To the innocent, naive, unjaded guest of Seattle's upper-scale hotels, the pleasant and solicitous desk clerks and eager-to-please bellpersons represent nothing more than aspects of the sleek and elegant ambiance. But those lucky enough to be in the know understand that just beneath the polished surface of these polite smiles and professional demeanors seethes a sordid, decadent world of sexual perversion and unbridled lust!
To these wise few, the term "guest services" inspires not visions of cheerful professionalism, but red-faced giggles and throbbing britches.
Very few atmospheres foster, even nurture, sexual decadence between guest and employee as effectively as the hospitality industry. Of course, the management of Seattle's swankier hotels stalwartly deny any illicit goings-on between their employees and guests, maintaining that any employee caught getting busy in the service elevator would find themselves pounding the pavement posthaste. But the volatile combination of neglected and unappreciated employees -- many of whom are ready, willing, and all-too-able twentysomethings just reaching their sexual peaks -- with long, boring shifts, and a never-ending flow of weary, blue-balled business travelers creates a situation simply pregnant with naughty possibilities. To the wage-slaves of the hospitality industry, a little linen-closet nookie is the perfect way to relieve their frustrations, make their lot a bit more exciting, and give a big "fuck you" to the often oppressive upper management.
Almost every guest service worker I spoke with was willing, even eager, to share a tawdry tale or two, as long as they were promised complete anonymity. Herein lie the stories of these overlooked, underappreciated souls -- the resourceful pioneers who have learned to glean perverted perks from their positions and satisfy their unrelenting urges on-shift. The names of the actual hotels have been omitted, and the names of employees altered to protect the guilty-as-hell and to insure that the grand old tradition of diddling the housekeeper will be safe for future generations.
Our first story comes from a front-desk assistant manager whom we'll call "Jared." Cock-hungry Jared has learned to make the most of his front-desk duties, even managing to score some nookie from the occasional Hollywood bigwig!
Jared, Desk Clerk
I work the swing shift at a busy four-star hotel. It is your typical Gen-X job: underpaid, unappreciated, and ignored. However, the job does have two outstanding perks: The catering department hands out free wine like we're in France, and I cross paths with a relatively large number of sexy out-of-town men. On the night in question, I reported to the desk to find an amazingly sexy guy in his early 30s just completing his check-in. We began sort of eyeing each other as Shauna, the desk clerk, finished his registration. He had arrived early for our hotel's check-in time, and the suite he had requested hadn't been cleaned yet. He seemed annoyed by this and, trying to propitiate him, Shauna offered to show him a similar suite across the hall. If it met his approval, she would check him into that suite instead. He agreed. Sensing an opportunity, I graciously (and eagerly) offered to accompany him to the room. I grabbed the key to suite 1120 and led him to the elevator. He stood very close to me on the way up, and listened intently as I pointed out the suite's various amenities: the double-headed shower and the phone right next to the toilet. He seemed to be very impressed by the view from the room and, pulling back the curtain, asked me to identify several landmarks. Our arms were touching as I rattled off the names of buildings and bridges. He turned toward me and his hand deliberately brushed against my crotch. I was far too stunned and nervous to do anything yet, and I just kept talking, sort of pretending that it hadn't happened. But after a few more very sexually tense moments of polite conversation, he leaned over and started kissing me. Things happened fast then. I undid the buttons on my shirt and grabbed his crotch -- the man was already as hard as day-old dinner rolls! We groped and rubbed each other for a few minutes. At this point I don't think either one of us cared if we got caught. I stretched out on the floor, lying on my back, my shirt undone and my pants around my ankles. He straddled me and we did it right there on the carpet! After about 20 minutes we made our way back down to the lobby, sweaty and flushed. I gave the room key back to Shauna, and she gave us an embarrassed look.
"Did you like the room?"
Several months later, Jared stumbled across his grand-suite trick again -- while channel-surfing. According to Jared, he was none other than the author of a popular book that was parlayed into a recent, big-budget Hollywood flick!
Our next confession comes from "Maria," a frisky little minx who works housekeeping at a downtown hotel. While Maria has never actually done the deed with a guest, she has discovered other venerable ways to quell the quivering of her lascivious loins!
I have worked at this particular hotel for five years, and never had sex with a guest. But there is one thing I have done that would get me fired if anyone found out. One of our guests comes here almost every week from Portland on business. He is married, 33 years old, and has two children. I know all this because every time I clean his room, I go through his luggage. I know how awful this is, but he is just so attractive and I can't seem to stop myself. I love to feel his underthings in my hands: underwear, T-shirts, and socks. I have even stolen a pair of his boxer shorts once or twice and taken them home with me. I know it sounds pathetic, but he is just so beautiful!
Pathetic? Why yes, Maria, it certainly is! Especially compared to the wicked sexual shenanigans of your fellow hotel employees. Take "Sarah," a dick-addled front-desk floozy at a mid-range inn, who gets moist as a muffin as she checks in -- and checks out! -- her hotel's handsome clientele!
Sarah, Desk Clerk
I don't think I'm a slut for having slept with a few guests. And I don't think the hotel should have anything to say about it. I have only slept with, like, four, and most of the time it's been after work on my free time. And the guests are paying for that room, and they should be able to invite anyone they want into it. Right? A lot of the girls at the desk have done it. And not just with guests -- our front-desk manager is now married to our head doorman, and they met on the job. So what I do, with guests of this hotel or anyone else, is none of the hotel's business.
But the most memorable sex I ever had was actually on the job. Well, kind of. I was a little less than halfway through my shift, when I checked in this guy. He was probably about 27 and looked Italian: dark hair, dark eyes, and the sexiest Roman nose. His registration card said he was in town with Starbucks' corporate office, and would only be in Seattle for one night. He was very flirtatious. I flirted back as much as I could with my manager standing a few feet away. He was so damn cute! Well, a few minutes after he left for his room, a guest called the desk and asked for me by name.
"Hi, Sarah. This is 'Jack' in room 225. You just checked me in?"
"Right! Is everything okay with the room?"
"Oh, the room is great. I was just wondering if you wanted to maybe go out and get a couple of drinks or something with me, after you get off work."
You bet I did. "Really? Oh, God. I'm sorry, I just can't. I am here for another four hours; I don't get off until 11:30."
"Are you sure you can't get off a little earlier? I am just in for tonight. I'd love to get together with you."
I was dying. "I'm sorry."
"Okay, then. Maybe next time."
He was so cute and sweet! I couldn't let this guy get away. So after a few minutes I began to complain to the other clerks that I wasn't feeling well. I kept running to the bathroom and telling them that I was nauseous. Finally the assistant manager told me I could take the rest of the night off if I needed to. I pretended to be really sorry and bravely told her no, I'd be all right.
"You are pale and shaking. Go home, or you'll make everyone else sick."
Well, if she had known the real reason I was "pale and shaking," she would have had an aneurysm. I went to the employee locker room in the basement and changed into my street clothes. Then, making sure no one saw me, I rode the service elevator to the second floor. I took a deep breath to steady myself and knocked on room 225. After a second, "Jack" answered. He had just gotten out of the shower. He was wearing one of the hotel's white terry-cloth bathrobes and was toweling off his hair. "Hi!" he said, obviously surprised to see me.
"Hi! I got off a little early."
"Great! Still wanna go for a drink?"
"Not really. Can I come in?"
Way to go, Sarah! Sarah's argument that what she does with guests off-shift is "none of the hotel's business" is parroted by many hotel employees. And she was technically off-shift when she got busy with her Roman-nosed hunk. But the vast majority of sex between guests and employees occurs while the employee is actually on the clock. In fact, the best booty seems to be scored on the graveyard shift, when the employees have the time and relative freedom to play. Our next adventure took place at a legendary downtown hotel, and involved a weekend graveyard-shift bellman, who we'll refer to as "Raunchy Cock Monkey."
Raunchy Cock Monkey, Valet/Bellman
It was around 1:00 a.m., and a little blue Honda had just pulled up out front. I began to greet the new guest with my usual spiel, but I stammered mid-sentence. Emerging from the car, wearing shorts and an open, button-down shirt was the hands-down sexiest guy I had ever seen. He was about 26 years old, tall, lean, with short blond hair and an incredible washboard stomach. Barely able to keep my eyes off his abs, I handed him the claim-check for his car. "If you need anything, just let me know," I choked as he went up the steps and into the lobby. He looked over his shoulder and gave me a grateful nod, and, I swear, a flirtatious smile. I stood stunned for several seconds. When I finally moved to park his car -- enjoying the fact that his seat was still warm -- I turned the key and moved to shift into gear. That's when I noticed it: a "freedom-ring" necklace wrapped around his gearshift. I think I was actually shaking. The fact that the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen had just walked into my hotel -- and was queer to boot -- was almost too much for me to deal with. I knew it was risky, but I had already made up my mind what I was going to do.
The hotel has polished marble doorjambs, which point slightly in the center and are highly reflective. If you kneel down and lean back just so, EVERYTHING going on in the room is reflected in the marble -- a trick taught to me by an old bellman. I took a deep breath, waited just long enough for him to get settled, and went up to his room. I knelt down so I could see his reflection in the doorjamb, and my heart almost jumped out of my mouth: He was sitting at the desk, naked, talking on the phone and casually playing with his semi-hard dick. I thought my head was going to explode! Before I realized what I was doing, I had run to the linen closet, grabbed some extra towels, and was back at his door. I pressed my ear against the door and waited, barely breathing, for his conversation to end. When he hung up the phone, I knocked. He came to the door, bewildered, wrapping a towel around his waist. His half-hard cock was making a tent in the front of his towel. I told him I had brought towels he had "requested." "I didn't order any towels," he said. I could feel my face getting redder and redder and I stammered some silly apology, unable to stop staring at his expanding crotch. Finally, he just smiled, gave me a knowing look, dropped his towel and said, "Well, come in anyway."
I have to tell you, it was the most fucking amazing sex I've ever had -- then or since!
But that's not all! It turns out that this gorgeous guest knew exactly what was up all along -- he was an employee in the same hotel chain and had exposed his hose for more than his share of humpy hotel guests! Imagine!
When I asked the sexy, young concierge of a popular new downtown hotel if he had ever treated a guest to some dirty little amenities, he flatly denied it. We'll refer to him as "Holier-than-though, lily-white shithead." Although "Holier-than-thou, lily-white shithead" claims to be chaste, he was good enough to shed some light on the murkier areas of hot guest-on-employee action:
Holier-Than-Thou, Lily-White Shithead, Concierge
HTTLWS: Me? I haven't done a guest, no way. But that kinda thing goes on a lot here. Everyone has some story to tell.
The Stranger: Is upper management aware that its employees are schtupping the patrons?
Oh, they know. They have to. But unless they catch you in the act, there is really not much they can do.
Has anyone here ever gotten canned for doing the nasty?
There was a guy who got fired right before I started working here. He got caught coming out of a guest's room on his day off. Funny thing was, it was a girl's room and the dude was gay -- he had just showed her around town. [Management] was pretty brutal on him.
What about prostitution? Does anyone ever get paid?
God no! As far as I know, it's sex for fun or not at all.
Thanks for clearing that up, HTTLWS!
While stories of actual employee-guest sex abound, even more numerous are the "close calls" -- tales of sexual opportunities that didn't quite pan out. Our next lurid legend comes to us from a nervous room-service waiter who got cold feet, allowing the shag of the century to slip through his fingers!
Chickenshit, Room Service
I got a call from [a guest] requesting two champagne glasses. When I got to the room and knocked, a young female voice told me to come in. I used my master key and let myself in. The guests were a young couple lying in bed, watching television. They both looked like they were in their late 20s. The guy told me to set the glasses on the desk on the other side of the room. As I walked across the room, I could feel them watching me, and heard them whispering something to each other that I couldn't make out. The woman laughed. When I turned around, they had dropped their covers far enough to expose the woman's naked breasts. The guy kinda gave me a sly look and started sucking one of them. "You can join us if you want to," the woman said, and giggled. The guy, who was still working on her breasts, was laughing to himself too, and kicked the covers down to the bottom of the bed. They were both bare-ass naked. The guy stopped sucking for a moment, looked at me and said, "We're serious, if you want to." And I did want to. I walked around to the woman's side of the bed and started playing with her other breast. She leaned back and closed her eyes, but kept smiling and giggling. I guess they though it was all pretty amusing. But then I totally freaked out -- I knew the front desk was probably already missing me. I always keep a small CB radio in my pocket when I'm working, so I can keep in contact with the front desk. When you turn it on it emits a piercing beep.
I reached down, turned it quickly off, and back on again. When it beeped I made the excuse that I was being paged. I made a bunch of false promises that I'd come back, and I took off. After about 20 minutes, they must have realized that I wasn't coming back, and started calling room service to try to get me back into the room -- bent on the novelty of getting one of the employees in the sack, I guess. But I managed to evade them, though I admit I did sneak back up to listen at their door for a few minutes. They were still loudly screwing around, which made me so horny I had to jerk off in the stairwell.
Our next frisky little bitch, whom we'll call "Ricky Martin," has quite the saucy tale to tell. Not content to wait passively behind the desk for the odd chance encounter, "Ricky Martin" has learned to go looking for trouble -- proactively maximizing his chances for an on-shift rendezvous.
Ricky Martin, Desk Clerk
I was filling in for a graveyard-shift room-service waiter (who, ironically, was fired for fraternizing with guests!). I love doing this, because it gives me a chance to move around the hotel, do a little spying, and generally see what's up with the guests. As I was retrieving leftover room-service trays in the corridors, I ran into a European flight attendant, who stays with us several times a week, as he was going into his room. He was German, very attractive, and obviously a little drunk. He stopped me and asked if I would follow him into his room to retrieve his dirty dishes. No problem; that's what I was there for. As I was gathering his dishes up, he plopped down on the bed, pulled his shirt off over his head, kicked off his shoes, and started making small talk: were there any good bars in Seattle, what do I do for fun, how long have I worked in the hotel, etc. Then he asked if I had time to sit down and talk for a minute. I sat nervously on the corner of his bed. We chatted on for a minute or so until he reached over and put his hand on my thigh. Well, that was all the encouragement I needed. I ran my hand across his chest and we began kissing. After a minute or so I stood up and told him to hang on, that I would be right back. I rushed to the courtesy phone at the end of the hall and called the desk. "There is a real mess on the fourth floor. It's going to take me a while to clean it up, and then I think I am going to go on break." I hung up, rushed back to his room, and spent the next hour having my brains banged out by a hot, uncut German flight attendant! And that was just the first time. Once you get a rhythm going and learn the ropes, hooking up with these guys gets really easy.
If it weren't for my hotel job, I don't know how I'd ever get laid.