Black Label
by Sam HaiNe

“It ain’t no sweat off my back” he said into the mirror.
His reflection shifting weight from left to right with the motion of the locomotive.
He’d been here and done that there. His entire sex life navigated via X’s & O’s from dial ups to wireless; from his teenage years to his cold showers after orgies.

The strong pull of his groin after a fifteen minute play date made him drip and wanting for more.
He remembered that one evening when he picked a girl up from the internet bulletin board; the way he bit his lips when he hit send and the anxiety of waiting before she knocked on his door; the aroma of danger and the turn-on of unfamiliarity and lack of dialogue.
He remembers the time he lured a couple from the hotel bar into their room. He remembered how timid the husband became and how game the wife was. The way they shared and how greedy each could be. He compared her velvet insides to his coarse grip.

He’d done this many times and in different ways. He was an apex pervert, an escape artist of consequences. He stroked himself a few times before coming to his senses and washing the smile off his face.

It’s been a long two hours on the train; it’s been to long since he’s had release. All he can think about is when and where.

He hops off the train and onto the boarding platform. He rushes to the nearest exit and summons an UBER. He can barely maintain a consistent thought. Hands are clammy and his mouth dry. Three sticks of gum will do for now, just to warm up those mouth muscles. He paws himself over his pants at every red light. The imagination is running wild with notions of rushing the door or playing it cool or being eager or remaining in composed. What he did know was that he was going to take control at the first chance.

Two months of courting via messenger and he was here to collect his debt - His 125lbs of flesh and nylon that was promised to him. All of the expenses were paid for: the room, the room service, the party toys and nose powder. He had left nothing to chance and was just a few turns away from a new conquest and a fresh face to add to his memory palace.

He checks in and waits in his room. He waits and freshens up.
The bathrobes are soft. The bed linen is soft too. He could barely keep himself from bursting.
The knocking on the door begins and he springs to his feet. The door swings open and there she is, sweet, so unassuming and fresh.

She walks in and he opens the conversation with a hello. He offers her refreshments, “Water or a can of Monster?” he asks. She prefers water, very well and good for him; he relies on energy drinks for a second wind. He begins with what comes naturally – he walks forward and takes her in his arms and pushes her back against the door. He feels up and grabs her large breasts. He places his hand down her tights and feels for her wetness.
She begins to submit and frisks him for inadequacies.

He’s beginning to come out of himself and throws her onto the bed. He fumbles through his fanny pack on the bedside for his condoms. She interjects that she is on feminine contraceptives and assures safety and would rather feel him for what he is – all of him at once and as deep as they can go.

He wastes no time and initiates. He lasts, and goes again a few times and each time feels better than before. Like being in a warm bath and anything that can’t be described in words. He exorcises everything that he has and leaves not one drop to waste. Both of them collapsing on the mattress; He is drained and in the throes of some post coital seizure. She massages his forehead and shushes him to relax. As his eyes close he turns onto his back and puts his arms behind his head and tries to take it all in and down his inner thighs.

She reaches into her purse and casually places the handkerchief over his mouth and nose. He struggles before fading to black.

He wakes up handcuffed to his bed and gagged. She is combing her hair and fixing her makeup. The room now smells foul and the bed is soaking wet but, this isn’t water. His belongings are tossed around the room and what was his fanny pack is now a hollow bag.

She picks up his wallet from the dresser and scans through his items. She pockets the four hundred dollars and the major credit cards. Her face is emotionless and callous. She had transformed from a sexy one-night stand into a, what he could only mumble from his gag,
-“F#*^@ing Bit@#”.

She said nothing. She had no monologues. She had no vengeance or point to be made. She was just doing what she does, the same as he was. The only difference being – one of them was walking out of this room and the other was going to well, you get the point.

It took fifteen minutes before a fire engine arrived. The fire spread into two rooms. There were no “unfortunate” deaths; just the residue of a few moments of careless passion during a full moon.