The Trip The Way I Wish It Had Gone, Part 1

Published early on our Previews page on Saturday, July 18, 2026.

Official publication date for the main page of our site: Tuesday, July 21, 2026.

This story was submitted by Jack aka lkngjst@yahoo.com

To read Jack's 1st story, go to "Special Lotion To Keep My Wife's Feet Extra Smooth & Soft".

# FetLife Erotic Story — "The Trip the Way I Wish It Had Gone"

Series. Fantasy framed as "what I wish had happened."

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## Part One

*None of this happened. That's the whole point. Names changed, details borrowed from a real week and a woman I couldn't stop looking at. This is the version I'd have written if I got to write it.*

My flight out of the Midwest was late, because of course it was. By the time the Uber rolled up to the hotel it was pushing ten, and I'd spent the last hour texting her from a middle seat.

She'd landed hours earlier. *Had a nap and a glass of wine, getting a little tipsy down in the lobby — hurry up.* Sloane doesn't do patient, and two weeks after LA I wasn't about to make her wait.

I dragged my bag through the doors and there she was, folded into the corner of a lobby couch, phone in one hand, red wine in the other. Red hair, that athletic ease, a couple inches taller than me and not caring even a little. She looked up and I got the full smile — the white, knock-the-wind-out-of-you one — and stood up a half-second slow. Not drunk. Just warm at the edges, walls already down. Open-toe heels dangling off the end of the couch, and yeah, I clocked them before I clocked anything else.

"There he is." She hugged me a beat longer than the polite version from LA.

"Let me get checked in," I said, "so I can catch up to you."

"Go." She waved me off. "Bar's still open, I'll grab you a Long Island. And —" she leaned in like a secret, "— we struck out on the dispensary in LA. I got here early. I did not strike out."

"I like the way you think."

Quick trip upstairs, fast clean-up, shorts on, back down. By the time I got there she was a glass deeper and feeling no pain. We poured the drinks into plastic cups and took them out to the patio — fire pit, nobody else around, a corner that felt like ours. California night, just cool enough that after a while she said she was chilly and leaned into me, and I pulled the blanket off the next chair over both of us.

She dug a joint out of her bag. "They told me this one's the best they had."

It was. We got giggly and useless, and somewhere around eleven they started closing the patio down. I wasn't anywhere near ready to sleep.

"Did you bring the little bottles again?" She asked. From LA she knew I always travel with a handful — half the time you land too late for anything open.

"I may have packed a few extra. Just in case I had to share."

We hit the market for chips, popcorn, waters, and made for my room — bed on one side, a couch and TV on the other, my bag still slumped in the corner where I'd left it. I cast my iPad to the TV and put on the dumb stunt movie we'd quoted at each other all week. She asked for the lights off. Comfortable, she said, and I believed her.

I won't pretend it built slow after that. Snuggled in, half-watching idiots get launched off ramps, and then we were kissing, and then we weren't watching anything. Clothes started going. The remote got knocked to the floor and neither of us reached for it. We slid from the couch to the bed somewhere in there, and it got good and reckless — hands everywhere, that line right up to but not over, the absolute wrong soundtrack playing while we did something we both knew better than to do and loved every second of.

And then — God's honest truth — we passed out. Travel, booze, the joint, each other. Out cold, tangled up, half-undressed, mid-everything.

Morning came with the soft hangover and the slow realization. Clothes everywhere, the two of us knotted together, both a little stunned we'd actually fallen asleep like that.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah." She found my eyes. "You?"

"More than. I'm an adult, I chose this, and I've honestly been counting down since LA. No regrets here."

"Good," she said. "Same."

We agreed on the grown-up plan — she'd slip back to her room, 1301, shower, regroup. Brunch downstairs, then we'd actually talk. Nothing till the afternoon happy hour, so the day was ours.

Brunch was coffee and getting the work logistics out of the way in about ten minutes — when to meet, who's coming, all of it handled. Then the natural quiet landed, the one we'd both been circling.

I booked us an early dinner at the nicer place downstairs, four o'clock, well before the client crowd showed. Got our table, ordered, and she didn't make me wait long.

"So." She turned her wine glass by the stem. "Are we okay?"

"Definitely okay."

"Then tell me. You can't just say you're attracted to me and leave it there." A little smile. "What is it?"

"There are a lot of reasons. But if I'm honest, four." I held up a finger. "One — and let's just say it out loud, since you brought me here to be honest. You're young enough to be my daughter and we both know it. I'm fifty-five. You're half that. And instead of that making me feel like a creep, you've got me feeling like the luckiest man in this hotel. I'd be lying if I said the gap wasn't part of it."

She didn't flinch. If anything she leaned in. "Good," she said. "Because it's part of it for me too. Two?"

"Two — and you asked, so I'm going to be specific. The red hair. I have a thing for it, a real one, and on you it's almost unfair. That, plus the rest of you — young, athletic, the easy way you move through a room. I spent half of LA trying not to stare and losing every time."

The smile widened. "Three?"

"Three — you knew exactly what you were doing. No games, no agenda, no worrying about where it goes. You wanted something and you went and got it. I've never had that in my life, and I didn't know how much I needed it until you."

"And four?"

I opened my mouth and she beat me to it.

"My feet."

I sat back. "How did you —"

"Because I love that you love them." She slid one foot out of her sandal and I felt it find my ankle under the table. "I caught you staring all week. I caught you taking pictures. You got some good ones, too." She tilted her head, that smile again. "I think it's the hottest thing anybody's ever done about me. So. Number four. Tell me about number four."

*To be continued.*