Wonderland

by Bridget Midway

  Frowning, Ryanne wondered who else Natia thought would be joining her. It may be a singles trip, and she may consider a little bump and grind if the mood hit her, but she was definitely not going to be passing around an extra key to her room. “One will do, thank you.”

  “Great.” Natia laid a brochure, a map, and other informational flyers before Ryanne. “Here is your information packet with the schedule of different events, social gatherings and such. Dinner is already over and most people are in the lounge. However, if you would like something to eat, room service is available twenty-four hours. And there are hors d’oeuvres being served at the evening mixer.”

  “Thank you.” Ryanne collected the packet from the counter.

  “In case you need it, our Winter Rags clothing store is located in the west area on the first floor.”

  Grateful for the woman’s keen eye, Ryanne smiled. With her card key in hand, Ryanne walked with the bellman to the elevator. A few men exited as she and the bellman got on.

  She couldn’t miss the hot glances or the complimentary comments they made as they passed by her. It normally was not in her nature to get excited by overt appraisal, but this was a different time for her. She was meant to let go of the stress and worry of her daily life and have fun here.

  As they rode the car up, she silently admitted to herself that she was a little excited about the week. Nervous, too, but the possibility of meeting a nice guy or two had her pulse racing a little. She wished Karri, her best friend from high school, wasn’t already married with three kids; Ryanne would have loved having her along on this adventure. It would have been like college all over again.

  Walking down the corridor to her suite, she groaned with that thought. Am I being foolish? She wondered.

  If hanging out with guys, partying, and being adventurous was parallel to her college vacation experiences, then shouldn’t she be past all of this already?

  Stepping into the single suite and seeing the modern, stylish setup of the room, she knew she was in the right place. This holiday excursion wasn’t for a bunch of college kids out trying to find themselves. No, it was for adults with careers and people actively fulfilling their goals who were game for a little snowbound excitement. And Ryanne was game.

  Tipping the bellman after he deposited her suitcase and carry-on beside her bed in the room, she was impressed that the suite was exactly like the brochure depicted. She’d feared that maybe the e-mail picture that was going around was too good to be true.

  Taking off her shoes, she checked out all the amenities in the suite. A small kitchenette with mini alcohol bottles in the refrigerator. Two place settings of dishes in the single cabinet above the microwave. This room was set up for the normal couple vacationing in Colorado. Entering through the archway that led into the bedroom and shower area, she tossed her shoes in the closet, pulled off her trench coat, and lifted her suitcase onto the bed.

  She wasn’t going to meet anyone sitting around in her suite. On a mission, she unzipped and opened her case, deciding it didn’t make much sense to unpack more than her pajamas and underclothing, since she would need to get more appropriate apparel tomorrow. She pulled out an outfit that was the least businesslike thing she had: slacks and a cashmere sweater. It wasn’t alluring or remotely sexy, but it was the best she could do at this hour.

  After a quick shower, she dressed and swept the back of her hair up in a haphazard roll. She allowed her bangs, too long to hang center forehead, to fall along the side of her face. Adding a few curls at the ends of her loose strands, she quickly reapplied her makeup, adding chic smoky-eye colors and plum-raisin lip gloss. She was hoping to keep the attention toward her face so no one would notice her nine-to-five apparel. The only saving grace of her outfit was the fact her sweater had a deep V-neckline. Normally when she wore it, she paired it with a camisole. But without the modesty piece, it gave a sexy visual of the curves and dip between her breasts without being slutty.

  Heels completed her outfit. As a tall woman, it was important for her to keep heels in her fashion arsenal. As her friend Karri, who was also statuesque, would say, “You have to be at least six-one to ride this ride.”

  Shaking her head at the memory of her witty friend’s words, Ryanne exited her suite in search of a drink and good conversation.

  * * * *

  “Ladies, you have impressed us greatly.” Phillip whacked Carson on the back. “Isn’t that right?”

  Carson assumed he wasn’t cheering enough over the three girlfriends standing before them who had just completed their three cum shot drinks one after the other. When the women together had slammed down the last set of empty glasses on the table as white cream trickled out of the corners of their mouths, Carson hadn’t said a word. Watching women get hammered for the entertainment of men had never been an enjoyment for him.

  “Yeah, amazed.” Carson attempted to add a little cheer to his voice.

  One of the women—Brandi? Bunny?Bella? he couldn’t recall—sashayed closer to him as she used her thumb to catch the droplet on her chin. Holding her thumb out to him, she teased, “I’d love to share my cum with you.”

  Horny much? Carson looked from the mixture of salt, peach schnapps, Bailey’s, and whipped cream in a cloudy bead on the pad of her thumb then back into the face of the bleached blonde with way too many layers of makeup and red lipstick. Neither she nor either of her two friends who’d converged on him and Phillip as soon as they entered the large room even sparked an interest for him. Whatever happened to the women that enjoyed being chased? He wasn’t a prude or old fashioned by any definition; he just found it hard to get aroused by women that gave it up so easily to total strangers.

  “I’ll pass. I’m not into seconds.” Carson wanted to step back away from the woman with her cloying floral perfume, but he was trying to stay on the light side of rudeness.

  Brandi…Bunny…Bella…something giggled, not understanding his meaning at all.

  “I’ll take it.” One of the guys that had gravitated toward them, as the women had been picking up their drinks one after another and downing them, grabbed the blonde’s thumb and shoved it into his mouth and made a lot of groaning noises.

  Carson didn’t even attempt to hold back the frown on his face as he watched the man grab Brandi…Bunny…Bella…something around the waist.

  “I love a woman who loves her cum. What’s your name, beautiful?”

  Come on. Carson wanted to beat his head against the wall. Most of the guys at the resort this week were just as amped up as the women. Looking for any warm spot to stick their cock.

  “Tiffany.”

  Tiffany. Now Carson recalled.

  The guy whispered something in Tiffany’s ear and more giggling ensued.

  “Man, what are you doing?” Phillip nudged him. “You’re messing up the quintuple orgy letting that one get away.”

  Carson shook his head. “I think you better gear up to land them on your own, especially since even your ménage looks like it is dropping to a couplet.” He nodded, indicating the brunette, one of Tiffany’s two friends, being kissed by a Hispanic man.

  “Shit,” Phillip snapped. “You look for us two more while I keep Lola from getting away.” Turning, Phillip grabbed Lola, the last woman of the drinking trio, and pulled her into his arms.

  Sighing, Carson moved closer to the bar and signaled one of the bar attendants for a drink. Paying for a whiskey, he sipped at his drink and stared around the room, attempting to ignore the crowd of eager women and sex-ready men around him. The music in the room was loud, in what Carson believed was an attempt to be heard over all the boisterous conversation. With drink in hand, he started to head back to his friend, allowing his gaze to skip around the room from one woman to another. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get in some sex while he was here. He was just a little more discriminating than Phillip. And apparently every other male in this place.

  Almost back to his group, someone caught his gaze—a woman sitting at a tab
le with three other women. However, there was something about the one lady that drew him. She had bangs, showcasing her thick jet-black hair that cascaded down the sides of her face like an obsidian river, obstructing his view. The rest of her hair was pulled up in some kind of stylish fashion that left her neck bare, a tantalizingly long neck that gave him images of running his tongue along it to locate a sensitive spot. His eyes were drawn again to her face as that dark stream of hair fell forward as she leaned in to take a bite of food from an overflowing appetizer plate before her. How much food she had gave him slight pause; dinner had been served only a couple of hours ago, so he was amazed she still had room to eat. However, it wasn’t something that bothered him; he liked women who had a healthy appetite for food…and other things.

  As she talked and ate, he could make out a small pug-shaped nose, a rounded chin, and a set of full plump lips, accentuated by gloss. That purplish shine just made them more captivating; he had the urge to taste them, suck them, and have them part so he could kiss between those lips fully. Swallowing down the saliva that was pooling in his mouth, he stifled a groan.

  Damn, how could just a small glimpse of a woman draw him in that completely, that quickly, and make him hard as stone? Because the spike pressing along the back of his zipper was proof of that. It shocked him. Even the other beautiful women he’d had thrust upon him, ones that he could actually see all their charms fully, didn’t cause this strong of a reaction. The woman beside her, African-American as well, pretty with a medium-brown complexion, blocked his mystery woman’s body. The other woman didn’t look as if she were going to get up anytime soon so he could take in more of the beguiling package he wanted to see.

  Leaving him with just one wish: Come on, finger your hair back so I can see your face. It was a simple gesture that women did to be coy and cute around guys. So why wasn’t this golden-brown beauty doing it?

  The woman beside her leaned back, allowing him to see his “eye-candy’s” upper body, her full breasts contained in a sweater that conformed to her curves like his hands were itching to do. He could see that the sweater dropped into a vee, but the end of that long, tortuous ebony lock flowed down the opening, concealing any view of the skin of her breasts.

  His body nudged at him to cross the room to her, but on some level he was enjoying the teasing act, as if it was foreplay of getting to know her, even though the golden-toned goddess didn’t know she was playing.

  Pushing her plate away, she wiped her long, elegant fingers, burgundy polish coating her nails. Once that was done she did something that turned him inside out and almost had him choking on the smooth whiskey in his glass: she claimed the lock of hair at the cleavage of her breasts and twirled the end of it around her finger. Hypnotically, the ebony strand danced in between two fingers.

  There was something about that small act—the simplicity of the movement that was neither coy nor cute, but something that shouted I’m nervous—that punched him in the gut and almost brought him to his knees.

  There was only one other black woman, or girl at that time, he knew who did the same action when she was in a crowd of people. Could it be…? Or was his mind now playing tricks on him? With a purposeful step he started across the room, only to have his arm snagged in a strong, unexpected grip.

  Snapping around, he faced Phillip.

  “Carson, what are you doing, man? I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.” Phillip waved his other hand, holding a glass of vodka on the rocks toward their small group of resort acquaintances. A few had left and others had joined. He leaned in, giving Carson a stage whisper. “A woman wants to meet you. She’s Hispanic.”

  Phillip did some strange eyebrow wiggle thing that Carson was sure had some sexual connotation behind it about Hispanic women, but Carson didn’t feel like going through his mental arsenal of Phillip-isms on all the sexual proclivities of different races of women. His friend had one for each race.

  “I just need a second, Phil…” Carson glanced back over his shoulder to the woman at the table, but she was no longer there. The other three women were, but his tease wasn’t. Before he could scan the room to discover her whereabouts, Phillip was pulling him along. Shit.

  “Not this time, my friend. Come get your hot tamale. You’re getting pussy tonight if I have to sit her on your face.”

  Discouraged that the woman had slipped him, Carson followed his friend. Already his mind worked on ways to get him out of the sexual situation Phillip was trying to throw him in, even though his body, still hard from the mystery woman, was roaring to relieve itself anywhere.

  * * * *

  “Oh, my goodness, that bar is a madhouse. You’d swear some of these people had never seen alcohol before.” Ryanne slipped into her seat and took a sip of her amaretto sour as she pushed Courtney her beer across the table.

  Courtney, a white woman with short hair that she had bleached and dyed into the trendy gray fashion, thanked Ryanne, then she took a healthy swig from the bottle.

  “It’s like some welfare line up there. Reason I’m staying away.” Sage, a medium-brown-skinned black woman with black hair with dark gold highlights, long but cut in a fashion-forward gradient style, raised her glass of red wine that she’d been nursing slowly since Ryanne arrived thirty minutes ago.

  Ryanne took another sip of her drink and watched the groups of women and men pawing and flirting with each other, in varying degrees of drunkenness. “Is each night like this?”

  “I just got here yesterday, but it seems like it to me. Even at breakfast people are chasing down a hookup over orange juice and fresh-made omelets.” Danielle, a strikingly pretty full-figured ruby redhead sitting next to Courtney, shook her head.

  “Village Resort, where all the singles come to let down their hair.”

  “That’s what should have been on their ad.” Sage finished off the last swallow of wine in her glass. “Well, ladies, I’ve had enough for one night. Nice meeting you, Ryanne, see you around.”

  Ryanne and the other two women called out good night as Sage made her way out of the room.

  A loud, boisterous laugh pulled Ryanne’s attention across the room. There she saw a mixed crowd, no different from many others clustered around the room. Hell, she and the other women at her small table had been shooing away drunken advances since she’d arrived. Requests by multiple men to “join their party.” Not.

  The subdued lighting in the room made it hard for her to see clearly what all the laughter was about. However, what she did see was a bald, mixed-race black guy burying his face deep in some woman’s cleavage where he appeared to be licking something. When he tossed his head back, Ryanne realized it was a drink, a shot of something.

  His intoxicated sexual antics reminded her of her senior year at a house party after the homecoming game. Shaking her head, she looked away.

  “Stay away from that one.” Danielle nodded her head to the side, indicating the group Ryanne was just staring toward.

  “Who?The guy that just took a shot from the woman’s chest?” Ryanne looked from the redhead to the baldheaded man now making a production of licking droplets from the woman’s breasts.

  “Yup. I made the mistake of sleeping with him.” She shook her head and sipped her blueberry daiquiri. “Correction—getting screwed by him in the gym at four a.m. this morning.”

  Ryanne felt her mouth drop open; she told herself to close it, but she was in shock to meet a woman who was so random at giving up her sex.

  “Why were you up so early?” Courtney asked.

  “You know I can’t sleep past three. It’s the journalist in me. My mind won’t turn off.”

  Ryanne didn’t think that was the important matter of discussion.

  “True. What’s his name?” Courtney asked, as if they were discussing a new coworker over lunch.

  “Don’t know. I didn’t ask and he didn’t give it,” Danielle admitted.

  “You had sex with a total stranger?” Ryanne blurted out. Then slapped her hand over her
mouth, not intending it to come out so loud. Hell, most of the people around her were trying to hook up with an unknown.

  Leaning toward the center of the table, Danielle said, “Hey, what can I say, the man can whisper things that make your panties wet. That’s saying a lot, since I’d already been working out for thirty minutes by the time he came in.”

  “To work out?” Again, Courtney was fixated on the wrong thing.

  “Doubtful. He was sporting jeans and a T-shirt.” Danielle finished off her frozen drink with a slurp through the straw.

  This was getting worse. This woman, who was an intelligent newspaper journalist and attractive with all her vivacious curves and humorous personality, had allowed some nameless “passerby” to get into her workout pants. “Unbelievable.”

  “Let’s just say he is very talented. I came twice in that ten-minute bang. Hell, who would have known that the rails on a treadmill could hold up these thighs.” Danielle patted her stout legs under the table.

  “I hope you all remembered to turn the machine off,” Courtney babbled.

  Ryanne eyed the ditz. Evidently, based on the fact that Courtney couldn’t focus on the main issue of the problem, Ryanne wonder if the salon had used too much bleaching agent too close to the woman’s scalp when they were giving her those gray tresses. Shaking her head, Ryanne glanced back across the table at Danielle. “Did you all at least make plans to see each other again?”

  Danielle stared over her shoulder at the man who was the topic of their conversation and sighed wistfully, then faced Ryanne and Courtney again. “Nope. He said something about if we ran into each other again, maybe there was an option for a threesome with his roommate…but I don’t want that guy to think I’m some kind of whore, so I’m staying far away from him.”

  We wouldn’t want to give that impression. Ryanne guffawed mentally. She couldn’t really judge the woman before her; Ryanne had come to the ski resort for a little escape, fun, and the option of meeting a guy she wouldn’t mind having sex with. The only difference was that Ryanne hoped that she wouldn’t be so hard up to just give it to the first guy that crossed her path. Maybe she’d meet him early on and spend the rest of the vacation getting to know him as well as getting a little sheet action. Not treadmill romping.