This could be interesting.
¤ ¤ ¤
The Oceana is more like a luxury condo than a hotel, although you can rent by the night. I could live like this, nice furniture, ocean view, don’t have to own anything and it still feels like home. I have to wonder about Tanya’s bankrupt husband and the credit card bill, but hey, I just work here.
Tanya seems to have quite an affair going with the nose candy. She hit on it three more times on the way here. Now she brings two glasses and a bottle of Chivas. I watch her pour three fingers for each of us and drain hers like it’s Gatorade after a hard run. She’s in party mode and hasn’t mentioned the reports once. Another snort from the vial and she excuses herself and leaves the room.
I give the room a once-over. The walls are covered with woven bamboo; the décor is a weird blend of modern and traditional. Gleaming wood floors, abstract art, and overstuffed furniture. A glass-top table with magazines, sitting on a Turkish rug. I pull up a corner of the rug and slide the reports under it. I let the corner back down and check to make sure nothing shows.
I sit on the sofa thinking it would be fun to roam into the other room and watch Tanya, but the sound of bare feet padding on the wood floor tells me she’s coming back. Music pops on, the African reggae guy who got killed when some punks carjacked him in Johannesburg. “Lucky” somebody. Or not. And now here’s Tanya standing over me in a silk thigh-length robe. She has a lighted joint that smells like the high-grade hydro that Jimmy sells. She bends down and puts her open mouth on mine and softly pushes smoke into me.
She straddles me, takes one more hit off the joint and puts it in an ashtray, then puts her lips to mine again. Her eyelashes are nearly gone, but the line between exotic and weird has always been a thin one for me. Her left hand is moving between her legs. She moans as she lets go another cloud of smoke into my mouth. I put my hand on her ass, which is gyrating in time to the music. She reaches out with her right hand and touches my ear with the tips of her nails. Her hand moves up and I deflect it before she gets to my wound. I wouldn’t want to destroy the mood for her.
She takes my hand and places it between her legs. It’s warm and slick and I find the spot and gently rotate the ball of my middle finger on it. She’s breathing into my ear, her face falls to my shoulder, she turns and bites my neck. I’m watching the silk robe ride up toward the middle of her back, the perfection of her little body, and wondering if I can make things work.
Tanya pulls back and looks down into my eyes. The robe falls open and her breasts point up and away from me.
She says, “Holy shit am I high.”
“Me too. Great stuff.” A perfect lie. Can’t feel a thing.
“Charlie Miner, there’s something spooky about you; I don’t know what it is, but it makes me hot.” She scoots backward off the sofa and leans down to undo my trousers. She pulls off my shoes and socks, then my pants and boxers, and puts out her hand. I take it and she leads me to the bedroom. I look down at myself and concentrate and bingo! It looks like I’m equipped for the job.
She falls backward onto the bed and pulls me down on top of her. She writhes and whimpers and twitches and moans and looks like a dream. We carry on for hours; the candles burn out and first light appears in the curtained windows. She brings me another drink and I down it. In my condition, I have the sex drive of a neutered lab monkey, but I persist for the sheer narcissistic pleasure of watching her.
¤ ¤ ¤
I topple off of her as if exhausted and lay on my side next to her, taking deep breaths. I let my breathing subside and fake a twitch. I feel her hand on my shoulder. It brushes up my neck and rests right on top of the bullet hole. She whispers, “Lights out, baby.”
I lay still as she gets up. I hear the sounds of clothes being picked up and put on, a
¤ ¤ ¤
The Oceana is more like a luxury condo than a hotel, although you can rent by the night. I could live like this, nice furniture, ocean view, don’t have to own anything and it still feels like home. I have to wonder about Tanya’s bankrupt husband and the credit card bill, but hey, I just work here.
Tanya seems to have quite an affair going with the nose candy. She hit on it three more times on the way here. Now she brings two glasses and a bottle of Chivas. I watch her pour three fingers for each of us and drain hers like it’s Gatorade after a hard run. She’s in party mode and hasn’t mentioned the reports once. Another snort from the vial and she excuses herself and leaves the room.
I give the room a once-over. The walls are covered with woven bamboo; the décor is a weird blend of modern and traditional. Gleaming wood floors, abstract art, and overstuffed furniture. A glass-top table with magazines, sitting on a Turkish rug. I pull up a corner of the rug and slide the reports under it. I let the corner back down and check to make sure nothing shows.
I sit on the sofa thinking it would be fun to roam into the other room and watch Tanya, but the sound of bare feet padding on the wood floor tells me she’s coming back. Music pops on, the African reggae guy who got killed when some punks carjacked him in Johannesburg. “Lucky” somebody. Or not. And now here’s Tanya standing over me in a silk thigh-length robe. She has a lighted joint that smells like the high-grade hydro that Jimmy sells. She bends down and puts her open mouth on mine and softly pushes smoke into me.
She straddles me, takes one more hit off the joint and puts it in an ashtray, then puts her lips to mine again. Her eyelashes are nearly gone, but the line between exotic and weird has always been a thin one for me. Her left hand is moving between her legs. She moans as she lets go another cloud of smoke into my mouth. I put my hand on her ass, which is gyrating in time to the music. She reaches out with her right hand and touches my ear with the tips of her nails. Her hand moves up and I deflect it before she gets to my wound. I wouldn’t want to destroy the mood for her.
She takes my hand and places it between her legs. It’s warm and slick and I find the spot and gently rotate the ball of my middle finger on it. She’s breathing into my ear, her face falls to my shoulder, she turns and bites my neck. I’m watching the silk robe ride up toward the middle of her back, the perfection of her little body, and wondering if I can make things work.
Tanya pulls back and looks down into my eyes. The robe falls open and her breasts point up and away from me.
She says, “Holy shit am I high.”
“Me too. Great stuff.” A perfect lie. Can’t feel a thing.
“Charlie Miner, there’s something spooky about you; I don’t know what it is, but it makes me hot.” She scoots backward off the sofa and leans down to undo my trousers. She pulls off my shoes and socks, then my pants and boxers, and puts out her hand. I take it and she leads me to the bedroom. I look down at myself and concentrate and bingo! It looks like I’m equipped for the job.
She falls backward onto the bed and pulls me down on top of her. She writhes and whimpers and twitches and moans and looks like a dream. We carry on for hours; the candles burn out and first light appears in the curtained windows. She brings me another drink and I down it. In my condition, I have the sex drive of a neutered lab monkey, but I persist for the sheer narcissistic pleasure of watching her.
¤ ¤ ¤
I topple off of her as if exhausted and lay on my side next to her, taking deep breaths. I let my breathing subside and fake a twitch. I feel her hand on my shoulder. It brushes up my neck and rests right on top of the bullet hole. She whispers, “Lights out, baby.”
I lay still as she gets up. I hear the sounds of clothes being picked up and put on, a
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