Sticky Is A Slut

Adults Only

  • 18th December
    2013
  • 18
A few years ago I went to New York to meet a man. 
He’d asked me go to a hotel in mid city and said he’d be there in a few hours. Planning to take a hot shower and lounge around in the suite’s complimentary robe, I made my way up the elevator and down the hall. While pulling my bags I bumped into a good looking man with an Australian accent. 
He was staying in the room two doors down. He was alone and bored for the evening, he told me. Why is that? I inquired, and thus learned he was a pilot who wasn’t flying out until the next morning. He added, “These minute vacations are the nature of the beast.” He opened his beige trench coat to reveal his standard-issue aviation suit and a set of wings pinned to his lapel. He was handsome, had dusty blond hair and of course his accent was irresistible. 
I wished him well and continued down to my room. To this day I regret not stopping to talk to this man. To this day I remember his kind, lovely face, his tuft of dishwater blond hair, and his welcoming conversation and tone. I could tell that, had I asked him to, he’d have gladly joined me at the bar for a drink or perhaps, more?
It was apparent several hours later that the man I was meeting in that hotel room wasn’t worth the cross-county trip as we barely spoke again after that night. I reflect on my time with the pilot prior to that east coast rendezvous more fondly than I do the sexually disappointing night that followed.
Now, a few years older and a few years worse for wear, I enjoy staying in hotels alone. Not because I romanticize the concept, not because I’m a tortured artist who craves seclusion, but because putting yourself out there, to be somewhere, all by yourself, yields infinite possibilities. You never know who you might meet or what trouble you’ll get into or how productive you’ll be or how much glorious, uninterrupted sleep you’ll indulge, and that’s the beauty, that’s the draw. The unknown is the appeal. Why not vacation like a stewardess, embracing the city you’re in from the comfort of an over-priced hotel bar? 
I take myself on these short trips in anticipation of adventure. I go out searching for inspiration. I’ve been doing it for years, and I’ve yet to fail in drawing a story or two from these late-night, drunken, smoke-filled rooms. And some day, one day, I hope to finally earn my wings.

A few years ago I went to New York to meet a man. 

He’d asked me go to a hotel in mid city and said he’d be there in a few hours. Planning to take a hot shower and lounge around in the suite’s complimentary robe, I made my way up the elevator and down the hall. While pulling my bags I bumped into a good looking man with an Australian accent. 

He was staying in the room two doors down. He was alone and bored for the evening, he told me. Why is that? I inquired, and thus learned he was a pilot who wasn’t flying out until the next morning. He added, “These minute vacations are the nature of the beast.” He opened his beige trench coat to reveal his standard-issue aviation suit and a set of wings pinned to his lapel. He was handsome, had dusty blond hair and of course his accent was irresistible. 

I wished him well and continued down to my room. To this day I regret not stopping to talk to this man. To this day I remember his kind, lovely face, his tuft of dishwater blond hair, and his welcoming conversation and tone. I could tell that, had I asked him to, he’d have gladly joined me at the bar for a drink or perhaps, more?

It was apparent several hours later that the man I was meeting in that hotel room wasn’t worth the cross-county trip as we barely spoke again after that night. I reflect on my time with the pilot prior to that east coast rendezvous more fondly than I do the sexually disappointing night that followed.

Now, a few years older and a few years worse for wear, I enjoy staying in hotels alone. Not because I romanticize the concept, not because I’m a tortured artist who craves seclusion, but because putting yourself out there, to be somewhere, all by yourself, yields infinite possibilities. You never know who you might meet or what trouble you’ll get into or how productive you’ll be or how much glorious, uninterrupted sleep you’ll indulge, and that’s the beauty, that’s the draw. The unknown is the appeal. Why not vacation like a stewardess, embracing the city you’re in from the comfort of an over-priced hotel bar? 

I take myself on these short trips in anticipation of adventure. I go out searching for inspiration. I’ve been doing it for years, and I’ve yet to fail in drawing a story or two from these late-night, drunken, smoke-filled rooms. And some day, one day, I hope to finally earn my wings.

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