A Taste for Christmas Cake Chapter 2

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  • 42 min read

Chapter 2: The Love Hotel

We stood in front of the display, the photo of each room flanked with a little button. The occupied rooms were all blacked out, but there were a number of rooms still available.

“Anything catch your eye?” I asked the boy.

He looked at each of the photos. I knew he was not very good at making decisions - he’d shown that numerous times over our little impromptu dinner - and I was enjoying making him squirm.

“There are so many to choose from,” he murmured. “Why aren’t they all booked up? It’s Christmas eve, right? Wouldn’t lots of couples want to, uh...”

“Well,” I said, charmed by his embarrassment. “There’s a very simple reason behind that. See the different prices for Rest and Stay?”

“What does Rest mean?”

I chuckled. “It’s when you only use the room for a couple of hours. Once you’ve, haha, enjoyed your ‘rest’ you can just up and leave. You don’t have to make believe you’re staying at the hotel to get a good night’s sleep, although you can do that too, of course.”

The boy blushed. “So most people have already had a uh, ‘rest’ and gone home?”

“You catch on quick.” I sighed. “Seems like no one wants to stay in bed and snuggle afterwards. That’s Japan for you - rush, rush, rush. I’m guessing foreigners would be more into the whole ‘stay’ thing, right? What with your relaxed attitude to everything...”

He nodded. He agreed with everything I said, even when he was living proof my generalisation about foreigners was wrong. It was adorable.

“So,” I said. “Are you going to pick one or are we going to have to spoon up here together in the foyer?”

At the word ‘spoon’, the kid swallowed and darted forward, picking a room at random.

“Well, let’s go get our key.”

I pushed the money at the disembodied hands at the counter. The rest of the attendant was shielded from us in deference of our privacy, but I could tell from the pronounced veins they were an old woman’s hands. I chuckled to myself. It seemed my reckless behaviour was being enabled by older women tonight.

I led the kid into the elevator which was waiting for us. We of course met no one. There was a different exit provided for those leaving, allowing them to enjoy their post-coital glow without the potential embarrassment of running into someone else.

I walked fast, with an almost unseemly eagerness. The kid hurried to keep up with me, always staying a step behind like a little shadow.

We soon found the room. Apart from the slight ghost of cigarette smoke it was a pleasant enough room. The room was dominated with a huge bed with an array of buttons on its headboard. There was a big flatscreen on the wall for watching pink videos, and a little bar fridge. I ducked my head into the bathroom and whistled.

“Look at the size of that tub!”

The kid poked his head in beside me. “Wow,” he said. I knew he was genuinely impressed. The bath was the size of a Jacuzzi. Japanese people love their baths and the bigger the better.

“You could fit almost all of Eastport’s management team in that one tub,” I mused. “It seems a waste for just the two of us.”

The boy nodded, but when he realised what I’d implied he gasped and moved away. I was too close to him, within boob-brushing distance, and it was obviously making him nervous. I knew he could smell me. I wondered if he could smell how excited I was? Since the whole thing with him bad-mouthing Kazuo I’d been walking around in sticky underwear. I was probably soaking inside them, now. I leaned across him, ostensibly to check out the toiletries on the sink, but really I wanted to smell him.

He’d lost that sour-milk smell foreigners sometimes have, if in fact he’d ever had it. The Japanese diet was already working on him. But he smelled different, somehow. It was a nostalgic smell.

Then I knew. He was wearing a sports deodorant. He was still a kid and didn’t wear aftershave or anything like that. It was a smell I remembered from over a decade ago. The boys would walk around in a haze of it after baseball practice.

And yet the scent wasn’t overpowering. The kid also smelled of that delicious male spiciness, a mixture of perspiration and, well, hormones I guess. I love that smell. I could almost taste it.
I knew it would smell even better after a shower.

“So would you like to take a shower first or should I?”

He stared at me.

“Oh, I was just joking about sharing a bath, unless you want to, of course.” I jogged him in the ribs and he skittered laughing away from my elbow. “Well, I’ll take the first then.”

He nodded and I shut the door before quickly reopening it. He hadn’t had time to move, and I behaved as though I’d caught him up to no good.

“You’re not going to peek on me are you?” I asked with narrowed eyes.

“What? N-no,” he replied.

“Good. These doors don’t lock after all.” I pointed at the bed. “Just amuse yourself with the control panel. It works the lights and TV and everything.”

I shut the door. I quickly stripped out of my clothes. I heard music in the other room. The kid was already doing what I told him. The thought of him sitting on the bed there while I was almost naked here, just a room away, made my heart race. For a second I toyed with the idea of just walking out of there in my bra and panties and grabbing him. The little movie played out in my head: the look of wide-eyed shock on his face, the way he’d be unable to take his eyes off me, how he’d scramble backwards when I climbed onto the bed and advanced on him, that first touch as I grabbed his hand and pulled it to my heaving chest...

I gasped. I was starting to flood. I stripped my underwear off. They were soaked. Great. Now I’d have to wear dirty underwear on the way back tomorrow. At least there was a bathrobe for me to wear in bed. I wished that there’d been yukata as there sometimes is in Japanese-bath themed love hotels, but I’d have to make do.

I scrubbed my face of my makeup and then dove under the steaming wate

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Written by taiyakisoba
Uploaded December 7, 2020
Notes Middle-aged executive Mieko finds herself at a love-hotel with her 21 year-old subordinate.
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