boston {h.s.}

vingt-neuf.*

THE HOTEL IS exactly what I thought it would be. It's the kind of place where you go to be inconspicuous; the kind of place where you don't want to be recognized, where you go to have an affair and not get caught. One step inside the place and I can tell that the security cameras are very clearly on the fritz and the location alone is enough of an indicator that people don't just stumble on this kind of place by accident. The isolation of this place is what keeps it in business; high paid salarymen choosing this as the perfect place for being able to sneak away from their wives. For the first time in my life, I come to the realization that I fit into this category. I'd driven forty-five minutes out of the city and told my brother that I was sleeping at Asher's and Asher that I was sleeping at my brother's. I've no clue what lie Harry had to weave for Coley.

Still, I can't bring myself to care about those that we inevitably will hurt. Instead, my mind is focused on the attraction of the fact that Harry and I will undoubtedly make it in and out of tonight unseen. No fear associated with wandering eyes or lurking significant others. Tonight, we get to take a break from the secrets and we get to succumb to the feeling of mutually achieved pleasure.

Partially I'm shocked by the secondary realization that I don't get nervous anymore. Standing in front of his hotel door—knuckles hovering just over the chipping paint on his door to alert him of my presence—I realize that I am not very nervous to be in his company. The jitters have settled and now all that is left is the feeling of lusting excitement. It is in these sporadic moments that I find myself looking forward to breaking the dull lulls of my otherwise monotonous and pedestrian lifestyle.

Before I bring my fingers against the door, I double check my watch. He had been specific in demanding that I arrive at eight in the evening. Not a minute before and not a minute later. I watch the seconds tick by on my watch and count down to the moment that the long hand trains over to the twelve and I can bring myself to knock against the door to alert him of my presence at the changing of the hour. Such of his idiosyncrasies—his absolute need for things to be aligned to his definition of organization—are the parts of him that I don't know. They are the areas of his life that still appear gray while the rest fills in color.

Thrice, my bared knuckles rap against the door.

On his end, I can hear some shuffling as he approaches the door. He swings it wide open without hesitation. Casually, he leans on the door frame as he looks me up and down, something of a smug pride smeared across his face. "I knew you'd come."

"Did you?" I airily respond, stepping past him and into the dark room. Behind me, I can hear him shut and fasten all of the locks on the door.

"Of course you came," he drawls, leading me the rest of the way into the room. Stepping in front of me, he brushes past me as he returns to whatever he had been doing before I had knocked. From the looks of it, he walks straight to the bed where a black duffle bag is sitting half-unzipped. Curiosity spikes as I watch the delicate way that he handles it. When it moves, there's clinking inside. I'll bring the toys he had told me. From the looks and sounds of it, he had supplied in excess.

"Why'd you say 'of course' like that?" I ask, walking over to the bed, lightly pushing his bag aside, I lounge on the bed and watch him. Briefly I am struck but the way that things have changed. The first time that we set a rendezvous like this, he had hardly stepped inside before I was jumping at him. Drawn like magnets, we had opted to forego any of the conversation that had made us uncomfortable. Slightly evolved since the experience, I'm shocked to find that we are more comfortable in the other's company. Enough so to explore with the momentary pause of situating ourselves before jumping the other's skin.

Half-heartedly, he shrugs. "You have no impulse control." Harry says it like it's the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.

Still, I find myself snorting. "You're one to talk."