I don’t know for how long I was sleeping when somebody knocking at my door, unsteady I open the door.
She is standing there, tilting her head and looking wonderful.
“I just want to see if you are alright and kind of apologise”.
I don’t know what to say, I guess I am very surprised.
“You want to let me in?” she asks and smiling.
I can’t believe it, she is in my room. Young and beautiful, life hadn’t get to her yet, uncorrupted. She talks and acts freely, true to her feelings.
I ask if she would like a drink. She nods, she also wants to listen to the movie soundtrack. I am standing beside the table, looking for the song at my laptop.
Then she comes behind me, I can feel her small and firm breasts, nipples hard, slightly brushing my skin.
I move to the wall shelves with bottles, saying that the soda is finished, going out of the room. Passing by the reception, to the wending machines, where I met her for the first time, that night.
When I come back she is sitting on my bed, reading a book, I pour two drinks, hers mostly soda, mine mostly whisky.
She says it’s very hot in here, waving her skirt up and down, I can see her tan thighs and some of her pubic hair. A few hairs curled around the edges of her white lace panties, I try to look away.
She wants me to sit beside her, our shoulders in touch, talking, drinking, listening to music, forgot about the world outside.
I don’t know exactly who made the first move, but I know I was eager, I was hungry for her.
I was tasting those moist, soft lips for the first time, kissing her small firm breasts and ran my hands down her naked, smooth thighs.
She was struggling beneath me, while my hands on her soft throat. Her eyes slowly closed, time to time.
A few moments later, she is moaning, her body shivers and she is burring her nails into my back and screams.
I weak up all sweaty, my heart is pounding, all alone in dark room, the heat is unbearable.
I take a walk to the beach, staring at the moon, thinking. Hemingway tasted his shotgun, Sylvia with her head in the oven and Chatterton drinking rat poison.
Yes, I know, I am a coward, hanging to this, so called life.
The remaining time, which is couple of days before she is going back, I stay in my room, hiding myself as usual.
And the day she leaves I am drunk, sad and drunk, listening to music and seek comfort by rereading my favourites. I turn a page on Hemingway, when I noticed a post it, I see a drawing of a little heart and three words: My funny valentine.