Amy doesn’t know who she is. Determined to put that right, she’s arranged a date through the Pink Roses website. The hotel room is booked, she’s bought wine to break the ice, and now she’s face to face with prospective lover, Kayla.
Kayla’s gorgeous but Amy’s terrified. She’s new to dating, and new to women. Torn between, curiosity, lust, and fear, she doubts her ability to continue the date in spite of Kayla’s reassurances.
Was this all a mistake? Has she left it too late to explore her true self? Is she destined to remain the chrysalis, never the liberated butterfly?
The hotel was an anonymous maze. The long corridors of plain magnolia walls, white ceilings, and swirling blue and red nylon carpet could be transposed into any one of thousands of chain hotels. The room was equally predictable; a perfectly square box with grey carpet and off-white walls. A pine effect desk sat beneath the window and a tiny white-tiled ensuite was shoehorned into the corner by the door. The double bed sat against a feature wall painted slate grey, a large landscape print adding a welcome splash of colour to the bland decor.
The room was basic but spotlessly clean. The bed covers were pure white and so entirely crease-free they could have been ironed in situ; the pillows were neatly arranged and equally pristine. Reluctant to defile their immaculate state, Amy had avoided sitting on the bed when she’d checked in. She hadn’t touched anything at all and her overnight bag sat on the floor still zipped tight.
“Well?” Amy shrugged. “Will it do?”
Kayla pushed the door to. She deposited her handbag onto the desk beside the kettle and plastic basket of tea bags and sugar, then clicked a switch, dowsing the main light to leave the room bathed in the soft glow of the bedside night lamps. “Perfect.”
“Great.” Amy took a step back, fingers fiddling with the plastic keycard. Even with the lights dimmed, the room lacked a romantic atmosphere: no scented candles, champagne on ice, or the dulcet tones of Barry White playing on repeat that had been the scene in her dreams. Reality was rather jarring. Then again, there was no need for the trappings of seduction when the sexual contract was already signed and sealed. “So, erm ...”
“Let’s get to it.”
Amy froze. Let’s get to it? Definitely not what she’d imagined, even from Pink Roses. Eyes widening, she watched Kayla slip off her shoes and swiftly cast aside her top. Unbuttoning her cotton slacks, she let them fall and kicked them away to join the discarded top. Then she stood, hands on hips, wearing only a skimpy bra and panties. Her skin looked radiant in the soft light and the black lace teasingly showcased her large dark nipples and the puffy lips of her shaved pussy.
Kayla arched an eyebrow. “Come on Amy, you’re overdressed.”
Amy didn’t move. She gazed at Kayla’s mountainous breasts squeezed into her semi-transparent bra. Her pulse raced as she imagined touching them, sucking the dark nipples into her mouth and --
“Amy? You okay? Change of heart?”
