But the View Was Amazing
by Jennifer Feltyberger
One weekend I matched with this guy from West Virginia. We started talking on Friday morning. He came into town on a whim with a friend to see a basketball game – a college basketball game. We texted nonstop until we met. That’s always very confusing, because it can make you feel like you know someone when you really don’t. We agreed to meet Saturday night at the bar at his hotel in Miami.
The evening started with an hour of mishaps regarding his hotel. If he had been a gentleman, and just given me the address, I would not have been waiting in the wrong hotel’s bar. Finally, I pulled up in my hot red mustang, and was surrounded by Maserati’s and Porsches. The valet asked how long I would be there – after a moment’s hesitation, I admitted to him anywhere from a few hours to overnight. One thing you must learn to do is not be ashamed of your one-night stands. Every valet, front desk clerk, bartender – sees it every day. They don’t judge, especially if you tip well.
I waited on a couch in the lobby, and he came to meet me. After rehashing the address mix-up (and his apologies once again) he took my hand and we headed up to his room. He talked about how I am so much better than I made myself out to be on Tinder. “I’m from West Virginia – many girls say they are curvy, and they are actually obese. I’m glad you are exactly how you described yourself.”
Now if you don’t know my tinder Persona – here it is in a nutshell – I don’t lie. I have a difficult time lying in real life, and that carries on into my cyber life as well. I am about 30 pounds overweight, but luckily I am proportional. I have always used the word Rubenesque to describe my physique. Most of the population does not know who the artist Peter Paul Rubens was, so curvy is the next closest thing. No sense in lying on your profile, eventually they meet you in person, and men are quick to cast you aside for not being what you say you are. Now women on the other hand can walk up to a man that they barely recognize from the photos and assume they are remembering wrong, and give the guy who posted a 15 year old picture of himself; 50 pounds lighter and 6 inches shorter than previously advertised a chance because they don’t want to be rude. That’s our sex’s downfall – the desire to be liked and the ability to give everyone a chance.
We got to his room on the 44th floor and I was in awe. He had a corner suite with walls of windows and the view of the Miami canals and Biscayne Bay at night was stunning. I was quickly snapped out of my stupor as I was pushed up against the window . . . it was like the movie 9 ½ weeks – hot, steamy, passionate. Then he did something that – to this day – was the hottest thing anyone has ever done to me in the bedroom. In one fluid motion, he put his hands under my arms, lifted me, turned around, and tossed me half-way across the room and onto the big king bed. It was so effortless, that my mind temporarily postponed my response. I could either fall further, deeper into that passion – or be extremely nervous that he was that strong that he could easily overpower me, and I could become one of those Dateline Specials where everyone watching would have yelled “Don’t go in there!”. I shook that later thought out of my head and kept on going.
The sex was – maybe I should call it imaginative. He knew he was lacking, so he tried to vary things enough to make it interesting. I have never been with a man who had to tie a condom on to keep it from slipping off. I experienced some sort of middle age mental commentary during sex, and that’s what kept it going for me:
Holy shit – is this a down comforter?
The duvet cover must be a million thread count.
These sheets feel like silk!
Are those actual glasses in the bar and a leather ice bucket?
Ohmygod – there is a huge sitting area with some super fancy Z Gallerie furniture
I wonder what he does for a living to afford a room like this . . .
Afterwards, as I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by this heavenly bedding in this amazing room, I had no idea what awaited me in the morning.
I awoke the next morning with the sun – it was almost impossible not to – it was all around me. I rubbed my eyes, and then opened them again as they do in the movies. It turns out the night view was the slightly slow and goofy cousin to the morning view. I sat up, surrounded in luxury bedding, to gaze upon the most majestic sunrise I’ve ever seen. It was like . . . you know that scene in the movie City of Angels, where Nicholas Cage meets with the other angels to stand on the beach and listen to the sunrise? It was just like that, only with 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. All of the tall buildings and canals with their sweet little yachts following the flow of the water to whatever romantic day that awaited them. I sat motionless for a long time staring out into my view of the day, trying to do my best to not awaken last night’s suitor.
We exchanged pleasantries as I left, and I was tempted to take a picture of the view, but I didn’t want to seem crass. And as I went to retrieve my car from the valet – who was the same guy I gave my keys to last night, he gave me a knowing smile. All I could say in response is “that is one hell of a view.”
