Chapter 6
Mark only had to drive around Carolina Beach for a dozen minutes before he spotted their electric-blue Dodge Neon at Dolphin Lane and Carolina Beach Avenue. Susan had parked it at the sidewalk side of the motel parking lot. It was in plain view of the street. Thanks for making this easy, my no-longer-so-dear wife. Thank you so very much, my tart tart.
Then it hit him like a ton of molten lead being forced through a catheter into his spine: I don’t have the car keys! Either I forgot them, or Susan took my set. This is just fucking great! This would only happen to me! Goddamit! Why are the gods always against me getting ahead? … always against me getting anywhere in this forsaken life?
Then Mark took a deep breath and started to calm down. His heart rate slowed. He thought about whether or not Susan had his car keys, and concluded that she must have taken them either by mistake or just to be even more spiteful. Either way, he was 99.99% sure that she had them on her person or in her motel room. Ok, my brain is working again. C’mon, Mark, figure this out. Think, think, think!
Mark started to assess the situation. She must have checked into that motel. Either that or she would risk having the car towed. She’s not that stupid. Susan parks cautiously. She must have a room in that motel. She must. But, which one? Do I just sit out here for hours on end waiting for her door to open? Jeez, there has to be a better way to get those car keys.
Mark was parked on Dolphin Lane, staring at their blue Dodge Neon when he had that light-bulb-flashing moment he so desperately needed. If she has a room in that motel, she probably has a motel parking pass on the dashboard or visor of the Neon. It may have her room number on it. They have to have some way to identify their motel guests from the non-guests, as parking spaces are at such a premium this time of year on the beach. The parking sharks are always hunting for free spaces. They must have some way to control their un-gated parking lot.
With that thought dangling by a neuron, Mark stepped out of the rental car and casually walked over to the blue Dodge Neon. He saw the nick in the driver’s side armrest. He also saw Susan’s hair brush on the console. Well, that’s definitely our Neon. No doubt about it.
He then looked at the dashboard. There it was on the passenger side: a small white placard that clearly stated in bold block letters:
Guest Parking Pass
Room 120, vehicle 1
Parfait! Thank you, Buddha! Praise to you, Krishna.
Mark then looked up at the second-level exterior doors. He saw number 120 on the far-right end. So, that’s where she is with the trunk key. On the far end in room 120. I won’t be forgetting that number.
Mark walked back across the street to the Ford Focus and sat in the driver’s seat, contemplating his next move. Alright, what do I do now? I seem to have hit another impasse. I know for sure that I’ve found the right Neon. And, I know her room number. But, so what? I can’t just kick her motel door in. And, I damn sure won’t be knocking on it.
He watched as the Latina cleaning lady made her way past the upper-level rooms. She had just started to clean room 119; room 120 would be next. What if I could somehow sneak into room 120 after the cleaning lady opens the door? Ah, but our Dodge Neon is here. Susan’s probably in the room passed-out from those damn pills. Well, it’s a long-shot, but that’s the only shot I have at the moment. Other than just confronting her. And even if I confronted her and asked for my keys, she would most certainly refuse to give them to me. If I got them by force, she would call the police and have me arrested. I know she would. I’ve got to get the car keys from her in a clandestine manner; she can’t know that I took them. She can’t see me.
Mark had noticed that the cleaning lady had a set routine. She would first knock on the door and announce herself. If no one answered, she would unlock the door. Yes, I can find out if Susan is in that room.
She would first go into the bathroom in the back of the room. She would gather and replace the towels. Next, she would clean the sink, toilet and tub. Then she would put new soap bars and shampoo bottles out. Next, she would wipe down the refrigerator and microwave. Later, she would do some dusting of the furniture. Then she would round up all the trash and replace the liners. Lastly, she would change the bed linens. Wow, there are opportunities to get into that room if she is not in there right now. It’s worth a try. What else am I going to do?
Mark walked back over to the motel and looked around. He didn’t see anyone. He scurried up the steps to the upper level, avoiding a sight line to the office. I hope no one saw me.
The cleaning lady was almost done with room 119. He stopped at the vertex of the second-level L-shaped exterior corridor. The moment of truth was quickly approaching. I must act quickly and decisively. Hesitation equals failure.
The cleaning lady emerged from room 119 and closed the door. She began to knock on room 120. Are you in there, Susan? Oh, once-sweet-but-now-quite-sour Susan, are you oxied out of your gourd?
The cleaning lady knocked three times and waited. Nothing. “Hello, this is housekeeping. Anyone in there?” She waited three long seconds for a reply. Nothing. She repeated her announcement. Still nothing.
She then reached for her keys in her blue smock’s front pocket. She began to open the door to room 120. Ok, she’s not in there. I wonder where she went. Oh well, it really doesn’t matter right now.
She entered room 120 and walked back to the bathroom.
Mark immediately launched himself forward like a track sprinter, and quickly strided the thirty-three feet to the threshold of the door. He peeked in. No Susan. No maid.
The cleaning lady was still in the bathroom. He heard her flush the toilet. Well, this is my chance. It’s now or never. Time to slide and hide.
Mark quickly slid under the queen-size bed like a spry, sly salamander. He quietly positioned himself under the middle of the box-springs. The comforter hung only two inches off the floor. Don’t look under here today, ma’am. Please don’t. Not today. Any other day for safety reasons, just not this time.
After eight minutes of cleaning and restocking, the cleaning lady made her last entrance into the room and exited. She never looked under the bed; she never knew Mark had entered the room. May you have a great life, dearest cleaning lady. May your wildest dreams come true. May you win the lottery. May you find gold somewhere, too.
However, the front door was still open. He could see the sunlight on the brown carpet. What’s the delay? Just close the damn door. Please close the freakin’ door! Now!
Mark then heard multiple footsteps on the concrete exterior corridor. Next, he overheard a conversation just outside the doorway. The cleaning woman was addressing some motel guests. Ok, just close the door.
“I cleaned your room for you,” the Latina housekeeper said demurely with a slight Mexican accent.
“Oh, thanks so much,” Susan said. “I really appreciate that. It looks great.” Oh, my long lost Zeus, it’s Susan! She is right there, and she’s coming in! Oh, my dozen demigods of despair! What terrible freakin’ timing. I’m stuck here under this bed. Susan entered the motel room.
“No problema, señorita,” the cleaning lady said as she pushed her cart away. She had noticed that Susan’s fingers were ring-less.
Next, Mark heard a young man’s voice. “Have a nice day, ma’am.” Who the hell is that?
Then the door closed. Susan and Rick were now in the room. They were giggling like mischievous school kids who were up to no good. And up was good.
Susan sat on the bed. The box-springs bent down and slightly touched Mark’s nose. He slowly turned his head sideways. He saw Rick’s sand-encrusted, size-thirteen feet on the carpet at the left side of the bed.
“So, Rick, I think you have something that you want me to measure,” Susan suggested impishly.
“Why, I most certainly do, Susan,” Rick gloated.
Then Mark saw Rick’s neon-green swimming suit trunks drop to the floor around his ankles. What in the world!
“Wow, you have an amazing cock, Rick. Your dick must be at least nine inches long!” Oh, my lord! Help me, sweet Jesus.
“Thanks, Susan. They call me the nine-inch nailer back on campus.” Susan smiled. I’m sure they do.
Susan was now feeling Rick’s manhood in her right hand. She began to cautiously caress the shaft. It was now fully extended and as hard as a lead pipe. She fondled his balls. “You suntan in the nude, don’t you, Rick?” This is unbelievable! What a worthless whore she’s turned out to be!
“Yeah, I do,” Rick somewhat sheepishly admitted.
“Well, you got one pretty prick there, young man,” Susan ceremoniously announced. “Three-fourths of a bronzed foot. I’d be proud of that tumid tuber, too.”
“Would you like to taste it?” Rick caught Susan’s eyes, then lowered his. No, you’re kidding me. Mark almost coughed.
“Would I? You bet!” And with that Susan began to oralize Rick’s swollen member.
Mark could hear Susan’s mouth slurping on Rick’s love rod. What a total tramp!
After about five minutes of felatio, the cunning cunnilingus commenced. Rick began to eat Susan out on the bed. She was starting to moan. Sublime sensations were flowing. She was really enjoying it.
Mark was still under the bed, barely breathing. This could only happen to me. But, I’m glad this is happening. It puts the final nail – the nine-inch nail – in the coffin of our marriage. I’ll make sure that she never gets a single cent of that gold. Zilch for you, you fuckin’ strumpet!
Then there was a weight shift on the mattress. Apparently Susan was kneeling on the bed. Rick’s feet were back on the carpet where they were ten minutes ago. He began to pump Susan doggie-style. Mark was actually getting aroused and almost began to masturbate. I’ll have to put this episode in my book someday when I’m far from her, living on some island, comfortable but stark-raving mad.
“Are you ready for the full frenzy, Susan?” Fuck her to death, Rick! Give her a fatal hemorrhage!
Mark’s fingers, toes, and teeth were all clinched. Un-fucking-believable!
“Sure, Rick, let me have it! Don’t hold back. I can take it. I won’t break.” You’re something else, sweetheart – a worthless whore.
Mark’s head was crumpled under the box-springs in a sideways position. Hell is real, and it’s right here.
Rick cleared his throat and then began to furiously pound Susan’s vagina like a dildosaurus on crack. The pace was fabulously frenetic. Susan was screaming in ecstasy. Loudly. Rick just hoped that the mattress and box-springs would not slide off the bed frame.
Mark inaudibly groaned. What a freakin’ day!
“Fuck me harder, Rick. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Ram it all in. Do it now!” What a complete slut!
Mark watched the heels of Rick’s feet move so slightly up and down. Un-fucking-believable!
Rick didn’t disappoint. He approached 160 PPM (pumps per minute). Wow, what a power pumper! Susan was quite impressed with his piston action.
Then Rick climaxed, unloading on Susan’s partially tanned back. Thank God he pulled out; I think I’m fertile. That was risky. But, wow, it sure felt great.
Susan, still tingling, yet totally exhausted, collapsed on the bed. Rick bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Susan sighed. Fucking Trollop!
Mark was fit to be tied, or compacted.
“I’d love to stay with you, Susan, but I’ve got to catch up with the guys on the beach or I’ll miss my ride back to Charlotte,” Rick said as he put his swim suit back on. “Unfortunately, our week at the beach ends in less than an hour. My time is up, dear lady.” Spare me, dude.
“Oh, you live in Charlotte. Whereabouts?”
“Up near UNCC. I graduate in early December. Civil Engineering. Pipes and tunnels.” Oh, what a cute analogy. Might we be minoring in English poetry, too?
Yes, Mark was seething.
“Wow, I live in Charlotte, too. Over on the east side. Me and my husband are estranged. Obviously. Ha-ha.” Yeah, it’s so funny. Gimme a break, Susan. “Say, could I avail your erotic services at a future date, sexy maestro of maidens?” Sure, you can both screw each other’s brains out. Go for it, Susan. I could care less. I’ll never touch your vile body again. Hell, screw the whole island! Get AIDS and die!
“Sure, Susan. What’s your phone number?”
Susan then told Rick her ten-digit number.
Rick clumsily entered the digits into his smartphone and clicked Save. “Grazie!”
He kissed her one last time on the lips and was gone.
Susan just lay on the bed thinking that her marriage was indeed over. How will Mark take it when I file for divorce? Would he contest it? Will he go ballistic? No, he wants out, too. I know he does. The loathing is mutual.
Then Susan’s mind shifted to her health. He didn’t wear a condom! What if he has some STD? Oh, my God! What if he has AIDS? He’s probably fucked all of the diseased skanks on campus. If I get some disease, I’ll probably die … and deserve it.
Susan fell asleep. Mark could hear her snoring. Oh, fuckin’ great! She’s fallen asleep. Jeez-us, how long do I have to stay jammed under this goddam bed?
Susan woke up twenty-three minutes later feeling rejuvenated and refreshed. She loved post-coital naps the best. She proceeded to the shower. Mark heard the water hitting the vinyl shower curtain. Ah, finally!
Mark slithered out from under the bed. He saw Susan’s handbag on the dresser. He lurched up, grabbed it, and returned to his crouched position beneath the height of the mattress. Just take a long hot shower, honey. Try to wash all that filth off.
He looked in her handbag and saw his car keys. He started to grab them, but then thought to look for Susan’s car keys. She’s probably using my set of car keys. She’ll know something’s up if they’re not here. I bet she forgot that her car keys are in this hidden pocket.
Sure enough, Susan’s car keys were in the small pouch. He removed them and zipped the little pouch back shut. He put her car keys in his right-front pants pocket, stood up, dashed to the door, and looked back. Susan was still in the shower.
Mark cautiously turned the silver doorknob and exited the room. He shut the door so quietly that Susan never heard a sound. Perfect. Susan has no idea that I was under that bed during her sausage session.
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Mark walked briskly over to his rented car. He was nine minutes over on the meter. VIOLATION was flashing. Whew! No parking ticket.
He jumped inside and drove away. Mark headed for the main drag, Lake Park Boulevard/US 421. An orange-shirted cyclist passed by. That looks like the same guy that I saw in Charlotte? No way. No fucking way.
At the stoplight, his mind went into high gear. I need to get a cheap motel somewhere close by, but not too close. When he saw the Mt. Bourbon Inn on Harper Avenue, he knew that this place would do the trick. He checked in and got a room on the first level.
He looked around before entering his room. This is perfect; it’s off the congested North End, yet less than a mile away from our car – my gold. Susan doesn’t know what kind of car I’m driving anyway. So, no big deal if the rental car is in plain sight. Hell, she doesn’t even know if I’m down here or not.
Upon entering the room he flopped down on the double bed, and was out like a sinking sandbag for two hours. He had a vivid dream of some vicious sci-fi creature chasing him through an old multi-shafted gold mine. It appeared that it was only the creature and him in this abandoned subterranean underworld.
In the dream, the ferocious green creature did everything it could to prevent him from escaping with the large gold nugget that he had clasped between his hands. It was always trying to barricade him in a dead end. Suddenly the creature was right behind him in an old horizontal shaft. He ran as fast as he could, even faster than humanly possible at times. He was leaping over thirty-foot gaps with ease. But, the creature was still closing the gap.
When the creature finally had him cornered and was about to fatally attack him, he hurled the large gold nugget at its head. It was a direct hit. The gold mine troll was history. Unfortunately, so was the massive gold nugget. Both the troll and the gold nugget fell hundreds of feet down a vertical shaft. He never heard either hit the bottom.
Mark would only remember nuggets of this dream.