Forlorn Room 8

This damned town! Why did I ever come here? I ask myself that question every single day that I come to work at this stupid restaurant! Who in their right mind works at Bubba's Eatery, the finest Truck Stop/Resturant in Montana? Every day, I put on this uniform with the pink and white frilly apron, take the fucking orders and put up with the grab ass games! Again I ask, Why did I ever come to this damned town? Oh yeah, I remember now.

You see, I come from a very well-to-do family in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My parents always had these wonderful pipe dreams of me going to medical school or law school or something intellectual like that, and become world-famous or some other bullshit. Why is it so hard for parents to understand that we have minds of our own? We will do what we want, when we want, and if you tell us not to do something, we are going to do it twice as quick, and five times bigger than we originally planned. That is how I ended up in this hell hole town. I can recall the words verbatim, which my mother and I exchanged the night before I left:

"... Why can't you be like other normal 18 year olds and go to college, graduate and get a great paying and powerful job? Why can't you have a dream?"

"What 18 year olds would those be Mother? The children of your elitist friends? The 'Snobs'?"

"Sometimes Miranda, I think that you purposely want to embarrass your father and I!"

"Maybe I do!"

"Well, if you think that you are going to live under this roof, living off of your father's hard-earned money for the next few years of your life, you have another thing coming!"

"Really Mother, you do that rather well enough for both of us! What are you going to do, throw me out?"

"Perhaps I..."

"Do not worry, I will be out of your hair sooner than you think!"

"And just where do you intend on going?"

"Away from you, from my fucking father, and from these assholes around here which you apparently want me to mirror! Maybe I will fuck my way across the country!"

Of course, she slapped me, as usual (par for the course for an alcoholic socialite with nothing better to do than her nails and her best friend's husband). My mind was made up at that moment.

In the middle of the night, while my father was still "tending" to one of his patients (he, of course, is no better in the fidelity department than my mother) and my mother was passed out on her chaise lounge after 3 or 4 too many Vodka Gimlets, I packed up a few changes of clothes, my essential toiletries, a few other things and, of course, the $2,000 in money I had been hiding from my mother over the past few years, threw it all in my J.J. Dennings Duffel bag, composed your textbook "Dear John" letter to my father and hit the road. I hitched my way for days to this place, Shortwood, Montana, a whole different monster.

It was 11:47 p.m. Thursday night, 13 minutes from quitting time. I had one more customer who had just sat down in the red pleather booth. I was going to wait on him and then, get the hell out of Bubba's Eatery . . .

"What can I get you Hun?"

"Coffee, black for starters."

"I will be right back to take your..."

My God! His eyes! They were so piercing green, the color of fine oriental Jade. I couldn't seem to move!

"Is there something wrong Ma'am?" The stranger questioned. Oh Shit, I was standing with my mouth hanging open! Could I possibly be any more idiotic!

"Um, no Sir, I am sorry. Let me get your coffee."

"Thank you."

I backed away from the table, pivoted to face the direction of the counter, and walked over to the titanic coffee machine that holds five pots of steaming liquid buzz. My hands were shaking as I poured the pitiful excuse for coffee into the old mug and took it back over to the stranger. It rattled vicariously as I sat it down on the edge of the table.

"Are you ready to order?"

"Yes Miranda. I will have the Bubba burger platter with Mayo, Lettuce and a side of fries."

"How did you know my name?"

"Your little name tag there on your chest."

I swear in all of my life, I had never made a bigger fool of myself! This man, this wonderfully gorgeous, 100% pure beefcake man was making me so incredibly nervous, I could not seem to concentrate.

"Oh, I am sorry. I am having a bad night. It is almost quitting time, and I really just want to get out of here and go home and go to bed."

"That is quite all right. I'll tell you what, you put that order in 'to go' and I will not keep you from being here any longer."

"No, really, it is my job and..."

"I insist. I will finish my coffee over there at the counter, and you can just hand me my Bubba burger, and I will get out of you hair."

"Really Sir, I..."

"Please, Miranda, that will be fine."

Just then, the stranger got up out of the booth. He was taller than he seemed sitting down, at least 6'2". He was built even better. He had on tight blue jeans, slightly faded, but that looked as if they were bought that way. His shirt was close to the color of his eyes and unbuttoned three buttons down, exposing a to-die-for hairy chest. I could tell he was cut. He picked up his cowboy hat off of the opposite seat of the booth.

"Really, it will be fine" he whispered in my ear and be brushed his hand across my lower back. The chills shot through my veins like top quality Heroin.

I picked up his coffee mug and took it over to the counter and set it down in front of him. He smiled. Impish as it may have been, it was one of the most comforting smiles I had seen in years.

"Your order will be right out."

"Thank you again Miranda" Did he have to keep using my name like that!

I put the order onto the revolving stainless steel carousel and ran into the back room without being obvious. I had to get away from this stranger before he drove me mad! Arlene, the middle-aged, Flo-look-alike waitress who was just getting ready to relieve me at Midnight, was in our break room, which consisted of no more than 3 old lockers from Shortwood High School and a Formica table with 2 ratty old kitchen chairs. Heaven on Earth I will tell you!

"Arlene, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to take the to-go order I just placed to the hunk that is sitting at the counter. I cannot be around him. I cannot quit shaking!"

"Are you all right Miranda?"

"I don't know! I have never been around anyone who had that kind of effect on me! He is making me absolutely nauseous!"

"I will handle it Honey! You just leave the tuff work to good ol' Arlene! Why don't you go ahead and get the hell out of here! I can handle it from here."

"I would appreciate it Arlene. I will make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it Sugar. Just go home and get some rest."

"Rest, at the Rat Trap?"

"Well Honey, it is home for now."

"Thanks Arlene. I really do..."

"Scoot!"

"Thanks. I am going out the back door!"

"Is he really that cute?"

"You will see!"

I took my sweatshirt that I had packed (luckily) off of the plastic hook which was mounted on the wall, slipped it over my uniform, grabbed my purse, and darted out the back door.

The Fall night was exceptionally chilly and silent. I walked around to the front of the restaurant and looked up and down the two-lane road. There was not a vehicle in sight. It was almost too silent.

I crossed the road and walked the half mile, alone, to my home, Forlorn Motel. The name suit it very well.

The two-story building stuck out in an odd sort of way from the rest of the scenery. Forest all around it, just standing there in a little clearing like a sentry guarding the gates of some important palace in a far off land. I stood under the glowing Amber neon sign, which flickered dimly every few seconds. I looked around again. Not a soul in sight, nothing could be heard except a few crickets and the buzzing of the bent glass in that rusted old notification to the world that this was the place to stay. Why had I decided to come here. Why did I not keep on going to California? It was too damned quiet here.

As I passed the office of Forlorn Motel, I could see a faint purple light shining from inside through the God awful yellow floral curtains. Kenny, the night desk clerk. He must have fallen asleep again. I can see why he did, there was hardly anyone who ever passed through here. Shortwood, Montana, home of nothing.

I walked up the metal grate staircase to the second floor. As I approached my new home, Room 8, I felt a cold shiver shoot up my spine. I stopped before putting the key into the lock and turned around. Nothing, no one. I must have spooked myself.

Inserting the key into the lock, I quickly opened the door and went inside. It was getting colder. I shut the door behind me and turned on the tarnished brass lamp that sat on the dresser which I had used to store the belongings that I brought with me. The 40 watt glow made the room look even more depressing than the sunlight. The faded floral wallpaper was beginning to peel in places. A small wooden table with two splintering chairs sat in the left hand corner. The night stand was made out of the same dull wood and had initials carved all over it. Obviously, this motel was more of a fuck-fest place than an actual traveler's haven. My bed was a whole different matter. I had never actually seen a wrought iron head and foot board before arriving here. The eight iron posts went from end to end and differed in size, arching, the largest being in the middle. It almost seemed medieval to me, but the queen sized mattress was comfortable enough, a little soft in the middle from years of use, but sleep-worthy no less.

I placed my purse down on the dresser and slid out of my uniform. I walked over to the steam heat radiator, which I could not believe had not burned this building down yet, and turned it on, a soft hiss escaping from its bowels, filling the area quickly with warmth I so desperately desired. I grabbed the tank top off of the footboard of the bed and headed into the bathroom. The bathroom. A room so out of place in this damned place, but yet, so beautiful.

I switched on the light switch and the entire bathroom flooded with sterile white fluorescent light which came from the two vertical filament tubes located above the sink. It wasn't so much the lighting was harsh as much as it was the bathroom was extraordinary. White ceramic tile covered the floors and the walls. Hospital white. Whiter than snow. The only contrast in the room from the white were the stainless steel fixtures from the faucets and the lighting. I walked into the room, which was nearly as big the main room and turned to the right. Here was the strangest thing I had ever seen. The most beautiful shower I could have ever imagined stood. It was nothing spectacular, just 2" x 2" white tile with the same stainless steel fixtures, but it ran the entire length of the room on that side, approximately 10 feet long by 5 feet wide. To cover the shower, four full length and width clear vinyl shower curtains had been hung from the stainless steel curtain hooks. It was absolutely magnificent. I had asked Kenny, the night desk man, when he showed me to the room originally about the bathroom, why it was so regal and elegant compared to the rest of the room. He said he had no clue, but that when the owner had purchased the motel a few years earlier, he had redone all of the bathrooms in the same way. Kenny had used the word eccentric when referring to the owner, and I had never asked the owner's name. He had to be nuts to have done this to the bathrooms, each probably costing a few tens of thousands of dollars to complete. Who knew, who cared.

I walked over to the mirror-faced medicine chest and stared into my eyes for a few moments. I was aging quickly since I arrived here. I was starting to feel depressed recently, and I was considering moving soon, making it to California sooner than later. I turned on the cold faucet and splashed away some of the grime from the day. I dried my face with one of the white Turkish bath towels (another eccentricity), walked to the door and shut off the light. I was too tired to take a shower and just wanted to go to sleep. I put the tank top on, leaving on my cotton undies, switched off the lamp and crawled under the burgundy chenille bedspread. The amber neon glowed through the blinds which were on my windows. I put one arm above my head, listened to the heat escaping from the radiator and slowly, I let the free hand slid down underneath the bedspread. I found my womanhood and slowly, but with purpose, began rubbing myself. I was so alone in the place, so in need of a man to satisfy me. I found that I became wet quicker than usual when the image of that cowboy in the diner entered my mind. His green eyes, that chest, everything about him. I should have chased him outside to see if he was interested in a roll in the proverbial hay. I could only imagine what his hands would have felt like on my body, what his breath would have tasted like. I quickened the pace of my hand and grabbed onto the headboard with the other. My legs moving to and fro, I found climax rather quickly, a small moan escaping from my throat as my body twitched in pleasure. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Sometime during the next hour or two, I awoke when my room door flew open. The wind had really picked up. Still half asleep, I began scared that someone had entered my room, but then I thought that I probably had not shut it all of the way when I had entered after work and the wind just blew it open. Autumn leaves danced around on the steel grate walkway outside of my door. The overhead yellow light bulb dimmed slightly and immediately re-lit. I attempted to get out of bed to shut the door when I saw him. A man walked past my open door quickly. I could only make out one thing. His cowboy hat. I pushed myself backwards into the headboard at the sight of him. It had to be my imagination.

Slowly, I threw back the covers and got out of bed. It felt as if it was subzero in the room. I opened the night stand drawer and took out a knife that Bubba, the diner's owner, had given me for protection. I gripped it in my right hand and approached the door. I could only hear the wind. It was surreal. Just as I reached the door, he leaned in the doorway, up against the door jamb. His head was raised slightly. I dropped the knife. It was him, the cowboy from the diner.

"Hello again Miranda."

"What are you doing here? Who are you? What do you want?"

"Now Miranda, is that any way to talk to a man it is so blatantly obvious that you want?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw the way you looked at me in the diner. I saw the way you ran out of the diner and came back here. You are lonely, I can tell."

"You followed me?"

"It wasn't real hard to figure out where you were. Your accent isn't local and this is the only place to stay for miles. I knew you had to be here. This was the only room which the lights were on earlier, so..."

"What do you want from me?"

"Miranda, it should be more like me asking you what you want from me."

I realized at that moment what he was inferring. I knew at that moment what I wanted.

"I do not..."

"Oh Miranda," he crossed his arms "I think you know what it is you want. All you have to do is come here and ask for it." He lifted his head even further. I could see his face now. It was no longer concealed by the cowboy hat. My God, he was so handsome.

"Ask for it?"

"Yes. Ask me for it."

"What am I supposed to say? You want me to tell you I want you to fuck me?"

"I want you to ask me to fuck you."

"I don't think so!"

"Then you can go back to sleep, alone."

At that moment, the way he said that, I realized that I did not want to be alone. I wanted him inside of me. His breath, his tongue, everything. I wanted it all.

"Well, before I ask you, let me ask you something. What exactly do you do, stop at diner's and follow the waitresses home if you think they want you?"

"I can tell when someone wants me but does not know how to go about doing something about it." The green eyes glistened and he smiled with an evil grin. "All I want you to do is ask me for it."

"You know my name..."

"My name is Chris."

I paused, taking the entire situation in. It had to be a dream. I was not standing here in a tank top and underwear, talking to a handsome cowboy named Chris about fucking me. If it was a dream, what harm would be done in asking him.

"Chris, I want you to fuck me."

Chris stood up erect from the door frame and walked over to me, slamming the door behind him. He reached me in a few quick strides, his long legs making the distance seem rather short. He took me in his arms and firmly planted his lips to mine while slipping on arm around my waist and the other hand sliding ever so quickly between my legs. His lips parted from mine quickly.

"I see that you already started without me."

"Huh?"

"Your underwear are completely soaked."

"Just fuck me Chris."

His lips again met mine, but with tremendous force. My legs nearly buckled underneath me, but his hands caught me before I fell to the floor. I was up in Chris's arms before I had the chance to fight him, if I would have wanted to. No, this was not a dream. I could feel the heat coming off of his body.

Before I had a chance to think he was going to put me on the bed, he took me directly into the bathroom. I knew where we were going.

Once in there, Chris did not bother to turn on the lights. He reached between the wall and one of the shower curtains and turned the hot water on. Steam immediately filled the room. He put me down on my feet and literally ripped the tank top off of my body and roughly pulled my underwear down my legs. It turned me on so much I thought that I was going to cum at that moment. This was so erotic, so unlike anything that I had ever done before, and I liked it.

Slowly, Chris took off his hat and shirt. His hair, even in the dull amber neon light which was coming into the bathroom from the sign outside, was either dark brown or black. He had 5:00 shadow and a strong jaw line. He smiled once again evilly as he undid the button and zipper on his jeans. He did not have on any underwear. His manliness immediately sprung out from it's cage and stood at full attention. I had a feeling that this was going to hurt, but I did not care.

After reaching behind him and turning on so ever little cold water, he took me by the hands and led me into the shower stepping backwards. His strong body went under the stream of water coming from the wall. His jeans dripped as he pulled me under the shower head with him and began kissing me again, nearly drowning me in the process because of our position under the water. I didn't care at that particular moment, all I wanted was him inside of me.

I slowly worked my hands free from his grip and pushed his soaked jeans down to his ankles. He let me go down on him with my mouth. His cock tasted so sweet, of sugar and spice, and everything nice. I wrapped my lips around his thick shaft and took him all of the way down my throat. I gagged briefly, but got it under control. I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle what he was offering. He leaned back against the wall and let a loud sigh escape from himself. It said of my mouth job well done. I sucked him so slowly. I wanted him to enjoy every second of it, which, by the gasps of air he let out, he was doing so.

"Come here Miranda, I want you now."

"Not yet, I want this to last. I want to taste you Chris. I want to swallow all of you."

He gently put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back from the squatting position that I was in to take him in my mouth to the floor. I was startled. Most me would not let a woman who offered to swallow give up so quickly, but Chris was different.

The stainless steel drain was between my legs as he leaned on top of me. Lying on the cool ceramic tile of the floor with the hot water streaming onto us, he began kissing me again, with even more force than earlier, which made me even wetter. I could feel his member rubbing on my thigh. I was losing myself in the moment. I felt numb with desire as he pushed my legs apart and went down on me, returning the favor. He licked and bit my clit, but ever so slightly, just enough to bring me to the edge, and then to let me go back to wanting rather than getting. He slid his fingers inside of me, once at a time, getting no resistance. I could feel that he had four inside and my body convulsed with the first of many more orgasms that I knew would be coming. I grabbed his hair as he looked up at me with those green eyes which looked almost blue in the amber motel neon light coming from the other room.