Hotel No Tell

Dear Penthouse,

I’m a freaky kind of girl, always loved my lovin’, if you know what I mean, so a while ago I thought, “Why not do it for a living?” Takes all sorts, and I’m one of them! That was two years ago and I’ve had lots of fun ever since, although some clients are just plain weird. I want to tell you about one them, a bloke I’ll called “Craig”.

He would call me over to his hotel, and at the start it was just normal stuff, you know how it goes, typical $2000-a-night groin-and-groan. But then it got seriously unhinged. This time there was a woman with him, a redhead, looked like she had stepped out of the waxworks. White. Pasty. And only an undertaker could have put her in that pantsuit, because you would have to be dead to wear it. I’m still wondering why anyone built like an avocado wears a short, belted jacket when Craig pipes up and explains how the scene is going to go down.

“She gets off being a zombie voyeur,” he begins. “She’s the walking dead, that’s what gets her hot. So you and me, we’re going to get it on right here.” He was pointing at the coffee table, but she showed no reaction, just stared right through us, like we weren’t there at all. Craig was really smiling now, getting off on the whole idea. I like to see a happy customer, so we were all laughing and smiling -- except the redhead, that is. She didn’t move an eyeball, making like she wouldn’t notice if the roof was caving in. She was very good at it, too.

“If Busty Rusty gets too excited and makes a noise,” he said, pointing to Carrot Top, “then the fun really starts.” I didn’t know what he meant, but you better believe I found out!

So we got down to it on the table, just like Craig wanted, and he turned really, really strange as well. For example, he kept shouting about “his members” and how they should see him now. Well he only had one that I could see, like any other guy, but I got into the spirit of things and started shouting how I loved those members just as much. When he shouted, “Pay your dues, comrades!” I joined in with “Yeah, pay ’em to me.”

“They already are, baby. You and all the others.!” Weird, eh?

We were making it hot and heavy when I first heard it. She was murmuring low, so low you couldn’t make it out except in isolated words. It sounded like “Abbott always says no”, so I figured it was some private fantasy about nuns or something, and I went back to working on Craig, who was going wild by that stage. God help me, but I do wish they wouldn’t put pineapples in those hotel fruit bowls.

That did it for Rusty. The eyes were bugging out of her head and she was wailing, “Why me? Why me?  Don’t do it to me, Craig. Please don’t do it to me.”

“I’ll do what I like and you can pay for it too,” he snarled as a passionfruit rolled under the sofa.

Now Carrot Top was making to move off the couch, but she didn’t get far.

Suddenly the bathroom door flew open and there was another woman in the room! She was getting on, ugly hair, looked tired, and those bottle-bottom glasses didn’t help.

“It’s Michelle,” she whispered to Carrot Top, “and I’ve come to help you stay in your seat, just as I always have. Remember, if anyone asks about this, just take a hint from Bill Clinton and say people’s personal lives are their own business and everyone lies about sex. Got that?”

She nodded, blank and wide-eyed.

And for the rest of the session, surprise guests kept coming out of the bathroom, every one wearing a press gallery ID. They were all giving Carrot Top advice on how not to notice what Craig was doing with me. She would nod in her mechanical way, make a noise like un-oiled clockwork, gather her resolve and then resume the walking dead routine all over again.

When it was over, Craig was radiant and I was another $2000 better off.

As for Carrot Top, she enjoyed herself too.

I know that for a fact because, as Craig led her out the door, I distinctly heard her saying over and over again, “I am so rooted. I am so rooted. I am so rooted......

Yours sincerely,

Bambi