Was a weird day.

In no particular order…

I woke up three times to the sound of a right hand violently rearranging the skin on the cock it shared a body with. He didn’t wake me up to ask me to participate. I wondered why. I didn’t let him know that I was awake to wonder.

Each of the three times he went to the bathroom afterwards and stayed for what felt like 45 minutes. I could do a lot in 45 minutes: drive to work, blow dry my hair, make an enchilada casserole…

What was he doing? And three times over?

Several hours earlier I had spent 45 minutes trying to figure out how to use the whirlpool tub in our hotel suite. After several YouTube videos, I still didn’t know. I shared my favorite video with Robert. A chubby boy, 11ish, demonstrated how to use the jets on his tub and took video of bath bombs dissolving under water with his waterproof camera. I liked that he was a kid talking about grown up things. Robert told me I was now on the FBI’s watch list for liking it. I don’t know why. Was it the quick flash of 11 year old boy nipple it featured?

When I got to the hotel I couldn’t find the elevator and didn’t want to show that I was a first time visitor so exited to the courtyard in the back. Exiting I could do with confidence. The hotel garden was covered in white lights, no one was using the fire pit, and no one was using anything outside in general. It had been raining all day. The resin wicker furniture was wet, as were the slatted teak benches, as were the brick and concrete slabs that surrounded the floating circular boxwood shrubs. I didn’t care. I sat and took a picture. It wasn’t good enough for instagram. I went back inside and found the elevator.

The phone rang. There was a phone mounted on the wall inside the water closet. It looked like it was from 1984. A yellowish grey plastic with a spiral cord and giant red botton that flashed when it rang.

I answered. “Room 406.” “May I speak to Mr. Coleman?” “He’s out. Should be back shortly. May I take a message?” “This is Matt Mitchell, the manager on duty. Please tell Mr. Coleman I was ringing to check in on the quality of his stay.” “I will. Thank you.” I hung up and left the bathroom, but not before catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror: wet hair, a turquoise mid length kimono robe with white cranes and blush momos, in a top floor hotel suite that didn’t look like it had been touched since the 80’s. If it was touched, it was touched by your grandmother. She decorated it.

I’m not sure what I saw, but I liked it. I liked the woman in the mirror who gave up on easy partnerships when she was a young girl, watching her parents claw and bite at each other on the daily. I liked the woman who always has someone in love with her, letting her receive it without being too involved. I liked the woman who doesn’t want to procreate but still wants to create.

I liked that an hour after she looked at herself in the mirror she received a text from an old voice. “I miss you.”

It was Sean.

More tomorrow.

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