Go to the Motel

I slammed my car door and made my way to the lobby of the motel. A girl a few years younger than me was working the counter. I approached and asked to rent a room.

I clenched my legs together, trying to steady myself. My hands were clammy and trembling as she handed me a plastic card with the motel’s logo on it.

“You’ll be in room 18,” She said, “Check out is at ten in the morning.” She looked down at her phone, but then glanced back up at me. “Oh, but you can leave whenever. Just leave the key in your room,” she added.

I winced. She didn’t glare at me or anything, but I was all too aware of the fact that I was checking into a motel by myself, at one o’clock in the afternoon, with no luggage.

I walked quickly to the room, swiped the card, and hid myself away inside. I turned on the small window unit, and let the cold air wash over my flushed skin. I was soaked in sweat. Luckily the comforter on the bed felt cool. I laid my face on it.

My stomach was twisted in a knot. I could scarcely believe what I was doing. What had driven me to do this? I wondered for a moment.

As if suddenly reminded, I got up and checked myself in the mirror. I removed my cap. Were the horns a bit longer now? Or was I imagining it? My chest felt tight. Was it my new bra being driven into immediate obsolescence? Or was it anticipation? Suddenly I became aware of a spreading warmth between my thighs. I stripped off my pants. The pad I had put in was soaked through and spilling over. It looked like I had cracked a dozen eggs into my panties.

“Perhaps I need to go to the hospital...” I thought, for the first time somehow. I opened the mini-fridge and downed a bottle of overpriced water to stave off my imminent dehydration.

And then, at last, there was a knock at the door...