This is purely a writing exercise from months ago that I just looked at again...
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Miami. Shit. I was still in Miami. Hurricane central. I looked around the hotel room as I slowly woke up from my evening nap. It was all coming back. The miserable business trip. Friday night. The memo. My headache. My Sales Manager from hell.
My old-fashioned, Midwest printing company was hopelessly outclassed. We were offering tours of our plant and pens and notepads. My competition was giving away Cuban cigars and hosting trips to strip-clubs. I think they were even providing hookers, not to mention meeting our prices. I had fallen asleep writing a scathing memo that would probably get me fired. I didn't have much to lose and had fallen asleep in my hotel room.
I heard someone crying and raised my head to identify the direction of the sound . Had the crying woken me? I sat up. The sound was coming from the next room. I had seen the woman next door by chance. Nice looking dark-haired lady around 40, my age. What was SHE crying about? Was everybody in the world unhappy tonight? I thought irritably.
I debated going out for a bite, but it was 11 pm, so I just ordered a pizza and took a shower. I could still hear the muffled sobs when I got out of the shower. How long would this continue?
Twenty minutes later my pizza was delivered. I was about to start eating but the sobbing sounds took my appetite away. What to do? I'm not big on getting involved in other people's lives, but I'm not a cold-hearted bastard, either, so I went next door.
I knocked. There was no response, but the crying stopped. I knocked again.
"Yes" came a snuffled response.
"I'm in the room next door," I explained. "Just wanted to see to see if everything was alright."
Obviously it wasn't or she wouldn't be crying, but you have to start somewhere. The door opened a crack. Enough for me to see an attractive face with smudged mascara.
"That's very kind. I'm sorry I disturbed you..." She replied, taking a breath to gain some composure.
An awkward silence followed.
"So...are you going to be okay?" I asked. "Do you need someone to talk to? A slice of pizza?"
"I'll be fine. Thank-you."
She wiped an eye, closed the door and that was that. I went back to my room and dug into the pizza, ESPN and an overpriced beer from the mini-bar.
I was halfway through the pizza when I heard a knock on the door. Being a Midwesterner in the Big City I was instantly "on guard" and tried to grab a wooden hangar as a weapon, but of course it was one of those kind that can't be taken off the bar. I looked through the peephole cautiously and saw my formerly crying neighbor. Feeling a little foolish, I unchained the door and opened it all the way.
"Hi" she said with a shy smile. "Is your offer still open?"
"Sure. Come on in. Pizza isn't very hot, but you're welcome to it. Beer's cold."
She extended a hand.
"I'm Francesca _____________. Call me Fran."
"Dave_________".
I arranged a chair and got a beer, all the while assessing Fran. She was very attractive, probably Italian-American, average height, conservatively attired in a black dress with gray piping on three-quarter sleeves. We made small talk for a few minutes. I found out she was from New York. Fran seemed to be checking me out at the same time. She tried a piece of pizza.
"It's not New York pizza." I said deprecatingly.
"It's fine. If I accept your food and then criticize it, I'm a louse."
She had a point. I liked it.
"I've never had a drink with a stranger" Fran said. "I never had a drink with a stranger in his room, that's for sure. "
I nodded, then we were both silent.
Fran took a deep breath. I had noticed she was nicely endowed, but taking that deep breath thrust out her breasts even more. Seeing that, I took a slow breath myself. Fran started talking slowly, then faster and faster.
"This may be the craziest thing you ever heard, but I came to Miami to be bad. I came because I lost my faith in God, marriage--everything. Our priest was convicted of child molesting, the other one hit on me. I'm sick of my husband, who never-ever, did anything for me. Everything's my fault. I can't conceive, the doctor says I'm fine, but HE won't get tested and it's still my fault. I'm unhappy that I never get a present for my birthday or anniversary-"get over it", he says. I complained to my mother-in-law and she slapped me. That's it, I said, I'm out of here. Nobody hits me. I don't want to live like this anymore. I came to Miami to think about things. Maybe even to be bad, to get back at him, but I can't even be bad. No man even gives me the time of day. No one wants me. I go out to nightclub. Nothing's going on. Go to another. Also dead. Go to another, women laugh at me, my clothes, I don't know. So that's why I cry. I was feeling sorry for myself. And now you know everything. Almost everything. I called my girlfriend and told her I was coming over here. For safety I call her."
Fran took a triumphant drink of her beer and smiled half-heartedly. I nodded at her safety-consciousness (and thought of my attempt to arm myself with a hangar) and smiled back, then shook my head. What a story. Fran asked a few questions about my work, marital status (divorced), personal life and we chatted a little more. There was a definite chemistry between us. Still, I was caught off guard when she rose and popped the question.
"So. Will you help me?"
"Excuse me?"
"Will you help me be bad?"
"You're serious? You CANT be serious!?" I asked incredulously.
"I am. I totally am." She replied defiantly, but slowly lowered her eyes.
I opened my hands palms up and stood speechless for a moment.
"Just like that?...This is the craziest thing I ever heard of. And what exactly do you mean by "bad"? I don't think you're going to sleep with me just like that."
Fran said nothing, but looked up at me with a flash of defiance in her eyes.
"Fran, you're very attractive, but this is...unheard of. I'm don't know what to say."
I took Fran's hands and looked into her eyes. I was doubtful, but everything I saw was genuine. Her lashes were damp, her breathing deep, her air of feminine vulnerability now palpable. And was she sexy! I leaned in and kissed her. She kissed me back. Our kiss grew deeper, our mouths opened and our tongues explored tentatively. We swayed on our feet until I moved towards the wall and pinned Fran against it gently. I thought it would be a good test. Press my body against hers and see if she pulled back. She didn't. I mashed my chest against hers and found she gave as good as she got.
Hmmm.
I took Fran's head in my hands and kissed along her forehead and down until reaching an ear. I felt her stiffen and rise on her heels, so I lingered, breathing lightly in her ear, sucking her lobe, teasing her. I dropped my right hand lower onto her ass, another test. Was she for real or would she run?
Fran didn't run. In fact, I felt her push against me. If my mouth wasn't already open kissing her, it probably would have opened again. My blood was racing, my head pounding with excitement. I slowly walked the two of us a few steps over to the bed and fell backward slowly, Fran on top of me. Each of us was breathing hard. It was the only sound in the room, except a distant salsa band. Fran broke the silence.
"Maybe this is not so comfortable for you with me on top. Let's do side by side. And more kissing. By God, I haven't kissed like this in twenty years. I'm serious. I love it."
I laughed at her openness and we shifted positions, taking up where we left off. Our kissing marathon went on for ten minutes or so, with neck and ears and tongues and all conceivable parts involved. My hands were roaming over Fran's back and butt and we were grinding against each other in lust. The point had come for me to start removing Fran's clothes. I toyed with the zipper at the top of her dress and pulled it down and inch or two. Fran said nothing. I was getting the green light. Unfortunately, mine had turned red. I pulled away from her and sat up.
"Fran, there's something I have to tell you."
Fran ran a hand through her hair and looked at me in bewilderment. I sighed and continued.
"There is nothing I'd like more than to make love to you tonight. Problem is, it was a bad day for me. I have a headache and it hasn't gone away. I know from experience, the more sexual I get, the worse it will get. It gets like a drum inside my head. I don't think I'll be able to..uh..finish."
"You have a headache?"
"Umm-hmmm. And it couldn't have come at a worse time."
"You're sure I didn't give you one?"
"Yep. It was my boss. Guaranteed."
"Poor baby. Let me get some ice for you."
"No, that's okay..." I protested, but Fran was already up and headed for the door, propping a newspaper in it to keep it from closing. She returned a minute later with one of those old- fashioned hard-case make-up bags and a hotel bucket of ice. I watched with curiosity as she dumped a few cosmetics out of a Ziploc bag and put some ice in.
"Lay back on the pillow" Fran commanded. I obeyed and she put the bag on my forehead.
"Feels good," I said wistfully, "but not as good as your body. I reached out for her hand. I'm missing out big time."
Fran lay down beside me.
"There's always the morning " she said sympathetically.
