He sighed with relief. Alex and I had been dating for three months, and I hadn’t given him the vage. Alex was a pro at oral sex, so I was good. Plus, I wasn’t sure if I desired him as much as I should have. More of a friend than a lover, Alex wasn’t rocking my world emotionally. Oh, but he had a glorious lengua.
“Woah there, buddy, slow down,” I wanted to say.
Instead, I agreed to get freaky with Alex that very weekend.
Penetration Day arrived, and I met Alex outside of his neighborhood bar at around 10 p.m. It didn’t take long for him to hail a yellow cab. He asked the taxi driver to open the trunk. Before stuffing his duffel bag and my large tote in the back, Alex showed me what was inside: a jug of Carlo Rossi wine that cost him about $6.99. Classy.
Once inside the cab, Alex called out the address of our hotel. He pulled me close to him to snuggle, and I stiffened up. “Are you nervous?” he asked. I shook my head. I was actually regretting this decision.
Finally in front of the hotel, I felt a case of deja vu. “Have I been here before,” I wondered. I shook off my gut feeling, and we walked inside toward the hotel concierge.
Right at the front were the room rates — the per hour room rates. In that instant, I knew why the hotel looked so familiar. My longtime ex, George, took me there once, and I refused to stay – because it was a hotel for prostitutes.
I looked at Alex who had already paid and had the room key in hand. He looked so happy, like a puppy who had his neutering reversed. “Maybe this room wouldn’t be so bad,” I convinced myself. I was wrong. The room was as grimy as I remembered. The sheets were yellowish, and I was afraid there would be bed bugs. The only light came from two dim lamps, probably to hide cum stains.
I was disgusted. I was appalled. I wanted out, dammit!
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This article was originally published at Latina. Reprinted with permission from the author.