“Slow night.” Wendy sighed as she bounced backward and hoisted herself up onto the stainless steel counter. She was lacking her usual optimistic pep. Her unflattering beige dress jacket and dark pants made her look like a boy in his older brother’s clothes. She was tiny, one of the shortest people working at the hotel. And I’d seen the same uniform filled out in a much more feminine way by some of the tall, curvy servers. But I always had a thing for the short girls, and when I worked with her, my night was always better.

I nodded in agreement as I set my knife down. “Pretty dead.” I had pretty much finished the prep list the bosses had left for me. The overnight shift was one of feast or famine in terms of the workload. And tonight, it was light. “Good for me, bad for you. Make any tips at all?”

She shook her head. “You know that one burger that went up at the start of my shift? I had to ask him four times to sign the receipt, and he didn’t put anything down for a tip. Then he told me to keep the change like he had paid in cash.”

“What an ass. Drunk, I take it?” I walked over to the fryer and grabbed a handful of fries from the reach-in.

“Probably. That’s the worst. I can be plenty angry when they’re simply assholes. But he was probably just too wasted to think clearly.” I could already see her lighting up as I placed the potatoes into the fryer basket and dropped it into the hot oil. The large, empty kitchen filled with sizzling, pops, and the euphoric scent of impending late-night junk food.

“Eh, I feel like you can be just as furious for a dumb drunk as a cheapskate. Either way, you got stiffed. And not in the fun way.” I had worked with Wendy for about a year at this point. I liked her a lot. She wasn’t the best room service attendant we had. Honestly, she was the worst. Wendy was a rather ditsy young woman who constantly messed up orders. She always dropped food or tripped and broke the expensive glassware. And sometimes she got distracted and forgot to pick up the food altogether.

I forgave all these faults. That might have been a bit misogynistic, because I never would give any of the male servers the same pass. But could you blame me? After all, she was cute and fun to talk to.

Her blue eyes watched the fryer intently from behind her round glasses. There was a weird sort of dance to this. She wouldn’t ask for food, but she would show up in the dead space between employee lunch and when the breakfast orders started. I wouldn’t ask her what she wanted. I just started cooking. Then she would act surprised when I handed her a piping hot snack, thank me, and tell me what a sweet guy I was. I looked back at her and found myself staring.

She had a unique mishmash of styles. The rasp in her voice and general slight stature made her quite the tomboy. The face full of brown freckles on her pale skin certainly helped give that impression. She styled her hair in a retro curly perm, an odd choice that always made her seem from a different time. The comically thick layer of vibrant red lipstick seemed to be her only attempt at femininity. Her makeup choices earned the snickers of the other servers and cooks behind her back.

But in the lonely late nights, those tacky, bright lips had started working for me. So did the overpowering scent of her liberally applied floral perfume.

“Rosemary salts or truffles and garlic?” I smiled back at her, and she bounced excitedly on the countertop.

“You’re making that for me!” Her nose wrinkled when she beamed like that. I liked being the reason she stopped frowning. “You’re the best! This is why you’re my favorite Chef!”

I gave her a sly wink. “I figured if I put something hot inside you, you’d put a smile back on that pretty face.”

She giggled, the white skin behind her freckles turning rosy under the buzzing fluorescent lights. “Oh, Chef Thorn! You always give me what I need!” She considered for a moment before deciding. “Rosemary! And garlic, if you could.”

“Anything for you, my lovely Miss Wendy.” The corny flirting had become commonplace in the last few months. It was a welcome change of pace to my home life, where my relationship had only grown icier. We both knew the faux courtship wasn’t serious. Or at least, that’s what I believed. I took my vows seriously, never really thought myself the cheating type. But Wendy… it had gotten personal with her. How many nights can you flirt and discuss your most intimate secrets before those seedy little jokes become something more?

I tried to keep an appropriate emotional distance. So did she. We were coworkers and friends. That was it.

“So, any plans with the wife for your off days?” It was nice having her as an audience. I tossed the fries in a mixing bowl with the rosemary salts and garlic-infused oil. I took the liberty of adding a little parmesan and black pepper as well. I made a show of tossing them much higher than needed as she clapped her hands and acted very impressed. Then, I poured them into a serving dish and brought it over to her.

“Not really. Playing some video games together. Watching the kid. Can’t really afford much else.” I dramatically dropped to one knee and presented the fries to her as though they were a holy relic. “My Majesty! Please accept this humble offering!”

“You have pleased your Queen!” She haughtily raised her chin and accepted my gift. Wendy tossed a fry into her mouth, rewarding me with an orgasmic moan as she enjoyed her first bite. “Oh, Chef Thorn!”

I discreetly adjusted myself as I put away the ingredients. We were playful with each other, but I was becoming obsessed. She had become the centerpiece of many of my fantasies. Hell, I had jacked off in the locker room more times than I cared to admit because of Wendy. And I was sure that moan would push me toward another before the night was over. With my schedule of sleeping during the day and working at night, I saw her freckled face more than my wife’s. And honestly, I was on much better terms with Wendy than my slumbering bride.

With a pitiful look on her face, Wendy gingerly inquired, “So, the dry streak still stands?”

The dejected slump of my shoulders answered her question. “Going on four months since an obligatory lay on our anniversary. She just never seems to be in the mood anymore.” I reached into the bowl in her lap and took a fry for myself. “What about you? Any action on the dating front?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Nope, went on a Tinder date yesterday. Think the pics he sent were a decade or two old. He was at least fifty pounds bigger, but what really got me was the smell. It was… like… really, really bad. When he talked, I smelled his halitosis from across the table, and I could hear the couple at the other table complaining about his BO. Seriously, I know I’m not exactly anyone’s ideal. But I think I’m at least worth a shower.” The wetness in her eyes was breaking my heart. “Guess not, though.”

“Hey now! I don’t like it when you sell yourself short. You’re cute as a button. You’re just not seeing any good guys because you’re on these shitty vampire hours. Any reasonable guy should be honored to escort a girl of your caliber on a date!” She grinned and averted her eyes to her shoes. “Seriously, I would love to take you out and show you a good time.” She was blushing again. I loved flustering her.

“Thanks. I would like that.” Then she quietly added, “It’s too bad you’re married.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, my mind wandered back to my marital problems and my mouth seemed to spurt out, “You really make me wish I wasn’t tied down. You’re lovely, smart, funny. You’re everything I want.”

“Um, yeah? You’re just saying that.” She nibbled on a fry and gave me a shy smile.

“Well, you’re a terrible server. So now you know I’m not just here to blow smoke up your ass. But you make me wish I never met my wife, because otherwise I could be with you.”

Only then did I realize what I was saying. Sometimes the exhaustion took off the filter and made me more honest than I should have been. The conversation came to a grinding halt, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

We both picked at the fries, listening to the sound of the night cleaners vacuuming the carpets of the dining room. I feared I had made things too weird with my confession. Especially when she slid off the counter to go. “Well, I probably should get back to the call room.”

I stood and stretched, trying to decide how I would spend my next few hours and what I could do to keep busy. Something to distract myself with so I wouldn’t have to think about how I just ruined a really good friendship. “Yeah, never know when we’ll get an order.”

Wendy began walking away, before stopping in place. She turned back to me and added, “You could… um… you know. You could keep me company in the booth if you don’t have too much prep work.”

I checked the breakfast tickets, excitedly realizing we would have several hours without interruption before the morning orders started. “Yeah, sure! I’ll be right over. Just need to put some stuff away.” I felt those butterflies swarming in my gut. Just the idea of being alone with her in that intimate little room next to the elevators sent my mind barreling into fantasies I knew wouldn’t happen.

Most of my visits to the booth were short, just to ask a few questions about tickets that came in. There was a small desk, a few computers, and chairs. It was soundproof, more like a closet just big enough for two people to take the calls from our customers and give them full attention away from the chaotic clamor of a slammed dinner rush.

I knocked lightly and turned the handle. Wendy’s heavy jacket was hanging off the back of a chair. Her glasses were on the desk sitting next to the half-eaten bowl of fries. “Wendy?” I popped my head in and looked behind the door. She was waiting for me, though I may have been a little early.

She had unbuttoned the dress shirt of her uniform and was in the process of unhooking the front of her small and entirely unneeded bra. I had never seen her turn such a charming shade of crimson. She looked up at me, and for a brief moment I saw her glance go down to my wedding ring. She froze and held her breath. All she could squeak out was a meek, “Hi.”

I closed the door behind me. I tried to say something. Thought I might be able to manage a smooth line. But my mouth just hung open. Neither of us found any more words. Luckily, those weren’t needed.

I had been married for almost five years, and had been together with my wife for almost ten. In that time, I never so much as held another girl’s hand. Sure, I fantasized. But I had never allowed myself to consider cheating. Thought my will could withstand any siren song. Of course, I had made sure never to put myself in the path of such temptations. But in that moment, I didn’t give a damn. All I wanted was Wendy.

I reached for her, my hands shaking. She nervously chewed on her brightly painted bottom lip. Her eyes quickly looked up to me, and then darted away. I could see her small breasts heaving up and down as her breath became laden with nerves. I knew how she felt. It was like my first kiss all over again as I leaned in and our lips met.

I closed my eyes, and the scent of her perfume and taste of french fries on her salty lips filled me with a giddy joy. The tackiness of her thick lipstick gave her mouth an intriguing texture. We shared our first kiss for an extended beat as my heart pounded. I leaned toward her, and she braced her back against the wall. As my cock stiffened painfully, I wondered how far I would let this go.

Our eyes met, and we giggled together. I reached up and let my fingers get caught in the tangles of her perm, and we began kissing again. This time faster, quick pecks and soft kisses. My wife had always been so passive, waiting for me to make the move. Wendy traded her affection for mine, kissing me on the cheek and neck as her hands began unbuttoning my coat and pushing it off my shoulders as it fell to the ground.

My hands caressed her small tits. They were so firm and tight. I couldn’t stand having the fabric of her top in the way. I finished the job she started earlier, pushing her shirt and bra off her shoulders and tossing them onto the chair with her jacket. She reached up for the back of my neck and guided my face to her chest.

I kissed her breast, finding her tiny, tight nipples a joy to flick with my tongue as I peppered her chest with affection from my mouth. Wendy giggled and moaned as she ran her hands through my sweaty hair. I could have spent the entire quiet night worshiping those little mounds. I wanted to kiss every freckle. I needed to lick her till she dripped with my saliva.

I became more aggressive, pressing my body against hers. I was embarrassed by my throbbing cock as she leaned back toward me. All my relationships had moved so slowly. I hadn’t kissed my wife till our third date. She hadn’t touched my cock till almost a year of dating. She had always made me feel ashamed by my lust. And in that moment with Wendy, that shame started to flood over me.

Was I moving too fast? Would she recoil in fear as I got more excited, as my wife had the first time she touched it? My hips started pulling back. My kisses softened, slowing. I didn’t dare look her in the eyes. I didn’t want to see the discomfort I was used to.

Then her small hand reached forward, sliding straight down into my pants. Stunned, I looked into her blue eyes and found they were full of an intense, lustful glee. “Oh, this is nice,” she seemed to whisper to herself as she gave me a squeeze in her palm. My enthusiasm renewed by her desire, I oozed out onto her wrist as I pushed my knee between her thighs.

She began rubbing herself against my leg, her grip on my cock tightening as we somehow found ourselves in a position I had never imagined. Wendy began to grunt as I rocked on my feet and met her needful grinding. To my surprise, she wasn’t rubbing her hand up and down my cock. I was thankful for her restraint. I would have burst far too quickly for my liking. Instead, she used my cock for stability, tugging at it with her delicate fingers and squeezing me with a wonderful tightness.

Suddenly she stopped. Her blue eyes widened as a sudden wave of anxiety overtook her. She looked to me and loosened her grip. In a rough whisper, she spoke almost like she was trying to talk herself out of what we were doing. “I… I don’t think we should go any further.”

I watched the glistening freckles on her chest as she nervously gasped for air. And I worked hard and found my voice. “That’s smart. For the best.” I leaned in and kissed her again. And my next few words came out like I was begging, pleading. Maybe I was. “No further, but where we’re at is alright. Right?”

Wendy smirked, and her hand adjusted and grabbed me by the base of my shaft. I could feel the tips of her nails digging into the base of my coarse pubic hair, and I spasmed another geyser of precum onto her hand. “Yeah, this is good.”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip. I realized how smeared her lipstick had gotten during our messy make-out. Her thin lips had returned to almost their original shade, which I had never seen. And around her mouth, a cloud of pinks and red gave her a used and cheap look. I had never been with a girl who wanted it like this, who needed to cum and had taken the initiative. Sex was always something sacred and bigger than life. I am forever grateful for her. She showed me how much fun it was to let go and let it be carefree and sporadic.

It didn’t take long for me to bust my load. Her hand squeezed me as she grunted and gritted her teeth. She didn’t open her eyes again. Instead, she concentrated on the sensation between her legs as she rubbed herself on me. My cum pumped over her hand and into my pants. I could feel it dripping down my balls. “You good? Can I… MmmmMMM! Can I keep going?”

With a gratified growl, I snaked my hand around her lower back. I gave up on groping her breasts. I let the kisses go. Instead, I focused on giving her the best ride of my thigh I could. She rubbed and bounced, and I matched her rhythm and pushed back with a determined intensity. She rose to her tiptoes and trusted me to support the weight of her lithe body.

Her moans echoed in the tiny soundproof room. Her face screwed up as her high-pitched grunts and gravelly breath turned my cock rock hard in her hand again. “AHH! AH!” She was nearly screaming as she leaned forward and wrapped her free hand around my back. She pushed herself hard into my thigh and began a babbling chirping of orgasmic pleasure.

I could have melted in her smile and found myself cumming again in her hand.

The grinding slowed, but continued as her appreciative moans grew quieter. I felt the wetness of her pussy leaking through both our pants onto my leg. I realized how uncomfortable the position had become. How I had contorted my body to make this work, and my lower back screamed. But I refused to let go. She kept humping me, intent on rubbing out another climax, and I wanted her to have every bit of pleasure we could squeeze out.

Then the blasted phone flashed red as the cruel ringing caused us both to jump and yelp. Her eyes shot open, and I think we both breathlessly took a moment to appreciate the mutual rosy glow in our cheeks. “I need to get that,” she said with a manic laugh.

I removed my knee from the wall, and she dropped back to her feet. My back ached, and I was sure my knee I planted into the wall was bruised. But it was well worth it.

She reached for the phone. After closing her eyes and settling herself, she answered. “Room Service, this is Wendy. What could we get started for you this morning?” I noted her hand, and now the phone was smeared with cum. I reached into my back pocket and handed her a kitchen towel. Oh, the way she turned a vibrant shade of pink when she realized my gooey load was dripping from her hand made me want to slam that damned phone back down and get back to what we were doing. “And for how many? Eight? Yes, Sir. That will be no problem, Sir.”

Wendy wiped her hand between punching the incoming order into the system. Rather than run off into the kitchen to start the sudden large order, I waited several minutes. True, I was enjoying the view. Her shirt was still off. But as soon as she thanked the customer and put the phone back on the receiver, I leaned in and kissed her again.

“You’ve, um, you might want to look in the mirror and clean up a bit before you take up the food. I may have lost control.” She was glowing with pride. “Your hair and lipstick. I made them kind of a mess.”

With a raspy laugh, she reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of makeup wipes. She handed me a few. “Yeah, you as well. Big order coming in, but you might want to run down to the locker room first. You’re wearing my lips. And…” She pointed down at my crotch. It was only then I realized my cloth pants were visibly damp with semen. It looked like I had dropped a drink in my lap.

“Thanks for the heads up. And thank you for… fuck. Thank you for being you.” With one more quick peck on her cheek, I ran down the stairs. I was avoiding the cameras along the way. The paranoia of what we had done started settling in.

Once I changed my pants, I stepped in front of a mirror. I saw what she meant by wearing her lips. My entire mouth was smeared in red, not to mention the trail of lip prints on my neck and chest.

Regretfully, I washed the trophies from my skin. I didn’t want to bring home evidence of what I had done. The guilt hadn’t hit me yet. It would on the bus ride home. And it would be bad.

But for now, I floated back up the stairs, feeling better than I had in months. After my shift was over, I waved at her on my way out the door. She gave me a sly wink, and for once in my life I couldn’t wait for my weekend to be over so I could get back to work.

That was the last day I saw Wendy. She was fired for badly messing up a VIP ticket the next night. Her mistakes had compounded, and the hotel was already looking to trim the staff to save money. Before that night, our relationship had always been professional. We had never exchanged contact information. We had always just seen each other every day. I was rarely on social media, but I tried hard to find her. I searched the friends list of any of the other servers I could find. But it was useless.

Just like that, she was gone from my life.

To this day, I wonder how far we would have taken it. How hard I would have fallen for her. What if we had exchanged phone numbers and I kept in contact? Would the affair be enough to make me leave my wife? There were so many dumb little coincidences that led to the sudden end of my time with Wendy. It’s like fate pulled us apart, and I guess there’s no way to know how things would have gone otherwise.

But to this day, seeing smeared lipstick sends my mind back to that one exciting moment of lustful freedom. I’ve never forgotten Wendy, and I never will.