Trevor was dreaming that he was urinating in the street. He felt cold. He shivered. He opened his sleepy eyes - and saw the familiar window of his bedroom. But something was wrong. He blinked as his room dissolved and an unfamiliar wall with an unfamiliar door appeared. He focused effortfully. He was in a hotel room. He remembered booking into a hotel yesterday. His throbbing head evidenced consumption of excessive amounts of alcohol.
Unable to suppress the necessity to urinate, and driven by the cold, he threw a leg over the side of the bed and sat up. Turning, he reached for the bed-sheet to wrap himself in for warmth. He froze, not this time from the cold, but because, wrapped in the bed sheet was a body, above which, on the pillow, lay an abundant shock of long, black hair.
'Who the fuck is that?' he mouthed.
He desperately needed to pee. Seeing the towel discarded on the floor, he picked it up and hurried to the wet-room, pausing to flick off the air-con on the way. He turned the shower to hot, started it running, then peed for what he thought was an inordinately long time. When he finished his physical discomfort was greatly diminished. The shower was still only tepid, but he stepped under and his body began to warm. The shower grew warmer until a cascade of hot water washing over his body rapidly warmed it. His bodily needs palliated, other discomforts became prominent.
His head throbbed, and his mouth was sticky with dehydration. He lifted his face, opened his mouth, allowed it to fill with water, then gulped it down. These urgent needs met, he paused in the warmth and gathered himself.
Who is this girl? He struggled to recall, he felt mortified. He had been drunk. He was sure he had picked up a prostitute. He had behaved like a sex-tourist.
Gradually he became able to retrace his movements, remembering he had left Kokomo's alone and made his way to Roadhouse. He was hitting the strong red wine, and met Jolina. He remembered shamefully, the temptation and was filled with remorse that he had succumbed.
'Oh Christ. I've got Jolina in my bed!'
Then he thought of Jake. He had to get her out of the hotel. He did not want to encounter Jake while still with Jolina, that would be too embarrassing. But he remembered why he wanted to bar-fine her. The eyes, the lips, the soft curves, her cute white bikini and garter belt, the carnal pleasures these telegraphed. The act of recall aroused him; he was ashamed that his penis thickened. He struggled to recall what base acts of exploitation he had enjoyed, and to his disgust was disappointed that nothing came back to him. In fact, his body, at the thought of her, available in the next room, prepared instinctively to do what it was created to do. His fine moral sensibilities exercised no control over his glands, which poured hormones into his blood-stream, carrying calls to action to all his organs. His heart pounded, his breathing quickened, and his penis quivered.
He wrapped the towel around his waist, returned to bed, and lay next to the teasing, inviting presence, torn between using good moral sense and throwing her out, and further abusing her to slake decades of pent up desire. In an attempt at distraction he flicked through the TV channels, to find BBC World. He hoped contact with home would shore up his moral sense. His taut and tremulous erection, like an antenna, picked up the invitation being radiated by the adjacent creature. Its implacable will gradually overcame Trevor's sensibilities. He found himself, far from home, isolated, and without any moral footing.
Still half-past-six in the morning, he thought it too early to eject Jolina. He found some Aspirin, swallowed it, and settled back to watch TV. His penis reared each time the presence breathed or stirred, and he waited for her to waken. Soon, the heat and humidity seeped back into the room, and he turned the air-con on.
Once or twice the mummified body shifted, his penis stood to arms and he prepared to speak. On each occasion it quickly returned to stillness. Time passed, he slumbered then reawakened. It was half-past-eleven and he wondered when Jolina might waken. He was reluctant to wait all day; there was nothing for it but to rouse her. He shook her shoulder gently and called, "Jolina." There was no reaction. He resumed, with greater vigour, and calling more loudly. Eventually, the body stirred and he laid back.
The sheets rose and fell away revealing a girl, bare breasted, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
She took her hands away, "See how you are," she said mournfully, and with a wry smile, "you forget my name already."
Trevor started, and hoped the girl did not notice his confusion; but, wrong-footed, abandoned his his pre-prepared words.
"I am Allyza, remember?" she prompted.
"Sorry, of course it's Allyza, I'm not good with names," he felt relief, at least, that she was not Jolina.
Her face was pretty and body tight. With sober eyes he saw her as if for the first time. This girl was desirable. His penis succeeded in routing all opposition.
She commenced stretching her arms and circling her shoulders.
"Did you enjoy to fuck me?"
If his penis could have howled it would have, nevertheless, it arched and strained like a wolf baying at the moon.
"Yes, very much," Trevor said, dead-pan, bitterly disappointed at having no recollection his first fuck in decades - and with her.
She leaned forward and pulled him towards her by the shoulders, "Then fuck me now. Last night you are too drunk. Now you can enjoy more."
His chest tightened and his heart thumped, hormones surged into his blood and his penis strained uncomfortably. He stood and discarded his towel. His penis reached up and out, quivering as it pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Clambering over the end of the bed, he seized Allyza's legs to pull her groin to his as he had wanted to do, all those years ago, with Sarah. But Sarah considered the genitals unclean and vetoed oral contact.
Unlike Sarah's, Allyza's body was light and pliant, her body sliding effortlessly to meet his.
Allyza laughed, and squealed, "Not drunk now."
