Superman and the Great Gatsby walk into a hotel…..

One of my favorite places to have sex aside from Las Vegas parking garages, community college classrooms,  and Burberry are those glorious old hotels from the 1920s – their art deco flourishes and ambiance of bygone glamour transports one back to the days of flappers and F. Scott Fitzgerald – when a furtive password got one into a speakeasy and bathtub gin flowed like the sweat that runs off the competitors in a mixed martial arts cage fight.  I had arranged an early evening tryst with a hotel clerk at one such establishment. I fancied myself to be in the Great Gatsby as I walked through the grand lobby soaking up the atmosphere like an olive in a dirty martini. I approached the registration desk and pretended to be a convention delegate from the National Whiskey Association. My afternoon gentlemen, B, pretended to give me a tour. Upon entering a room both my knees and his trousers lowered themselves to the floor. I then came face to face with Superman in the form of my gentleman’s underwear. Superman’s blue eyes were provocatively staring at me. The underwear was removed faster than a speeding bullet and,  given the man of steel housed within those red and blue briefs, B chose his superhero underwear correctly. After a bit of leaping tall buildings, Superman turned back into the hotel clerk and I resumed my day. Once I stepped outside onto the street, I departed the 1920s; the taste of Superman still on my lips and ass. Up in the sky, it’s  bird, it’s a plane…..

After an afternoon of hotel sex, I like to recover with a bourbon on the rocks. The clink of two cubes of ice as falling into a glass is soothing and helps me maintain my post-coital mood. For bourbon sipping, there are countless choices. My current favorite is Elmer T Lee which has subtle notes of butterscotch and old leather; the finish is long and warm like Superman’s dick and Gatsby’s furniture. Sip, have a hotel hook up, repeat.