Cheap

by Matt Triewly

I was a cheap guy in a cheap hotel. A cheap room.

She was kind of cheap too, but I think I may have been a little cheaper. Now I think about it.

I'd always fancied her. Always wanted to fuck her. Always wanted to see her naked body. Wanked about the fantasy a couple of times.

She'd always known I'd fancied her. Lusted after her. She could see it. Smell it on a guy. It never fazed her. She'd fuck who she wanted. And fuck off those she didn't. Simple. She had no morals. No ambition. Lived for the moment. A series of low paying jobs. Cleaner. Factory worker. Checkout girl. Barmaid. Waitress. Never lasted long in any of them.

She had a one-bedroom council flat at the top of a characterless block in the rough part of town. Been there for years. Maybe till she died.

She never had any kids. Didn't want them.

She liked a drink now and again. Understatement. She'd get smashed. Take a bloke home. Fuck them. Occasionally a wife or girlfriend would confront her. She'd give as good as she got. Won more catfights than she lost. She was known for it. Small town. People knew more about you than you knew about yourself.

She was trash really. I should have had nothing to do with her. But I've never listened to good advice. Especially my own. Never will.

She wasn't a happy person. Just a person. Living for the next meal. The next drink. The next paycheck. The next episode of Eastenders. The next fuck. The next orgasm. The next sleep.

We're all like that underneath. In different ways.

She rarely smiled. Never looked happy. But she was sexy. Sexy for mid-forties. Very sexy. Sort of beautiful. Always tanned. Naturally blonde. Slim. Bright blue eyes. Moved well.

I wanted her. Needed to tick that box. Yeah, I'm a cheap guy.

"Like what you see?"

Yeah, she said that.

I guess I must have been ogling. Not too discretely.

"Yeah, I do."

I'm an honest guy. Most of the time.

We were walking in opposite directions along 'Benefit Boulevard' – a street known for those on social security. Old, large unsellable houses divided up into bedsits.

I guess neither of us were going anywhere important. Just another one of those days. More days like that than there aren't. For us. The cheap people.

I stopped, crossed over, and walked over to her.

"You fancy me. You want me. Don't pretend you don't," she said in a raspy kind of common cockney accent and smiled.

"Who's pretending?"

It was a corny comeback. Best I could think of. But it was good enough - to tick a box.

"Take me for a drink - for now. I need one. Just had some news. Don't ask me about it. Just need a drink."

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Hasker's Hotel. On the seafront. They've got a nice bar there. I need a gin and tonic. A large one."

"Okay."

She slipped her arm through mine. It felt good. I kind of felt wanted. For a change.

Ten minutes later we walked through the public entrance of the Royal Hasker’s Hotel. We’d hardly talked. But I didn’t care.

Royal Hasker’s Hotel. It had seen better days. Once a place to be seen. But not anymore. It still had rooms. But they were cheap nowadays. Cheap like me. Cheap like her.

We strolled up to the bar. Together. Arm in arm.

The bar manager stopped wiping glasses and came over. He was early forties with dark slicked back hair, a ruddy complexion, and a moustache - weasel. He didn’t know it yet, but he was cheap.

He looked at her and she looked back at him. It was that kind of a look. I twigged it. And then they twigged that I twigged it. They’d fucked in the past. But I didn’t care.

“Large Gin and Tonic please… and whatever he’s having.”

“I’ll have half a bitter, please.”

I paid for the drinks – they weren’t cheap.

We sat at a table by the window. Across the road were a series of bus stops and beyond that the railway station. Further along the seafront was the old pier. It was looking rundown. In need of renovation. But I guess there was no money. Cheap seaside town. Cheap times.

She was wearing a faded denim jacket. Jeans too. Underneath I could see she had a sleeveless white top. The top of her chest was bronzed – she liked the sun. Or tanning machines.

I wanted to touch her. But I didn’t. I needed the green light. Or was it a red light. Wouldn’t have surprised me with her.

I told her I was out of work for a bit. Unemployed bus or coach driver. Something would always come along. I couldn’t do anything else. Didn’t fit in. No ambition. No other skills.

Told her I’d just won a few bob at the bookies. Normally I lost.

Gambling. A mug’s game. A mug and cheap, that’s me.

“How much?”

“A hundred quid.”

“Wanna celebrate?”

“Yeah.”

A fool and his money.

“Let’s hire a room. Have some fun. Adult fun.”

“They do that here?”

“Yeah, you can hire for the hour.”

“Fuck, never knew that.”

“How much is it?”

“I’ll ask the bar manager,” she said, and got up.

I watched her chat with the Weasel. They laughed a couple of times. And I didn’t like it. But I didn’t not like it enough to walk out. Weak. Cheap, even when it’s expensive, that’s me.

She came back and said: “It’ll be seventy quid, but he wants a twenty quid tip. You okay with that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

I finished my drink and wandered over to the bar. I got out my wallet and counted out nine ten-pound notes. Placed them on the bar. The Weasel picked them up and stuck them in the breast pocket of his white shirt. He kind of sneered at me as he did. But I’d stopped caring at this point – I was going to fuck her and that was all that mattered.

“Room 26, on the second floor. Nice view of the pier,” he said as he handed her the key.

We climbed two flights of stairs with worn out stair carpet and dodgy, loose stair rods.

We got to the room, unlocked it and walked in. It was okay but it wasn’t worth ninety quid – normally.

As she took all her clothes off, she told me that she wanted an all-over massage followed by oral sex – it was kind of understood that after I would fuck her.

When we were both naked and, on the bed, she handed me a jar of massage oil – it was patchouli.

She lay on her front whilst I started on her upper back and arms. She had lovely skin – it was golden brown and smooth and virtually blemish free. She could have been thirty. I imagined her naked sunbathing alone in the country. But it was probably in a tanning salon. I rubbed the scented oil right down to the backs of her feet. I could hear her sigh contentedly. I hoped she wasn’t going to fall asleep. Ninety pounds isn’t cheap.

“You can do my front now.”

I knelt up with my erect and aching cock.

She twisted over – her body was a treat: smallish tits with nice brown nipples, lovely, slender limbs and a delectable, shaved cunt. Heaven.

I did her legs first, then her trim tummy, circling around her nipples which became harder and harder.

“You can go down on me now.”

She put her arms behind her back exposing her shaved armpits and clutched the poles of the headboard.

I slid further towards the far end of the mattress and tucked my face into her crotch – it smelled musky and delicious.

I pushed my fingers into her wet cunt and began to lick her clit rhythmically. She started to gasp and heave slowly up and down on the bed.

“That’s not bad,” she said a little breathlessly and huskily.

I continued, gradually increasing the tempo.

I looked up for a moment and saw that her arms were now tensing and releasing. Suddenly, I felt her vaginal muscles begin to tighten and release around my fingers… and then she came, gasping almost uncontrollably, her whole body shaking and hot salty juices running down my fingers and onto my face.

“God, that was so good. Fuck me now.”

I clambered on top of her, penetrated her and held her bare arms behind her head. I pumped hard and fast. Hard and fast. Every thrust brought me closer to release, ecstasy. I stared intently at the golden flesh of her tits… and then that brief calm… before I felt my spunk shoot out…oneness with the universe… and the spasms finally fading away… spent.

I rolled off her, catching my breath… thanking her.

But there was something different about her.

“Um, yeah, you know I told you I had some news… “

I’d forgotten all about it.

“Well, this morning, about an hour before I bumped into you, I had a phone call informing me that I’m… H.I.V. positive.”

I turned to her, and she was smiling evilly.

I thought about slapping her but by the time I’d thought it I didn’t think it.

So that was it – I’d had what I wanted, but now I might be having what I don’t want.

Cheap trick. Cheap bitch.

I started to put my clothes on whilst she just lay there naked on the bed.

There was nothing to say.

When I’d finished dressing, she was casually fingering herself – she didn’t care. Brazen.

I walked out of the cheap hotel bedroom, closed the door, and thought that I might have faintly heard her climaxing again.

I descended the two flights of stairs and at the bottom was the bar manager – the Weasel.

I could have told him, warned him that she was HIV positive, but I didn’t because I was a cheap individual. And the one thing that us cheap people have in common is that we’re apathetic and don’t care. Besides which he still had my money in his breast pocket.

As I swung open the door of the hotel bar I realised that I’d never have as good as a fuck as just did with the sexiest woman ever… even if she was a cheap bitch… and I was an even cheaper guy… now possibly with a cheap disease… in a cheap universe… with an even cheaper life…you see it was never going to be as good as that again… and that’s what makes it cheap… cheap for all of us…


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