A funny little story by: Vonda Kambro
A man walks into a motel…
“Everyone needs a second chance at something” that’s what she told me. I looked at her as she began to write something on a piece of paper. I said: “It seems odd to see someone writing on a piece of paper.” She didn’t stop writing or even take a moment to look up at me.
There was something about the her hair that distracted me for a moment. Her hair was golden, thick and curly. Almost too curly, but I was fascinated by it. Of course it was at that very moment she happened to look up at me.
She had to wave her hand in front of my face to get my attention. I felt completely and utterly embarrassed. “I-I-Uh. Your hair. It’s, uh. Very nice.” It felt like all the blood in my legs suddenly made a crazy vertical push up into my face.
She stared at me for a moment.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
With a crackling voice and all the nervousness of a teenager talking to his first crush I was able to mutter a half assed reply: “I’m not sure. I mean, yes. Yes, I am. Thanks.”
She handed me the piece of paper she had written on. I glanced at it and could see a number and a letter. I inquired: “Forty-Eight. B? What’s that?”
Her deep green eyes stared directly at me. I felt as if I had been interrogated without any questions being asked. I felt guilty as hell, but I didn’t know why. Why was I so damn nervous, and what kind of effect was this woman having on me? I stood there and whimpered out another response.
“My room. Number?” Feelings of angst ran wild through my body. Like wild horses that roamed without borders and no way to control them.
She kept her intense stare as she pursed her lips. I could see her eyes shift slightly upward with impatience as she began to slowly nod her head up and down.
“Well, uh. Thanks. Bye.” I waived quickly and turned around, and bumped into a very large, bosomy woman of late middle age. Face to bosom. I stood there, and enjoyed the soft dark escape from my previous embarrassment, but only to re-emerge from safekeeping to look up at a smiling, puckering woman that didn’t seem the least bit distracted by my involuntary, uninvited face-plant between her over-welcoming bust.
It wasn’t guilt or even embarrassment that caused me to feel the blood once again rush to my cheek bones and fill my face with heat. It was that voice, those words.
“Busted!” that’s what the clerk yelled out.
A funny little story with some big double entendres. A man seems to be flustered by one woman then turns around and becomes consumed by another.