Born of Fire

"Babes, I have an idea," he said as we lay together, me on top of him, the sweat pouring off our bodies.

"What?"

"Instead of this damned hole, why can't we be someplace else? And anyway, the garden will soon be done. Or done enough for me not to be needed here early every day."

"Okay," I said slowly. "So what are you suggesting? Inside the house, in my room? What if someone sees us? And what reason could I give to have you in the bedroom?"

"Well maybe not that. At least not when everyone's around."

"Where then?"

"Would you agree to a hotel?"

I lifted myself and looked down at him. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I know a good place. It's not far. Very quiet. They don't even advertise the hotel. Rent by the hour."

"Is it clean? Safe? No cops and such?"

"Totally. I know the guy whose father owns it. He'll cut me a deal. Shall we try it?"

Of course we did, and from the first I loved it. Raju was right. It was in a quiet lane off a main road about 15 minutes' walk from home, on the second floor of an old wooden building with lots of busy shops and vendors at the street level. There was a grimy restaurant. I met him there and we had a cup of tea. Then he got up, paid, nodded to the proprietor and we went through a side door and down a long narrow corridor to the back of the building and up two flights of dimly lit rickety wooden stairs. The second floor had been reconditioned into a warren of cubicles with wooden partitions. Each was just big enough to hold a low, firm double bed, a wooden table and chair. There was a plastic wastebin in one corner, two fluorescent tube-lights on the wall, a creaking ceiling fan. There was bottled water and an ice bucket and two glasses on a small table by the bed. The little white tiled bathroom en-suite had a loo, a tap, a bucket and mug, a washbasin. No hot water, I noticed. The bed had no linen, just a cheap sheet flung across it and the mattresses were covered in plastic, as were the pillows under the garish pillow cases. But at least it was clean.

Anxiously, Raju asked if it was okay. I needn't worry about the sound carrying to the next room, he said. That was the one thing done properly. But there were other rooms, he said, if I didn't like this one, bigger rooms with more furniture and air conditioning and better appointed. We could take one of those if I wanted, but they were more expensive.

I didn't care. I loved the feel of this, the cheap, tacky, sleazy air about the whole thing. It felt sexy and whorish. I turned to face him and pulled open the top five buttons of my shirt and lifted my breasts to him. No bra.

"You came down the street like that?" he gasped, his eyes wide.

"No panties either," I grinned, flipping my skirt up over my hips. "No, silly, I took a taxi. I'm not that crazy."

"Sometimes I wonder," he grinned, stepping forward, peeling off his shirt and reaching for me.

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This story is copyright © Mixoscopist, 2007.