The Seduction of James the Motel Manager

I was taking a short break in the North of England – better not say where – and I had booked a room at one of those “budget” hotels that you in the USA call “Motels”. In the UK, they are usually built next to, or near to, a cheap restaurant owned by the same hotel group and have grown into 2 or 3 chains of popular, inexpensive hotels; clean and modern but with very few frills.

I say few frills; all rooms have en-suite facilities, crisp clean sheets and TV. Some even have internet services or cable TV but it was the issue of the TV that caused the problem on this occasion. Digital TV was in its infancy at the time, so things were a bit more primitive back then!

I was wise to this TV reception problem from the outset because I have had to change rooms before, when the TV picture has been so bad to be unwatchable. This time, before unpacking my bags, I checked the TV to make sure it was OK. It wasn’t – and my heart sank. But I am a stickler for my entitlements, so I went back down to the front desk and told the young lady there. She said the Manager would come and check it for me.
True enough, there was a knock at the door a few minutes later and there he was. I suppose I am allowed to say this but the first thing I noticed was that he was black; “Afro-Caribbean” to be precise. I say this without any reservations because, even in these times of political correctness, you can’t help but notice these things!

However, that wasn’t all I noticed. He was young – about 26-28, about 5’ 10”, slim and with lovely big dark brown eyes and a rounded nose that was just broad enough to be sexy without being squat. He was soft-skinned and clean-shaven but even against his gorgeous chocolate-coloured skin, you could see a 5 o’clock shadow – or is it 6 o’clock? Anyway, the tight curls of his black hair were cut neat and short and his skin complexion was, frankly, “soft as a baby’s bum” as we say here in the UK!

And speaking of a baby’s bum, he was wearing black slacks which were – well, rather snug. I tried not to let my eyes wander. After all, there was a potential argument looming. He was carrying another TV.

“You got a problem with your TV?” he said, rather chirpily. I ushered him in. My TV was still on and it was snowing on every channel; and it was June.

“Hmm,” he said. He set the spare TV down beside mine and continued, “Let’s see if this one’s any better.”

It wasn’t. He fiddled with it and tried all sorts of things that I knew wouldn’t work and then said,

“The trouble is, the reception’s not very good here. I keep asking Head Office to do something about the aerial.”

“Are you telling me that reception in all the rooms is just as bad? Hasn’t anyone else complained?” I questioned him and he said,
“Well, some rooms seem worse than others – the further you are from the aerial, I dunno really.”

So I told him that, having booked 3 nights, I was in not happy to have no TV to watch and that he should move me to another room where the TV worked properly. As I had done this before with success, I figured it might work this time too. However, to this idea he to took in a deep breath through his teeth and said,

“Actually, we’re fully booked. I’m afraid I don’t have any spare rooms.”

Now, it could have gone a number of ways at this point; I had driven nearly 200 miles that day and was tired, wanted a bath and a meal; AND A DRINK! And I wanted to watch the damn TV! I didn’t want to cancel the booking now, only to have to find another hotel tonight. So I just told him this wasn’t good enough, that I gave his company plenty of my business one way or another, and that I was going to make one hell of a stink about this as soon as I got home. What about a refund? That got him a little nervous and he started shifting his weight from one hip to the other – I could tell he was trying to think of what to do.

“Look,” he finally said, “I’ve got a digital decoder in my flat. I could let you use that; if I can get it to work in here, you’d have much more than the usual channels too.”
He looked at me with his eye-brows raised, seeking agreement; he looked directly into my eyes, almost pleading with me. Call me a pushover but that always does it for me!

I knew that the Managers of these hotels “lived-in”, so I said,

“OK, give it a try and see if it works” and he disappeared over to the main building and came back about 10 minutes later with his decoder.

He spent the next 15-20 minutes setting it up, while I sat on the bed watching his every move. From behind, I got a lovely view of his rounded muscular rear, clad tightly in those snug black trousers. He was wearing a pale blue polo-shirt and his arms were strong and developed, like he worked-out at a gym but not excessively. And while his shirt was initially tucked into the top of his black trousers when he arrived, with all the bending down, stretching and crouching under the worktop, it had pulled loose – revealing the dark brown skin of the small of his back and the white waist-band of his “Calvin Klein” underwear. I ruled out boxer-shorts immediately but I began wondering whether he wore briefs or boxer-briefs. Shame on me, I was getting interested!

I began making conversation and established that his name was James, he was 26 and lived in the flat on his own and had worked elsewhere for the company before transferring here recently to get a promotion. His accent wasn’t local and I discovered that he had moved from down south to take this job, so he was away from his friends and his family. I didn’t get as far as finding out if his “family” included a wife or girl-friend but I made us both tea from the tea-tray in the room and tried to be nice to him. He was trying his best, after all – and he was rather cute.

Eventually, after all the fiddling and retuning the TV, he got it to work. The picture was fine.

“It’s only terrestrial,” he said, “you know, like from the aerial, not satellite; but generally, even when the signal is weak, it’s usually better than the analogue picture. And you get the other channels too.” I was beginning to like him!
I was also beginning to wonder what he was now going to do for TV in his own flat when he then added,

“It sometimes plays up but if it does, just turn it off and on again and it should right itself but I’m on the night-shift tonight, so if anything goes wrong, you’ll find me at the desk.”

With that, he tidied-up and left, leaving me with an erection that needed attention and a pair of slightly damp underpants where I had been juicing myself with pre-cum for the last 20 minutes!

My first evening was uneventful, inasmuch as I enjoyed a good evening’s TV. There was just one curious thing though – two of the additional digital channels listed in his decoder’s channel list seemed to be pay-per-view sex channels. Not being a cable TV subscriber myself, I was unfamiliar with them but when I clicked on one of them, the preview was definitely gay and it asked for a code number. “Right!” I thought to myself.

I was out for much of the next day and when I returned he wasn’t around until later, when I came back from my evening meal at the restaurant. He was at the desk on his own and I stopped to chat, smiling at him as I approached. He put his head on one side and smiled back.

“Everything OK with the TV?” he asked.

“Brilliant,” I replied and leant on the desk in front of him, adding, “You on the desk again tonight then?”
“Only till 10 o’clock; I just have to be on call after that,” he said.

“So what are you going do – you’ve not got any TV to watch now, thanks to me?” I grinned, being cheeky but trying to be friendly at the same time. He shrugged and then looked up at me, with his head on one side again and his eye-brows raised in query. I waited. Was he going to say anything else? I decided not, so I ventured,

“You could always come and watch mine – it is yours after all!” I looked at him. Was he brave enough – or naïve enough? Probably neither, I thought.
But then to my surprise he said,

“You serious?”

“Yeah, why not,” I said, “bring a bottle and we’ll have our own party!” To my amazement, he nodded and said,
“OK, you’re on! I’ll come up around 10 then, when the night-shift turns up.”

And with that, I went back to the room and began to panic. I took a bath and made sure I was looking my best, while trying not to make it look too obvious that I was trying to look my best! Then I waited.
There was a knock at the door at 9.45 and he explained that the night-shift guy had come on early and did I mind? He had a plastic carrier-bag in one hand and, as he came into the room, he produced from it a bottle of vodka, a bottle of tonic, two cans of coke and a couple of tumblers.

“You took me literally, didn’t you,” I smiled, “Shame there’s no ice! Shall I go and get us some crisps from the machine down the corridor?”

We hit it off right away. When I told him I was a “Star-Trek” fan, he immediately said there was a double-episode of “Enterprise” on one of the TV channels at 10.30. Did I want to watch? So believe it or not, we settled down with our drinks and crisps on the bed and half-watched, half-chatted our way through the next couple of hours.

By the time “Enterprise” finished, we were both quite relaxed. We’d drunk over half the bottle of vodka and he kept getting fits of the giggles at my little jokes. His laugh was infectious and his smile was lovely! Like so many Afro-Caribbean guys, his lips were thick and his mouth was wide; his teeth were even and brilliant-white against the chocolate-colour of his face and his trimmed pointed sideburns made him look – well, fucking gorgeous!

Mind you, he had a shy side to him too, which I found endearing. I established that he was single and that there was a “sort-of girl-friend” (whatever that is!) but he was vague, even coy, on whether or not she was his “significant other”. He wasn’t in any hurry to go back to his flat though, and it was now well past 12.30. When he came back from having a pee in the bathroom, I was idly going down the list of channels on the TV.

“What else have we got to watch here, I wonder?” I said, followed by a surprised, “Hello, what have we here?” as I punched one of the sex-channels I had spotted the night before.

Instantly, he dived across the bed and grabbed the remote from me, laughing nervously.

“Nah, you don’t wanna watch that!” he said. But I fought back and tried to grab the remote off him. We tangled on the bed, him getting the giggles again when I discovered he was ticklish; so that just made it worse, as I continued to tease and tickle him until I managed to get him tangled in the duvet and he began squealing like a little kid – and then fell off the bed onto the floor with a loud “thump”. I now had the remote in my hand and a hard-on straining inside my underwear.

“Hmm, I’m curious,” I said, as I pressed the channel number. “Here, it says it wants your account number – come on, give us the number then!” He was still sitting on the floor and his head appeared above the edge of the bed and, hesitantly, he gave me the number.

When the film came on, I pretended to be shocked.

“I didn’t know you were a “poofta”! I wouldn’t have invited you in if I’d known,” I exclaimed, scowling at him. He stared at me from his position on the floor, unsure what to say.
“I’m not gay,” he protested, standing up and suddenly looking quite serious, “I think I’d better be going now.”

I broke into a smile and laughed at him,

“Don’t be daft! I don’t care if you like looking at men sometimes,” I said and I beckoned him to get back on the bed. “Anyway, it’s only for a laugh.” We were both still fully dressed at this stage but thanks to the vodka, we were also both “3 sheets to the wind” as they say!

As he settled back on the bed beside me, I sneakily put my arm over behind the pillow as he sat back and before he knew it, I had my arm around his shoulder next to me. He was warm and a bit sweaty after our tussling, his manly aroma filling my senses with his pheromones. When he felt my arm over him, he jumped and sat forward on the bed. He turned his face to look at me with a mixture of puzzlement and fear that held me transfixed as we stared at each other.
“Look, I said I’m not.….” he hesitated, “I’m not really gay.….. it’s just….”

I interrupted him, “How can you not REALLY be gay?” I said, using quotation-marks in the air with my fingers. “I just made a pass at you and you’re still sitting here.” I raised my eye-brows and gave him my best “You’ve been rumbled” look. Then I raised my arm in surrender and said, “I promise I won’t do anything, if you don’t like it but why don’t we just sit and watch the film? You know you’d like to. Just relax!”

Rather nervously he eventually admitted that he supposed he was gay but that his family was very religious and he had never let on, to them or anyone. He had had sex with his girl-friend and tried to convince himself he was “normal”; so apart from a fumble or two with a mate when they were both 15, he hadn’t had any gay experience. From me, all this got an open admission that I was gay but I promised I wouldn’t embarrass him.

I poured us both some more vodka and the last of the tonic and hesitantly, he sat back on the bed beside me and we began watching the movie. Within 10 minutes, a lot more had been revealed on-screen than in the room so far! I was alternating between looking at the screen and looking at his crotch beside me, still tightly clad in his black slacks. He was getting aroused by the images on screen; his bulge was now very obviously divided by the seam of his trousers and now there was a distinct extra bulge down the leg nearest to me. I casually placed my hand on his thigh.

He pretended to keep watching the TV but he knew what I was doing; and he did nothing to stop me. I began exploring his inner thigh and then - that bulge. As soon as I touched him there, he drew a short intake of breath and as I turned to look up to his face, his eyes were closed and his forehead furrowed.

I raised my hand to touch the soft skin of the side of his face and turned his head toward me.
“Open your eyes,” I said softly.

He did as I commanded and looked at me. His large brown eyes were widely dilated and they looked into mine with a mixture of pleading and sadness. Our faces were just inches apart and I wasn’t sure that he was clear what he wanted to do, so I simply closed the gap and touched his lips with my own, softly kissing him. He moaned.

“No good?” I said.

“Oh yeah,” he sighed, and blinked, “I’ve just never let a guy do that to me before.”

“Well, why don’t you do it to me this time?” I suggested and smiled at him. He slowly leaned toward me and as we met, this time our lips melted into each other and our mouths tasted fully the luscious juices of the other, the flesh of tongues and the hot breath of passion. He knew how to kiss alright; he’d just never been able to try it on a man before! And he liked it!

In moments, I had his shirt off him and we were writhing about on the bed. The centre of his well-defined chest was peppered with tiny black curls but his stomach was almost hairless, apart from a tantalizing line of little curls from his belly-button down to his waist-band. At last, he allowed me to undo his trousers and pull down the zip of his flies, allowing the tight bulge contained within his white Calvin Klein boxer-briefs to expand as if inflated like a life-jacket! All barriers broken now, I whipped-off my own shirt and jumped into position between his legs, pulling his trousers down to his thighs. I leaned forward, pushing my face into his groin, inhaling the musky sweatiness of this, his most intimate body region. As I played with his bulge in my mouth, still clad in its white cotton covering, I felt his organ flooding to manhood, expanding and hardening as I played with it. He was moaning again, most definitely in pleasure!

From his recumbent position, he opened his eyes, sat up and grabbed me. With his hands either side of my body, he threw me over on my back on the other side of the bed and, in a clumsy and frantic move, he threw away his half-removed trousers and began feverishly undoing mine. He had my erect cock out and in his hand before I knew what had hit me! He immediately began stroking my foreskin up and down over my cock-head, already wet with pre-cum juices and now oozing more droplets under his touch. He looked puzzled.

“You haven’t cum already, have you?” he said, looking up at me, slightly disappointed. I smiled and explained that it was pre-cum; also that some men, like him, don’t produce it much but that I was what might be termed “a dribbler”.
“Wow!” he said, his eyes wide and fascinated, as another drop of pre-cum oozed from my slit and dribbled down over his fingers. He hesitated, staring at the sticky substance and then he put his fingers in his mouth and tasted my juices.
“Hmm! Salty,” he said as he teased more pre-cum from my aching tool. If he carried on like this, I thought to myself, he would make me cum before we had got all our clothes off, so I would have to take charge again!

“Right, that’s enough of that,” I said, as I pushed him off me and over onto his back, throwing off my half-removed trousers and underwear. I grabbed at the waist of his briefs and pulled them off, revealing what I can only describe as one of the most handsome and well-proportioned organs I have laid hands on. He was uncut and probably a good 8 inches erect, with a perfect girth-to-length ratio and a colour that was slightly darker than the rest of his body. Around the base was a neat forest of tight black curls but his beautiful, large, dark brown balls were almost hairless and tightly bunched. I took his organ in my hands and slowly pulled the foreskin to reveal a penis-head that seemed almost pink in comparison with the rest of him. I closed my lips around it and ran my tongue along the underside of his tool. He tasted hot, bitter and ….

“Oh fuck!” he groaned, “Oh fuck!”

It was obvious he was going to cum easily; my only problem was making him last! I stopped blowing him and began running my fingers lightly up and down the sides of his torso. I knew by now that he was ticklish but provided I could avoid him bursting into fits of giggles again, I figured he would be particularly sensitive to my touch. I was right and with his mouth wide open, he began gasping for air, as the nerve-endings up and down his body sent wave upon wave of pleasure signals to his brain.

My fingers traced circles, over and around, up and down his sides and under his arm-pits, pleasuring his body. I was kneeling between his thighs and as I leaned forward over his body, my oozing cock teased across his balls and his own tumescent tool, lying against his stomach. Each time our organs touched, I felt his tool almost jump towards mine. I tweaked and played with his nipples, then I began kissing his body all over; his biceps, his neck, his peppered chest, his hairless abdomen, his hip-bones, his inner thighs, his ….. he was ready. I lay down on him, my arms under his back, gripping his shoulders; our bodies exchanging warmth, our 4 balls in coalescence, our erect organs alongside each other, pressed upwards, hard between our stomachs.

As I put my face into the nape of his neck and began nibbling his ear and kissing his neck, I gently slid my body up and down against his own, aided by my now copious pre-cum lubricating any friction between us. He began to gasp again; short, sharp breaths as I continued kissing the nape of his neck, and with a sudden, loud exhale of breath, I felt his body lurch beneath me, as his senses went into overload and he reached orgasm. I felt his organ, hard and throbbing against my stomach, as he came between us and his man-fluids overflowed between our two bodies. He was gripping hold of me with his hands clasped tightly over my buttocks, pressing me against his body in a tightening grip, his finger-nails digging into my tender cheeks, as shudder after shudder, he came in my embrace. All this was too much for me too. From deep inside my aching groin, my cum rose towards its explosion, coarsing up through my body, as I shot load after load of creamy juice onto his hot and heaving, slippery, chocolate-brown body.
Finally sated, we remained laying against one another, each breathing heavily, our hearts pounding against our still heaving chests. In that luxuriant post-coital moment, as we reveled in the afterglow, torn between contented exhaustion and the unpleasant reality of cleaning up the mess, his mobile phone rang – somewhere deep in his trousers, in a pile on the floor.

“Oh God, sorry!” he apologized, “I’m supposed to be on call; I’ve got to answer it!”

It was 1.30 am when two very messy, slippery bodies separated, as I rolled off him and he leapt to find his phone. Standing naked in the half-light of the room before me, the light reflecting off the sticky creamy mess still dribbling down his muscular torso, his still semi-erect organ stuck out in dark silhouette as he talked on the phone.

“…….Ok, I’ll come right down; I’ll be just a minute,” he was saying.

And so it was that he made a hurried and apologetic exit, and left a load of wet toilet tissue on the bed for me to remember him by. I had one more night in that motel………...