The last hotel room I stayed in was on a dusty road next to some busy railroad tracks some years ago. She and I found one another like animals in grass. I made an implication and she dared me to prove it. The photo I sent had been taken some weeks earlier, in another similar state of visceral need. A thick black silhouette twisting straight up towards the grey ceiling that made up the sky behind it. Two frantic sexting sessions later I crossed the street in a different city to kiss her hello. Military green jacket, skirt already stated as being worn for easy access. We talked about thirst while we considered our options – a movie theatre? A park? It was the middle of a true winter, so the options were either limited or frozen. She dug hard for a fifty dollar deal on the other end of the map.
Both walls were fully mirrored. The springs in the mattress had twenty years of creaking left in them. Her clothes were on the ground before she’d reached the edge of the bed. That body… a rugby player. Tight everywhere, but hardly toned. Handful of everything, sensitive skin that sent her into a trance as I spent forty five minutes running the tippiest tips of my fingers along her entire body like the frayed edge of a filament wire.
As I caressed the vein on her right wrist I told her that everything is linked to something else. She felt it above her left hip, where my hand would grip her for the next several hours as she screamed for me while pinned face-down to the bed. Through rivers of sweat I kept a steady rhythm BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG our skin slapping and she growling and yelping and PLEASE FUCK ME HARDER she screamed for the whole floor. The paper-thin walls were made for this night. At times I would flip her over and dive my head into her pussy. I’d count the seconds I could hold my breath for while spreading the cocktail of saliva, sweat, and sex throughout her slit and loving on her thick nub of a clit while my arms locked her gloriously sleek thighs around my ears. I could feel her body’s every reaction to my tongue as I thrashed it. One minute thirty-five. She would grab onto my hair and pull me back up to fuck her more so I did. I came at around two. Just the once, as the all-night fucking marathons usually went.
We broke to take a shower together. She stepped in and was eventually scrubbing my chest with a loofah before she bent over and expected more from my Dickinson right then and there. I obliged. Pulled her whole body back on it by her long and silky red hair. The echoes met the splashing and we nearly slipped from the force. Back to the bed. Anal was unsuccessful as we didn’t know how to do it yet. By the time dawn broke we were sprawled across one another sleeping for a moment, covered by a scratchy thin comforter. I woke nestled up on her breast, licked her nipple to stir her before I clambered back and wrapped myself with her thighs. We tried, kept flinging ourselves at one another with blissful abandon but our bodies had had enough.
Checked out, took the train back, put her in a cab uptown and went home fifteen hours after I’d arrived at the spot. She’d been the first person I’d encountered who could take it all.
I never saw her again.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hucjso/a_one_night_stand_in_1992_fm
Damn. Did she have your child?