Hobbs nobbing

by James

This was completely out of character for Susan – using her master key to slip herself into a guest’s suite while they were in the shower? Crazy. Madder still when she slipped out of her harsh navy blazer and grey skirt, and talk about rush when she slipped off her underwear and into his bed.

She had to smile at that last part. Maybe once upon a time that was crazy, but now, ever since the night before? It was kind of what she did, got into bed with genuine Hollywood A-list royalty and bonked them senseless.

She hugged herself tight into a ball, waiting for her body heat to warm his bed. Duncan Hobbs, in their out of the way backwater hotel? No way, couldn’t be. But then he took off his sunglasses, showed her the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t till he took off his trademark full length black leather coat to reveal his trademark jet black ponytail that she was really convinced.

Duncan Hobbs: two-time Oscar winner, and many time Hollywood A-list dater.

And he picked her!

As the bed began to warm, Susan began to stretch herself, revelling in the space of the super-super-king that came as standard in the top floor suite she had comped him. What a cutie, actually checking himself into a standard double half the size of his personal on-set trailer.

So what if he didn’t have quite the movie-star bod. For one, that was Hollywood movie magic, and for two, that was all in her head anyway, that was an image of him she carried from movies that were twenty years old. The guy was sixty now, maybe with something of a crusty dragon vibe going on, but still as randy as a guy who had not got a bit for months. Susan giggled, thinking to herself of what she would say when he walked back into the room.

Good morning, Mister Hobbs. How would you like to go for your hattrick?

She starfished in the bed, hands and feet reaching for all four corners, beginning to feel all tingly again as she pictured Duncan Hobbs slipping from his bathrobe and then stalking naked to her, desire writ large on every part that counted. Her right hand brushed against something under the pillow, something loose and silky. She grasped and then pulled it into the light, this jumble of black strands that only fell into place when she held it aloft by the spring clamp at one end.

It was a black clip on ponytail.

Susan thought about the talk show from two nights before, him sharing a sofa with Meryl Streep, not minding in the slightest as Meryl yanked on his flowing locks to prove to the audience it was real.

So warm in that bed but now Susan felt cold.