Ch. 59: Tiffany’s Hotel

Chapter 59: Tiffany’s Hotel

Today was the day of my ex-brother-in-law’s funeral. After getting a superb blowjob from my sister and getting to eat my niece’s sweet pussy, we all dressed for the occasion. We made our way to the funeral home and went inside. Funeral homes are somber, morbid places with a dark vibe. I was uncomfortable with that plus seeing some distant family members for the first time in ages.

Everyone was milling about, speaking in hushed tones, nobody smiling. I wanted to be just about anywhere but here. The only high point was seeing many of my cousins. Of course, they had all aged, gray hair was popular, a few more wrinkles. Some of my female cousins had retained their youthful figures; a few were out of shape. I made a mental note of who were still fuckable and who should be passed over.

After the funeral ceremony, everybody went to the hotel down the street. Being a small, country town, there were two sleezy, cum soaked motels at the outskirts of town (advertising hourly rates!) and one decent hotel in the middle of town. Kate had reserved one of the conference/meeting rooms for the wake. It was a pretty standard setup: round tables and chairs, a bar along one wall and a table strewn with chafing dishes of hors devours. She had also arranged a few private suites, scattered among floors, for more intimate interactions or for those of us who got too drunk to drive home.

The vibe in the room was much more jovial than the funeral home. As the liquor began to flow, the excitement in the room heightened, the chatter became louder and laughs and guffaws could be heard throughout the group of about 30 people. Alcohol certainly is the social lubricant. Most in attendance were family yet there was a smattering of locals paying their respects to Charles, our dearly departed.

I circulated throughout the room, exchanging pleasantries with those I knew and introducing myself to the others. My tours around the room would always end at the bar. I ended up spending most of my time hovering there. That way everyone came to me, I could keep my drink fresh and full, and I could examine the hottest bartender the town could offer.

Her name was Tiffany. Probably 30 years old, maybe younger. She had long brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail. Her face was thin, her eyes a deep, dark brown. Between her skin tone and her hair and eyes, she wore little make-up; she didn’t really need much. Her rack was well proportioned, tits firm and standing out, almost inviting one to touch them. I couldn’t judge her below-the-waist physique because she had on the obligatory work skirt, but she wasn’t fat.

I struck up a conversation with her, flirting mercilessly, and she flirted right back.