Rimmer made his way back to his hotel in a weird kind of daze. He'd just done the unthinkable. His parents would be so horrified and ashamed if they ever found out. He'd just been to a brothel. He'd just had sex with another man. A sweet, wonderful man...
He shut his door and flopped out onto the bed, scooping the pillow into his arms and remembering the way Dave's body had felt against him; his smooth skin and warm cinnamon smell. He had to think of a way to get him out of that horrible place. He didn't belong there. He belonged...
He belongs with me.
Rimmer's inner mind scoffed at the sentimental thought; Get a grip on yourself! Dave is not some innocent little angel – he's a smegging prostitute! A rent boy! He's probably got about a million nasty diseases. And you didn't use a condom just now, did you? God knows what you've caught off him. And besides, he's not even gay, remember? To him you're just another week's rent. Something to be tolerated. One more dirty pervert he can make some money off. Deep down he was probably repulsed by you.
Rimmer swallowed hard. It could be true – all of it – but in his heart he couldn't believe it was so. A visit to the doctor might be in order, certainly, but even though Dave wasn't gay, he hadn't at any point treated Rimmer with disgust or revulsion. He'd been so kind; so understanding. No; he didn't believe Dave was just another cheap piece of trash on the make.
He had four weeks to come up with a way of getting him out of that flea pit and on his way back home, and he was damn well going to do it; or his name wasn't Arnold J Rimmer.