Singing with Milfs at the Hilton Garden Inn
Miss me? I’ve been on production. Not TV production. You know me better than that. Rather I was overseeing a print shoot for our big, sucky DM client who shall have to remain nameless. We were doing a series of inane shots to create a modern inventory of client-approved images: smiling executives shaking hands in airports and coffee shops, “safe” minorities grooving in their unlikely lofts or laughing it up at suburban barbecues they would NEVER go to, that sort of crap. Christ, a brain dead chimp could have art-directed these uninspired messes.
Well, he wasn’t available so I did the gig. Got me 4 days of Hilton Honors points in tornado alley. And get this: The Chicago Psycho endured not one but two soul-crushing client dinners. Dining on Z-grade surf and turf I got to watch our junior AE (call her Karen) get drunk with our two clients at the Outback Steakhouse across from the hotel.
The second evening was CRAZY. Ended up in the hotel lounge for Karaoke night. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen three moms doing Journey in front of a pervy group of insurance salesman and assorted sad sacks from “off the beltline.” Don’t stop believing!
One of the clients (call her Sally) is almost hot, a borderline MILF. Tipsy on cheap chardonnay, she would have made a decent lay and I think she wanted it, too. She kept making Mad Men jokes, implying we were all degenerates, one drink away from unforgivable sin. (In my case she was probably right.) Ever the temptress, Sally even took off her tiny diamond from Kay Jewelers during her bit on the stage. Oh, momma!
If AE Karen thought I’d be trouble on this trip, I’d soon relieved her of that worry. If anything, I was the dull one, the introvert, the guy not up for anything. Like all AE’s Karen was a worrier and she looked the part. She had black, close-cropped hair, a birdlike face and nervous demeanor. She was a sparrow, ordinary but jumpy. I felt sorry for Karen. She viewed the whole trip as a series of accidents waiting to happen
At least the two MILFS fit into my pornographic paradigm. I could imagine banging either one of them. Especially Sally. I liked watching her big corn fed boobs sway back and forth during her slutty rendition of Loving, Touching Squeezing.
Yet, I kept thinking of something Sarah told me before she left me. She said I always judged women based on their sexuality. She’d called it sexual discrimination. “So what?” I remember answering, slapping her ass, “I’m a discriminating man.” Instead of laughing, Sarah pouted and went into the other room. A few weeks later she was gone for good.
Like the other men, I leer at Sally drunkenly gyrating up on the makeshift stage. One dude –an ass clown in khakis and a golf shirt- even threw her his room key, which she then slid between her ample, sweaty tits. Of course it was all for show. She wasn’t going to fuck that guy. Tomorrow she’d act like nothing even happened. And she’d be right.
Chicago Psycho 