It was my custom to imagine that the grime and filth of those rooms bore anthropomorphic tendencies. It seemed to get me through. Perhaps semen splash on a headboard represented the perpetual crud around my boss Irene's stained coffee cup. She could rival a trucker for rude jokes, put-downs and expletives, and I often liked to associate the cleaning up of certain bodily fluids with thoughts of swilling her mouth out. Scrubbing stains pleased me then. I was rigorous in my pursuit sometimes, working up a sweat, always building on the muscles I already had in my arms and legs. I was a powerful cleaning machine. It pleased me sometimes to wear veterinary gloves or a rubber apron. Whatever kept me unpolluted. Only in the confines of my own workspace, however. If I was doubled up with another member of staff on busy weekends, I'd not don my bizarre uniform, but I'd have to work very carefully not to splatter my clothes with even a touch of the vile feculence people had left behind.
Chewing gum on the floor. Oh my. A challenge. I loved the anticipation as I went to retrieve an ice pack before getting to work on severing that globule of hell from its unnatural, woolly fixture.
I sometimes wished it was appropriate to use bleach and cotton wool balls to cleanse every inch of an infected room but it wasn't practical. I had to be more skilful and leave those “temporary habitations” fresh-smelling (not like laboratories cleared for the next experiment). The next set of guests would no doubt undo all my hard work all over again.
Red wine on the carpet. Typical. Amongst the weapons of my cleaning cart, I had a bottle of white wine and vinegar that I regularly replenished and found use for. I needed to cordon off the area first with strips of cotton wool and masking tape, then soak the lot. A bit of bicarbonate later and we would be away. Oh, how I liked to grind my back into getting those stains out. I did. It gave me real pleasure and satisfaction. Scrubbing and inching away at blots and crust and grime. Sometimes I liked to use tweezers or cotton buds. My arsenal was varied. I even had a carpenter's file and a small hand-held vacuum I had supplied myself. My employment back then contained my madness, somehow, it did.
In actual fact, I was a very sexually frustrated girl who took her anger out on the floors and surfaces of my working environment. I had gotten myself bogged down in a job that was both the one, reliable constant of my life and also the very thing I had always known was trapping me; suffocating my inner self, strangulating the possibility of living a full life outside of my closeted little world. Secretly, I knew, I was happy to work alongside simple people who rarely challenged either my intelligence or my integrity. This made it easier for me to hide. There were fewer confrontations then. However, I desperately needed a test. I yearned for it as much as I veered from it; frightened of what it might involve and of how much of myself I would need to give up. For me, routines and banality were safety nets I clung to daily and any introduction of a force outside of this might certainly spell trouble. An intervention would definitely have a detrimental effect on the fine threads that I had to work really hard at weaving to hold me together and make me purposeful.
When a very attractive test turned up in the form of a lusty up-and-coming local footballer by the name of Cody James, I jumped at it, almost. I remember being sweaty and dizzy from having blitzed that room in record time. It hadn't defeated me and I was so proud of myself. I was just leaving it behind and preparing to go on to my next job. However, I had seen this guy entering a room down the corridor and he had noticed me too. I recognised him instantly. Our eyes met and the tension was palpable, like a bolt of lightning passing between us. He was divine, literally. I liked men. I did. I knew that from an early age. I liked the way they walked and talked, their swagger and their masculinity. I liked jeans and t-shirts on a man and no frills. I liked a nice crew-cut and a bit of stubble. This man embodied all that. Sometimes the possibility of meeting a gentleman who would take me away from everything I had grown to hate was all that kept me going. As much as I yearned for that, I was also afraid to risk myself and end up getting knocked back.
Cody was a temptation too great. Guests like him were rare in that place. Instead of going direct to the next room just a few doors down the hall in the opposite direction, I decided to go the long way round the rectangular circuit so I would pass his junior suite. I was clattering about exaggeratedly, hoping he might come out to see what all the fuss was. I was edging my way toward his door when I realised he had left it open. Some childish part of me thought my ploy would work (and it did!).
“Excuse me, have you got a minute? Got a problem here.”
I was admitted to the room and told that his TV wasn't working. Within no time, I got it up and running. He stared at me with brooding eyes and something in me buckled, while something else railed against the moistness welling between my legs.
“Can I go now?” I asked, with a hint of sarcasm. He brought it out in me. I scorned myself.
“No. Can I get your name?”
“Name tag, see?” I pointed, impatiently.
“Charlotte. Nice name.”
He had chocolate brown eyes that were matched perfectly by his hair colour. He bore angular features that were so arousing. I am loath to admit that my somewhat vain eye was appeased. He had a presence of youth and virility. I noticed his waist in his low-slung jeans and strong, athletic shoulders hugging the cotton of his t-shirt.
“Why are you all sweaty? Like you've just been to the gym?”
I scowled. My retort came: “Some selfish guests decided to leave a pig sty for me.”
“I like a woman who enjoys getting physical.”
I was no doubt becoming red and sweaty with other urges, and he knew. I could barely look him in the eye. I was a fanciful young woman whose dreams were becoming a reality. Having been shackled in my chains for so long, the fact that he was even talking to me was a miracle.
He went to shut the door of his room, locking us in. He stood in front of me by the TV and stared. My wiser, more knowledgeable self looks back and winces at how easy I swooned. His frame was pulsating with lust, aiming itself square against my body. I knew only that I felt his mouth on mine next, plucking at my lips with his. His arms wrapped around my back and he moaned when he kissed me. I slumped against him and he took my response as a green light to kiss me deeper, pushing his tongue against mine. It was a moment I could never forget. It was my first French kiss with a man. Something in my stomach yelped and soared. He wrapped my long pony tail around his fingers and held his other palm to my cheek while he kissed my inexperienced mouth. I was so unsure of myself at first. His slow kisses encouraged me to kiss him back and I did, gradually allowing myself to hold him in return. I couldn't bear his touch, which made me feel giddy and ridiculous. I knew the transparency of my want would be clear. I hid my face in his neck and he embraced me, stroked my hair and kissed my cheek.
“I've never done this before,” I said.
“What? Hunted down a male guest.”
“Exactly.”
He kissed me again and pushed me up against the wall. There was a very discernable bulge in his jeans. I felt for his head and ran my fingers through the soft sheen of fur decorating his scalp. He was no doubt naturally curly-haired. We ravenously devoured one another and the kisses no longer had rhythm.
I heard my zip being pulled and his fingers stray into my knickers. I gasped at the sensation of his index finger gently running over my inner folds. I can only say he was truly delicious to kiss and expert when it came to touching me. I was lost so immediately. While my eyelids flickered, he chewed my lips and stared at my taken expression. His digits worked further inside me and I juddered and yelped. The girl I was then decided it resembled pain and I emerged from it to find his wet lips caressing my neck.
He withdrew and looked down to see a fine trail of blood coating his fingers.
“Oh shit,” he said.
His expression was one of disgust and realisation. I was a virgin. I zipped up and he went to wash himself.
“Charlotte, wait.”
; “I have got to go, sorry,” I stumbled.
When I got out into the corridor, Irene was waiting by the abandoned cleaning cart and I knew I was done for. Just my luck. My red face and the footballer inside that room would ensure my voluntary resignation. Irene had been gunning for me for some time.
We were in her office a few minutes later.
“I was helping him fix his TV.”
“Sounded like it.”
“I was. Ask him.”
“I don't think a man photographed yesterday with another in a long line of women is to be trusted. See page six of The Sun.”
I imagined Irene would breathe fire over the entire world if she could.
My defence was this: “How many times in five years have I gone above and beyond to get the job done well? How many others do you have who get one hundred per cent satisfaction in their audits?” Sarcasm emitted from my very pores. I could not help myself. It was a rotten defence mechanism…
“I can't have this anymore Charlotte. You never accept promotion. You sometimes fall asleep on the job.”
“Twice. Twice in five years!” I exclaimed. Though those two occasions were enough to earn me a reputation.
“Well, you never try to get on with other members of staff. Now, you've been caught entertaining guests!”
I knew Irene hated me. I had known it for ages. She couldn't understand why I just wanted to turn up for work, do the job, and go home.
“This is unfair,” I pleaded. This was a rotten twist of fate, too.
“I'll give you a reference. But, I don't know what else to do with you Charlotte. You should try to find something that suits you more.”
I felt nothing actually suited me more than that job, though I'd never admit it.
“Fine, Irene, fine. I hated this job anyway!” I claimed.
I left under the pretence of being happy to finally escape that hellhole. Secretly my lip was trembling. It would turn out that losing the job that had kept me steady for so long was about to undo me. It was taken away from me just like that. I felt at once bereft and liberated. I was about to sink further into the depths of something I still hadn't come to terms with but which was my real, daily battle.
* * *
I thought of myself as rather average. Not particularly tall. Brown hair one shade of mud; not shiny or multi-tonal like those models on the adverts. Blue eyes not unlike many other people's. I almost never really took time to look at myself. I just knew I could blend in if I wanted to and had an alright figure that I was completely unconscious of. My older brother and younger sister were both blonde and athletic, but I was shorter, curvier and dark, with girlish features that seemed out of place in a family of mostly Amazonian women and Barbarian men. I just knew I was different. I also knew the illnesses I'd had in youth made me distinct from the others. The childhood leukaemia had weakened me in more ways than one. Even though I overcame it, I had suffered pneumonia a few times since. I still easily caught bad colds and flu, and sometimes a headache for me felt like the weight of the world squashing my skull. My immune system resembled that of someone twice my age. My nervous system, in places, was shattered.
I had kept in touch with only two people from school and had made no new friends since. The chambermaid thing had been a summer job at college that had stuck. The qualification in Leisure and Tourism I was undertaking fell by the wayside with a few bouts of illness and an uninspiring bunch of lecturers I hated.
I was 25 years old and still not at one with myself and yet a few seconds with Cody had been enough to make me realise I must have had something that he liked; a little, amiable quality that he had espied. I also realised I was less shy than I thought.
The unfulfilled dreams I suffered after that were terrible. It was more often than not, one particular scenario…
Cody and I are kissing in that hotel room once more. Everything else evaporates and we become wrapped up in one another, blissfully unaware of the world.
He sits on the edge of the bed and I mount his lap to straddle him. Our kissing becomes more adventurous. My hands move from his cheeks to rampantly running themselves around his head. He wraps his arms tightly behind my back to get a sense of my entirety. I move down to kiss his beckoning, gleaming throat; skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat but probably steam-cleaned after a gym session earlier.
He pulls on my buttocks, shunting me toward him so he can bury his face against my shirt, cushioning himself in my chest. All we can hear is one another's breathing. He gasps as he hides between my boobs, whispering, “You've got very lovely breasts.” Something along those lines. I reveal a red, lacy bra. I smile out of one corner of my mouth and he immediately pulls the shirt he is wearing over his head.
He moans, as our torsos touch. His body is absolutely gorgeous.
He stands up with me in his arms, and I wrap my legs about him. My heart is rapidly thumping, engorged, pounding in my chest. I am almost breathless. We both know I am about to lose my virginity.
He positions me where he had just been sat. He kneels on the floor before me and reaches up to start kissing my cleavage. I want to shout and scream. He feels so warm and vital against my body. He explores my throat and chest and I can't help but wrap my legs around his buttocks. Before I know it, his hand reaches between my legs, pressing against my crotch again.
I whimper, desperately, not certain of whether I should cry or pant.
He mashes my tissue through the material and I eye him desperately. When I feel as though my insides might split, he yanks my trousers down. He rips the material of my knickers away from my body, snapping the gusset in half. He lifts me further onto the bed and unbuckles his belt and zip. He lies against me and pops both breasts out of my bra, grunting at the sight of them. He kisses my nipples as he did my mouth, but gradually licks instead, then teases his teeth around the areola slowly. I see they are crimson-red and beg him for more, groaning at the way he tells me they fill his mouth. I caress his washboard stomach and chest and am mesmerised by how gifted with body hair he is.
He settles between my legs and presses against me as he kisses my mouth. We shift in unison until we naturally meet, sinking against one another. I scream.
“Charlotte,” he moans, trembling with desire.
I fold my naked self around him. I am in such ecstasy. I am on fire. I hunger and yearn for every thrust of his engorged phallus inside me. I clench my teeth as he fills me deeper, venturing to places undiscovered. I catch a glimpse of his disbelief. I see it in his eyes and know we connected. It makes it all the more miraculous. I lick under his top lip.
I'm obsessed with repeating his name. He whines. He touches his tongue against mine, while breathing hot, raspy breaths into my mouth. All I know is that my belly seems to be sucking on something and drawing it into me deeper and faster. It's hot and depraved. It is all suddenly over. He falls heavily against me and catches his breath.
Those fantastical images of a tryst with Cody swam through my subconscious mind on many an occasion. I would wake with a fright and with a stinging, hot sensation in my groin. I would always know I had suffered an intense wet dream, yet again. My internal yearnings were wreaking havoc on my external shell to remind me I was a human being of wants and desire. The vivid scenario always drove me to actual, unbridled pleasure and on waking, I would feel empty and numb, without any arms to comfort me in the wake of such sensations. The day I crossed paths with Cody, I realised I was a sexual being. His fleeting presence in my life made me realise there were things I was depriving myself of, but I knew it wasn't a simple case of just finding some bloke and settling down. Firstly I had to make big changes to my life to find someone I really wanted, not some wide boy with no idea what fidelity was.
That fated day, when I arrived home after resigning from my chambermaid job, I went straight up to my bedroom, locked the door, and did not emerge for hours. I just lay there motionless. My mum brought up some soup at around 10pm, but after that, the next thing I knew was pain. I succumb
ed to pneumonia in the night and was rushed to hospital. I remained unconscious for the next three days. When I woke up, I did not speak for a month, such was the trauma of hospitalisation for me.
The thing about my encounter with Cody was that, within a few hours, everything I had previously held true had been shaken down. Such a small, chance happening had changed me forever and there was no turning back. I knew I needed more from life. I had been avoiding it for too long. I knew just those few kisses with Cody were worth risking myself for. I dreamt about him constantly and something was awakened inside me that day. It was unfortunately just my luck that my first experience had to be with someone so insincere. That was all I had to go on. He made me feel shameful in a sense and, idiotic. I'd had my head turned so easily.
When I emerged from my illness in hospital, the doctors spoke to my mum and asked her whether anyone in the house had been suffering flu. She said she couldn't remember any of us catching anything in months. Everyone in our house, except me, was unnaturally super-fit and healthy. But I remembered Cody. He may have been carrying some virus or something, unwittingly. Cody would not have known, however, how weak my immune system was and how something he could easily fight off could become so detrimental to me should it be wrought upon me at a time of vulnerability. I could not help feeling that he had wronged me in more ways than one, but I also blamed myself for kissing a footballer of all suitors. Where his mouth had been, I could not tell, nor would ever want to imagine.
Chapter III
Heath's Release
Heath, having read about those events, was disbelieving. He had to interrupt her, despite knowing she might vehemently object to questioning. As far as she was concerned, she had written down everything she wanted to say. She thought herself a much more eloquent scribe than speaker.
A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Page 3
