Late Night Grande Hotel (Part 4)

(Parts 4-6…”Boy”, “Girl”, and “Boy/Girl Epilogue”…are interrelated as will become obvious once they’re all presented. Again FYI: This section contains sexual situations.)

Part IV: Room 464 (Boy)

The boy (at 23 he still thought of himself thusly) paced idly from one end of suite 464 to the other. He wasn't nervous. It was just something to do. A necessary step to get everything they ever wanted. The lights in the living room were dim; the lights in the bedroom were dimmer, everything was ready.

Soon would come the furtive knock at the door and it would begin. Not soon enough for the boy. We're going to be rich one day. The mantra sustained and emboldened him.

He was ready for anything.

The boy made sure the ashtray on the table next to the reclining chair was straight. He didn't smoke but that wasn't the point. He made sure the little wet bar next to the little refrigerator was straight. He didn't drink either but, again, that wasn't the point. We're going to be rich one day.

The furtive knock came and the boy took a deep breath and moved smartly towards the door.

The man moved into the room with surprising speed, his face slightly flush and his eyes somewhat haunted. The boy shut the door and offered the man the reclining chair.

The man, somewhat rumpled despite his expensive suit, pale and paunchy but reeking of money and power just the same, nodded gratefully and plopped into the proffered chair.

The boy, a savvy veteran, went to the wet bar...lingering just long enough with his back to the man...and made a drink for the man. The man took the drink with another nod of gratitude, the fear in his eyes being replaced with something more heated.

The man emptied the glass with three gulps and sat it down on the table next to the ashtray. He murmured appreciative come-ons to the boy and beckoned him.

The boy, coy on cue, sauntered over and stood in front of the man, his legs slightly spread open, his hands away from his body. The man began to pant...there was no other word for it...and he reached out tentatively, laying his clammy hand on the boy's shirt just above the boy's belt-less jeans.

The boy sighed as the man's hand wandered with increasing proprietorship along his muscled torso. And above. And below. We're going to be rich one day. He thought of Lee and he thought of the Caribbean and his body rose to the occasion.

The man smiled triumphantly and rose from his seat. He put his hands on the boy's hips and murmured something. The boy didn't really hear what he said but he knew what it was nonetheless.

In the bedroom, the boy's senses were only vaguely aware of the scents...sweat and lust and bourbon and latex... crowding the room. He moaned when he was supposed to and caressed when he should; he gave the coy submission the man wanted. We're going to be rich one day. He thought of Lee...and he thought of sleek black Jaguars roaring in the Caribbean moonlight and his body rose to the occasion.

Later, the boy lay on the damp bed...the lights turned up...his sleekly muscled body still casually nude...thinking. It was something to do. The man was long gone...leaving facile protestations of "love" in the air and six fifty-dollar bills on the nightstand next to the bed. He glanced over at the money. We're going to be rich one day. He thought of Lee. He thought of silver trays filled with Godiva chocolates and silver goblets filled with coconut milk.

He shivered but gave no thought to the solitary tear tracking a wandering path down his cheek. It was something to do. He thought of Lee. He thought of the Caribbean. He thought of sleek black Jaguars in the moonlight. It was something to do.