The love hotel – 50 shades of Amarillo.
Feeling the vibrations of the thumper between my legs, I wind down the hill in the setting sun of the Columbian hills. The sign catches my eye, ‘Cabanas 24 hours.’ The ubiquitous love hotel flickers a need within me and I turn the bike round to go inside. The bike and I had been separated for days, I felt he had been neglected by me, as while he was away in the shop, broken and muddy, and I had coveted another.
After a quick negotiation of price and time, We pull together into the room towards the huge bed. The mirrors in the wall reflect his muddy Amarillo curves back at me. I strip off my riding gear and throw it on the bed.
I started by washing him down, caressing his curves with a damp rag, buffing him softly, then harder as I worked the muddy caked Amarillo into a crisp shine.
I start to work deeper. Pulling out my tools to tighten his bolts, to erect the drooping indicators. I try to turn him on to check his lights, but I blew a number of fuses by playing with the little spot on the back left indicator, climaxing and sparking something deep within him. Blowing fuses necessitating a change of tactics and a slow detailed inspection of the wiring under his seat. I replaced the fuse and turned him on again, hoping he would come with me, but the left indicator still let me down. I changed tacks, replaced the fuse and started to work him up again. This time just touching the break slightly, the lights at the back flashed and the he continued to pur. I had found his weak point, but the fuses were running out, so I taped over the indicator, until we would work together better further down the road.
I cooked up some dinner on the petrol stove, him giving me the juice I needed to sustain myself.
Swirling of insects coming to the light as we stayed up together well into the evening. Outlasting the bugs that feel into the love heart shaped bin. The sound of the door bell of the other rooms was going off all night, as others came and went, but we stayed up late into the night, caressing, inspecting bolts, rubbing down, greasing his chain, checking his oil.
I fell into bed finally exhausted at 1am smelling of grease and I slept with him beside me, my feet wrapped around the front wheel. Spare bolts, blown fuses and ruminates of boot polish, the forays of our evening littering the room.
Not sure this love hotel had seen love like this before, but its one I will never forget.