In Laymon's Terms

Adam Pepper

HE WATER FALLING from the sky slammed into the windshield of the ’96 Pontiac, as if the car was cruising through a twenty-four-hour car wash. Ronald strained to see through the downpour, and focus on the road, but it was near impossible. What he could see was the gas gauge, nearing empty. The last thing Ronald wanted to do was delay his trip further. If he had any chance at saving his teetering marriage, it was by getting home. He was a day behind schedule already, but he’d have to stop soon. He wasn’t making good time anyway, with the storm beating down so fiercely.

Ronald saw a bright neon sign reading, “Happy Hotel,” and below it, “Vacancy.” The place didn’t look like much, just an old brick building. Pretty high though. Must be a bunch of travelers passing through to fill that dreary old building up, although there were only a couple of lights on. Regardless, his business was slow, and his expense account was used up, so cheap would suit him just fine, so long as it was warm and dry...particularly dry.

He pulled the brown car into the parking lot, and drove into an available spot. The lot looked pretty full. An odd empty spot here and there, but not too many. Who knew this place was such a hot spot?

Ronald grabbed his overnight bag from the passenger seat, opened the door, and then booked towards the front entrance, holding the suitcase above his head as he ran. The front door was maybe a hundred feet or so from the car, but he was soaked by the time he got there.

“Wow, it’s coming down out there,” he said to the guy at the front desk as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

“Yep. It’s quite a mess out there,” the old man said. He had the unfazed look of a man who’d seen many stormy nights come and go while he sat behind that desk.

“I need a room for the night.”

“Sorry. We’re filled up, I’m afraid,” he said as he twirled his white beard.

“Filled up? The sign says ‘Vacancy’.”

“That sign hasn’t worked in years, son.” The old man took off his wire specs, wiped the lenses, and put them back on. Then looked up and forced a smirk.

“Damn. Well, I’m soaking wet, and I have no gas. I really need a place to stay tonight.”

“You do, huh?”

“I really need a room.”

“Well, we have one room available. But I hate to rent it to you,” he said, now back to twisting his beard. “I mean, I could use the money, but you seem like a nice guy and all.”

“I’ll take it.”

“You’ll take it? You haven’t even heard what’s wrong with it.”

“Is it dry?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then I’ll take it. I just need a dry room for the night.”

“If you insist,” the old man said as he smiled. He finally stopped fiddling with his beard long enough to slip the register over the tabletop for Ronald to sign. Ronald quickly signed it, soaking the paper as he rubbed it with his soggy coat sleeves.

There was a loud smash that came from outside, and Ronald looked up. “What was that?” he asked the old man.

“I dunno, thunder maybe?”

“Didn’t sound like thunder.”

The old guy shrugged, then tossed the key at Ronald. Ronald caught it with his free hand, while picking his bag up with the other. He turned to the guy and said, “Thanks, I really appreciate this.”

“Sure thing,” the old man laughed.

Ronald looked at the key: room 1313. He pressed the elevator button and waited, and waited.

“Cute, room 1313.”

The elevator finally made its way down to the first floor, and Ronald pulled open the door; it was an old elevator, the kind where the door doesn’t slide open on its own. The floor below him settled as he stepped in, and the door creaked as he closed it. The ride up was slow, and a bit bumpy. The thing didn’t feel very stable. It was noisy too—made Ronald just a little claustrophobic as he waited for the ride to end. There was no company on the ride up. He was all alone, just waiting to get to the top floor. Floor number thirteen.

Ronald stepped out of the wobbly elevator, glad to be off it. It was awful quiet as he walked down a long corridor: a simple, very plain hallway—nothing but wood doors and dark painted walls with cheap lamps bolted on. The floor was carpeted, so even his footsteps didn’t make noise; there was just the faint sound of raindrops coming from outside. He got up to room 1313 and put the key into the tarnished brass knob. An eerie feeling overcame him as he did, and the silence was broken.

“I’m lonely,” a voice said. It was very soft, just barely audible, yet Ronald was sure that’s what he heard. And he was pretty sure it was coming from inside the room. Still, he looked back down the hallway to his left. He looked to his right, and there was nothing but the end of the hallway—not even a window. There was a radiator against the wall, hissing softly. Ronald looked behind, and there was no one there, just room number 1312, with the door closed.

“Hello?” Ronald called as he looked around. “It was the radiator.”

The desire to get out of his wet clothes overcame his silly, irrational fear. Ronald turned the key, and he swore he heard noise coming from inside the room: the wheezing of a deep breath.

He flung the door open, and quickly flicked the light switch. The room was empty, and quiet. Ronald dropped his bag and tossed his drenched jacket on a nearby chair. The room was small, but neat. He undressed and dropped his clothes as he walked towards the bathroom. Ronald turned on the shower, all hot water, cranked to the fullest. He took a bathrobe that was hanging from the door, and slipped it on.

Ronald called downstairs and the old man quickly answered, “Hello, son.”

“Yes, can I get some room service please?”

“Sure. Alls we got is burgers or sandwiches.”

“A burger sounds great, and some coffee, please.”

“Sure thing, be up in a jiffy.”

Ronald jumped in the shower, and turned the hot water down, but just a smidge. It felt too good, even though it was scalding him a bit. After a minute he turned the hot water down a little more, and cleaned himself up.

The water was beating down, and that eerie feeling caught him again. Ronald felt lightheaded, and suddenly he was reminded of being a kid, of having no friends to play with, all the kids pointing and laughing at him.

Then, above the sounds of the water, he heard a whisper. “I’m lonely,” it said.

“What?” he said as he quickly cut off the water.

He didn’t hear any voices, but instead heard the clinking of plates on the other side of the bathroom door. He threw on his robe and opened the door. The old man had wheeled in a tray and was setting up his meal on a small table.

“Sorry, hope I didn’t startle you, son. I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.”

Ronald was still a bit woozy, and it felt surreal. He was sure he heard a voice, but it must have been the old man. “No, that’s okay,” he said as he rubbed his eyebrow, “I didn’t expect you to have the food ready so fast. I was just drying off.”

“Well, you’re all set. Burger, fries, and some fresh, hot coffee.”

The aroma of the burger smelled great. “Thank you, it smells delicious.”

“If you need anything else, son, just give me a holler.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

The old man let himself out, and closed the door. Ronald went back to the bathroom, dried himself off, then sat down and enjoyed the burger and coffee.

Now that he was warm, dry, and well fed, Ronald finally could relax. He looked through his bag for his smokes. Deep down at the bottom was half a pack, crinkled, but dry. He lit a butt, and took a seat down on the bed. Ronald grabbed for the remote control, and as it flipped on the dizziness returned. Awkward adolescence, no friends but lots of pimples flashed through his mind.

“I’m lonely,” he heard.

Ronald blinked, and began breathing heavily. Where the hell was that voice coming from? He hit the mute button on the remote control, and looked around the room. He took a long drag off the cigarette, and inhaled deeply.

“This is crazy!” he said, then turned the volume back up on the television. Ronald lay back on the bed, and placed the smoking cigarette in a cheap metal ashtray on the night table.

Ronald flipped around the stations—nothing but crap. He turned to the pay-per-view section and looked at the choices.

“Seen it! Seen it! That one too,” he said aloud. Nothing but shitty Mel Gibson and Kevin Costner movies to choose from.

“There must be something worth watching.” At the bottom were some off-color choices. “Ah, Valeria Eats Meat! That sounds like a winner.”

He clicked on the pay button and a warning came on reading, Movie already in progress. Press pay button to view. Ronald couldn’t care much for the plot, and immediately pressed the pay button.

“Good call,” he said with a laugh, as he picked the flick up right at a high point. Valeria—her cleavage well exposed, the black, lace push-up bra just barely able to hold her tits—had her fiery red lips wrapped around the purple, blood-engorged dick of some muscular and well-shaved dude. Her long black nails clawed his shiny, waxed chest as her head bobbed up and down.

Ronald reached into his robe, and began fondling his squeaky clean balls. His cock sprung up from the visual stimulation, coupled with the touch of his familiar hand. He rubbed it lightly, then more fiercely. Valeria was taking this guy’s ten-inch dick like a pro, Lord knows she could devour his six incher.

Ronald’s cock was getting firmer and firmer, his head enthralled by the porn flick. Then, she did the unthinkable!

“AHHHHH!” the guy in the movie yelled.

“Oh shit, she didn’t just do that!” Ronald yelled at the TV as his hard-on toppled as if he’d seen his grandmother naked. But she had all right. Valeria pulled up from the guy’s lap and turned to the camera, grunting. His ten inches hung from her grinning mouth like she was a stray hound dog who’d found a rubber bone. The guy just grabbed his bloody, vacant crotch area and hollered.

“Enough of this shit!” Ronald said as he flipped to another station, wincing. He grabbed his cig from the ashtray, took another puff, and put it back down.

Teeny Tiny Teen Babes. Press purchase to view, the screen read.

“That sounds better,” he said as he pressed the purchase button with one hand. The other hand was stroking his balls gently, trying to get things kick-started again. Nothing cools a guy faster than seeing a hot chick bite a guy’s dick off!

But the penis is resilient! Ronald’s cock jumped back to attention at the sight of three barely legal babes: a curvy, yet petite blonde, a skinny brunette, and a redhead so ridiculously proportioned that it was a wonder she could even stand up, much less hold those fat titties up on that teeny, tiny frame. He whacked his shaft harder and harder, his eyes glued to the bouncing breasts and little asses.

His cock was at its fullest, and he was almost to the point of no return, when his eyes went fuzzy again. His physical joy was suddenly overwhelmed by an inner feeling of sorrow. His mind flew backwards in time again. He saw himself as a man in his twenties, married with two kids, a dog, and a house, yet still not satisfied. Still wanting more. Then, he heard the voice once again.

“I’m lonely,” it whispered.

“Jesus, can’t a guy even bust a nut in this hotel without being disturbed?!”

Ronald stood up, and looked around. Where the fuck was that voice coming from? Next door? He walked to the door, and opened it. The hallway was empty, and quiet. He closed the door and walked to the far wall, putting his ear up to it, listening to the next room. It too was silent.

“Where the fuck is that voice coming from?!”

He walked to the window, and looked out. It was still raining, and there were thirteen stories between him and any person, so the voice wasn’t coming from out there.

“This is crazy!”

Ronald sat back on the bed, and turned the volume up, hoping the sounds of giggling teens would drown out the whispering voice. The furry-chested, cheesy-mustached guy in this movie was having much better luck than the guy in the last one; he had the redhead’s fat tits in his face, the blonde riding him like Hoss at a rodeo, and the brunette’s tongue deep in his hairy asshole.

Ronald went back to slamming his cock. He was gonna blow his wad in this fucking room if it was the last load he ever blew! He groaned as if taking a ferocious shit—his face turning red, his cock getting sore from the friction.

The girls kept on giggling as they switched places. The redhead got down and rubbed the guy’s nuts with her beach ball tits and the blonde began massaging his ass and back. The tiny brunette hopped on top and tongue-kissed him—he must have tasted his own smelly bunghole, but hey, he didn’t seem to mind.

“This is truly raunchy,” he said with a sinister smile, while whacking harder and harder, determined to cum.

Instead of getting lost in the passion of his own hand, he felt his eyes water. The voice spoke again. “I’m lonely,” it said.

“Shut up!” Ronald said, not breaking his pace with one hand, turning the volume up on the remote with the other.

“I’m so lonely,” the room said again.

His eyes were fuzzy and he could no longer see the porn flick. In his head were sights of his wife. The last good fuck they had was years ago. Things just deteriorated, him on the road all the time. He wished she’d give him one more chance to make things right. He missed her. He missed his kids. He missed his dog. He missed his house. He missed his life. Ronald was alone.

“I’m oh so very lonely,” the room whined.

“Shut up goddamnit!” he yelled, slamming at his cock so fucking hard. But he just couldn’t cum. It wouldn’t fucking come out! He grabbed the remote and turned it up as far as it could go.

“Ronald...I’m so lonely,” the room said.

And that was it...Ronald snapped. Hard dick still in hand, porno still blasting, he whipped up, and ran for the door.

Ronald grabbed the knob, and turned it, but it wouldn’t turn.

“Fuck!” he yelled as he pulled. Finally, he took his hand off his cock and began pulling at the door with both hands, shaking at it violently. “Fuck! Open up goddamnit!”

He punched it and kicked it. But the door wouldn’t open.

“I’m lonely,” the room cried, “Ronald, I’m oh so very lonely.”

“I am too, damnit!” he cried back, butt-ass-naked and beaten, sore both physically and emotionally. “I am too,” he whispered and dropped to his knees, burying his head in his hands and shaking it.

Then, his strength returned, he jumped up and he pulled at the door again. “Open up for Christ’s sake!” Ronald pounded on the door. “Old man, can you hear me? Open this fucking door! Please!”

But the door still would not open.

Ronald stopped pulling at the door, and cried—a pathetic whimper of a forlorn man.

“Ronald, I’m so lonely!” the room cried back.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!” Ronald yelled, as he ran headfirst at the window. Arms outstretched, he jumped into it, and it shattered. Ronald flew rapidly at the ground, his arms and semi-hard cock whipping and whirling around like a three-propellered helicopter out of gas. He splattered into the already soaked concrete below.

The old man didn’t look up from what he was doing, although he heard the sound of body smacking pavement. A sound he was rather familiar with. Instead, he calmly passed the register across the front desk.

“What was that?” a soggy and obviously well-traveled, middle-aged man asked.

“I dunno. Thunder maybe?”

The old man shrugged and tossed the key to the man, who caught it, and then made his way to the elevator.

Upstairs, the room was repairing itself, like a self-cleaning oven. It didn’t need maid service. The television lowered to a normal volume, then clicked off. The bed made itself. The shower dried itself. And the window sealed up with a fresh pane of glass. Down below, there was one less empty spot in the almost full parking lot.

And room number 1313 at the Happy Hotel said with a satiated sigh, “I’m happy.”