by David Horne
Ashley was in her office when he returned to the front desk. The door was open, but he dared not venture inside. She sat at the large dark varnished desk when George peeked around the corner to see her wrapping up for the day.
“It’s important that Mr. Dunlop gets everything he needs.” She gave George a look that suggested he needed to extend his duties. Make sure they include opportunity allowing the prospective new owner carte blanche over the hotel and all the amenities.
Instead of engaging the hotel manager in a school of etiquette, or possibly suggesting a course in the misuse of authority, George addressed other issues. “Angel mentioned we needed replacement linen for the majority of the rooms.” He gave Ashley a frown and said, “I did inventory this morning, and I know we had thirty new sets of bedding a few months ago. Now there’s only fifteen.”
“How are we missing half that amount?” she fired back. George stepped into the hallway, out of the mouth of the harpy’s lair. “Did Angel issue any new sheets to the long-term guests?”
George shook his head. “She knows you don’t allow long-term guests to have new linen.”
Ashley stood. She collected the large hobo bag, slung it over her shoulder, and turned off the light before closing the office door. She rattled the doorknob. It was locked. In her hand, there was a small glass bottle of amber liquid. She carried it blatantly outside her purse. The farmer’s hard work would become Ashley’s breakfast condiment.
“Get a handle on this theft. I know one of those cleaners is stealing, George.” In the undertone of the delivery was an allusion of prejudice. The inside of his mouth felt raw from biting down too hard.
“Why can’t I park my bike in the maintenance room instead?” It wasn’t in George to ask Ashley for favors. “It won’t be in anyone’s way and you don’t have to look at it in the storage room.” While George felt the guest room thefts weren’t limited to just inside, Ashley picked up on his unspoken concern for leaving it parked outside.
“George, I’m surprised at you.” She gave him an accusing stare. “You claim you like this town and the people here. You tell guests that all the time. But you seem not to believe what you’re telling our guests. If you think someone is going to steal your bicycle if you park it outside, just say so.”
He knew it was impossible to reason with the woman. And her logic, though twisted and remorseless, was valid. “I’ve been using the storage room for years. My bike isn’t in anyone’s way. I don’t understand why the sudden change.”
“I told you, George, it doesn’t look good. Why should you get special favors?” She left without looking back. It was impossible to reason with someone who had such contempt for anyone who had a different view of the world than her.
Chapter Six
The night was relatively quiet. It was a perfect night to wash the outside windows in the lobby. The slow, deliberate act of cleaning the large bay windows inside and out allowed George to keep an eye on the mountain bike chained to the light post near the entry. It wasn’t in direct view of the front desk, obscured by the architecture and the placement of the city lights, but it was as close as he could get to the front.
“Thank you for the suggestion this morning,” Duncan said from behind George. He appeared from nowhere. He had a quiet step. Dressed in a casual shirt and khakis, Duncan looked relaxed and
“Was it too far?” George wanted to know. The man wore no jacket but had a pleasant smile. The temperature had dropped as soon as the sunset. Vermont wasn’t known for warm summer nights. “It was perfect. I love the graduated path once the sidewalk winds away from the river. That’s a really old bridge too.”
“It’s mainly recreational use but not for cars.” George felt inclined to add, “Did you know that Vermont has over one hundred covered wooden bridges in the state?”
Duncan smiled at George and said, “I didn’t know that.” It was a genuine smile.
“We have the longest wooden covered bridge in the United States, too.”
“You know a lot of trivia about this place,” Duncan pointed out.
George picked up the bucket and opened the door for Duncan to pass through. “It’s impossible to turn off sometimes.”
“They have pills for that,” he joked.
“I know it may be strange. But I really like it here.”
“Have you been in Vermont your whole life?” Duncan asked. He followed George to the front desk. George replaced the cleaning supplies in the storage room and returned to the counter.
He shook his head. “I used to live in New York.”
Duncan didn’t pry. He shifted to a new question. “Can I ask about that business this morning?”
“You mean with our manager and the farmer?”
“Is it really hotel policy to not allow local business owners to sell something like syrup in the hotel?” Duncan shrugged. “I would think a small table in the lobby with a ten percent cut for overhead would be a good draw for someone passing through town.”
“That’s what I think too.” George felt a surge of connection to Duncan. The man had a sense of good business. “But Ashley is the only one who talks to the current owners of the hotel. She said the owners don’t want people to think the hotel is a flea market.”
“This place could use a flea market,” Duncan pointed out.
“Maybe things will change when the new owners take over.”
“New owners?”
George had removed the vest and rolled up the sleeve on his white shirt to clean. Familiarity with guests had boundaries. He had opened the collar on his shirt, and Duncan looked from his eyes to his neck while they spoke. Duncan was pleasant and his relaxed demeanor made George feel the same. It was okay to take a moment and spend quality time with someone, despite what Ashley commanded.
Still, George felt inclined to lower his voice in the lobby with Duncan. “We’re in the process of acquisition. The new owner is visiting the hotel now. We’re doing our best to accommodate him.”
Duncan nodded. “Is this something of a secret?” he asked in a simulated whisper. Duncan caught the idea as if drifting in the air between them.
“I don’t think so. But Ashley doesn’t share too many details with the staff.”
“Are you looking forward to having the hotel acquired? Is it going to become part of a larger hotel chain?”
“I don’t know.” George admitted. “I hope not. In my professional opinion, the hotel has a more small-town appeal without a franchise name.” He looked around the lobby, softness in his eyes. “I feel at home here. I know it’s just a place to work. But it feels right here.”
“I’ve talked to a couple a few doors down from me. Mary and Hugh,” Duncan said. “Everyone says good things about you.”
George shrugged modestly. “I do my best.”
“I can tell. But you also seem to do more than your fair share. You’re a little understaffed.” Duncan looked around the vacant lobby. No guests, no one but him and George. “But I understand there’s a shortage of guests. Maybe when the new owners take over, they’ll have something in mind to fill the place.” Duncan leaned against the tall front desk. He faced George, arms folded on the countertop. “How many people are on the staff? I met some of the hospitality workforce this morning before my run. They were busy cleaning in the stairwell.”
“We have ten employees. That includes Ashley and me.”
“She’s the manager?” Duncan asked pointing to the closed office door behind George.
“Yes,” he said. It was for the benefit of the hotel, not Ashley that kept George’s opinion of Ashley close to the chest. “There’s a maintenance guy that comes in anytime we need him. We have the hospitality staff you met this morning. And two other employees,” he added.
“Kitchen staff?” Duncan wondered aloud.
“I put out the continental breakfast for the guests. We haven’t had a kitchen staff in twelve years from what I know.”
“But that only makes eight onsite staff. Ni
ne, if you include the maintenance person.” Duncan laughed and waved at George. “I’m sorry, I'm rude. I work in securities sometimes. It’s like your concierge approach to the hotel industry. I can’t shut it off.”
George smiled humbly. Someone else noticed the discrepancy in the staff. “I’ve seen the paystub envelopes. I know we have ten on the staff.” His eyebrows furrowed with the observation. “I always thought it was weird we received ten paystubs when there are only eight employees in the building.” He gave it a shrug. “I’ve been here a little longer than Ashley. But she handles the bulk of the business. I don’t dare ask her about the mystery employees.”
“Is she really that hard to work with?” he asked.
George did not answer immediately. It was dangerous ground to tread. Ashley was an omnipotent presence at the hotel. There was one security camera in the place and its eagle eye trained on the front desk. Since he never ventured into the harpy’s lair long enough to know if the security camera had sound, he felt it was better to take the high road.
“Ashley is a good manager.” It was a flat lie but without proof, impossible to dispute. “I think with the new owners, maybe some of the restrictions around here can ease up.”
“You have any ideas about this place?” Duncan wanted to know.
“Oh yeah,” he said immediately. “I have a whole list of great ideas to make this place more community friendly. Like you mentioned about allowing local farmers to display products in the lobby. Why not a small community flea market once in a while? Show the community that the hotel has a great little restaurant. The kitchen needs a few updates but it’s still works.”
“Why aren’t you a manager?”
George looked away. He lacked the education it took to manage a hotel. “I have the experience but not the schooling.”
“Sometimes better managers are forged through hands-on experience than college degrees.”
Duncan was a fresh perspective to the possibilities at the hotel. And George liked the silvery stubble on the man’s chin. George wanted to press his hands on Duncan’s cheeks. The man wore masculine cologne that drifted from his slim neck.
George stepped away from the counter. He pretended to check the guest ledger. When Duncan noticed George had shifted away from friendly banter, he stood up straight.
“I’ll see you in the morning, George.”
“Have a good night, sir.”
Duncan frowned at George but walked toward the elevator without questioning the cordial address.
Chapter Seven
The long hours between midnight and three in the morning were always the hardest to get through without company or dozing. George had learned to redirect his exhaustion by filling the void with busy work. There was always something to do. Even with the superior cleaning crew, sometimes details were missed. George took the quiet night to check on his mountain bike. It had managed to make it through the first night alone outside.
“You’re all alone down here.”
The voice startled George. He stood up from behind the counter. The space under the front desk had a collection of dust bunnies and old hotel memorabilia. He had removed several nesting patches of lint and dust. The tall shelves needed more attention, but the progress was promising.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” John Dunlop said. He wore a loose periwinkle t-shirt and baggy shorts. He looked a little displaced in the lobby.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Dunlop?” George wiped the dust from his hands.
“Oh yes,” Dunlop said with a flick of his wrist. “I think I smelled your coffee in my room.”
George smiled. “How would you like a cup, sir?”
“Thanks for asking. I’d love one.”
It was almost one in the morning. It would be another two hours before Angel showed up and a half hour after that before the rest of the crew arrived. The company of a lonely man was better than fighting another night of boredom alone.
“Are you married, George?” Dunlop was forward and forthright.
George had a subtle reaction to the question. He wasn’t used to someone so free to express their interests. He smiled and brought up a left hand without a band on the ring finger.
“Are you dating?” he pressed.
“Not right now.” George sipped at the coffee.
“I think I’m still adjusting to the time difference. I spent the last six months in California, so I’m usually up late. This place is tranquil. I think I expected more traffic and maybe a little nightlife.”
“Not around here, especially at night.” The only time he saw any nightlife in Vergennes was when the police had a DUI corralled in the hotel parking lot. The local man had left the tavern and driven through the turnabout of the hotel demanding late night drive-thru service.
“It’s no disappointment. Actually, I like the quiet.” His eyes lingered on George’s mouth. Apparently Dunlop was a man who didn’t hide his agenda. The private backdrop of the uninterrupted lobby was the perfect setting. “Are you busy now?” he asked gently.
George was a man who fundamentally believed the concierge service included most requests of guests.
“I might be able to break away for a few minutes.” George felt a stirring in his belly. It was a precursor to something he hadn’t explored in a long time. Years and miles away from his former lover, he wanted to feel that gentle and loving touch again.
He locked the front doors of the Comfort Hill Hotel before slipping into the elevator with John Dunlop. Long-term guests had passkeys to get into the hotel. Anyone looking for a vacancy might wait a little longer to get inside.
While the heavy trepidation swelled within George, excitement boiled over. Leaving his post, stepping out of the realm of routine and reality, made him tremble.
John Dunlop was a forward-thinking man. He was unabashed by life and undoubtedly celebrated the possibility of making George a conquest. He unbuttoned the hideous shirt but left it hanging on his shoulders. George was unsure of his role, so he allowed Dunlop to gently persuade him to the unmade bed. The room had a texture both male and fragrant.
Before George sat down, Dunlop gently lifted the shirttail from the waist of the black slacks. The thin, shiny black belt slid from the belt loops; it looked like a malnourished snake lying on the floor coiled around the polished, black shoes.
Dunlop watched George’s eyes looking down at his face. A puffy face full of desire. Dunlop gingerly opened the button of George’s slacks and peeled the zipper down his crotch. The pants slipped to the floor.
George felt unfamiliar hands slide along the face of his boxer briefs, pressing against the penis. He was excited and nervous about the encounter and his still soft penis conveyed some hesitation in the spontaneous encounter.
“Oh my, George,” Dunlop breathed and pulled down the shorts.
George had something special when it came to a stiff cock. While it languished without attention, it was a slumbering snake. But when George felt that impending excitement, when warm, soft hands stroked his middle and pulled his cock free, it awoke. The uncoiling of George’s penis made Dunlop audibly sigh.
Dunlop gently grasp George’s erect penis with two hands. Since his hands saw no real outside labor, the palms were smooth and free of calluses. One hand gripped the shaft; the other trailed down to tenderly cup his balls. The rhythmic movements made George shudder with pleasure.
“Lay back,” Dunlop said from his knees in front of George. It was impossible to resist, and George sat down on the sheets and laid back. Dunlop pushed against his thighs, opening his legs and pressing his knees against the mattress. “So big,” he heard Dunlop say from between his legs. The cock flexed at the compliment. George closed his eyes.
He let the two hands explore his waist and groin. Soft fingers traced around his balls, his hands pressed against the hard cock. One took George’s cock, the other traced lower, pressing the base of his malleable testicles and the cusp of his anus.
It was a magic button for
George. Dunlop sensed its power over George. Rendering him relaxed and enlightened. Dunlop’s fingers caressed the shaft of George’s penis; they lightly gripped the area below his circumcised head. He heard Dunlop pour a heavy moan over the head of his cock before his hot, wet mouth enveloped the tip.
Enraptured by the sensation, George released a groan. The sound encouraged Dunlop to take more of George’s cock into his mouth. It was impossible to take all the cock deep into his throat. Instead, Dunlop squeezed the shaft with his right hand, stroking the cock, mouth suckling at the head, while his left hand probed his taint and lightly touched his anus.
The sensation was exquisite. George allowed himself to completely let go of any tension about the encounter. Dunlop was more interested in providing George with a building rush instead of allowing George to return the wonderful favor. The man pulled as much of George’s cock into his mouth as he could. The rest of George’s shaft was slick from saliva and precum. Dunlop continued to pump and suck the cock simultaneously.
The rhythmic motion, captivating and enthralling wonder, allowed George an intense, growing stir. Dunlop coaxed an eruption from deep inside George.
When he knew he was about to cum, George gripped Dunlop’s shoulders. He wanted the man to know the moment was coming. Instead, Dunlop pulled deeper on George’s cock. The head and top of the shaft disappeared into the man’s mouth. A throaty hum from Dunlop meant he understood George was close. His tongue helped usher the fount of cum that continued to pour like hot lava from deep inside George.
When the world cleared, George opened his eyes. Dunlop had moved away from George, into the bathroom. Expecting to reciprocate beautiful experience, George waited on the bed.
Dunlop washed his face and returned to lean against the doorjamb. “You have a huge cock,” he pointed out. He was still dressed. He had a noticeable bulge in his shorts but made no indication to have George help him cum.
George hoisted his underwear and pants. He retrieved the belt and coiled it around his waist. The shirt tucked into the black slacks and the vest buttoned. It made him uncomfortable sometimes. Size was an issue when it was too big. Former lovers never wanted all of him, only enough they could tolerate comfortably.