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Connie reached forward to pull the shabby curtain to the side, gazing out into the parking lot and over to the other side. 
She was used to this view by now, the handful of cars and randomly lit windows here and there. Nobody was ever outside, there was simply no reason to, or motivation to leave the motel room for anything other than giving the keys back, getting into one’s car and driving off. 
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Everyone arrived here to leave, aside from a select few poor souls who had no other place to stay and went for the monthly rent discount. Everyone else, they stayed inside, aside from maybe walking over to the vending machine in what was funnily called the “community center”, despite not being in the center, or having any kind of community.
Connie had tried playing a game of pool earlier, but the coin slot wasn’t working and there had been no sign of cues to start with. 
And so, she had walked back, taken her book to bed and tried to finish it all in one go, ultimately failing just shy of the middle.
There was no denying the fact that the evenings were boring, but Connie had all the time known that — or expected it, at least. It came with the job, the paid-to-travel saleswoman she had all the time wanted to be. 
And sure enough, it was a price worth paying, for the best job she had ever had. She had people back home who were doing the boring work for her, who supplied her with places to go, numbers to call, people to talk to. The poor slobs at the backoffice handled all the paperwork aside from the one with the signature that truly mattered — and they handled the whole damn boring rest. 
Motel stays were booked ahead for her, the car repairs, even the weekly car cleaning bill was done and paid for. All she had to do was to drive out, become one with the road, then become one with some middle manager with a budget to burn through, and make cute puppy eyes until they signed away a nice large portion of it. 
She was good at this job, better than she had been at any of her others, and it was also the first one that she loved front to back, bones and feathers. 
But these motel stays, they sure still nagged on her, her patience, her…everything. During the day, it was all not so bad, she was out in public, driving, eating, talking to people who never quite managed to keep their eyes away from her body — there was a certain fun to all of it. And even if it wasn’t fun, it was still work, and she was getting paid for her time. 
But this here? Nobody paid her money to sit around, to lie down on her back, to roll around and lie down on her stomach. Nobody paid her to try and read a book that seemingly resisted being read, with each page feeling twice as heavy as it should have. Some weeks in, Connie had found she no longer enjoyed reading books, but she still kept buying them. 
Someone along the way had recommended audiobooks, and those helped a little. They helped because they did not require her to keep her eyes open, to strain her body with awkward positions trying to hold a book upright — all she had to do was lie there, kill the lights and put on her headphones. 
Sometimes, she scheduled calls with the people back home, people she called friends and who might even call her that back — but friends weren’t all the time available. Rarely, if she was honest, it had been more than a week since she had last spoken to someone on the phone — someone who wasn’t her boss, his secretary, or a random hotel manager over something insignificant and ultimately pointless. 
Connie sighed, and kept staring out into the empty parking lot. A car was just coming in, touching the lot into a light that was too bright, too artificial in this dim place to avoid standing out. 
The man who got out had the same thing about him, standing out with his purpose in a place that made a rule of only housing the ones without such purpose. 
Whatever it was that kept him upright, kept him marching forward — Connie realized she needed some of that. Needed someone to talk to who wasn’t afraid of…existing?
She was in no way sure what she even wanted of him, but he looked like the first person in days, in miles, who had a fighting chance of making actual conversation. Someone who lived a life, was busy with other plans, but open to chatting with strangers for a minute or two, before each of them would head their own way. 
Someone, she realized, who could fill the not-center-center with the other part: community. 
She gave him a five-minute head begin that quickly shrunk to three, then fifty steps, then grew to sixty. He shouldn’t think that she was following him, even if she clearly was. 
She watched him through the glass, watched him stride over to the vending machine, where he pulled a can of soda, then sat down on a chair facing the entrance. Where he could see her coming from a mile away, and Connie hastened her pace as she suddenly felt incredibly slutty, embarrassingly obvious. 
But she wasn’t, right? That wasn’t what was on her mind, she wasn’t here to…fuck him? No, not really, he wasn’t even her type, not by a long shot. She liked other guys, liked it when she was in control, at least to a certain degree. Nobody liked a pushover, that wasn’t it, it was just that…why was she even thinking all of this, any of this?
Connie nearly turned around, nearly ran back faster than the brisk pace she had picked up following after him — the only thing keeping her back was how dumb that would have looked. A grown woman, fleeing the scene of a crime that hadn’t even happened yet? 
No, not her, not Connie. She knew better than this, and she handled guys far worse with ease during the day — but that was when the sun was shining. During the day, one could just walk up to a guy who looked like he had his shit together, and simply begin probing that assumption. 
During the day, there would have been no problem with her coming along, noticing that one guy of many in a crowd, and chat him up with a snarky remark, a fake-cute glance, a playful admission of guilt over just wanting to talk with someone ordinary for a change. 
Now? Here? Any contact at all would seem like an admission of guilt, would seem like the come-on that it wasn’t, even if she just said hi. During the day, her black skirt made her seem professional, feel professional, and it would naturally repel her enemies like armor would. Now? Now, it felt flimsy to her, felt thin and somehow…easily pushed up, away, out of harms way — and her right into it. 
At least, her blouse had buttons, those took time to undo, twice as much for hungry fingers. The only issue was that he seemed like the sort of guy who wasn’t hungry, or rather who could keep himself under control if that ever changed. 
He seemed like the sort of guy who was used to her, or a dozen other women just like her, for that matter. He was dressed sharp, even now that he was dressed down, his suit jacket left behind in the car. He looked like he was headed for a congress, only stopping by this decrepit roadside nightmare motel because his journey was long enough to warrant a stop in the middle. 
He looked like money, but not in a bad way, he wasn’t young enough for that to matter anymore. He clearly worked a job that paid him well, but he also looked like he was sort of past that, as if he no longer put his self-worth behind his job and money. One look at him told Connie that he was older than she was, though not by too much, and that he had been through ups and downs. 
There was just something about the look on his face as they both studied each other, something that people lacked who were too young, too stupid, too successful for their own good. This guy was clearly through a divorce or two, had clearly lost his job before, and he clearly had regrets in his past that made him weary of her. 
She could see all that, and yet, there was something else in his eyes, something that most people lost at some point in their twenties. There was a shimmer of curiosity in there, and it was battling his paranoia of strange people in strange places. 
They stared each other down more than anything else, and they came to the same conclusion, at the same time. 
Without asking, Connie slipped into the seat opposite him, and rested her arms on the table. 
“Don’t get any ideas, I just need someone to talk to in this stupid place.”
He looked back at her, his eyes forming into a smile that matched his lips. 
“That makes two of us. Okay, I won’t get any ideas as long as you won’t. So, are you gonna make me drink alone or what?”
Connie got back up, walked over to the vending machine, and let her shoulders sink once she realized she had no wallet with her. 
“Yes, Mister, I will totally make you drink alone because my wallet is in my room, and I totally won’t let you buy me a vending machine can of coke as if I can’t afford my own. So, drink up, you poor old drunk.”
They both laughed, and the man took a sip. 
“This is weird. By the way, my name is…”
Connie put up her hand. “No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know, it’s not like we’ll exchange business cards or anything.”
He chuckled. “You sure about that? I could be a licensed massage therapist, or in your case, an actual therapist. You might end up kicking yourself when you realize you could have hired me to fix you.”
She stared him down, but his smile wouldn’t budge. In fact, it turned more into a grin, and she could not help but mirror it, eventually. 
“Way to go, Mister, calling the woman you just met a basket case. It’s not that bad yet.”
He leaned forward. “Clearly not, you still know how to tie your own shoes, even if you don’t quite know how to fill an evening alone. And yet, you look like you should be used to that by now, you carrie yourself like someone who knows their job and knows it well.”
Connie scoffed. “Now you are complimenting me? Talk about a turncoat.”
“Guilty, I always say what comes to my mind.”
“Oh really?”
“Really. Right now, for example, I think that you secretly want another compliment, but you can’t admit to it because you told me not to get any ideas.”
Connie tried to keep a straight face, but she didn’t quite manage. Instead, she leaned forward, with their eyes so close that everything else stepped into the background. 
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you try me, then? I’m a big girl, I can handle a little compliment.”
He blinked, but didn’t avert her gaze at all, and she felt his smile more than she saw it. 
“I was going to say beautiful, but that doesn’t quite cut it. Other women are beautiful, but at the same time they are boring. You aren’t that. I have a feeling that anyone who calls you boring would not make that mistake twice.”
She grinned, brought some distance back between them. 
“You aren’t half bad at this, well done. Okay, I’ll play. You look like someone who is afraid of himself, of the things he would do if he didn’t keep himself under control.”
He laughed, but he also tilted his head. 
“Ouch, that’s a good one, haven’t heard that before. What, you think I could ever let myself go around a woman as scary as you are?”
Connie crossed her arms, slid a little further down in her chair. 
“I don’t think you could ever let yourself go. Anytime you like something, someone, your first instinct is to find a reason to say no, to take a step back and try to avoid danger.”
He took a slow sip, staring at her. 
“I clearly missed the mark when I thought you needed a therapist. You clearly are one.”
“Oh yes, they call me roadside Freud, and these uncomfortable chairs are my psycho couch.”
Connie realized that neither of them had any idea anymore what they were doing, and that they both desperately searched for a way out of this disaster. And then, she realized that she was at her wits’ end, that she had navigated herself into a stupid corner. 
“And by uncomfortable, I wasn’t aluding to you inviting me to your actual couch, just so that we are clear.”
“Good,” he smiled, “because I don’t even have a room here. I just arrived, and I sort of wanted to keep driving after a break.
They both looked at each other in silence, then broke into a head-shaking laughter. 
“In that case, I’m sorry to bother you, I didn’t want to keep you.”
They both knew that was a lie, just like it was a lie for them to sit here, instead of lying somewhere else, just a few feet back in the direction they had come from. 
Connie shook herself, hesitated, then shrugged. 
“So, you are just a drifter, huh? And I thought you had come here to stay, in this place of permanent residence.”
“You have a way with words.”
“Likewise. You know what I don’t have?”
“Patience left?”
They looked at each other again, stared deep into each other’s eyes in trying to discover a reason to call this off, whatever this even was. And then Connie realized exactly what this was, and that normally, her defense instincts would have kicked in by now.”
She got up, stared down on him. 
“Just so you know, I don’t normally do this. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s true.”
He wrestled himself out of the chair, for the first time averting her gaze.
“No, no, I can tell. You seem so shy about it, probably more than I am. Let’s call it a draw, then?”
“Now you wanna draw me?”
“Like one of my French girls. The many, the dozens, I might add.”
“You can stop acting cute now.”
“Oh, but I want to. I want to make you feel comfortable when I…”
Somehow, Connie had her fingers interlocked with his, and they were dragging each other down the way.
“I swear, if you finish that sentence…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t disrespect you like that.”
“Good, there are plenty other ways to disrespect me, and you have all night for that.”
“I won’t need that long.”
“Big talk for a small guy.”
But Connie could tell that he was right, she was already at the point where she no longer cared, where she wanted him to take control, to know what her body wanted before she herself knew.
And there was this nagging feeling in her mind that he knew how to do that, that his fingers that were running down her spine were already exploring her mind, figuring her out when she was no longer able to. 
He kept her from letting herself fall on the bed, kept her upright in his strong hands, and kissed her neck. She shivered under the weight of his lips, shivered even more as his fingers caressed her hips, started to work their way into her skirt, before he reconsidered and simply pushed it up, rendering her defenseless — and frankly, hopeless. 
Connie wanted to be naked, not dressed, wanted to lie there, not stand, and she wanted his hands anywhere else than where he was touching her. But he had other ideas, other plans — and frankly, they were better than anything she could come up with. If nothing else, his thoughts seemed coherent, and Connie could no longer say that about herself. 
She was on her stomach, still dressed, she was on her back, her blouse unbuttoned. She arched her back, wiggled her shoulders out of the blouse, didn’t manage the second one before he flipped her back around. 
His fingers passed her thighs, then reappeared on her neck, and he playfully slapped her butt. His fingers were between her legs, rough and daring, and his thumb pressed down on her asshole as if he had any company being there. She wondered that he would press deeper, but he didn’t, mainly because she suddenly was on her side, and his penis was inside her. 
His left hand cupped her breast, his right hand steadied his weight, and Connie gasped as he started massing her nipple between his fingers. 
He slipped out of her, Connie complained, and he turned her around to place her on her back, and push her deep into the mattress. He spread her legs, and he wasn’t careful about it, and neither was his hungry kiss on her even hungrier lips. He kissed her breasts, kissed her stomach, and his tongue played with her belly button, before his head went even further down, and his tongue explored her, made her yelp. 
She reached down, wanted to pull him up, but he brushed her hand away, locked her wrist in his strong grip. 
He did not even stop or hesitate, digging his tongue deep into her, slipping the fingers of his left into her, probing her body’s erratic responses. Connie wanted more of him, deserved less, and they both met in the middle — her middle. 
He looked at her, she tried to stare him down, but her eyes wouldn’t focus, wouldn’t communicate her needs and wants. But he still understood, and she gasped as he playfully slapped her pussy, just strong and weak enough for hurt, not pain. He did the same to her breasts, and he kissed her neck again, and his penis found its own way into her without any help on their part. 
For a hot minute, he breathed the air that she exhaled, and he thrust his hips forward as if he had a deeper understanding for her body than she had. A part of her knew that he wasn’t in control as much as it seemed to her, but he clearly was a step ahead of her, left her behind. 
But he wasn’t the only one ahead of the other, as an embarrassing sound escaped her lips, and all her muscles went stiff. Her back arched, her toes curled, and the only thing that caught her fall was the mattress under her, not the man on top of her. 
She could no longer make out sense in his eyes, no more of that understanding, caring look that had brought him here — only lust remained. He moved his hips, no longer cared about her, and for the tiniest moment, she had no say in any of this, even if she had wanted. 
But she had no complaints, either, no real purpose or any place she would have rather been. His body rocked hers, his thrusts reverberated through her whole body, and each time he pulled back, she could feel it in her fingers, the ones that tried holding onto anything — in vain. 
There was nothing to hold on to, and he just kept going, and her body showed no signs of slowing down. It was as if he understood she wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to stop, either. She knew that on another day, he would have shot her that asking glance, the one that would have immediately cooled her down. He didn’t, he looked at her as if she was a toy, as if he had picked her up in a store and now got his money’s worth. 
Any other day, she would have taken offense, at anything he had done, at how he was looking at her as if she didn’t matter. But tonight, his strong gaze paved the way for his strong thrusts, the ones that brought her so close to simply losing it again, and then pushed her even further. 
There was a certain void that welcomed her, a place where personal opinions did not matter, and where her body appreciated things that it normally did not get, or even think about. 
As some sense returned into her eyes, the stranger on top of her was finding his own, and there was a question in his eyes that she was not comfortable answering out loud. Instead, she amassed all her strength, wrapped her feet around his, reached up to pull him down and close. 
He hesitated, thrust forward once, then hesitated again before he no longer could. Connie felt his hot breah on her neck, could hear him groan into her ear, and felt that last thrust into her, felt each and every of his twitches. 
They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, his breathing slowing down next to her ear, his weight rested on top of her as much as his own arms. 
He tried to thrust once more, but it made them both wince, and then smile, grin. 
He kissed her neck, he kissed her breasts, he pulled her skirt back down to her knees, where it belonged. Kissed her stomach again, reached up to hold her head in his hand, and slowly forced her into a kiss that seemed more daring than anything else they had done tonight. 
And then, he got up, took her foot into his hands, kissing her ankle, then her foot despite the sock. 
He fished his pants from the floor, staring at her as he dared her to say anything, to complain, to compliment. But Connie just watched him, silently, tried to make up her mind on what to even think or say. 
Connie let her fingers run down her body, trying to figure out where it hurt the most. Trying to give him a show, as well, as her hands cupped her breasts, and she dreamily studied her surroundings. 
“I better get going,” he smiled, “long road ahead.”
The question hung thick in the air, and she wanted to answer them both methods. She wanted that stupid company card of his, and she wanted to never see or hear of him again. 
“Safe travels.”

NSFW: yes

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