Hole in the Wall
© Robin Elizabeth
Sunday night, it was late, we were both tired of driving. The fog had been dense along the highway. Now we hit town looking for someplace to get off the road to rest ... or not. Tom had tried to sound harsh telling me to stop as I'd let my hand stray over the gear shift to his thigh,
but I could tell he liked it. Up ahead there was a hazy glow.
MOTEL. We pulled in, rented a $19 room.
We opened the door and could hardly believe our eyes. What had happened here? Crooked
lampshade, obvious stains on the rug, torn upholstered chair and there in the wall over the
bed was a hole in the drywall, six inches in diameter. Tom and I looked at each other, laughed, and he said, "well, as long as we're being classy we might as well do it right." He fell back on
the bed, folded his arms under his head and said "show me what cha got." Then he giggled.
Yeah, he giggled and I stripped.
With the television tuned loudly to the local cable access channel - some help us pray for our
school administrators wacko group - we fucked like our souls depended on it. As we were
flipping over so that he was on top, one of the bed legs collapse and Tom's head smacked
into the wall and left another hole. Yeah, wonder what happened here.
© Robin Elizabeth. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.