A few years back, I stayed the night in a hotel in London. I was spending the day with one male friend, and the evening with another, and I was intending to spend the night with neither of them. (That’s to say: I would have quite liked to spend the night with Male Friend No. 2, but I knew that that was extremely unlikely to happen).
Male Friend No. 2 and I were having dinner when I got a text from No. 1. The text said something like:
What time will you be done? How about I come to your hotel later and we can enjoy fresh sheets and each other’s bodies?
Even if I hadn’t had a massive thing for Male Friend No. 2, the phrasing of that text would’ve been a deal breaker. I do my laundry often enough that my sheets are always pretty fresh, especially if I’m anticipating having a boy in my bed, but more than that, it’s the way it seems to promise nice sex. It reminds me of when my uni friends and I would rent soft core porn from Blockbuster and watch it as a group, keeping up a running commentary on the plot lines and the horrific bed linen.
Apologies if you’re having trouble keeping up. Yes, I blog all the fucking time about how I like my sex vanilla, but the reality is that I like dirty vanilla, stracciatella, if you will. And a good hotel room allows for both sides of that – it means I can pamper myself, that there’s a massive bed, that we can flirt over drinks in the bar before heading upstairs.
But a good hotel room is also a great place to get creative. Sure, there’s a massive bed, but what if there’s also a desk? Will you bend me over that, spread my legs, push my knickers to one side and fuck me so hard that I leave make up smears on the complimentary stationery? Will you rifle through my overnight bag, looking for things to play with, and settle on my paddle hairbrush? Will you hit me with it, experimentally at first, surprising us both when I beg you to hit me harder? Will you fuck me mid-afternoon without the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the door, and say nothing when housekeeping try the door, waiting for them to come in and find me astride you?
Isn’t that the fun part of hotel sex?
So I sent Male Friend No. 1 a brush-off text and took Male Friend No. 2 back to my room instead. We didn’t fuck, but we did drink the minibar dry. And then I did enjoy fresh sheets – all to myself …