An Arabian night?

The hotel is called 'Arabian Nights' with rooms are decorated in the fashion of ancient Persia, Arabia and North Africa. Like me. most of their customers are looking for a romantic escape and it is not at all hard (for a small fee) to arrange for a harem-girl outfit to be left in the room for the night. Along with the room I reserve a table for two in their restaurant's outdoor seating area (heated by propane gas burners I am assured.) Eating in restaurants anywhere in America is getting harder to do, and I for one am glad to have this option, if worse comes to worse we can get our food boxed and take it up to the room.

Alison arrives home soon after her last class, but I refuse to tell her where we are going except that it was a nice restaurant and that she should were something dressy. An hour or so later just when I'm starting to worry about how late it is becoming, Alison comes down the stairs carefully in a white cocktail dress that shows so much of her skin that I have to do a doubletake. With the way the top is just clinging to her breasts, I'm pretty sure that her breasts are only one quick tug away.

“Is this OK?” She asks when she sees my eyes linger on her figure. “I bought this last year to wear to the Spring Formal, but I lost my nerve and so it's been in my closet waiting for the right moment.” It was probably a wise decision. If she had worn that dress to the dance there was no way her date would let her get home without a look at her perfect tits and probably have lifted her short skirt while he was at it.

“You look amazing, Angel.” I try not to think what the other guests will think when I walk into the hotel with a sexy teen forty years younger than me. Then with an unexpected smile, I decide that I just don't give a shit what they think.

“You look pretty good too, Mr. P.” I took the time to change into a suit complete with a paisley tie and a pair of dark suspenders over a crisp white shirt, I pull on the suit jacket and check for my wallet and keys. “Let's get going, we have a bit of a drive.”

It is only when we are on the highway heading South towards NYC that she breaks her silence. “Where are we going, Mr. P?” I'm actually a little surprised my curious tenant waited this long to ask me.

“You'll see,” I chuckle as I follow the directions to the hotel. My secrecy is worth the effort as we pull into the parking lot of the hotel marked by a caravan of life-sized camels, almost certainly molded out of some kind of industrial resin, that in the flickering light from the streetlights look almost lifelike. The high arches of the main entrance and the doorman dressed like a guard out of an old Sinbad movie complete the middle-eastern look and Alison turns to me with a brilliant smile.

“You, Mr. P. are a very naughty man.” I just grin back and lead her into the hotel.

We arrive just in time for our dinner reservations, and in no time at all we are eating a spicy goat tagine with torn pieces of freshly baked pita bread and sipping mint tea from glass cups in dainty silver holders. I hadn't really even considered the benefit of ordering tea, but at least I did not have the embarrassment of having the waiter card my date and realize that she wasn't even twenty years old. We talked about this and that until our meal ended with small cups of thick dark coffee and baklava oozing honey and packed with chopped pistachios.

“It is a long drive for one meal,” Alison giggles as she catches an escaping flake of desert that almost got away, “but this is delicious...” she pauses and her voice drops to a sexy whisper even though there are only two other couples in the whole outdoor area, “...and it does set the mood for when we get home.”

“We're not going home tonight, Angel.” I chuckle in anticipation, “I got a room for us right here, complete with authentic Arabian décor and a great big bed.” The sparkle in Alison's eyes make the price of the room worth every penny, and by the time we reach the elevator she is more than ready when I pin her to the wall and kiss her with a week's worth of pent-up passion.

In the room, as promised, is a the 'Harem Girl' outfit that consists of a sequined top, a pair of sheer pink pants that look like could fit someone twice Alison's size and two or three silk scarfs to wear as she sees fit. To be honest it looks a little like a something out of Aladdin, but Alison is delighted by the surprise.

“In the book, Mr. P,” she starts hesitantly as she lifts one of the scarves up to her eyes, “the Emir doesn't even realize his men have grabbed the wrong girl until he lifts the veil from her face.” When I nod in understanding she continues in a rush, “do you want to play out that scene to the sweet end, or do you have some other '**** girl' fantasy you'd like to try out?” I look at her in surprise, did she want to be a sex-****, or is she just trying to please me?