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.