I took the elevator up from the conference level feeling pretty smug. As conference presentations go, this had been a pretty good one. I had a big crowd in my session and my paper was very well-received. For once in my life, no old guy raised his hand and said a version of “I very much appreciated the aims of your research, but…” and then went on to say just why he thought it was trash. Indeed, it felt like they hung on my every word. I was almost giddy.

As I pushed the button for the twelfth floor, I thought, “I wonder if that makes me the old guy now?”

I was looking forward to changing out of my suit and tie and taking a walk in the city while I waited for Faith. She didn’t usually come with me to conferences. Most of the conferences in my field happen to be held in midwestern cities where they can better afford the conference hotels and where presenters and attendees don’t have to fly across the entire country to get there. Last year it was Cincinnati, the year before was St. Louis. Faith said no thanks when I invited her along for those getaways.

But this year we convened in Washington D.C. and Faith was chomping at the bit to go. She’s a museum nerd. A museoholic. Whether it’s art, or history, or technology, or the Museum of Unmatched Socks, she can go for hours. And she’ll get a fridge magnet to prove it. But I have neither her fascination nor her stamina. I can do two hours in a museum and that is it. Two hours and one minute in the Museum of All the Coolest Shit in the Entire World is too long. I go brain-numb. 

So being in D.C. was just her thing. She had miles of Smithsonian galleries to wander through. Since this was the first full day of our trip, and it was only three in the afternoon, I figured I had a couple of hours, at least, to walk around in the sun and bask in the afterglow of a successful presentation.

I heard an indistinct noise when I got to our door, but it wasn’t clearly coming from our room. Could easily be the next room or across the hall. But when I put the room keycard in and turned the knob, it only opened a couple of inches and pulled up short so that I nearly crushed my nose running into the door. The door chain was on. I stared at it for a moment before my other senses kicked in.

“Oh fuck yes!” I heard Faith moan. “Yes, yes, yes!” I could hear the bed squeaking, panting, flesh slapping against flesh.

I pressed my face into the little gap the chain would allow. I could see a man’s shoe. It was a big shoe and it wasn’t mine.

A voice drawled, “Dude. She’s swallowing me whole!” Was he talking to me?

More flesh-slapping, more moaning. Then I heard a different voice. “Almost…there.”

I could hear Faith’s quick intake of breath as she pulled her mouth from a cock. “On my ass. Cum on my ass!”

Just then, a couple came out of the elevator bank and turned down the hall. I realized how strange it must look; me holding my laptop bag, pressing my face into the gap of a chained door. I thought about calling out to her, asking to be let in. But I didn’t know what she had told these guys. Maybe they would freak out if I suddenly called through the door. 

She would text me as soon as she was done with them (Cleanup on Aisle Whore! was one of her favorites) and we would sixty-nine until I exploded in her mouth. Then she would tell me the details while she stroked me back to an erection and ride my cock to the end.

Just as the conference-goers came within earshot of the moaning, I pulled the door closed but didn’t have a chance to flip my name tag around so the back was showing. Maybe it was just me, but I could still smell the sex in the air.

The woman looked at me, my name tag, and flared her nostrils just a bit as they approached. I wondered if she had caught the scent. Her companion barely noticed as he talked on excitedly. “It’s two-for-one admission at all of the Smithsonians today. I was looking forward to the keynote, but I don’t want to spend another hour cooped up in a hotel…” The woman gave me a faint smile as they walked past. 

I walked back to the elevator loosening my tie. I would go to the bar for a while and wait for Faith’s summons. Maybe someone from my session would see me waiting there and offer to buy me a drink. I imagined one of the pretty grad students who had sat in the front row approaching nervously. “I loved your paper. It must have taken years to uncover so many primary sources about hotwifing on the Oregon Trail...”