, at exactly the same hour as I did. What were the odds?

She looked at me in surprise, startled by my shouting her name, almost backing away from me until she looked at me again and recognized her old friend in the older face. She dropped her purse, set down her bag and threw her arms around me with a squeal.

After a few minutes of babbling, spewing bits of information at each other, it became clear that our meeting was the purest of coincidences, one in a hundred million, at least. A nudge from the Universe perhaps, I thought and proposed we take advantage of the incredibly unlikely serendipity and get together for dinner.

But alas, Donna had come into town specifically to go to dinner with a client and my hopes were dashed.

“I should be finished by ten,” she said. “Meet me at the bar in the hotel lobby.” We both made reservations at the same hotel. That’s how powerful the coincidence was.

At least the hotel didn’t assign us adjoining rooms. That would have been spooky levels of weird.

So ten o’clock came and I planted myself in the hotel bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks.  After the strenuous day of travel, the alcohol washed over me gently, relaxing my tired mind and muscles, made things easier to bear. I watched some sports news on the television behind the bar without registering any of it. I kept thinking about Donna.

We’d been friends, working at the same office more than ten years before. I remember flirting with her a few times but we were both in relationships and nothing ever happened. I remembered days when the sight of her was the height of pleasure, working in the dull monotony of projections and numbers. There was a year or so that we spent having lunch together, in groups of coworkers but even tete a tete. She was interesting to talk to, told some curious stories. I don’t know what.

One whiskey followed another and some time after midnight, I gave up on Donna. We hadn’t exchanged numbers so all I could do was pay my tab and head upstairs. I staggered and swayed a bit as I made my way to the elevators. One whiskey too many, perhaps.

I made it to the room, performed my ablutions and crawled into bed naked, still drunkenly aroused by the thought of Donna and loving the feel of clean, taut sheets. Just as consciousness began to slip into the darkness, a loud banging shook me awake. I pulled on my boxers.

“Are you awake?” she said through the door.

“Just a minute,” I said, stumbling over my clothes in the dark on my way to the door. I flipped on a light and cracked open the door. Donna stood in the hallway, wearing a robe and holding a bottle of whiskey and a bucket of ice.

“It’s not too late, is it?”

“Come on in,” I said and began searching the clothes on the floor for my pants.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, indicating my pants. “It’s too late for clothes.”

“Too late for clothes?”

“Adults don’t wear clothes after midnight. I thought everyone knew that.”

“Sure,” I said. Why not? I opened the whiskey and poured two coffee cups full over ice. “So how have you been?”

I sat down on the un-slept bed and leaned against the headboard. Donna sprawled across the foot of the bed and we began to talk, unraveling a decade spent apart, becoming fast friends again in the process. There was so much I like about Donna, beyond the fact that she is extremely pretty, in a fairly ordinary way. Not model pretty but the way usual people are. I couldn’t help but be excited as her robe crept open as the alcohol made us sloppy, leading my hardening cock to push away the thin cloth of my boxers.

At some point, I started to nod off to sleep when I was abruptly awakened by the feel of her hands on my feet, pushing and rubbing, taking away tension in every press, every pinch, every tickle. My cock found its way free, jutting out of my shorts.

“Isn’t that just fine,” she said and crawled slowly up my calf and thigh. I was instantly awake and sober as she began to fondle my steely rod. Her robe crept to her waist, exposing the creamy globes of her bottom to my view. She took my dick in her mouth. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

Up and down, thick and teasing, tempting and tickling, swallowing and licking, Donna worked on my cock in a cycle of a dozen variations of lip, tongue, mouth and nimble fingers.

“Give it to me,” she said during a pause. “I want to suck you dry.”

With that, my whole body tensed, my being entered into my spirit and I gushed forth in throbs of delight, lust, love and desire. Donna drank down the flow with moans and muffled squeals, licking and suckling to clean away every drop.

We lay a while, my eyes almost shut, her body stretched along my still quivering legs.

“I should go,” she said. “You need your sleep.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “I want to love you more.”

“Patience,” she said.

“Fuck patience,” I said, drawing her lips to mine. I was done waiting.

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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