february 17, 2004
“Does it feel good being bad?”
He asked me this when I took a shot of whiskey and sucked the rough tastes through my mouth. Lips stained with red lipstick and saliva. Clothes scattered all over the floor of the seedy hotel room. He wore nothing but crisp, white boxers; I wore his button-down shirt, black fuck-me heels, and lustfulintoxication. I raised an eyebrow and said “Bad? You think this is being bad?” He faltered for a moment, pondered the statement, then headed to the bathroom. I settled back onto the unkempt queen-sized bed.. Looking at the portraits of landscapes on the walls and a small table with two chairs by the window. Ice buckets on the dresser next to the TV. Just your typical 40 dollars a night mainstay for drifters and tourists. Five minutes pass by, and the bathroom door opened. Refreshed, he walks out with a devilish smirk on his face and promptly laid down beside me in bed. Both of us knew there would not be any sleeping going on tonight. In an instant, I found myself straddling his lean body of slight pudginess, long limbs and strong forceful hands on each one of my hips. With his messy brown hair and dark brown eyes, he was just as drunk as I was. And neither of us cared. We both knew what the other wanted and we did not care about consequences. I wanted him to fail me. He accepted the challenge enthusiastically to fulfill the void in both of our lives. And with that said, the voids become filled in an instant. The bar across the street from the hotel was where we met earlier that night. He was alone and so was I. I was looking for someone to fulfill this desire I had. Obviously, he was looking for someone to do the same. After a few drinks of hard liquor, we went to a nearby drugstore to pick up a bottle of whiskey and condoms and checked into the hotel where the lost souls come together for truth and consequences. Where life doesn’t meet death and love and hope turn to decadence and lust. Loving embraces are verboten and passion is spared to fulfill sordid fantasies and fantasy fucks. He looks at me with those deep bright-eyed visions behind the darkness of his deep brown eyes and cheat love by giving himself – giving myself as well – that release of lust that should be experienced at least a few times in their lives. How he has been waiting for that moment where he wanted to have no broken boundaries or taboos. How he wanted to fail someone at the drop of the hat. He will not remember me once the haziness of the intoxicated influence dies down in the morning when he wakes up to see emptiness sleeping beside him. How he awakened to find that I’ve left him in that hotel room a few hours prior to sunrise, ready to move on and live my life to find another man to fuck and repeat the cycle.
Does it feel good being bad? I was in the mood and I wanted to be failed. Miserably. In that seedy hotel room by that brown-eyed, brown-haired gentleman caller who only wanted to buy a lady a drink.
