Box

38

Renee was wrong. Paducah actually does have a hotel, and it’s a famous one. But I want to be in a newer area, near the interstate, so I found a surprisingly decent, clean, king suite with a kitchen, desk, couch and all the amenities you could hope to get for a hundred thirty-five a night. I’m not trying to impress you with the room. It’s not that nice. Even in New York City it wouldn’t run more than two-twenty.

But in New York City it wouldn’t be this clean.

I call Renee to tell her I’m staying at the Royal Landmark Inn, and she says, “Wow! Perfect timing!”

“You can’t already be here,” I say.

“No, silly!” she says. “I’m still at home getting all pretty for you. But I’m standing here in tub water, naked, with a razor in my hand.”

I wonder if she’s contemplating suicide. Surely she can wait till after our date for that.

She says, “How do you like it?”

“Like what?”

“Are you going to make me say it?”

“Yes.” Because I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Oh, so you like dirty talk?”

I now have even less idea what she’s talking about.

But I do like dirty talk when a naked woman’s on top, bitch-slapping me with her tits. Or yelling at me as I hammer her from behind when she’s face-down, ass-up, on her knees. In contrast, I didn’t care for the dirty talk I got from Zander’s fake-cop boyfriend a few minutes ago. If Renee is anything like her photos, she’s nothing like Zander’s boyfriend. So I’m probably on safe ground by saying, “I love dirty talk!”

“Oooh, I bet you do-oo-oooh,” she says with what she considers a sexy voice. “Well, aren’t you a bad doctor boy! You are a bad doctor, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Renee’s got me pegged. I may be a great surgeon, but I am a bad doctor. I hear it all the time. I’ve got a terrible bedside manner, and have problems communicating with people. Half the time I have no idea what they’re even talking about.

Like now.

She says, “Oh, bad boy?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget, I’m standing here, completely naked.”

“Wow!”

“Mmmm! And you know what I’m doing?”

“What?”

“I’m looking at my pussy.”

“Wow!”

“Would you like to see it?”

“Absolutely!”

“Try to picture it right now.”

“Okay.”

“Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m trying to decide how you like it.”

I get it.

She’s role-playing.

I say, “Doggie-style!”

She pauses a few seconds, then laughs. “I guess that means full bush. Well, you surprised me, but no problem. I’ll just be there that much sooner! Should I pack an overnight bag?”

Seriously? She plans to stay after having sex with me? And does that mean there could be an encore? Or morning sex?

I can’t remember the last time I had morning sex.

You know, sober morning sex.

I like it.

On the other hand, do I really want a total stranger spending the night in my room?

It’s one thing to fuck a total stranger. Quite another to trust her while you’re sleeping.

What if Renee turns out to be the love child of Hell Bitch and Night of the Living Dead?

“Bring the overnight bag and we’ll see how things develop,” I say, realizing I have plenty of time to work out my trust issues before giving my final answer.

She hangs up.

What was it she said? Full bush?

What the hell did that mean?

She had a razor in her hand. Wondered how I like it. And I said doggie style, and she said full bush, and…

Ah! I get it.

Shit.

I might be fucking Wolfman Jack tonight.