I knew where I was, more or less. And again, it's not where I was supposed to be. I should be... um... merde. Again. I didn't know where I should be, only that this wasn't it.I sat up and looked for the room phone. Nothing. No phone? That was curious. This was definitely not a hotel. I started to wonder if I was locked in.I rose and walked to the door. I turned the latch and the knob, and gently pulled the door open. No problems there. I poked my head out, and looked left and right. No people were in sight, and it looked just like a hotel hallway. No guards or nurse stations or anything like that. I looked at my door before withdrawing my head, and there was a small plastic plate on the door: "417".I stepped back in and let the door close with a gentle 'snufft'. I paused a bit at that. It didn't sound like any door closing noise I'd ever heard. Which would be... when? My memory seemed to be pretty well shot. I sat back down to think some more. It was still cold in the room, and I. Occasionally our eyes would meet and we'd fall silent, our mutual desire flowing quietly between us, until one of us pulled together enough willpower to break the loving eye contact.A new tension grew between us, it's root that Saturday night three weeks before. Now the first buds of renewed desire had sprouted and were growing stronger with each second we were together.I needed to find a way to let her know I was willing to do it again with her without coming right out and saying it. I thought if I teased her the way she had teased me, she might get the message, so I bought two pairs of lightweight rayon shorts. My waist barely moved the waistband when I put them on. They were perfect; very short legs, tight in front, but comfortably loose elsewhere. I cut the linings and pockets out of them. Trying the modified version on, I knew I had a winner. I never wore underpants under them. My 'package' pushed the soft rayon out noticeably and showed flopping movement when I walked.It was.
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