Barb 9
After dinner was over and we bid our goodbyes to Bill Pritchard and Georgie, I followed Goldman up to our room. As we ascended in the hotel lift, my mind was racing ... I had too much to drink, too much had happened, so much to think about!
Georgie had just done what she always did. She had gone and bagged herself another roll in the hay with the next available male! I hoped Bill was up to it, and somehow I knew he probably was. Quite a stud, no doubt. He certainly looked like someone who had seen a bit of everything. Perhaps Georgie may have finally met her match?
On reaching our room, I tried to focus my thoughts on Goldman. I knew deep down that I had probably punished the poor guy enough. The dinner evening, by my most conservative reckoning, must have set him back at least $1500 when all was said and done. And he had, after all, been good natured enough to let it go without complaint.
Did I owe him something? I was sure he probably thought so. That was pretty evident by the provocative way he placed his hand on my ass as I bent over to insert our room key and open the door. Yep. He wanted a good fuck!
But not so fast! As soon as we were in the room I went and shut myself in the bathroom. I needed time and space to think. There were, after all, important questions to consider.
What, for example, was all this business sprung over dinner by Goldman and Pritchard about some kind of late-night private reenactment play in the Tower of London ... with me in the role of someone who was beheaded. Where was this going? Was Pritchard another Roberto? ... was this to be a reprise of my humiliation deep in the bowels of Rome's infamous Mamertine Prison? What were he and Goldman up to this time? And, come to think of it, why was Georgie so eager to join in? Why did this whole thing make me feel so uneasy?
After awhile I got up and left the bathroom. Just as I expected, Goldman had gotten into bed and was waiting for me. His clothes were strewn on the floor. And he was occupying the middle of the bed and probably naked under the covers. How obvious can one be!!
"Need some help getting out of that little black dress?" he offered, sporting a silly-looking wolfish grin.
Rather than answer, I walked around to the far side of the bed and patted the mattress. "Your side." I said. Then I walked around to the other side, patted the mattress and said, "my side."
That seemed to have zero effect. He stayed right where he was in the middle of the bed and repeated his earlier question, "Need some help getting out of that little black dress?"
There was no way I was going to strip off in front of him, so I huffily retreated into the bathroom to get undressed without an audience. But after I got in there I realized that I hadn't taken any night clothes with me. Shit! Perhaps if I just stay in here long enough he will fall asleep, I thought. Then I could come out wearing a bath towel and, if the coast was clear, slip into bed. If he woke up or was still awake I could always feign a headache.
So I stayed in the bathroom for a good half hour, listening and hoping that I would catch the sound of snoring. I noted that the light in the bedroom no longer showed under the bathroom door. He must have turned it out. Perhaps he gave up and went to sleep, or passed out? I decided it was now or never. I was not going to spend the entire night sitting in the bathroom!
Stealthily I opened the door a crack. The room was dark. I stepped out of the bathroom and groped my way toward where I remembered my side of the bed to be. I bumped into it, stopped and held my breath. All was quiet. So I shed the bath towel I had wrapped myself in, dropped it on the floor and slid in ... carefully feeling about with my finger tips to ascertain whether he had indeed settled in over on his own side of the bed. Nothing! Strange. I extended my arm a bit further, and then further yet. Still nothing! I rolled over on my side and swept my arm up and down quickly over the length of his side of the mattress.
"BOO!!" he shouted, coming from out of nowhere and landing in bed behind me.
I nearly jumped out my skin!
Oh Shit!
He wasted no time ... pressing himself tight against my back, hot hands hungrily roaming over my naked body, reaching for all the right places. In a flurry of activity, he kissed the back of my neck, cupped and mashed my breasts, pinched and rolled my nipples, then slowly but firmly slid a hand down my tummy, over my mound and up between my thighs.
This was not the way I planned it. What to do? Should I tell him I already did it with Georgie three times that afternoon? Not a good idea an inner voice warned. Should I say not tonight, Stan? .... should I .... uh oh .... oh shit .... gasp ... ohhhhhhhhhh ... Geeze Goldman ... arrrggghhhhhh .............. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Stop reading ahead, Lox! 
"Barbs" or "Stick in the mud"? Be careful how you answer this! 
