Regrets

2. Master

He finished his dinner at the bar and ordered another martini. "What's with all the people in suits?" he asked the bartender.

"Class reunion," the bartender told him. "In one of the big ballrooms."

He nodded. It was unusual for him to be stuck in a hotel on a Friday night, but he couldn't resist the deal the airline offered him if he waited until Saturday to return from his business trip. And anyway, there wasn't anyone for him to go home to. No matter how many times he washed the sheets and pillow cases, her scent lingered. She lingered. He thought about her all the time. It didn't really make any sense. He wasn't happy with her. Ending things was the right thing to do. But he missed her.

He pulled out his phone and checked for messages. It was an autonomic behavior at this point. He'd think about her and then check his phone. They used to text each other constantly. But of course there was nothing. She had severed all ties. Moved on. Him... not so much.

He took a sip of his martini so it wasn't so full and settled up with the bartender. "Okay if I walk with this?" he asked.

The bartender nodded and wiped the condensation off the bar.

He walked his martini into the lobby and followed the flow of people toward the ballrooms. What the hell, he thought. He walked in and grabbed a blank name tag from the registration table. It was busy. Nobody noticed. He slipped into the room and took up a table in the back corner. He was in the mood for some people watching, and the bar was completely dead. Watching the awkward social dance of a class reunion was just the thing he needed to take his mind off things.

He took in the people and concluded that it had to be either a college twenty year, or a high school twenty-five. He figured high school, since there seemed to be quite a lot of social stratification. He saw a lot of successful-looking people in suits and dresses, but also a lot of regular folks in jeans. But the different social strata were talking to each other and interacting. Definitely high school, he thought.

The women weren't much to look at. Mostly overweight. A lot of spandex. Many who had settled on a haircut in the late 1980s and were steadfastly not letting go. Some of the women and men had separated into little gender-segregated clusters. In other cases, the spouse hung out, obviously not from this school. Bored. Staring into space.

He noticed one in particular. She was facing away from him, but even from the back, he could tell she was a beauty. Her dress flowed and hugged her hips. She was with a group of men, all of whom were ignoring her. She kept touching the man she was with. Running her hand up his back. Grabbing his thigh. She wanted contact. Attention. She got nothing.

He watched as she stood and started walking slowly across the room. Her shoulders were back and Good lord, look at that cleavage! He was entranced. Are those bolt-ons? They can't be real. He examined the curves carefully as she walked. This wasn't some trick of modern engineering. Her entire chest was full, and given the way they were moving, they had to be real. As she went by, he looked at her ass. Her dress flowed and billowed. He really couldn't tell anything about the rest of her body. He sipped his martini as he watched her gather something from the food display.

She walked back and he made no effort to conceal that he was watching her. He suspected she noticed. He saw a tiny smirk grace her cheek at one point. And then she did something completely unexpected. When she arrived at the table, she leaned forward and gave him and half the room a view right down the front of her dress.

Is this a pick-up? he wondered. His heart raced. He watched as she made another trip to the food. He really wanted to see what was under that dress. To taste her. To tame her. He watched her move. Such grace. And then she smiled at him. This is definitely a pick-up! he thought. He grinned. As far as he was concerned, she had made the first move. She was the cat, and he was the mouse, and all he needed to do was not fuck it up. Just let her catch him.

She approached and he stood. He could feel his cock pressing hard against his pants, but he was reasonably sure his suit coat gave him the necessary cover. She introduced herself as Jeannie, and his mind immediately went to the old TV show. Her cleavage was exactly Barbara Eden's cleavage. He saw his opening. Maybe she was a submissive and maybe she wasn't. But he was done with the vanilla life. He was done playing games and never saying what he really thought. If she wanted to play, she was going to play submissive. Those were his rules. And if she wasn't interested in that, then she could laugh it off and nobody got hurt.