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“Thank you,” I said, “but I’m expected elsewhere.”
Gold Glove smiled, let go of my hand and squeezed it once. “Of course. Go and be expected. Come back if it goes wrong.”
I jogged down the corridor with the key in my hand and a hard-on that made jogging an unpleasant business. The red door still had its red ribbon.
Except it didn’t, quite. The ribbon had been taken off its bow and retied round the handle. On top of it, as neat as a cat on a wall, hung a small white ribbon. Closed.
I knocked softly. “It’s me. Highwayman.”
Nothing. A sound inside, a low laugh, a woman’s laugh, followed by the rustle of silk. And then a man’s voice, warm and unhurried, saying something I couldn’t make out. She’d waited. Obviously she’d waited. Ten minutes was ten minutes.
A folded scrap of paper lay on the carpet by the door. I picked it up with a shaking hand.
Ten minutes, I said. Hope the purple room was worth it. Maybe next year.
R.
I sat on the floor in the corridor with my back against the wall and my cock heavy in my trousers and laughed until I choked. Then I did something I’m not proud of, and I won’t describe it, but I did it with the note in my other hand.
It was a good orgasm. It was also a very lonely one.
Ending 12 of 16: Ten Minutes Late. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.