The room boy greeted me good morning as I stood by the elevator, waiting for it to come take me down. He was cleaning the room to the right, the same room where I first spoke to him to borrow a clothes iron.
I was distracted then; there was a man in my room who I wasn't interested in, but who I did not have the heart to ignore as he stood outside my door. I'd ignored my instincts and asked him to come over. He sounded like a pansy on the phone, and he had a manner of speaking which made me uncomfortable.
"It'll be better if I go there tomorrow," he said, "you'll be more powerful in the morning." It put me off immediately, and I abruptly dropped the call a few seconds after, planning to pretend that I'd run out of credits, or lost reception. He sent me a chat a few minutes later, asking what happened, and for me to call again. I told him I was too tired to talk. "Should I still come over tomorrow?" I checked his picture again and made a non-decision. "Whatever, come over if you like."
I'd given him the room number across mine, intending to check him out through the eyehole when he arrived. Unluckily, he got there earlier than expected. I had just finished breakfast and was on my way back to the room when I bumped into him in the corridor. I didn't recognize him from his picture, but I knew it was him from the way he was reading the room numbers. He was way older, and had a pathetic air.
I feigned nonchalance as I passed him by, determined to ignore him. My attempt must have failed, because he said "hey" as we came abreast. I panicked, I had no choice, I asked him to come in.
"Have a seat," I offered, waving brusquely in the direction of the bed and chairs. I myself did not sit down. I was restless, moving around the room and straightening my things. I remembered seeing a cart of towels and cleaning materials down the corridor, so I stepped out and peeked into the open door. A room boy was making up the bed.
"Hey, I asked, "do you think I could borrow a clothes iron?"
He turned to me and I recognized him as the guy who'd caught my eye yesterday. I was walking down the stairs and he and another room boy were just outside one of the rooms, horsing around. He was fair and slight and just cute as hell. He had a boyish demeanor and he spoke so sweetly, I didn't really mind when he said, no, he didn't have an iron.
I walked back to the room, resigned. "You look nothing like your picture," I said as I came in, frustrated that I couldn't make my anger felt more intensely than this blunt confrontation.
"It was me," he insisted.
"Yeah, you ten years ago, maybe."
"Ten years! Just six, more like."
I wanted to throttle him right then. "And you don't think it's wrong," I deadpanned.
"At least I'm honest."
There was something seriously wrong with this man, but still I could not ask him to leave. He kept on asking boring questions, and I answered each one more coldly than the last. I sat at the table and turned on my laptop, typed away at the keyboard, and studiously ignored him. He still wouldn't leave. The questions kept coming. I shut my laptop and stood up.
"I really have to be getting to work in a while," I said almost pleadingly.
Somehow, he'd edged his way to the side of the bed near where I stood. "So, nothing? I'm just going to leave?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, but nothing is going to happen."
"Nothing?" He stood up and suddenly he was standing in front of me and he cupped my crotch in his hands.
I protested and brushed them off but the next moment he was on his knees and my dick was in his mouth. I wondered what I'd do if he decided to just bite it off for how I'd been mean to him. I sat back down on the chair and laid my head back with my eyes closed. I tried desperately to enjoy it but he lacked technique and was distractingly noisy. I looked at him and saw him looking up at me, eyes red and staring to well with tears.
"Why the fuck are you crying?"
"You've been mean to me," he muttered, and put my dick back in his mouth.
I rolled my eyes and laid my head back down.
I could not understand what it did for him. It was degrading and cruel but he kept at it, jacking himself off intermittently. I knew I had to cum or it would never end.
"I'm going to fuck you."
"Yes please." There was hunger in the way he said it, and also a trace of shame.
I took a condom from the bedside table and put it on. He bent himself over the chair and I thrust myself in, pushing his face down onto the seat. He was tight, or maybe I couldn't get myself hard enough. After a while it started to feel good, but we weren't in a very comfortable position.
I pulled out to maneuver him to the bed and caught a whiff of something musky. The rubber was smeared with shit. Disgusted, I tore it off. "You're fucking dirty. I can't believe you didn't even bother to clean yourself first." I went to the bathroom and washed myself with soap. When I came back he was still standing in the same spot, semi-bent over and looking confused.
"Just suck me off." I lay on the bed and took out my phone. I'd need more help if I was ever going to make it through this ordeal. His kept his eyes glued on me as he bobbed up and down, watching me load a porn vid. When the clip finished buffering, I pushed his head away and took myself in hand, furiously jacking off to the action on-screen.
When I came, it was with a stronger sense of relief than pleasure. Not long after, he left; I took a good long bath and dressed up for work.
I stood in front of the elevator, waiting for it to come take me down.
"Good morning sir," I heard someone say. I looked to my right and saw the cute room boy leaning out the door of the next room. He was smiling his innocent smile.
"Good morning," I said cheerfully, "Why are you cleaning the room barefoot?"
He laughed and his eyes crinkled as he did. I could not understand anymore what he said in reply, and the elevator dinged its arrival. I only managed to say goodbye before my feet brought me inside.