I was a senior in college in one end of my state dating this young gal from my hometown in the other end of the state. She is the same girl as the one in Feeling Kind of Lucky, the story of how I met her.
Anyway, Zoe was my junior, but looked every day of 21. She was 6 feet tall, had shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes, with a "model" figure--long, slender legs and arms and wasp waist--but with firm 34/35-C breasts. She was a drop-dead gorgeous babe, and she was at that stage in life where she was experimenting with sex and would do anything. Of all my girlfriends, I think she and I fucked more frequently than any other, though because we lived 400 miles apart, we didn't get to be with each other very often.
In fact, she cracked me up once when we were fucking in the sole tiny bathroom of a New Wave Club, which featured great bands but was a total dive. People were waiting in line, but this wasted dude couldn't wait to piss, so he just forced his way in and whizzed in the one toilet right up against the one sink where Zoe sat as I banged her. He never closed the door, so when he finished, a chick came in to pee, and then several other patrons one after the other. We never stopped fucking, and to each person who came in, she, expressionless, would look him or her straight in the face, and say, "We pretty much fuck constantly." Which was pretty much the truth.
Since she lived with her parents at their home and I was home from college, I, too, stayed with my parents, so finding a place to fuck during school breaks was a problem, especially Christmas break, when it was cold.
Oh, sure, we'd fool around at our parents' homes when we could, but those opportunities did not come up often enough, and the inside of a car gets old fast, especially considering that the heater barely worked, and filthy cramped bathrooms like the one in the New Wave dive were not exactly romantic.
We're driving around the city the night after Christmas drinking champagne straight from the bottle and took a shortcut, through a rather seedy part of town. There, on the right, was a place called the Rebel Inn, lit up in blinking red neon lights, so I slowed down for a look-see.
Many years before a Holiday Inn, it was an old 2-story motor court style motel with the rooms in a U shape and a small glassed-in, drive-through check-in hut between the sides of the U. Rooms by the hour, the sign said: 1 hour-$8, 2 hours-$12, 3 hours-$15, 24 hours-$20. Pooling everything we had including change in the bottom of her purse, we barely scraped together $15 for 3 hours. I noted that the time was 9:30 PM and that we would need to be out by 12:30 AM, so I paid the lady behind the glass (bullet-proof, I suspect), got the key, drove in, parked, and went into our ground-floor room.
It was certainly no Hilton, but was much better than we had expected. The 1950s-era aqua tile bathroom was spotless and had thin towels and washcloths, though there were plenty, and the hot water and toilet worked just fine. The heat was already on and felt good on the 20-degree night. Though the bed was just a standard size, it felt OK and the sheets were clean.
Zoe flipped on the Color TV! mounted high on the wall. The local station reception was so bad you couldn't make out hardly anything, but it had several continuous-porn channels that were perfect. She'd never seen much porn before but was riveted with keen interest to the set as I undressed her and myself. She suggested we do whatever the actors were doing, and I readily agreed, firing up a bowl and passing it over to her before cracking the second of 4 bottles of champagne I'd received as Christmas gifts. This cheap motel actually had glass tumblers in the bathroom, so I poured the pagne into them, and we drank up.
Having spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with our respective families, we had not been together (i.e., fucked) in 48 hours, so to say we were extremely horny would be a gross understatement.
Though Zoe was young and fantastic looking, to tell you the truth, since she was pretty new at all this sex stuff, she needed some development, particularly in the blow-job department. And the chick in the porn flick was giving head ever so fine, so Zoe watched her carefully and mimicked her techniques, demonstrating that she was, indeed, a quick learner.
Well, we imitated every move they made in the flicks, assuming some pretty advanced positions. She liked them all, and we were particularly well suited to the standing fuck. She 6 feet tall with a gap at the top her thighs just below her pussy and I 6' 2", facing each other pressed nipple-to-nipple, we were mutually perfectly proportioned to fuck standing flat-footed as we French-kissed and squeezed each others asses.
While in a delightful 69 imitating the actors, the phone rang. It was one of those old-fashioned Bell telephones with a loud metallic bell ringer configured in this motel to ring continuously until answered. Rudely interrupting, to say the least. Who the hell could that be? I could reach the phone from where I lay beneath Zoe, so I answered it, mainly to stop the noise.
It was the gal we'd checked in with, and she said it was time to check out. I checked my watch; it was 11:35 PM, so we'd been there 2 hours. I told her we'd checked in for 3 hours, so we had another hour to go. She said no, that we'd only paid for 2 hours and that it was time to check out. I told her that we had paid $15 and were going to stay for the full 3 hours until 12:30 AM.
