MOTEL SEX

Well, Alison Tyler is at it again as muse to many, including, as always, me. She has a new contest running -- polls open until Friday -- on the theme of "Motel Sex," a tale told in 250 words.

I had a story there but withdrew it. Why? Well, it's hard to explain; if you've ever played Scrabble with me -- when I was eleven -- you might understand. Anyway, you can read my 250 words here, they're just not part of the competition. But do go over to Alison's blog and cast your vote for whichever of the 14 rooms -- I mean stories -- you like best. And don't vote for the deleted story there, obviously mine. You're wasting your vote as it won't count; please give it to a genuine contestant.

Here's my erstwhile entry. You might want to hose down in the cheap stall shower after reading it. It's especially soiling. The video is actually something I serendipitously found on YouTube after my story was already written and submitted. It's practically a virtual illustration! Enjoy:

"We'll Leave the Light on For Ya!"
© 2008 by EllaRegina
There were perks to dating a forensic detective. One was the Ultraviolet Semen Detection Light.

Dexter only fucked in the sleaziest places and part of his foreplay routine involved turning on the light. Dark rooms -- synthetic drapes drawn, Route 1 beyond, flammable floral bedspreads neatly arranged -- were transformed into Abstract Expressionist walk-in paintings with the flick of a switch. The device also located untainted trysting spots; clean sheets were usually a good bet.

Dexter liked to figure out, Rorschach test-style, exactly what had occurred to create the Jackson Pollock studies. "Man, some guy just sat at the edge of this bed and jerked off ten times while watching CNN." Or "They were on top of the spread, he was fucking her doggy style, then he pulled out and they rolled around in his stuff. Look, you can see scissor kicks and a palm print!" He was always right. What resembled an afternoon of kindergarten fingerpainting to me presented an encyclopedia of sex acts to Dexter. The best discovery was a headboard: MIKE spelled out in giant block letters. That must have been written by hand, literally. No man could have such control of his flooding pen.

We were tidy, never adding to the exhibition. I kept Dexter's ultraviolet juice inside me -- in my mouth, my cunt, my ass, my hair. Maybe some of it got onto the pillowcases but we always stripped the bed for housekeeping. Who knows, maybe they had an Ultraviolet Semen Detection Light, too.

Copyright 2008 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.

In situ on YouTube -- the rancid sing-song melody purses my lips
but the YouTubers' comments are total high class:
Slide your card key in the door and enter.