The journey to baggage claim was difficult. The concourse teemed with fellow travelers, some hustling toward their gates, others vying for the exits. Denver International had three concourses connected by underground trams and I had a bit of a train ride to get to the main terminal and baggage claim. People jostled and bumped against each other while getting on and off at the various stops.
The cacophony of voices made it impossible to hear the tram’s computerized voice announcer. I gave up and followed the weary throngs, hoping they knew where they were going. Why did I sometimes feel the most lonely when I was surrounded by thousands of people?
I saw Billy, my appointed driver, from a distance, holding up a sign with my name printed on it. He was a big guy. Not fat, just…big. And very tall, like six four plus, with huge shoulders and serious guns hanging off of them. For a black guy, he had interesting hair. Most black guys I knew in college, and later in Chicago, kept their hair pretty short. Some got rid of it all together. Billy’s hair was very long, and very soft looking. Almost feminine in a way, but you would never think effeminate when looking at Billy. He could probably snap me in two and never break a sweat.
As I studied him, he glanced in my direction and, seeing me, he nodded in a friendly manner. He started moving towards me and I met him halfway. He dropped the sign he was holding down to his side and reached out to shake my hand, which I grabbed, anticipating a serious hand attack. It was firm, but gentle, and when he smiled at me I saw he had very, very white teeth.
Billy had a one-in-a-million smile. His eyes lit up. I remembered somebody saying once if a person was genuinely happy to see you, his smile went past his mouth all the way to his eyes. Billy’s smile did that and then some.
“Welcome to Denver, Mr. Schaeffer. My name is Billy and I’m gonna be your driver for the duration of your stay. If there is anything you need, you just let me know and I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Thank you, Billy. It’s nice to meet you. I’m not sure I really need a driver but it’s very nice to have someone look out for me in a strange town.”
“Do you have any luggage we are waiting for, sir?” he asked.
“No, just my duffel bag here. And you can drop the sir, please. It makes me feel funny. Just call me Jack, okay?”
“Sure thing, Jack. Can I take your bag for you?”
I felt silly giving him my duffel, but I also didn’t want to insult him. So I slid it off my shoulder and handed it over.
“Right this way.” Billy turned on a dime and headed for the nearest exit. We walked across three lanes of cars, moving slowly through the airport’s Arrivals level and into the attached parking garage.
It was cold. Much colder than Chicago. I zipped up my jacket, mentally kicking myself for not checking weather in Denver before I left. I hoped there wouldn’t be a snow storm or something. I was not prepared for it.
“Here’s the car, Jack. Watch your head getting in.” Billy held open the back door of a black, stretch limousine. Seriously? A limo? For me?
Once inside, Billy got in the driver’s seat and we were off. He kept the divider open so we could talk and I switched to the seat up closest to him so I didn’t have to shout to be heard. Damn, his car was big. Nice ride though. I inhaled the rich, new leather smell. I could get used to this.
As we made our way through heavy traffic, I asked Billy how he came to be a limo driver. It seemed like such a cool job to me. Apparently he had always been a gearhead—fascinated with cars, engines, and other mechanical things—and worked as an apprentice mechanic out of high school. He got a job doing maintenance work for a limousine service and, on a lark, the owner asked Billy to drive him to a function one afternoon. On the way back, the owner remarked that Billy looked good behind the wheel, like he belonged there. Billy thought so too, so he became a regular driver. Three years later, he and his best friend Jerome, another driver, agreed to take over the company when the owner unfortunately was diagnosed with an untreatable cancer. Billy and his partner had been slowly building the business ever since. So he wasn’t just my driver—he was an owner of the company.
He announced our arrival at the hotel as we pulled to a stop. Before he could get out to open my door, it was opened by a bellman in a smart looking uniform.
“Welcome to the Ritz Carlton. Do you have any luggage, sir?” said the bellman.
“I’ve got it,” said Billy, a little perturbed he was beaten to my door by the kid in the green and red uniform.
“Right this way then, sir. I’ll show you to the front desk.”
Billy and I followed the bellman to the front desk. I stepped right up to the counter, no waiting, and gave the lady standing there my name.
“Welcome to the Ritz Carlton Hotel, Mr. Schaeffer. Is this your first time staying with us?” Her polished brass name tag announced her name as Ms. Debbie Anderson, Front Desk Manager.
“Yes, ma’am.” I replied. My mouth hung open in awe at the gleaming wood walls, amazing artwork adorning them, and the stunning crystal chandeliers shining overhead. I suffered some kind of momentary culture shock—this was definitely not the Motel 6.
“We’re very glad you’ve joined us, Mr. Schaeffer. If you need anything, just ask any one of us. I have your room keys here. Your bill has been prepaid and I have a note here to remind you that you are free to use any of the hotel’s amenities, restaurants or other services at your discretion. All charges will be taken care of. Our restaurant is open until eleven this evening and there is a room service menu in your room, should you desire something before retiring. If there is anything else you need which is not listed on the menu, please don’t hesitate to dial “0” from your room phone and we will take care of it for you. We have you in one of our deluxe suites on our Club Level floor. Do you have any questions for me at this time?”
I snapped my gaping mouth shut. So far, the hospitality at the Ritz was over the top, and more than a little overwhelming for a simple guy from the Midwest. I was way outside my element here. I looked at Billy, feeling bewildered and uncertain. He gave me a huge, brilliant smile. I took a big breath and let it out slowly.
“Um…no, Debbie. It sounds like you have everything covered. Thank you. Uh…how do I find my room?” I asked, looking around the lobby.
She smiled and pointed to another bellman waiting nearby. “Miguel will take you to your room now, sir, and explain the special amenities for our Club Level guests. One more thing—you do not need to tip any of our staff during your stay here. All gratuities will be taken care of as well. We want your stay to be as comfortable as possible.”
Now I felt really ignorant. I would not have known to tip anyone in the first place, certainly not how much was appropriate, anyway. She saved me from offending half the staff.
Miguel, waiting patiently behind us, gestured toward a bank of elevators across the lobby. “This way, sirs.”
Billy smiled again and carried my duffel as we followed Miguel onto the elevator. He inserted one of the key cards to allow elevator access to the top floor.
At the door to my room, Miguel keyed in and entered. Billy and I followed closely behind. The floor at the entrance had a dark, hardwood finish and opened into a deep plush carpeted living room with a couch and two chairs positioned in front of a credenza holding up a large, flat screen TV. There was a half bath off the entrance, and a desk with a chair and lamp completed the furniture in the main room.
I could see, through a door on the left wall, what looked like a king size bed with more pillows and linens on it than a Bed Bath and Beyond store display. I assumed the main bathroom was somewhere in there.
Everything was decorated in beautiful neutral fabrics, golds and browns mostly, and the lighting was plentiful but subdued—totally appropriate for evening. The main curtains flanking the large picture window were opened and the lights of downtown Denver were sparkling in the night. The whole thing was breathtaking.
Miguel pointed out the features of the room, then explained the amenities of the Club Level. I had free internet service—though I had no device to take advantage of it—and apparently they put out food five times a day in a lounge down the hall, which I could have as much of as I desired. There were also free cocktails and other soft drinks and water available.
He welcomed me again to the hotel, then departed.
Billy and I just stood there and took it all in. He summed it all up for me. “Nice digs.” He was smiling again. God, I loved his smile.
“Unbelievable is more like it. This is incredible. I feel like I’m in some kind of fantasy.” I wanted Billy to stay longer, just until I got my emotional legs under me again, but unfortunately he had to leave.
“Well, Jack, I need to be going. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick you up at nine. I’ll park in the entrance area. We’ll be in my regular car tomorrow—it’s a black Lincoln Executive sedan. Will that be okay with you? It’s a little easier to maneuver around downtown than the limo.”
“Of course, Billy. Whatever you say. You’re the driver. Thank you so much for coming to get me tonight. I really appreciate it. Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, right?”
“Yes. See you then. Try to get some sleep. Somethin’ tells me you’re gonna need it.” He smiled again, shook my hand and walked quietly out the door, leaving me standing alone in a hotel room bigger than my entire apartment back in Chicago.
I don’t know how long I stood there soaking it all in, but my arm got tired holding my duffel bag. I moved into the bedroom for the first time and dropped the bag on the floor. As expected, everything was over the top. There was another large flat screen TV opposite the bed on top of a chest of drawers. More chairs for sitting and reading, I guess.
The bathroom was all marble. Marble everything with gold fixtures. It was gorgeous. The shower could hold two people easily. I went over to the sink and grabbed the shampoo bottle sitting there. I flipped open the top and breathed in the fragrance. It smelled expensive. The name on it was Bvlgari, pronounced like “Bulgari” I think—the “u” looked like a “v”. I’d be smelling really good for my meetings.
I had been expecting a place to sleep. Not this. I liked it, don’t get me wrong. What’s not to like? But I decided right then and there not to get too comfortable over the next two nights, as this was not my normal abode and wasn’t likely to ever be.
It was nearly ten thirty, but I was hungry. I remembered Debbie, the front desk manager, had said the restaurant was still open, but a full meal seemed a bit much this late at night. I wondered if there was still any food out in the Club lounge on my floor, so I decided to check it out. I needed some water anyway.
I found the lounge easily enough. There were two guys sitting at a corner table, drinking their cocktails and laughing a little too loudly at each other’s jokes. They didn’t seem like a couple, so I guessed they were business associates of some kind.
It appeared all the food was in the process of being put away. Those tables were now empty, but there was evidence something had been staged there earlier. As I looked around to locate a water bottle, a small woman came out of a swinging door against the back wall and approached me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I’ve already cleared the dessert tables. Is there something you would like? I can go in the back and get it for you.” She had such a sweet face.
“Well, I am a little hungry. What did you have out before? I just arrived and I think I missed the main event.”
“How about some chocolate mousse? Or would you prefer a fruit plate?”
“The mousse would be great. Thank you.” I wasn’t sure I really knew what mousse was.
She returned carrying two large frilly glasses filled with swirls of fluffy chocolate cream, topped with more plain whipped cream and raspberries. She also handed me a plate of fruit, with sliced strawberries, peaches, blueberries and honeydew melon. There was a sprig of mint on the side and a dollop of whipped cream in the middle of it all for dipping. Decadent.
“I hope you enjoy these, sir.”
“Thank you. This is more than enough.” She departed back through the swinging door and I headed back to my room, balancing mousse, fruit and two water bottles I snagged on my way out of the lounge.
It was all incredibly delicious and exactly what I needed. A little sugar before bed is always a good thing, right? Who cares—it was amazing.
I finished eating, then put my few meager pieces of clothing in the drawers and hung my suit and shirts up in the closet. I was right, my suit was going to need some serious steaming tomorrow to be presentable. I put my toiletries on the bathroom sink. They looked a little sad next to the Bvlgari items.
I brushed my teeth, did my toilet routine and turned down the bed. It took a couple of minutes to find all the light switches and pull the drapes in both rooms, but soon I was floating on a feathery cloud of soft pillows, sandwiched between two down-filled comforters.
I had forgotten to bring lube with me, which was a bummer because as soon as my head hit the pillow, I started thinking about Seth again and his blond hair, sexy beard, and tight ass. My cock was rock hard and demanding attention. In a way, I had been teasing myself all evening, and now I needed some release. So I went old school. In my college days, before I could afford to buy lube, I would just use nature’s lube—my own spit.
So I wet my hand and started stroking. It felt great and all the tension and emotions of the day drained away. I rode a self-generated wave of sexual excitement right up and over the threshold, then drifted off into a blissful sleep.