The Salon Assistant - Part 4 free porn video

Well, try as I might, it appeared that I was powerless to stop the weekend from coming round again. I clearly wasn't going to acquire the ability to interrupt the space-time-continuum by sitting in my bedroom watching Dr Who and Back to the Future. Once more it was Saturday morning and, once more, I was expected at the salon to fulfil my loosely defined duties as the salon assistant. It seemed that I was being employed not just to do general errand running and some menial salon based tasks. There were also apparently some hidden clauses in my employment contract that required me to have my hair cut like my boss, my eyebrows shaped like my boss, my nails painted like my boss, to wear the same deodorant as my boss, wear underwear given to me by my boss and to generally be subject to whatever other whims my boss had (and she seemed to have so, so many). Unfortunately I also appeared to have unwittingly inserted a few addendums into that same contract which clearly hadn't helped the situation. The main one being, of course, that I had to end each working day having made an unholy mess in the front of my boxer shorts. This involuntary redrafting of the terms of my employment left me in a weakened bargaining position if I wanted to ask Becky to reconsider my responsibilities. Anyway, after the events of last Sunday, I had resolved to spend every waking hour in the lead up to this Saturday morning hatching a complex and brilliant plan to extricate myself from the predicament I found myself in. After three days of masturbating, oversleeping, watching science-fiction, and thinking about wearing Becky's shirtdress, I decided to downgrade the plan that I needed to formulate from complex and brilliant to basic and effective. Then, after another three days spent doing pretty much the same things (although to spice it up I did do them in a different order) the only plan I had come up with was to deploy the two main weapons in the teenage arsenal; surliness and uncooperativeness. That is why I stood outside the salon wearing black jeans, black t- shirt, a black baseball cap and I was also, unusually for a weekend, wearing my glasses. In addition to that I had stripped the coral pink nail polish from my fingers. Oh, and as a last act of defiance, I also refused to heed Becky's request to bring an overnight bag. There was no way that I was going to that hairdressing exhibition with her. The plan for today then, as much as there was one, was to breeze into the salon and either get Becky to allow me to work all day like this, or force her into firing me. For some reason though I had started to feel nervous about how this was all going to pan out and was nervously pacing up and down outside of the salon when Becky strode past me with an "Excuse me, young man." "Shit," I thought to myself. I had hoped to be able to quietly slide in before Becky arrived so that I could simply disappear into the back of the salon. "What do I do now?" I was thinking when, suddenly, the salon door opened and Becky popped her head out and shouted "Well? Are you coming to work today or not Steph?" "So much for breezing in there," I thought. "Stay strong. Stay strong," I muttered under my breath as I, once again, complied with one of Becky's requests. Becky held the door open for me as I trudged into the salon. My mood though was temporarily lifted by the cheery greetings I received from the rest of the staff. "Morning Steph," Amanda cheerily said. "Morning Amanda." "Morning Steph. Nice glasses." "Morning Duncan." "Morning speccy," Roxy chided me with. I smiled at this standard insult for a spectacle wearer and greeted her with a "Morning Roxy. Nice look," to acknowledge the remarkable change in her appearance from last week. Chloe wasn't in yet apparently. After quietly, and firmly, shutting the front door of the salon (I sensed she really wanted to slam the door but managed to control herself) Becky greeted me with a, "Right, is that you said hello to everyone? Can I see you in my office for a minute?" and then strode up the steps of the mezzanine and into the office at the back. The rest of the staff avoided any further eye contact with me as I followed shortly behind Becky. When I walked into the office Becky was standing behind her desk. "Shut the door" she instructed. I did as I was told, again, and when I did this I noticed that the shirtdress that I wore last Sunday was hanging on the back of the door. My hand brushed against it as I closed the door and this prompted some stirring in my groin. We stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, with Becky glaring at me and shaking her head and me mostly staring at the floor. At least I was until I could resist it no more and surreptitiously tried to steal a look at what Becky was wearing. Today she had gone for a pair of skin- tight leather look slacks/trousers and paired that with a simple white, matte satin blouse that was just begging to be unbuttoned even further. Her make up today seemed to be a lot more aggressive and smouldering, with dark eye shadow and ruby red lips. The only thing that was missing from her outfit was a set of killer heels as she had opted for the practicality of some black, crystal encrusted trainers. Comfort was obviously the watchword when it came to her choice of footwear today. Despite this, though, my groin was telling me I liked this look. Unfortunately, as I was drinking all of this in I caught her gaze and that broke the uncomfortable silence. "What were you doing standing outside? Why have you come dressed like that? Look at the state of you. What's with the hat? What do you have to say for yourself? When did you get glasses?" Stunned by this barrage of questions I responded with a petulant "Which one of those do you want me to answer?" Shortly after I said that my brain decided to take the cheeky smart arse part of my character out the back and give it a severe kicking. Becky strode towards me and stood close enough so that I could just catch the aroma of her perfume in my nostrils. That got a big thumbs-up from my groin. "Don't take that attitude with me, young man." She took a deep breath and said "Okay, let's take it one at a time as that's all you seem to be able to cope with. Why were you pacing up and down outside before you came in?" "Eh, I don't know. I was nervous," I feebly responded. "Nervous about what?" "Eh, don't know. Everything I suppose," I stuttered. It's fair to say that this conversation was not going the way that I had imagined beforehand. "Nervous about everything!" she exclaimed. "Wonderful. Why are you wearing a hat?," she asked before snatching it off my head. "After all that work I did last week on it? Look at the state of it," she said as she brushed her fingers through my hair. I think she was trying to get it back into its 'proper style' before she eventually gave up with an exasperated "What a mess." "Eh, I...I...I couldn't get it to sit right" I lied. "Put your cap back on" she said and held out the cap for me. I grabbed the cap only for her hand to suddenly reach up and latch around mine. Her beautifully varnished nails were now in stark contrast to my natural look. "Have you taken off that lovely pink nail polish as well?" "Ehm, y....yes. It was starting to get a bit chipped and was looking a bit grubby so I thought I'd better tidy it up before I came in," I lied again. She stepped closer towards me, still with a firm grip on my hand. My groin was now giving this three thumbs-up. Where did the glasses come from? "I wear these all the time during the week," I said. "This is the weekend," she hissed. "My eyes were too tired for my contacts," I said as I filled up the book of lies. Becky then inhaled deeply. "What deodorant are you wearing?" "Sure for Men." And she let my hand go in disgust and backed away from me. "The kind that doesn't leave any white marks," I added, as if this was going to make any difference to her mood. If my brain wasn't already fully occupied kicking the shit out of the impertinent side of my personality, the part that thought "The kind that doesn't leave any white marks" was a good thing to say would have been on the wrong side of a severe shoeing. With her back still to me Becky then asked in a measured tone "Did you bring an overnight bag for the hairdressing exhibition tomorrow?" "What? Oh no, I completely forgot about that. Sorry," I lied, starting a new book of lies. After a brief silence, and with her back still to me, Becky said,. "Put your hat back on and go out and make everybody some tea." At that point I opened the door again, pausing briefly to deliberately brush my hand against the shirtdress that was hanging on the back, and retreated to the kitchen area. As I was making the tea for everyone I started to convince myself that my conversation with Becky had gone exactly as I wanted and that my plan had worked. After all, here I was in the salon with my head covered and nails naked. In time my hair would grow back, the highlights would fade and my eyebrows would recover their former shape. And I still had a summer job that would allow me to save up some money before going to University in October. All in all it had been a pretty good start to the day. The rest of the morning was fairly uneventful, if busy. The kettle and coffee-machine were in overdrive as I made cup after cup of tea or coffee for a procession of women and girls. Some of the women had come in to get their glamour hair on for a big summer ball that was happening in the city that evening. I took great delight in hearing them describe in detail the ballgowns they would be wearing and spent most of the morning with a throbbing erection as I pictured them in those outfits as they walked out of the door. I was starting to like this job. The only downside to the way the day had progressed was when I took the lunch orders and got stuck in an incredibly long queue. When I eventually returned I was met with good natured cries of, "What took you so long? "Finally!" "At last!" Apart from Becky, of course. She snatched her salad box from my hand and, a bit too loudly for comfort, exclaimed "You're much quicker when you're in a dress!" This resulted in a few quizzical glances from some of the customers and I blushed a crimson red and retreated into the back to eat lunch on my own. After lunch the afternoon progressed pretty much the same way as the morning had done until about midway through the afternoon, I was in the back getting some fresh towels for Roxy when Amanda came in and said that there was someone here to see me. I thought that was most strange and immediately went out to see who it was. As I reached the end of the mezzanine level I could see a familiar figure talking to Becky. It was my mum! I stood motionless until my mum noticed me standing up on the mezzanine level and waved to me "Stephen! Stephen! Down here!" Becky looked up at me with a huge grin on her face. I walked down the stairs and greeted my mum with an awkward, "Mum? What are you doing here?" "That's a fine way to greet your mother, that is. Where's my kiss?" I stared at the ground and pleaded with her "Mum!" "Fine," she said, "I came in because Becky phoned to tell me about the hairdressing exhibition and how you were so disappointed that you couldn't go because you forgot your bag." "And your mum didn't want you to be disappointed so she packed your overnight things and brought the bag in for you." My mum held up my old sports bag with a, "Ta da!" "But mum. What about...." "About Strictly Come dancing? Don't worry, I'll record it and we can still watch it together." Becky smiled at this revelation. "Are you not going to watch it tonight?" I asked. "Well no. If you're not going to be home I thought I'd go out on a date." "A date?" I said with astonishment. "Yes, remember when I told you a man from work kept asking me out? I thought I'd finally accept his offer." "Now I need to go soon because I need to get ready. This is my first date in years and I want to look my best." On hearing this Becky immediately sprang into action. "Helen," that was my mother's name, "I think I could probably squeeze you in here for a quick blow-out if you want?" "Really?" my mother asked. "It's the least we can do. After all, it was so good of you to bring Steph's bag. Oh sorry, that's what we call him at the salon. Hope you don't mind?" "Not at all," replied my mother, "I'm happy he is doing so well here and making friends." "Yes, we all love him here. In fact, Steph can keep you company when you're getting your hair done. He's been complaining all day about having to wear a hat because he's having a bad hair day so we may as well sort his out at the same time." "My mother smiled and said "That sounds lovely." She removed my hat and ran her fingers through my hair. "It's such a shame to hide your beautiful new style under this horrible hat." Becky called Roxy over and asked her to wash and style my hair. Becky was going to style my mum's hair and, as she put it, "Catch up on some goss about her hot date tonight." That caused my mum to giggle and blush slightly. Becky led my mum over to one of the sinks to wash her hair and I told Roxy that I had something to finish off in the back and would be with her in a minute. The truth was I had nothing to finish. I just needed some time to try and compose myself and think of some way of extricating myself from this mess. Nothing came to mind and I was staring blankly at the wall when I was dragged back into the salon with a "Finished?" from Roxy. Taking my blank look as a response she added, "Good. I'm a busy girl so let's get this over with." With an air of resignation I trudged behind Roxy to the wash station next to where my mother was getting her hair washed by Becky. The only positive about the walk to Roxy's wash station was the sight I enjoyed as I ambled over there. I was walking about five or six feet behind her all of the way and she looked absolutely gorgeous today. Last week she was a bit punky and grungy but today she looked like a 1950s American housewife. She had pinned her long, red hair up at the back and at the front had looped her fringe into a single, massive curl. In between the curl and the pinned up hair she had tied a bright green chiffon scarf into a flouncy bow. This look was augmented by green, plastic, ball shaped earrings, the brightest of red lipstick and a green sleeveless rockabilly style dress. The dress had a figure hugging bodice and three large, black plastic buttons on either side with a black and white polka dot decorated insert in the centre of the bodice. Roxy's considerable boobs had been threatening to breach this insert all day. The skirt flared out in the traditional style of the fifties and two of the folds in the skirt were decorated with polka dots to match the bodice insert. Underneath this Roxy wore seamed stockings or tights and the only things that, from my perspective, let this whole ensemble down were her green, ankle-high Doc Marten boots and the tattoos that covered her arms and much of her neck. I was going to struggle to contain my excitement as Roxy washed and styled my hair because, not only did she look stunning today, she was also a lesbian. For some reason I just seemed to find lesbians irresistible, even if I didn't know how they buttered their crumpets (as my grandma used to say). I loved Ellen Page, had a massive crush on Ellen DeGeneres and her pastel coloured pant suits and I even had some red carpet pictures of Sarah Paulson on my wall. The next 40 minutes or so were going to be incredibly uncomfortable for me. I took my seat at the sink, leaned back and decided that the best way to get through this whole thing was to try and keep my eyes and mouth shut as tightly as possible. As soon as Roxy turned on the water to dampen my hair I heard Becky say to my mother "So, you and Steph like to watch Strictly Come dancing then?" "Oh yes," my mother replied, "I think he's more into it than I am though?" So much for my plan to keep my mouth shut! "Mum!" I said in my best impression of a teenage boy. "It's true, honey. I mean, you've even started watching normal ballroom dancing." I felt my face redden and the water from the shower was now just hitting a single spot on my head as Roxy started to focus more on the conversation than washing my hair. "| suppose when you think about it you can see the attraction for a young boy. All those pretty girls with their pretty dresses," said a smiling Becky. "Now that you've started to take some pride in your appearance you could take it up as a hobby if you want, honey?," my mum added unhelpfully. "Oooo, I could just see you doing that Stephen," Becky said, strangely using my full name again. "All those pretty dresses, and pretty girls and you being led around the dancefloor." "Oh, he'd be the one doing the leading," my mum corrected Becky. "The boys lead in ballroom dancing." "Oh, that's right. Silly me," Becky responded. "Anyway, I'm not sure that Stephen is interested in young girls though," my mum added. "Really?" said Becky and Roxy at the same time. "Oh, not like that," mother added. "There's only one woman he's got his eye on. Isn't that right, honey?" "Mum!" I pleaded. "He's got a massive crush on one of the Strictly Come Dancing Judges, don't you love?" "Which one?" said an eager Roxy. "He absolutely loves Shirley Ballas, don't you?" "And Darcey Bussell and Tess Daly and..." "Yes, but Shirley is definitely your favourite. You know it," my mum said stopping me reeling off any other names of famous women associated with that programme. "So which one is Shirley Ballas again?" Becky probed. "Oh, she's the professional dancer that's really strict with her scoring and criticism of all the celebrities," responded my mother. "She's in her late fifties and I have to admit that she does look amazing for her age. I hope I look half as good as that when I'm her age." "Don't worry, when I'm finished with you here you'll be looking twice as good as Shirley Ballas." My mum giggled at Becky's joke. She then admitted in a confessional tone (not sure why because it was my secret she was confessing) "You know, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I've even caught him watching episodes of it in his bedroom and him freeze-framing or rewinding the bits when Shirley is on screen." There was then a brief pause before my mum added, "And we all know what teenage boys get up to in their bedrooms." This caused great hilarity amongst my mum, Becky and Roxy as I reclined against the sink and begged a higher power for the gift of invisibility. Thankfully, after the three women were all laughed out, and had extracted as much pleasure from my discomfort as possible, Becky announced that she had finished washing my mother's hair and they moved off to the styling station. Well, the conversation was finished apart from Roxy leaning down to whisper in my ear, "I'm a bit partial to pensioner pussy myself." The next few minutes were then spent in silent contemplation after I realised that I had been lying next to my mum and talking about Strictly Come Dancing with a semi-erect penis. After Roxy had finished rinsing the shampoo from my hair she patted me on the shoulder and indicated that we should move over to her styling station. I took some comfort from the fact that Roxy respected my masculinity and didn't wrap a towel around my head like a turban. As I got to her styling station the comfort I had taken from the absence of the towel turban evaporated as I realised that, sitting on the chair, was the pink styling cape they use when the pre-teens come in. Or "my favourite cape" as Becky refers to it. Roxy noticed the cape too and shouted to Becky over the noise of the hairdryers, "Where are the normal styling capes?" Becky turned off her hairdryer and said, "Don't know. Just use that one, he won't mind, will you Stephie?" I blushed and resigned myself to my fate. "Oh, and don't forget to tell Roxy who you want your hair to look like. It would be terrible if we got it wrong and had to do this all again," Becky shouted. This not only let me know what Becky expected of me but also served to get the rest of the stylists and customers looking in my direction as I sat down. Roxy wrapped the pink cape around me, fastening it to my neck and locking me into the chair. She then asked, "So, who's it to be handsome?" "What?" I muttered, trying to avoid eye contact. "Which football star am I making you look like today?" "Eh?" I responded. "Whose hairstyle am I copying?" said Roxy, becoming a bit impatient. I had so many answers going through my head but Becky's veiled threat, the prospect of making a scene while my mother was there, and having to spend more time than I needed to in this situation, resulted in me admitting to Roxy, "Becky. I want my hair to look like Becky's." Roxy fell silent for a few seconds before trying to reassure me by saying, "I thought I recognised this cut and colour. You know, I did that style for Becky so you're in good hands, kid." On hearing that the heat in my face forced my eyes even further downwards and I don't think I made eye contact with Roxy for the rest of the time I was in that chair. In fact, I don't think I made eye contact with her for the rest of the day. The next fifteen minutes were spent feeling the hot air from the dryer, Roxy's hands pushing my head left, right, down and up as she artfully used her brush and the curling tongs to tease the natural curls into more manageable waves that could be parted on the right side of my head and piled up to cascade down just above my left eye. As this hairdressing masterclass was going on I was sitting in the chair thinking that, just a few short hours ago, I was feeling pretty pleased at how I had stood my ground, defied Becky and emerged triumphant. Now here I was, sitting next to my mother in a busy salon, wrapped in a pink styling cape, having specifically asked a pretty lesbian housewife from the fifties to give me a girl's hairstyle and trying to muster all my energy to avoid coming in my boxer shorts. "Life certainly comes at you fast when you're a salon assistant," I thought to myself. I had clearly underestimated Becky's cunning and, more importantly, her desire to do to me whatever it was she was trying to do. After Roxy had finished teasing out the two little tapered sideburns at the side of my ears she used the mirror to show me the back of my head. I gave a cursory nod of acceptance without even looking. Roxy undid the cape and released me from my pink nylon bondage and, thankfully, respected my masculinity again by not locking my hair in place with hairspray. Becky clearly noticed this because she switched off her hairdryer at that point and this prompted my mum to look up and over in my direction. She had only ever seen my new hairstyle after I had modified it slightly so seeing it now, in its full salon fresh feminine glory, took her by surprise. She looked at me and said "Oh. That's.... that's lovely Stephen." I blushed and sheepishly headed off to hide in the back of the salon. This was the first time that I had come out of the closet as Becky's hair double and it weighed heavily on me as I trudged through to my refuge in the back of the salon. After being in there for thirty minutes or so I heard my mum's voice "Stephen? Stephen? Are you in here?" I turned round to see her smiling face and, despite how I was feeling about my own situation, I had to admit that Becky had done a great job in styling her hair. My mum had been sporting this tapered bob cut style for a couple of years but it always looked at its best when she had been to the salon. "What do you think?" she said, gesturing at her hair. "You look great as always," I smiled. "Your hair looks lovely too, honey. I was just taken by surprise a wee bit." She then came over, hugged me and said, "Don't worry, I'll support you no matter what. Enjoy Edinburgh." I then somewhat grudgingly told her to enjoy her date and we said our goodbyes. The rest of the day was spent trying to find tasks to complete in the back to avoid contact with anyone out front. Of course Becky made sure that she called me out to the main salon at every possible opportunity and every time I went out it felt as if everything was in slow motion. I caught every furtive gaze and every second-take that the customers did when they saw me. However the worst was saved to near the end of the working day when, after Becky found some other excuse to get me out in the salon, Duncan said to me in a stage whisper, "I'm naturally a bottom but looking like this I'd reconsider my position for you, honey." As far as Duncan was concerned this was just a bit of harmless banter, but Becky loved it and the discomfort it caused me. Thankfully, all the stylists and customers eventually left and this resulted in Becky announcing to me "Right, let's just do a quick tidy here and then we'll go. We've got a train to catch." "Train?" I asked. "Aren't you driving?" "Well, I was going to but I've changed the plan. We're taking public transport instead." "Great, that's just what I need," I thought to myself. After about ten minutes of half-heartedly picking things up and putting them away for washing, Becky shouted that it was time to go. I trudged out to the salon to find her waiting for me, holding out my bag. As I approached and took the bag from from her she said, "Head up," a command that I duly obeyed. On doing this she had a quick inspection of my hair, gently pushed and flicked one or two sections into place before getting hold of a can of hairspray and spraying it liberally around my head declaring, "We want all the other passengers to see you looking your best, don't we?" We hopped into Becky's car for the short drive to the station car park and were stood on the platform just in time for a fast train to whizz through. After it did Becky took great delight in saying in as loud a voice as she could manage, "Lucky you used so much hairspray Stephen, sweetie. If you hadn't that train could've ruined your 'do." This caused a number of other people on the platform to emerge from their self- imposed social media bubbles to look in my direction. "Hmmm, this is going to be a challenging journey," I thought to myself. After the train arrived Becky manoeuvred herself into position to ensure that she got the window seat. This, of course, forced me to sit in the aisle seat next to her, giving me maximum exposure to anybody walking through the carriage. After about 10 minutes of sitting in silence Becky leaned across and said "That was really nice of your mum to bring your overnight bag in. Lucky she's a customer and her details are in our computer, isn't it?" I grunted back at her. "You know, I think you did her a favour coming with me tonight. She's really looking forward to this date of hers." "You think?" I said, before realising that my plan of sitting in silence for the entire journey had been thwarted by the mastermind sitting next to me. "Oh yes," Becky said, "did she not tell you about the outfit she had picked out for tonight? She told me when I was doing her hair. She's got some lacy, red new underwear she's bought that she's going to wear under a gorgeous new figure-hugging, black sequinned mini-dress. I think your mum is planning on getting laid tonight." "What? No way," I said. "Just because she's bought some new clothes that doesn't mean anything." "Maybe not," Becky smiled, "but she is also planning to wear her fuck me shoes tonight. Do you know what fuck me shoes are, sweetie?" I shook my head and Becky responded, "Every woman has got a pair. They are a pair of sexy, killer heels that we wear when we want it. I think your mum is going to get herself some cock tonight." "What, no way. That's just. Just...Just shut up." A period of silence reigned again that every so often would be punctured by Becky showing me different pictures of Shirley Ballas on her phone and whispering things like, "She's a hotty." "She's MILFtastic." And, "Bet she's got a pair of fuck me shoes." Of course each time she did this I blushed and shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. This delightful game was only interrupted when Becky suddenly declared, "You know, if you really want to take up ballroom dancing you should do it." "What?" I sputtered. "You should take up ballroom dancing. You should sign-up for lessons. Look, there are loads of classes in Glasgow,," she said as she held up her phone to show me her search results for the phrase "Glasgow ballroom dancing." On inspection of the results there did, indeed, appear to be plentiful classes in Glasgow. This sudden turn of events took me by surprise so I felt the need to defend myself by telling her, "I can't. Don't have a partner." "I'll be your partner. It'll be fun. It's great exercise," she countered. This exchange resulted in Becky carrying out another internet search and a few minutes later she showed me her phone again and said "What about this outfit for our dancing classes?" On the screen was a turquoise, calf-length dress with a lace bodice, lace sleeves and chiffon skirt and petticoats. "Eh, yes, very nice," I said, trying to bring the engagement to an end. "Right, that's your outfit sorted. What about mine?" she smiled, once again enjoying seeing me squirm in my seat. After another period of silent contemplation, and unable to shake a queasy feeling I had about the hairdressing exhibition, I asked "You don't expect me to be a model at this thing, do you?" Becky looked at me quizzically and I clarified by adding "You're not going to style my hair at this exhibition tomorrow, are you?" Becky smiled and said, "Your hair is just the way I want it to be, sweetie. I'm not showing at this year's exhibition anyway." "Why are you going then?" I enquired. "It lets me keep up with hairstyle trends and see any new equipment that's coming on to the market." "Would you not have been better bringing one of your stylists instead of me?" "Yes, but I don't think I would've had as much fun as I'm going to have with you, sweetie," Becky grinned. The rest of the journey to our hotel was relatively uneventful apart from a brief taxi-ride from the station during which the driver flirted non-stop, and not without encouragement, with Becky. After she paid him he gave her his card and urged her to get in touch if she wanted to be "Shown around Edinburgh.....or his bedroom." We were staying at the Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh and the reception oozed old world glamour and character. Becky managed the check-in and I stood behind her with the bags resting on the floor. After completing the check-in Becky turned, waved the keycard at me and said, "Let's go, sweetie. We're on the fourth floor." I followed in her footsteps to the lifts and we quickly ascended to our floor. On arriving at one of the rooms Becky announced, "This is it," inserted the card in the lock and held the door open for me to enter. "Where's my room?" I enquired. "This is your room," Becky responded. A "Where's your room?" from me, was met by a smile from Becky and a, "This is my room as well." I then slowly, hesitantly entered the room carrying the bags and, on moving further in noticed that the room contained just one large, king-sized bed. "Where.....where...where am I going to sleep?" I said. "That depends on how cooperative you are for the rest of the evening, sweetie."