Here's a story that I really enjoyed writing, would love to hear your feedback!

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We had pulled into the motel just before dark, the dim glow of the sun setting over the desert masking the building’s neglect. The keeper told us that she only had one room available, a double-bed on the second floor. Usually on a work-trip I wouldn’t mind such a living situation, but my boss who I accompanied to a committee meeting in Albuquerque lacked hygiene and snored uncomfortably loudly. It had already been a dreadful drive, with a horrid thunderstorm and bad traffic slowing our progress, and although we started on our drive back to Oklahoma at noon, we had only just reached the outskirts of Hobbs. Now the storm had settled out, the dust absorbed by the evaporating humidity, and a brisk wind warning of the approaching winter was all that remained in the air.

Over-tired by the misery of the drive, though he wasn’t driving, my boss checked into the room and without taking off his clothes, flopped onto the bed and was fast asleep. I had a six-pack of local beer that I had bought in town that I had intended to take home to share with my friend, but tonight was more deserving of the beer. I sat staring blankly at the TV screen for some untold hours, and though I was tired and had polished off three beers in rapid succession, there would be no sleep for me yet. Some days I was just too tired to sleep.

I stared over at the alarm clock on the night stand and in unassumed dismay noted that time was approaching midnight. Fearing I may never sleep, with an absurd snoring echoing through the room, I gathered up my remaining beers and quietly slipped out of the room. Night had settled peaceably across the desert, a chill wind scattering the trash in the parking lot, a light dew painted across the dusted windshields of the cars just below the balcony. I regretted wandering out of the motel room in just my shorts and t-shirt as the temperature had certainly dropped into the low 50’s, but as I turned around and tried the door to my room, I instantly realized my mistake of not grabbing my room-key. The odds of waking my boss seemed slim, and as I had my beers, I figured I may as well get to work on the drinking. Maybe with some alcoholic-clarity I might think of a solution to my problem. Less drinking would certainly not be helpful, so more drinking seemed appropriate at the time.

Leaning over the railing, staring across the deserted landscape stretching completely to the horizon, pock-marked by the dim yellow glow of distant farm-house porch lights, I had that familiar feeling of being watched. Normally I would dismiss such a feeling as supernatural or a boozy hallucination of the desert, but I glanced to my right and noticed a frail silhouette leaning across the railing with the warm glow of a cigarette burning lazily above the obscured shadow. I stared blankly at the shadow for some time, how long I really don’t know, but eventually I decided to push the image from my mind and I returned to my beer and world-wearied thoughts across the desert sand.

Time slipped so carelessly from my grasp, I think I may have even dozed off in a shiver as I leaned against the cold steel-rail, but suddenly I was aware again of the silhouette and it was nearer, much nearer. The faint orange of the cigarette glow was only a few feet away, and as I blinked myself back into consciousness I took full view of the silhouette, finding it instead to be the dimly obscured shadow of a remarkably pretty woman. Her sleek body curved against the railing, her eyes hidden by sweeps of long, straight hair. In the grey-black lighting of the balcony, I could still discern most of her wardrobe, or I should say the little thereof, for all she wore was a cotton robe, so tight-fitting as its dim-white fluff wrapped tight to perfectly reveal her gorgeous, slender frame. It felt as though I towered over her, though I was only 5’10, I judged her to be nearer 5’, and yet there was still something unusually strong about her, and how I could figure as much from just shadow I do not know.

“It’s cold out, for just pants and a shirt,” her almost disembodied voice whispered.

I almost didn’t reply, so surprised by the soft, feminine voice that quieted so gently the silence of the desert air, “Well, I had always heard deserts were hot, so I thought I was dressed appropriately.”

She laughed a little, “Care for a cigarette to warm you?”

I was still staring at her, trying to make out more of her appearance, but she quickly turned away from me towards the parking lot, “No thanks,” I whispered, “I much prefer to keep only one vice at a time.”

“Can’t handle two?” she asked mockingly, “I can.”

I handed her shadow the last can of beer, still cold and condensating, “How come you’re up so late?”

She turned back towards me and I was finally afforded the remarkable sight of her face as she moved ever so closer to me. Her pale blue eyes reflected what little ambient light was available, her pale soft white skin a beautiful glow, the small curves of her features so feminine and royal. My heart didn’t just skip, it stopped altogether.

She didn’t answer immediately, and in that pause was all of the answer I needed, but she told me anyway, “For one of the three reasons anyone is ever up so late.”

“What would those three reasons be?” I asked, though I would maintain that I already knew the answer.

She looked away from me again, and as if answering the desert, “Loneliness, depression, or because I’m spending time with good company and don’t want sleep to end it.”

To be coy, I pressed further, “And which of those reasons is relevant now?”

She laughed that same, adorably airy laugh, “It isn’t worth saying if you don’t already know.”

That seemed to satisfy our mutual need for conversation for the moment and I returned my gaze to the dark horizon. The chill in the air no longer felt as strong, nor the beer as cold, and suddenly my breath faltered as I felt a head lay itself on my slumped shoulder and I felt the warmth of her cotton robe press against me. My shoulder like an amplifier, I felt every labored breath of her body and the immense weight each breath carried. Then over the quiet, wind-blown landscape I could just barely make-out the sound of a tight-kept sob, and realized that she was crying ever so faintly. Why, I didn’t know, but I did know that for the time being my shoulder was hers for the taking, and I was just OK with that.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but it could have been hours, and though I was starting to get painfully cold and shivering, I could have stayed like that for many hours more. Her body soft, gentle, close. Whatever pain she had, I only wished that it was gone. I didn’t even know her name or where she came from, but I had a deeper intuition still that told me everything I needed to know about her.

“Aren’t you cold yet?” She asked, looking up at me from my shoulder, her cigarette long gone dark from between her fingers.

“I’ve been cold, but that’s ok. I’ll survive it,” I laughed, although the cold was becoming bothersome.

Without any of another word, she slipped from my shoulder and tenderly holding my hand in hers, guided me slowly back to her door, the door still ajar and a bedside light on dim, and she carefully led me inside, softly latching the door behind us as I stood awkwardly by her bedside.

No more words needed said by either of us. She stood in frail reflection just at the foot of the bed and I took my time to approach her, slowly wrapping my arms around her waist, pressing my lips against hers, savoring the sweet taste as my hands gripped tightly but tenderly at the fine curves of her body, my fingers already working to massage and feel across her every graceful form. My tongue melted in an ecstasy around hers, my breathing already becoming stammered as I pulled her tighter against me. Her body seemed to fall against mine with an unencumbered ease, and with every moment our bodies became pressed tighter, our lips sealing tight, every craving for her intensifying.

I agonizingly pulled away from her and ever so carefully peeled her robe from her body, admiring the innocently satin skin that lay beneath, my hands carefully tracing along her skin, memorizing every gorgeous, soft inch. I pushed her down onto the bed, my lips moving from hers down to her neck, sucking and kissing firmly as my hands pressed into her waist, massing hard while my lips worked tight against the soft skin of her neck, feeling her body writhe in delight from the very first touch of me.

As my desire intensified, I moved from her neck down her body, my lips gracing her supple breasts in an unrivaled pleasure. My hands seekingly exploring her body, moving in a frenzied haste down from her waist to the insides of her thighs, grasping at the strong but soft muscles of her legs as my lips wrapped tightly around her nipples, playing with them between my teeth and tongue, hearing her moaning intensify with every touch. My nails dug into the insides of her thighs as my work became more motivated, my every being craving the taste of her.

My lips working charismatically at her breasts, my hands grasped at her thighs in unwavering strength, pressing and folding, my fingers working up and down rhythmically as my tongue worked delightful circles around her nipples, moving from one breast to the other in pattern. Feeling her body respond in glee to my every movement motivating me ever faster, my pulse quickening as sweat dripped from my chest onto her stomach, the muscles of her neck straining as she moaned ever louder, her thighs quivering beneath my hands, feeling the wetness from her pussy as it began to drip down her legs.

As the insatiable hunger for every taste of her increased, I let my hands slide back up from her thighs to her side, my nails dragging along her skin revealing tight crimson lines as my tongue slid carefully and teasingly slowly down her body towards her waist. The mounting desire for her made my tongue and lips work with an intense energy, my hands lustfully grasping at her sides, working in a strong grasp to massage from her waist to just below her armpits and back down in a perfect motion, feeling the rhythm with which her body responded. I then let my tongue slide ever so tenderly from her waist to her pussy, my saliva dripping across as I teasingly kissed it before pressing my tongue against her folds, and then to increase the mounting desire I pulled my tongue away and pressed my lips to the inside of her thighs, moving in an unhurried pace towards her knee and then kissing-ly back towards her pussy until my cheek rubbed against it, my saliva and her wetness leaving a damp trail down the insides of her thighs.

Finally, as her moaning intensified and our desires increased insurmountably, I pulled my hands from her sides. Carving my way back up her body, I placed one hand firmly on her breast, working my fingers around and squeezing and pulling and let my other hand slide up to her neck. As I wrapped my fingers around her slim neck, I grabbed just firmly enough to control her and I pulled her head back, her hair falling against my arm as my lips then pressed tightly against her pussy. The coordination was an unrequited delight, savoring every taste of her, my tongue exploring deep into every fold while my hand grabbed tighter at her neck, feeling her squirm in pleasure from every motion, my other hand grasping her breast firmer and firmer.

Her moans grew ever louder, her whole body pulsating in a rhythm that matched that of my tongue, our two bodies connected in waves of satisfaction. I sought out every last desperate taste of her pussy, barely pausing for a breath as my tongue and lips worked frantic circles, my lips then wrapping tightly around her clit and sucking, working her clit between my teeth as I sucked, teasing her tender, delectable pussy with every excited lick. Her cum and my saliva flowed down my cheeks from her thighs, falling onto the bed in a growing puddle. With desperation her legs clamped tightly around my head, squeezing my face even tighter into her pussy as I gasped for air, struggling to suck every last taste of her pussy. As her panting increased, her legs squeezed ever tighter and so too did my hands, one still tightly pressing her breasts and the other now grabbing the base of her hair and pulling back as she let go a moan of intense satisfaction.

Finally my craving could take no more and I pried my face from the vice-like grip of her thighs and carved my tongue back up her delicate body. The trail of saliva and cum leaving a wet imprint across her tender, pale skin as my lips reached hers again. As my lips pressed tightly against hers and my hands slid and grabbed her ass tightly, my cock pressed against her pussy, throbbing in a patient agony, so desperately wanting to satisfy her, but still desiring the thrill of suspense that had her whole body shaking with anticipation. I rubbed the length of my cock against her pussy as my hands scribed painful marks in her ass cheeks, feeling her body tense in a catatonic state, frenzied by the same lust and craving that was ravaging every ounce of my being. Letting my lips part from hers briefly for a gasp of air, I slid my cock into her pussy, feeling the wetness, warmth, and tight feeling that I had craved from her so intensely. As I pressed every inch into her, my cock throbbing with unrivaled delight, she moaned so intensely, her legs wrapping around my waist again and squeezing me tight pulled my cock ever further into her wonderful pussy. My only clear sight now to fuck her until my cum dripped out of every hole.

I thrust in exasperated movements, my body seizing in a flurry of pleasure which each force. Her moans increased in volume as her arms wrapped tighter around me, digging her nails now into my back as I thrust deeper, every inch forcing its way into her pussy a delightful pleasure. My body screamed for released, my craving for every taste of her body blossoming in a rage of lust, my lips buried in her neck as her thighs squeezed around my waist, our wet legs sliding against one another, my breathing coming now in more exaggerated gasps, wanting to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible until finally I’m unable to restrain myself and I cum in an agonizing and unfathomable bliss, my body shuddering in prolonged spasms against hers, her lips now at my ears telling me to fuck her faster.

As my cum drips out of her pussy, I continue to fuck her, my cock aching in delight as I move faster and faster against her. She swivels around on top of me, my hands grasping her breasts as her ass slaps against my legs, her sweat now dripping onto my chest. As her body thrusts down, I thrust up, and for moments we are in a perfect synchronicity of passion, her body shaking from sheer delight and exertion, my hands grasping even tighter, my fingers working on her nipples, struggling to focus as each fast thrust brings me closer to again another fit of ecstasy. Finally in a final fit of triumph, her moans echo throughout the room in a symphony with mine as we both reach the height of our paired pleasure, and she exhaustedly collapses next to me, the both of us breathing heavily, wrapped in our own thoughts for moments, our bodies connected now by the warm press of our arms and legs against each other. The frenzied feeling of romance and desire not warn off but instead radiating from my body against hers, all my head still focused but fluttery, my pulse beating down with my breath, my body still a vibrating buzz of confused delight. My hand grasps hers next to me as I reach over to kiss her again, loving still more the feeling of my lips against hers, the way her tongue feels wrapped around mine, the embrace of her legs around mine…

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She stirred herself awake, coughing so slightly, the sheets strewn around her body shaken off haphazardly, exposing herself to the cold of the room. I was still awake, leaning back on the headrest, watching the day wake across the desert, a faint red glow starting somewhere in the horizon. Already the noises of motel activity had begun, though that wasn’t what had awoken me. Car doors were slamming shut as guests made for the clear, empty morning highways. Motel doors opened and shut with alacrity. Some muted voices echoed through the paper-thin walls. She reached over and kissed the top of my hand with tender lips. The sounds of engines starting making din the quiet rush of traffic on highways slipping past. The bur of a microwave turning on or of some laundry machine starting somewhere downstairs. More voices, more doors, more engines. Her soft lips melted against my skin again before she grasped my hand with hers, squeezing tightly as though in need of reassurance.

After some several minutes trapped in my own personal silence, I slid out of bed. She was turned over now slightly, staring out at the window now too admiring the early morning hubbub, the sun now passing just over the desert sand. As I started the coffee pot, I wondered if my boss would even notice I wasn’t there. If I wasn’t the one driving, I believe he very well could just drive away, forgetting I had even accompanied him. But what I wondered more was if I would ever see her again.

“How did ya sleep?” I asked her.

She didn’t turn from the window, her face a pale-red glow, “I slept ok. It was nice.”

The coffee machine dripped slowly, the smell of coffee ozonating through the too-chilly room as the pot warmed. I was surprisingly awake, not so much feeling the tiredness I would expect from so little sleep and so many feelings, but soul-tired I still was. That ungratifying morning dread was stirring, knowing not what the day would contain but knowing still that it would not contain anything good.

“I think I’ll leave here before long,” she said quietly.

“Where are you headed?”

“Back home I guess, for now. If I wait too long I’ll be too tired, and I don’t want to drive at night.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee and then began to pour her one but she waved me off, “You’re as slender as a field mouse, do you even want breakfast before you go? I could go down to the kitchen and see if they’re serving anything for breakfast.”

She barely managed a smile, “No that’s ok.”

Suddenly it felt as though she had made a mistake, as though I was the mistake and my presence was a bad reminder. I felt unwanted, but more I felt disrespected. That devotion of the previous night hadn’t left me, even if that vacancy of feeling was still hanging around somewhere within me.

I sipped at my coffee, still so hot as to burn the edge of my lips. The weak hotel coffee tasted surprisingly good this morning, having the familiarity of experience of all those nights stranded in cheap hotels. I made a life of strung-together careers and hotel by hotel that life choice was beginning to catch up to me, always in the finer moments such as this. All of these times where I’m left to digest my thoughts over cheap coffee, wishing I had better coffee and less thoughts, or rather more coffee and cheaper thoughts.

So I left the room some minutes later, not even leaving her with a kiss goodbye. She left me a number and her address on a page she tore from the nightstand bible, the stained page evidence that the bible was not so much reading material for most motel guests. Her handwriting was surprisingly poor, a trait that was as uncommon among women as it was cute.

The address read as such:

“463 Green Mountain Drive, Colorado Springs.”

I left the room and stumbled back to mine, luckily finding that my boss was awake and had left the door unlocked as he evidently went to get breakfast downstairs. I hadn’t the time to quite digest what had happened,

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And so passed the hours until it became later in the night, and darker still though less lonely. She was exhausted, asleep, and succumbed to her senses in such a way that I really had not imagined a person to be. There are talks among my friends still, who in each way separately are as varied and opinionated as any can be, especially on accounts concerning women, of that specific feeling which comes after being with a woman. This feeling, which I understand now to be true in a different way with women too, is both unique and not unique. Each person, and each person at each encounter, is subject to a different emotion. That is the emotion that I felt in burning waves as I sat, stunned into a wakened silence, staring at her breathing roughly in fits or dreams next to me, half-covered on the motel bedsheets, her pale body curled into a delicate frown.

The closest emotion that could be placed is loneliness, but that wouldn’t quite make sense. How a person can be lonely when balanced in the sincere act most opposite loneliness would be a direct contradiction to any amount of reason, sense, or bearing, but it really is a loneliness. It is as though the very act, even when love or passion is involved, is to be so overwhelming emotionally as to force a barrier upon both parties. Perhaps it may paint me in a worse light, and worse painters of the self there are none, but I’ve never felt a closeness to a woman after being with them in bed. There is always a pattern of separation, as though whatever connection was felt was then severed.

But it is not as though that severance is palatable. It is functionally painful. My head and heart race uncontrolled in a fit to understand why I feel what I feel, and I’m hurt greater in that I don’t understand it. Separate that moment by minutes or hours, and especially days, and all of that feeling of connection has returned, but in its return there is still some lingering shroud of hurt. Is it some archaic remain from all of the disappointment, abandonment, or mistakes which have scarred my emotional banner or is it an act of protection from traumas bygone? All I know is that as I look at her resting, perhaps feeling in her own way similar feelings, I could not be further from her.

If I were to leave now, slip out of the motel door like a burglar so quiet, and never see her face again, I know I would be more haunted still. Though time is a great barrier to emotion, it is a scab that I pick at endlessly, never healing over. The only true relief to the damage is fresher damage still, a wider gash criss-crossing the bleeding scar her memory leaves me. Knowing that she’d leave first, at first light or at first warning of danger, does not help me. In a narcissistic way, my worry isn’t vested in empathy. Leaving me would always be a smart choice, would be such an instinctual decision that there would lay no blame, but the pain of the silhouette which would manufacture my memories would not be lightened by such altruism.

But to elaborate further, this loneliness isn’t a loneliness of her departure. She would leave soon or later, but the difference wouldn’t matter still. There would lay lingering the same feeling, and it would be dormant in a subtle mask for as long as our relationship remained. There is in some aspect of that brief love that creates this feeling, for never have I felt it so with intimate or distant friendships, ended or renewed. It is an emptiness that is created, as though in the sharing of our intimacy and brief romance, in that space of love and devotion of soul to body, that where should be a greater thing there is instead a nothing. That is where the loneliness is from. In such an intimate moment, never could I feel that I love someone more, though I had yet a reason to love. In each moment of kissing, cuddling, holding her hand tightly with mine, there was still that tremendous feeling. And the cavity created by her departure, even though she was laying in bed next to me still, I could feel already. It was unspoken and unmade, but the present of that feeling was there in its entire.

Ennui is that pervasive feeling that followed me to this motel room, stalked me across the desert, pushed me from career to career, disengaged me with my surroundings, and it is here in this poorly decorated room that ennui catches up to me. When the only separation from me to her is fabricated by anxiety, fear, or something worse, ennui settles in. That foreboding feeling that something is amiss but it cannot be placed. That something lurks around us that cannot be seen, but can still be felt.

Amongst my friends you’d find such descriptions, when following something romantic or simply amorous, of satisfaction, delight, ecstasy, cravings, or even exhaustion, guilt, weakness, or sadness. But not one among them have ever found such a feeling of loneliness as I feel now. This I know is mine.

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