Page 61 of Touch Me

“Of course.” William was slightly older than me; I’d say around forty-five. Not too old, I decided. He was handsome, too, in a cute, cherubic way. “Can you please complete this paperwork?”

He reached for the pen, and one glance at his hands was enough to know he hadn’t worked a day of manual labor in his life. I imagined those soft hands on me, fondling my breasts, and in a flash, William became my next potential passion partner.

I checked the computer to see which room he was booked into. It was room thirty-two. My heart skipped. No. This wouldn’t do. I needed him on the third floor.

I’d officially lost the plot.

But I couldn’t stop myself. My fingers attacked the keyboard, and within five minutes, I gave William the security keycard to room sixteen.

I admired his ass as he walked to the elevators, and once he’d gone, I checked his details. William Richards was forty-one and from Melbourne. I wondered what he did for a living, and what he was doing on the Gold Coast.

Maybe I should ask all these men what they did for a living. That extra bit of information would give me insight into the type of man they were, and in turn, it could help me establish the type of man I’d like to meet one day.

The rest of the night was insignificant, and it was a relief when the sun finally brought light to the distant horizon. I fetched my cup of tea and headed to my favorite location in the hotel—the day bed at the front, which overlooked one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.

The surfers out on the dark ocean were barely visible on the dark water. I shuddered at the thought of sitting in the near-black water with my feet dangling below a surfboard. That was not for me.

The warm breeze blew my hair across my face, and I tucked it behind my ear.

That innocent action reminded me of Will, the guy I’d lost my virginity to.

Will Appen was his name, and his favorite saying was, ‘Trust me, it Will Appen’. At Katie Smithson’s eighteenth birthday. Will had spent most of the party shooting glances at me, and I’d pulled out all my special moves on the dance floor to ensure I’d retained his interest.

But dancing like that required me to have a drink in my hand. It was one of my specialties. Consequently, hours of dancing equated to more than enough Bacardi in my belly, and one minute I was breaking out my moves to the sounds of Rihanna, and the next minute I was puking in the upstairs bathroom.

Will was so sweet. He held my hair away from the toilet bowl and rubbed my back until I’d lost the two gallons of alcohol I’d consumed. He brought me a glass of water, and before I knew it, we were both naked on Katie’s parents’ bed.

There was no fanfare. No fireworks. No out-of-this-world experience.

I’ve even questioned over the years whether Will and I had actually had sex. I mean, surely, I would’ve felt something.

In the last eight weeks, I have certainly felt something.

I’d experienced more sexual gratification this year than I’d received in the ten years since I lost my virginity on Katie’s parents’ bed. My second boyfriend was always in a hurry to get our sex over with. And my ex-fiancé . . . that bastard was just plain selfish when it came to my sexual gratification.

Those points alone should be a good enough reason to continue this sexual journey. And this was a journey. My journey.

This year was my year.

This was the year Plain Jane, and my outrageous alter-ego Memphis would morph together and find out what each other was about.

Yeah!

At the end of my shift, I took my time showering and applying makeup, and once I was in full disguise, I was totally ready to meet William Richards again. I just hoped he didn’t introduce himself as Will; that would be awkward.

William’s hotel room was on the same floor as mine, but for some random reason it didn’t seem right to just walk along the hallway to his room. So, I called for the elevator, rode up to the seventh floor, hopped out, waited for the lift to go, and then pressed the button for it to return.

The elevator doors dinged open again, and I returned to the third floor and made my way to room sixteen. I tugged down my wig, ensuring it was in place, and then knocked on his door and waited.

He opened the door in nothing but a pair of baby-blue boxer shorts. When he rubbed his eyes, I suddenly felt sorry for him. “Hello.” His croaky voice matched his disheveled appearance.

“Hello. I was wondering if you could help me.”

He blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut for a second before opening them again. “What’s wrong?”

“May I come in?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He stepped back.