PromQueenSubdued

I went to a concert out of town and decided to get a hotel room  on Friday night so that I did not have to do the three hour drive home solo at midnight. Because I do not travel for work, being alone in a hotel is an unusual event for me. It was luxuriant to set my own bedtime and wakeup time. No early morning, “Hey Mom, what’s for breakfast? Pancakes, right, because it is a weekend?! And bacon? Or omelets? Or  ** insert any food here which requires mom to rise and prepare with the speed and accuracy of an IHOP short order cook** ?”

None of that. Just bath, cool room, lying naked under big covers and sleep. Glorious, dark, uninterrupted sleep. Until 8 in the morning. When I was awakened by a knocking on the wall. A headboard knocking on the wall. Rhythmically. Repeatedly. And, at a nice pace; not too fast, and not too slow but, as Goldilocks would say, just right.

Now, I really like hearing about people sexploits. I read erotica – a lot of erotica. I even occasionally write some. I have been to naked places where people are having sex near me. YouPorn does not inherently squick me out, although it rarely inspires me to greatness of my own. But, in these occasions, sex is likely to be on the menu for me sometime soon as well. These things are a prelude to ramp-up the excitement level for some action of my own in the near future.  Solo in a hotel, hearing a happy couple do what happy couples do in hotel rooms on a Saturday morning was, frankly, annoying. Instead of celebrating their bump and grind, I was pissed off that it was not I playing mattress hockey.

It is has been over a year since the hubs and I dashed out of town to a hotel solo to spend  one Saturday morning avenging the spirit of the short order cook that appears 51 weekends a year.  Apparently my soul is hungry for such shenanigans.  Time to cash in those Marriot Rewards. * smile *