When all is said and done, there's nothing left to say or do.
...Which isn't really relevant. Not all was said or done. We'd done a lot - pre-conference drinks, the first night; breakfast, sessions, lunch, sessions, the cocktail party (which, apparently, went on much longer than it did for us). The second night.
Bristol lay before us, a panorama of lights and colour. From our perch in the hotbed of sexual tension that is the Radisson Blu, this seemed like the perfect moment, were it not for the fact that I was about three stone heavier, full of deep-fried Camembert and pistachio nuts. But I could see past that. The problem was that I just wasn't in the mood. I was sad, although I'm not entirely sure why. I'm not usually sad at Eroticon... well, not all the time, anyway. This was the golden opportunity - the time, the place, the bed - for hotel sex. And it just, for that moment, looked like it wasn't going to happen.
But that was just a moment. It did happen.
It was a much bigger bed than the effort we're sleeping on at home, so we had more space to - shall we say - play with. Or play on. There was certainly enough space for her to balance on her hands and knees while I caressed and kissed her back and behind, followed by working my tongue down her crack and over her wet pussy lips. There was even enough space for me to sit up comfortably while doing this, a luxury not afforded to me in any old bed (and certainly not on our usual one. I'm starting to think that Radisson Blu do this sort of size deliberately).
There was even a solid enough wall for me to push one of my legs against. I needed to push my leg against it, to be fair, because of the angle I was at. It helped, however, giving me enough thrust as I... well... thrust. I'd never done it like this before, my legs splayed as far as possible without locking myself into being a right-angle, while engaged in a motion which can only be gently described as "slamming". She certainly seemed to be enjoying it, anyway, judging by the things she was saying, such as "lflsgwjbgkb", "eghspgpwh" and "unicorns!" One of those is false, but I'm hoping you'd get the idea. I, of course, hadn't a clue what she was on about, but I think it meant "keep going".
So I did.
And I continued to do so for, you know, quite a while. Perhaps a while longer than I'd originally intended to, but then these things never exactly go to plan. As I felt her contract around me and I let out something between a yelp, a scream and a cry for help, I came to the realisation that this was what I'd been doing wrong all those years. I hadn't been having sex on hotel beds. Damn... this is what was missing? I wasn't even aware anything was missing until that one moment.
I went for lunch today with Rose and Charlotte J. Forrest. Loud sex may have been mentioned. Rose may have said "that was you?" at one point. But I'm making no claim, as I'm above such fripperies.
Although it did bring back that memory... the memory that I cared to share. The memory that, a fair while after I'd thought that it wasn't going to happen, I was lying on my back, on our bed, in a hotel room, feeling the lights of Bristol smiling indulgently up at me as I tried to deduce a way to get my girlfriend down from the ceiling.