With plenty of cash in my jeans, I thought about spending it for a noble purpose. To make Carla Grant.
When I saw her the next morning, I acted subdued, murmuring, half under my breath, a “Good morning” that didn't sound too chipper. She noticed. Reluctantly, she stared at me and asked, “Is anything wrong, Trent?”
“No, ma'am. I'm just sorta tired.” I yawned prodigiously. “Didn't get much sleep in the basement.”
“The basement-?”
After driving the New Yorker back to the hotel the night before, I'd been too fucking tired to make the return trip to the cabin. So I bedded down in the basement, amid soiled throw rugs and cuspidors. It was okay. For a guy accustomed to sleeping in barns, it was damn near luxurious. But Carla seemed astounded.
“Surely there's no need for you to sleep in the basement.”
I hung my head, staring hopelessly at her crotch. Hopelessly, because her mini and panties were opaque.
“I can't afford a room, ma'am. I'm busted.”
In spite of herself, Carla murmured, “You poor thing! I didn't realize.” She bit her lip. “There's no need to be uncomfortable. Why don't you use one of the empty rooms:
“Oh, I couldn't do that, Miss Grant. It would be dishonest. My conscience-”
“Nonsense. I'll worry about conscience. You come with me.”
She led me to an empty room on the third floor. Miss Carla Grant wasn't all that unapproachable. I wasn't too gentlemanly. I let Carla insert the key in the lock, squeezing in a tit grope as she did so.
“You can use this room tonight.”
“I'm gonna use it right now. That bed looks too good to waste.” I opened my belt, dropped my uniform pants. “Pardon my informality, Miss G.”
She didn't have to pardon it. She didn't see it. I was alone in the room. Carla could retreat like an Austrian general at pivotal, pants-off moments.
As I stood, undecided and pantsless, the door opened.
“Excuse me, I didn't know this room was occupied! Oh, it's you, Mr. Trent.”
The intruder was Tessie, half of the Iowan's two-woman housekeeping staff. The prettier half. Soft brown eyes, soft brown skin, and curves distending her white chambermaid wrap-around. I hadn't seen much of Tessie, but she seemed like a good egg.
“Don't mind me, Tessie. I was just changing my uniform.”
“That's all right,” she drawled. “I've seen naked men before.” Tessie stared at me critically. “Don't you wear underpants, Mr. Trent?”
“No room. Pants are too tight, an' when you have a big cock like mine…”
“That worm?” Tessie giggled.
My prong stood up to see what was so funny.
“Call this a worm?” I pressed my fingers on the tender skin under the head to make it blood-red and angry. A weapon. Tessie stopped giggling. “Want it?”
“Wouldn't mind,” Tessie said, frankly. “But don't get all happy. I got the rag on.”
“Then suck it!”
Tessie shook her head. “I don' eat 'less I'm eaten. An' you don' wanna chew on a mess o' Kotex.”
“Pull me off, Tessie.”
“Sure you wanna come off that way? Big boy like you?”
Her cool brown fingers touched my erection, and the big boy got bigger.
“Wait a second, Tess.” In the bathroom, I let the water run in the sink, soaped up a fresh washcloth. “Use this.”
“Somethin' new?” Tess flicked the cloth over my whang.
At first she seemed inclined to giggle. Then she jerked me in earnest. Energetic strokes. Her fingers-the soapy cloth-fingers.
“Seems a shame, a good load down the drain. I'm gonna shoot in a minute, Tess.”
“You win, you bastard! Not bothering to rinse the soap off, Tess knelt and popped my tool into her mouth. The warmth of her throat drew my juice out. No time to pump in her. I unloaded.
“Thanks, Tess.”
“Don't thank me. I liked it. I always liked a salty white load. Now,” she added, matter of factly, “if you can get your pants on, I have a room to clean.”
A girl who swallows gism so nicely deserves something. I offered her a ten spot. “Here, Tess, buy yourself some nylons.”
She looked at me with hauteur reminiscent of Carla. “I don' take money, Mr. Trent.”
“Sorry.” I felt like a bastard. Under the circumstances, I felt like a double bastard.
Later I stepped up to the cashier's cage.
“I made good tips today, Miss Grant. Wou-Would you join me for a simple meal tonight? Maybe a hamburger. In the Salvation Army cafeteria, of course.”
Miss Grant giggled. Black chambermaid or white cashier, a giggle is a giggle. Her defenses were shattered. She looked human. But instantly she sounded like Miss Grant. “Sorry, I have an engagement.”
“If we change that for a charcoal-broiled steak and-”
“I have an engagement,” Carla repeated, in an icy tone of dismissal.
Undaunted, I murmured, “Gee, I'll be all alone in three-fourteen, tonight, thanks to you. All alone.”
She ignored that. Or did her eyelids flicker?
I grabbed a hamburger with greasy French-fried trimmings in the diner down the block. Then I hurried back to my room for the night.
All alone in 314. I wouldn't be alone long, I was sure of it. I even went so far as to splurge on a bottle of rye. Say she did have an engagement, a dinner date. By 9:00 or so, she should be able to break away. I took a quick shower, avoiding soapy washcloths. Only 8:30. I started on the rye.
It's very impolite to greet a girl bare ass-the first time. I put on a pair of Jockey shorts, that I didn't wear under my uniform pants. They felt kinda tight. Naturally. I had a hard-on.
“I-”
She'd come in timidly.
Hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr. Trent. I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right.
Everything's fine, thank you. Except-
Except what? She'd be quick on the uptake.
Except these shorts. They bother me. See, I happen to have this hard-on that won't go down.
Don't mind me. I've seen naked men before. That sounded familiar. I'd roll down my Jockeys. My bone would zoom out with a pop that also sounded familiar.
Sorry you have the rag on, Miss Grant. An' I wouldn't wanna chew on Kotex. So would you pull me off, please?
Who said I have the rag on! she'd protest, indignantly. I want it. I want that-that worm in me. In my cunt!
In your cunt? The rye blurred my speech, but I managed to blurt it out clearly.
In my cunt, Mr. Trent. It sounded better coming from Carla. Didn't you think I had a cunt? Wouldn't you like to see it?
I'd see it. She wouldn't let me touch her until she'd stripped naked. Then she'd reveal her innermost treasures. On my bed. Naked. Legs spread. The red lips of her twat yearning for the touch of my whacker. I'd grow two extra inches in her honor. I'd fuck her till she climaxed over the mattress, on the floor, on the ceiling. My balls would work overtime, producing endless gism for me to spill into her. I'd stop screwing her only to look into her eyes to see them glitter, to see the lust I had created.
I couldn't look into her eyes. A curtain of rye blotted them out of my memory.
I woke up at 4:00 in the morning. Sweating. All alone in 314. Miss Grant hadn't come.
I hadn't come either.
VII
It was a good thing I'd had a quiet night, because the morning was far from restful. Before lunch time we rented the Crystal Suite. At $47.50 a night, that was quite a coup for the Iowan. And a windfall for Doug Trent, Matt, Beth, and Co.
At first it seemed more like a pain in the ass than a windfall.