First the key jammed. Then the lock refused to turn. Paul knew he should be used to it by now. For twenty dollars a night, he was lucky this shithole motel even had locks on the doors.
The door finally swung open, the light from the outside hallway briefly illuminating the room before he closed the door to throw the key on a nearby table. The place stunk of stale smoke, spilled beer and spent fluids between two sweaty bodies.
She was already here, prepared and waiting just like discussed. Her back was to him and Paul knew better than to touch her when she wasn't facing him.
Loosening his shirt, Paul pulled it free from his jeans, undoing the buttons quickly to discard it at his feet. His belt, shoes and jeans followed suit quickly.
He was fully nude now and still she hadn't spoken. The only source of light was coming from the moon light spilling through the window she stood in front of. Her stare appeared to be of nothingness with only trees and hills located beyond.
He admired her flawless backside. The long, sleek white legs. Slim hips. An athletic frame. A long mane of hair pulled tightly into a braid, a few curls escaping. And the lingerie. It would be black. She always wore black lace here and it accented her paleness in erotic exquisiteness.
Paul pulled the covers off of the bed, allowing the fabric to hit the floor in a jumbled heap. They wouldn't be needing them; he was too warm blooded and she always left once they were finished.
The bedsprings squeaked in aged protest as his weight settled on the mattress. With his hands resting behind his head, Paul stared at the ceiling.
Waiting.
Paul could turn the light on, but they wouldn't need it. The lights wouldn't change what they were going to do. It wouldn't change what either of them looked like. No amount of illumination could erase the shadows each carried on their souls.
He could ask her what was outside that held her attention in vivid rapture on the other side of the cheap plastic window. Did she dream of being a tree, to be a solid entity that withstood the ever changing seasons? Paul could ask her these questions but he already knew the answers.
He'd wait for as long as she needed. It didn't cost him anything extra. Once they started, she would happily take directions, orders, commands…but never before. Pushing compliance now would ruin what they had.
He stiffened in readiness when he felt the mattress dip low near his feet. Repetitiveness never became boring, here, in this room. She would work her way towards the goal, lavishing attention to areas where it was needed. For as long as it was needed.
She preferred to start; Paul never hesitated to finish. This was the same play they performed every Sunday night, had been for weeks past and weeks to come. It would never change.