Category : Diary/Journal
Sub Category : N/A
There's just something about hotel rooms. The empty bottles of wine on the table, the one still half full in the ice bucket with little droplets from condensation sliding down sensually on the metal, curtains pulled back exposing dark night sky with splashes of colours from the Christmas fireworks display, the city lights and nightlife of Kuala Lumpur like a painted scene outside the window, the charm bracelet he had in a box waiting for me before dinner slithering off the edge of the bed, his shirt still crisp from dry cleaning hanging off the edge of the loveseat, his dark tie wrapped securely around my wrists.... I imagined photographing every detail. Capturing photograph after photograph of that moment's essence. Immortalizing into art the room's ephemera.
He and I had a brief romance we always understood would be complicated to comprehend. We got close without letting ourselves become too attached. I didn't even know where home really was for him. I'm still not sure. I was a little surprised when I heard from him eight months later. He sent me a picture of a poetry book I wrote especially for him, and a text saying "midnight still makes me think of you."
It was unexpected, but there was no reason for me not to take him up on his offer to spend a few days of the Christmas holidays with him in one of the swanky hotels in the city. I'm me, after all, and I'm always craving something.
During our time spent together, all he ever was was attentive, sweet, gallant and passionate. He was also a considerate lover. I had never stayed in the hotel that overlooks the majestic Twin Towers before and I had always wanted to. I had this gnawing curiosity about the hotel and the kind of people who stayed there. I wanted to throw myself into it, explore every facility the hotel has to offer, consume everything there was of it and let it do the same to me. I didn't do much exploring outside the walls of that hotel suite those few days, though.
There's just something about hotel rooms. The evanescence of it all, the transience, the being somewhere unfamiliar, whether it's close or far from home, having countless people I never have to see again everywhere around me, the freedom to be completely carefree for as long as I was there, and the sex. Sex is just so much better in hotel rooms.
Many years ago, my then boyfriend had my long hair wound tightly around his hand. He was getting me off more than he had the previous two years of our four-year relationship. Our relationship was doomed and I had known it for a long time. I disliked him as much as I once liked him. Maybe more. I couldn't stand the feel of his hands on me sometimes, or his skin. I couldn't stand his proximity when he tried having his way with me. I felt the way I would feel should I have a dirty night with a strange man, but strangely enough, it was always strangers I was thinking about with him.
These past few nights, I wasn't thinking about strangers. We were miles away from home and he was somebody else entirely. At least, inside that hotel room, I was able to pretend he was. At least, I could pretend I, too, was someone else.
I wasn't in this relationship, at least not in the way I'd want to be. He wasn't a manipulative piece of shit and I wasn't someone who was being played. I wasn't someone who thought I didn't deserve any better. I was just a girl with her glorious ass in the air, finally feeling something good.
He was ramming into me and all I had on my mind was the orgasm awaiting me. It felt as if he could rip the hair right out of my scalp if he didn't loosen his grip. It was sexually terrifying but I loved it and I wanted him to keep going harder. When he collapsed on top of me, and when I was finally able to turn and lay on my back, it felt surreal because when I looked into his eyes, it was as if I was transported back in time. Back to the time when I first fell in love with him over a decade ago. I kissed him. I kissed him with all the beautiful and cherished memories we had created together over the decade, I kissed him with all the love I still have burning inside me, and I kissed him without imagining another mouth.
There's just something about hotel rooms. There always has been.
He's the guy I fucked on and off for years. Our chemistry was the kind that's harder to come by than love. He used to joke and call me his sexual soulmate. We never held back in bed. We were never afraid to go to those places most people don't even think about. I think on some level we sensed a kind of same darkness in each other. We had our own little games that we played with each other. It was never dull with us. And these past few days, we played our game - one of the tamest, but one of my favourites, and the game had a name. Her name was Mia.
Mia was me. Long raven black wig with bangs, makeup done differently, even clothes were a little different. Mia would meet him in restaurants, in bars around town, coffee shops, walking down the street, hotel bars and lobbies to later head upstairs for the evening. We'd keep the roleplay going until the very moment the wig was no longer on my head. I played an ex-wife, I played a call girl, I played his student, I played a mistress, I played it all. But always with the essence of Mia. Something from the roleplay spawned from my very spirit.
He had my arms stretched out and tied to the headboard. He was feeding me strawberries and wine and telling me to swallow it all. In that moment, he had teased me, stroking and caressing my body mercilessly, knowing my movements were limited due to my hands being tied securely to the headboard, and I took it.
"I'm not going to take my eyes off of you while I do this," he told me. I'm not always comfortable being entirely naked in front of a man, but at that moment, I was owning it. It was so arousing and frightening at the same time to feel like I don't ever want to stop being watched. In that hotel room, I felt like I could be on display for him for as long as he liked.
He slid my skirt and lacy black thong all the way down my legs, bent both my legs at the knee and began to use his mouth and tongue on me without closing his eyes or looking away. I didn't know if his tongue was on me or in me and where his flesh ends and mine begins. For someone who had always wondered what heaven is like, that was as close as I imagined it would be. I started to roll my head back and closed my eyes and he stopped what he was doing. "I want to see those pretty eyes," he said. "Look at me."
And I did. Right up until the moment I exploded in his mouth. Only then did he rip the wig off my head, and only then did he call me by my real name.
There is just something about hotel rooms.
There was something dangerous about that one night on a different year, with the same person, in December. The city lights buzzing in my veins, his eyes flashing like neon lights all night, and I did something I swore I wouldn't do in that hotel room - I fell in love with him all over again.
I knew how the night would play out in the hotel room before the night even started. I was sure of it at dinner before we even finished clearing off our plates. The spark between us was electrifying, the heat was rising. I wanted to jump on him and straddle him right there when we were chilling at the crowded bar after dinner. I couldn't hear the music that was playing. I couldn't see anybody in the crowded room. I couldn't even taste my drink. All I could take in was him and I was ready to roll around with him all night.
I remember warm skin blanketing warm skin and thinking I could stay in that hotel room forever. If I had to pick a moment where I could pause time, it would have been then. There was just something about me and him lying in each other's arms all night. There was just something about the way we saw into each other inside that hotel room. I had never felt anything like that. I had never put my hands on anything more beautiful. I can't think of a word for it other than electric. I remember thinking, I could make a home out of these four walls.
Today, two days after Christmas, my rendezvous with him is over. I'm back to my life and he, back to his. I'm still trying to get it out of my mind. I'm still trying to get him out of my heart.