[916] Kept
Standing at the waist high wooden table, mingling with familiar but merely acquainted faces an unknown patron brings a tray of Rumpleminz shots for the group. I’m offered one and gladly shoot with the group, smiling at the novelty – Who shoots Rumpleminz? I offer him some of my Ruffles since he is standing next to me. The bag is big enough anyway. Karaoke drowning out voices, I join whatever conversation I walked into. The group didn’t know him either, but had taken to him.
“Is this your first time here? I’ve never seen you before,” I ask.
“Yes. I met them at Detour Bar and they invited me to come with them here.”
“Ok. I was curious. I usually go to Crystal Skull. I don’t come here much anymore since I know everyone and I don’t always want people knowing my business.”
Another round of shots bought by another face. A few more songs belted.
“I think I’m going to go,” he said. “I need to get some sleep.”
Laying here, bed rocking, I glimpse the last sip in my plastic hotel cup now diluted with hotel ice and just out of reach on the night table. The taste of Watermelon MD 20/20 and 7-Up sloshing up to my throat. His hand, firmly raising my thigh – spooning sweatily behind me, his other arm around my neck and down into my old Minnie Mouse t-shirt, pulling me in close enough to feel his cheek on my neck and smell the Rumpleminz on his breath. I’m glad I made it here without wrecking.
I don’t care if I’m being used or will get tossed aside and forgotten like I never existed. I exist now and I’m going to try to remember this feeling forever. This feeling that allows me to almost trick myself into believing I am almost whole.
There is something familiar among men in this moment. This is the time they desire you the most. Before being jarred back to reality. Before the engagements were called off by the swollen lips, degrading words and drug-fueled theft. You learn to overlook red flags. The consequences, if any, will come later. Not right now… Let me enjoy being appreciated and desired.
We fumble and adjust position. “Oops,” he says apologetically. “Sorry, wrong…”
“It’s okay,” I assure him as I reach for my cup. “I like it that way too. However you want me, daddy. I’m open to anything.” Maybe one day I’ll find the right man or the right words to make a man want to keep me instead of just enjoy me. I haven’t found them yet. I say them anyway.
“I want you on top.”
The ice rattles sharply as I drop the cup on the table.
He is already in position, so I get into mine.
He yanks my shirt off. At this moment, and only for a second, my mind exits my body like a reflex.
Her tan body, her tattoos oddly cropped by the jagged pink canyon running from sternum down somewhere past her navel - cutting through stretch marks and ink. The kind of thing a back alley surgeon would call a success. His eyes make a quick pass, then return to her face. He pretends not to see it. He doesn’t care. She pretends not to care.
My head on his chest, his arm around me. We’ve finally caught our breath and air dried via the air conditioner. Thank God for that thing.
Timidly he whispers, “I didn’t pressure you into anything, did I?
“No. Of course not. I like sex.”
“Okay. You just seemed so shy at the bar and I’ve never done anything like this before. I was just surprised you wanted to come back here with me. I’m glad you told me, because I would never have asked.”
I stroke his chest and say nothing.
“Well, the airport opens soon. I feel so bad leaving so soon. Please don’t take it the wrong way.”
“It’s okay.”
“You don’t have to leave. You can stay here and get some rest if you want.”
“I need to go pick up my daughter from my mom and get her ready for school anyway.”
Washing up with hotel soap and hotel washcloth. Door slightly ajar, I ask “Are you married?”
“You’re asking me that Now,” balancing to insert his second leg into the jeans that surely smell of stale cigarettes. He sighs… “Yes.”
“It’s ok. I was just curious.”
“Do you want my phone number,” he asks zipping up his suitcase. “I come here for work once in a while.”
“Sure. I’ll give you mine since my phone is dead.”
He types it in and reads it back to me.
Turning off the bathroom light I mention “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’ll text it to you.”
As I’m passing through the hotel room door I hear “It was nice meeting you.”
Smiling. “It was nice meeting you too.”
The walk of shame down a hotel hallway is always rough. Not because you’re ashamed. You’re not. Plus, you rarely encounter any other faces at this hour. I know it’s just sex and the guys are probably just having a good time, especially after they realize I would be all theirs… if all they would do is want me to be.
It’s rough because you knew this part was coming and it’s always the same. The long lonely walk… alone. Knowing the feeling won’t last. Nothing changes.
The elevator door closes.
Posted Jun 21, 2026, 3:39 AM UTC