My name is Paula and I travel a lot for my job. I travel a lot for my personal life, as well. But those are trips that you can just say no to when the mode strikes. It’s not that I mind spending time in a vehicle. It’s just that those trips don’t always go where I want to be at any given time. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m 38 years old and divorced – which could be an indicator that I can’t decide what I want – or where I want to be at any given time. But that is beside the point. All day I had my mind set on a motel in Lexington, KY that has a wonderful hot tub. They keep it clean, hot and well treated. And, best news, children under 18 are not allowed. It’s considered a big person’s toy and I was in need of just that. I like a swimming pool, don’t get me wrong. There’s something about laying on the side of the pool and doing a slow scissor kick for exercise. I enjoy swimming and do so when possible. Although I have to admit that swimming in a pool is nothing compared to swimming in the open ocean days beyond the sight of land. That’s a bad habit, along with not wearing many if any clothes, I picked up in a three-year relationship with a lover who ferried yachts throughout the world. I don’t think I was fully dressed for any consecutive 24-hour period in those three years. But tonight I wanted a hot tub and when I checked in, I threw my clothes in the room, let that business suit puddle at my feet in a pile of discarded cloth and grabbed a swimsuit. Swimsuits being what they are, there are public wear and private wear and a lot of suits that should never see the light of day. The one I had packed was a trim one piece suit in a dark red that fits me well. I’m hard to fit in that type of clothing. When you wear an A cup bra that could almost be an AA, stand 5-9 and weigh 115 pounds, swim wear designers don’t spend a lot of time on you. This suit has always been my public wear suit for the last couple of years. Even without a razor or waxing, it doesn’t reveal ankara travesti much – provided I spend some thought on keeping my knees together. Admittedly, it would not do to wear to a gym and be seen swinging my hips across any type of exercise machine. Right now, I’m afraid people would think I had never felt the razor’s sting or the firm yank of a wax job. Which, by the way, is going to hurt like hell the next time around and Spring is just around the corner here in Kentucky. I entered the dimly lighted tub area and noticed what I thought was a baseball cap floating along one edge. The cap turned out to be connected to a brunette’s head which became obvious when she looked up and then swept her ponytail back around over her shoulder. I slipped out of my cover and with a nod to the other woman, eased down into the tub. It’s large, easily enough for 8-10 adults who didn’t want to be close enough to touch. In all of five minutes, I was oblivious to the world. So much so that I didn’t notice the woman was moving till she was on the steps after the jets stopped. The brunette was my height, but heavier, a little more tummy than I like on me, but then I’m flat chested and she definitely was not. Nope, a nice pair of big B boobs swaying gently under her loose swim suit top. Her black top was a good fit for her body type, but it was the bikini bottoms, soaked and dripping in streams down her legs that drew my attention. She had legs that said the woman had used them a lot at one point in her life. Her ass was high and tight and those leg muscles looked good, damned good, as she went up the steps. She toweled off, then tugged on a man’s shirt, buttoned that up and then dragged a pair of jeans up her clammy legs. The bikini bottom instantly soaked through the fabric as she stuck some clogs on her feet and then shouldered her clothing bag and left without so much as a word. However, she did divert to the tub switch and give me another merciful 15 minutes with the flip ankara travestileri of her wrist. I had just escaped into my privacy behind my closed eyes when the door squeaked and I heard a pair of street shoes tap across the tile flooring in the dry portion of the room. Cracking one eye, I watched as a tall, thin man dropped his T-shirt and then shucked out of his jeans (was this jeans night at the sauna?) before stepping down onto the tub’s steps. He was rail thin, the kind of thin that, well makes me think he should be looking for a cook. He was so thin that I would have closed my eyes right then without another thought if I had not noticed his cock. Even curled limply inside his trunks it was a handful. The man said nothing as he took a seat opposite me and then proceeded to disappear in his own mind. When the jets quit a few minutes later, he looked at me, smiled and noted that it seemed to be his turn. I guess it was obvious, I was not moving. And I had no intentions of doing so for two reasons. One, I can be lazy as hell. Although maybe the Devil gets a lot out of his residents, I don’t know. Check back with me on that one. But secondly, I wasn’t going to stand up and give him a really good muff show because I could feel that my suit had ridden right up into my crotch. I didn’t move until he was out of the tub and then I tried, in vain, to adjust that damned swimsuit. The jets started again and the man eased back into the water. And that’s when I got a really big shock. His cock was rock hard. Jutting straight out in front of him at an little angle and drooping down slightly, but absolutely rock hard. He looked right at me and just smiled, apologized for his appearance and noted that he could not help himself. I smiled, that little female grin that says, Oh, OK, tell me your story (you girls know what I mean). Returning to his original seat, the stranger looked at me and laughed a wicked little laugh. Then explained how he had been sitting there travesti ankara and trying to decide what kind of a body I had. My laugh was loud and echoed around the room. I noted that he had about 10-15 minutes before he would know if he stuck around till the jets quit. Nothing else was said until the jets did sputter their last. Having spent nearly 40 minutes in the tub, I knew it was time to get out. Sitting in the tub, I had kept my chin just barely out of the water. But standing, I felt the water draining off my body and I noticed his eyes taking a long drink of me. My nipples were hard when I stood up, and, as I feared, there was muff hanging out around my crotch. I started up the steps before stopping mid-way. Looking down, I explained to my tub mate that I was sorry about the muff show, but that it had been a long winter. Of course, I did manage to stand with my feet on different steps, it wasn’t like I was trying to keep myself hidden. The man grinned, stared right at me and then gave me a thumbs up sign. I exited the tub, grabbed my wrap and was heading for the door when he heaved around and rested his elbows on the side of the tub. He smiled and asked me to turn the jets back on. I did so and noticed a small envelope laying right beside the knob. It was addressed to ‘dark haired girl’. The man smiled as I looked from the envelope to his eyes. “The note’s for you. My girlfriend thought you might enjoy a treat, she told me about you when she left,” he said. I knew he meant the brunette, but for some reason, the two didn’t fit. I thumbed the envelope open and inside was a simple piece of paper in a woman’s hand. “Room 212, 9 p.m.” was all it said. I laughed, smiled then tossed the paper down on the floor and looked at the man and told him thanks, but no thanks. He smiled and then said they’d see me later. I had a shower and managed to go through a half-bottle of conditioner getting my hair back to rights. Long hair is a curse, guys. But it’s a great tool and, yes, we love using it on you. I grabbed a pair of khaki pants and a clean blouse and added my belt adornments before leaving to find food. After dinner found me back in the room and contentedly reading a book.