A tell-tale sound of a plastic card quickly inserted and removed from an electronic door lock heralded the imminent opening of the motel door. Not that there was anyone there to hear the announcement. The door swung open with a chipper woman in a cheap uniform as she strode in first, with her associate pulling a small cart inside the drab room. The motel wasn’t particularly impressive. A lax smoking policy meant yellowing walls and a stale odor that never seemed to leave, along with generic artwork bolted to the wall that one might guess was purchased from a yard sale. It wasn’t as though this motel was popular, or made a ton of money, but it was cheap.
Why is there no air conditioning in here? You would think a small trailer in Florida would at least have an A/C unit come standard with the rent, but for whatever reason, it doesn’t. I suppose when you’re a landlord renting units to students and other low-income tenants, amenities aren’t exactly a concern of yours. Worse off, it was in the dead of summer when the humidity is at its worst and your skin never feels completely dry. Even a standing fan doesn’t make much of a difference.
Recently, I decided to try my hand at recording a reading of one of my stories. That recording was featured on a recent podcast called Aural Sex with Max Lagos. I really enjoyed creating it, and wanted to share it with you here as well. Though it did take a long time to finish; so if I do this again, it will probably be with shorter stories. Enjoy, and check out the full story below if you would like to read along.
I saw him there again, through the large bedroom window of his home. He often left the blinds open. Probably thinking the tall fence in his backyard would keep prying eyes out of his second-story bedroom. But it doesn’t hide you from the second-story bedroom of the house behind your own. Not that I was intentionally spying on him, mind you.
They were looking each other straight into the eyes. The anticipation of what was to come was growing. They did not touch, not yet. And while they were standing, leaning at opposite walls of the small elevator in his apartment building none of them dared to speak. They had completely entered the state of non-verbal communications. It nearly seemed they had unlearned language with all its constraints and expressions. Enough of imagery, societies own masturbation.
Sunset had already passed over the horizon as an older-looking Mazda pulls up in front of a cheap apartment building. As it sputtered to a stop, the driver set the parking brake, and exits, with high-heeled shoes hanging from her feminine fingers. The brunette woman closes the door behind her, and unfastens the two buttons of her medium blue blazer. She hated wearing it, but it was practically required to be worn at a job she recently just started. Hiding just underneath of it was her white blouse, and a knee-high skirt which matched the blazer in color. She walked barefoot to her apartment, careful not to step on any rocks along the way.
A flock of seagulls stood closely together, each pacing around, searching for any traces of food hidden in the sand. Knowing how skittish they were, I moved very carefully towards them. I stayed low, moved me feet closer and closer to them. A couple of them stopped and looked at me, before scurrying further away. It was a big risk for me to continue my approach, but I took that risk, and was justly rewarded.
Still dark, and the parking garage was still empty. A lone car pulls into one of the spaces, and shuts off. Crickets were still chirping while the streetlights buzzed overhead, and only a hint of blue formed in the night sky, signaling that dawn would soon rise. The driver door of the car opened, and a tall, black man exited. His head was shaved, and his designer suit was crisp and pressed.