Rendezvous With a Stranger by Lizbeth Dusseau

pressing me with firmness.   I let my hand jack the organ while my tongue and mouth play with the foreskin and head.   He begins to cum fast.   Relief washing over me, I lap his thick juices relishing a taste I’ve had before, but one that grows more sweet the more I’m given the gift of him to suck.
           I have nothing to wipe my face on, until I pop from underneath the table and the stranger hands me a handkerchief.   I smile sheepishly awed by what I’ve just done.
           “You’re doing well, Ellen Laurey,” he says as he watches me look for signs of voyeurs in the room.
           I wonder how to reply, but I can’t think of a thing to say.
          
           The stranger pays the bill, reaches out to run his fingers through my hair in a minute of affection and then rises to leave.   “I won’t be so kind to you next time,” he says and he’s out the door.
     

Chapter Six
     
           I take off for the country Saturday morning having made reservations at a Bed and Breakfast Isaac once took me to.   There are fields of wine grapes ripening for harvest, and trees ladened with apples ready to press into cider. Autumn reaches its long hand into the midst of my life and shakes it like it shakes winter-bound trees.   I want no men in my life for one long day and one long night, no Robby, no stranger, no new pair of staunch legs and throbbing erection to confuse me further.   I bring a satchel of books, pieces of promised hours without the outside interference of my thoughts to cloud this vacation.   A bottle of brandy will help me sleep and I don’t plan to wake until noon when the hotel proprietor’s knocking on my door to remind that checkout time looms close.  
           It’s all a fanciful dream, this idea of forgetting about my lover and my husband, but at least for a few minutes I do find some solace in the pages of a twisted mystery story.   The afternoon and evening come and go uneventfully, and even the night poses little threat to my peace.   I don’t sleep until noon, but wake early, too refreshed to linger in bed.   With the trees looking like a painting of New England, I take a brisk walk in the chilling air, fighting a fierce north wind that stains my cheeks with red.  
           The B&B serves brunch at eleven.   I’m starved, the feast filling me full.   But when I catch myself flirting with a single man at the table next to me, I suddenly decide it’s time to go.   My vacationing sex is becoming reawakened.   And rather than thinking of this delightful specimen of manhood that chuckles and flirts back with alarming ease, I’m thinking of the stranger.   His perverted sense of sexual theatre has my body clawing, my mind just moments away from frenzy.
           When I leave the dining room to pack for home, my hostess stops me.
           “There’s a message for you,” she says.
           “At the front desk?”
           She nods and I move in that direction.
           The plain white envelope bears no name so I wonder how anyone knew this was for me.   Ripping it open, I stare dumbfounded at the slip of paper it contains inside.
           “Ellen Laurey, may your rest be peaceful.”
           I grip my throat.   My heart pounds.   I hadn’t thought of him stalking me, but there’s little else to believe.   I shudder walking toward my room, but then stop and turn to the girl at the desk.
           “Who brought this here?” I ask.
           She looks at me blankly.   “I’m not sure, Mrs. Cauthen, the night clerk must have taken it because it was here this morning.”
           “But there’s no name on the envelope, how would they know it was for me?”
           She shook her head baffled.   “That is peculiar, but it was in your box.   Isn’t it yours?”
           “Oh, yes, it is,” my words drift.   No one knew of my trip.   Not my friends in the city,