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UNTITLED
Fiction By Sheila Goram

     The stirring of someone next to her took Hillary out of her deep thoughts. She quickly became aware of the man stirring next to her. He was not sleeping either. She knew that. He cleared his throat, as to get her attention. Hillary's back was toward the man she was sharing this bed with; they lay in a bed of a dimly lit motel room. Hillary could not remember the man's name. Clay, Calvin, no Kelvin, he definitely said his name was Kelvin; or was it Kevin? God! She could not remember what he told her his name was. As hard as she tried, she could not remember. Hillary hoped that she would have no need to call to him anytime soon. Hillary knew she did not have to see him to remember what he looked like. He was tall, and he had a huge beer belly; he had more hair on his back and chest than his head. He was no dreamboat.

Neither was Hillary. She has oily skin that still had occasional breakouts of acne. Hillary is five feet seven inches and about one hundred pounds overweight. Her hair is jet black, thick and cascades past her broad mahogany shoulders. As Hillary lies here, she wonders why she had put herself through the ringer with this man. He hardly seemed worth the effort, and it was not as if she had know him for a long time, this was going to be just another one-night stand for her. This situation was something else for her to feel bad about; and use as an excuse to not move forward with her life. In Hillary's mind, moving forward meant not only having a good job, but a good man. It was not as if this were her idea, this idea had been plowed into her head, since she was a child. Life meant nothing unless you had a good man and a good job that was the sentiment from her parents and grandparents' as well.

Hillary felt the coolness of the sheets on her legs and feet, cool sheets on her body always made her feel good. Hilary began to shift her weight so she could face her lover instead of the empty wall in this room. She turned over and caught a full glance of her lover as he laid there looking at her with empty eyes. Not that those empty eyes were a usual sight for her; it was just one she could never seem to get use to, no matter how hard she tried.

It was not until he said, "Did you hear me?" when Hillary realized that what's his name was speaking to her.

"I'm sorry; I didn't hear anything you said." Hillary said, not trying to sound flighty or flirty.

"We had better go, don't you think?" He said

Hillary nodded her head in agreement, and was about to climb out of bed, when what's his name said, "If I leave now my wife will never have missed me." That one sentence struck Hillary hard; she actually felt the wind leaving her body. She blinked feverishly and, mumbled that she understood. Hillary watched what's his name get out of bed, and pass right in front of her with jiggling stomach and ass. Hillary wondered what it was that made her fuck this man? Was it the witty conversation? No, it could not have been, they only talked for twenty minutes before he made this gracious invitation to this motel. What's his name told Hillary he would give her money, if she paid for the room, as long he did not have to sign anything.

Although, Hillary wanted to runaway kicking and screaming she did not. They followed each other to this place; and ended up here in this motel, this room, this bed, for a cheap thrill. He was man number twenty Hillary had had sex with this year alone, and it was just June. She knew he would be one lover she would never hear from again, and that suited her to a tee. Hillary could not remember his name anyway. He was not very good in bed. No wonder his wife would not have sex with him, if that were even true. Hillary felt that pit of emptiness in her stomach just grow, as she thought of how stupid she had been. She could not place all the blame on what's his name. She had a mind of her own, but she was not using it. Although he was fifteen years older than Hillary was, she was still an adult; she knew how to say no. Or did she? She was beginning to wonder. She had a great orgasm, but she was still empty. It was a hollow one; she did not even like this guy.

When asked Hillary would say she does not need nor want a steady boyfriend. That it would be way too much trouble, more trouble than it is worth; that she only needed a man for sex and that was it; nothing more. Hillary pulled herself up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. She closed her eyes, took a deep soothing breath, and exhaled; she relaxed her shoulders a bit and breathed again. Hillary then leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed her purse. She rifled through until she found her cigarettes. She grabbed the matches and ashtray off the nightstand and lit her cigarette. Hillary dragged on her cigarette, and laid one of her arms across her chest. As she let the smoke slowly trickle out between her lips, she began thinking to herself, that she would be twenty-six in a few weeks. What would she have to show for her twenty-six years, a married man who cared nothing for her. A lay so unmemorable, she could not remember his name.

Hillary began to feel self-conscious. She knew that soon that what's his name would be gone, and soon she have a conversation with God. She was dreading that conversation. That meant she had to look at her activities through a microscope. Hillary knew as soon as what's his name left, she would be berating herself for another stupid decision in a long line of stupid decisions. Hillary knew she would soon be begging God for all the answers, answers she already had if she would allow herself to think clearly. She dragged on her cigarette again and knocked the excess ashes in the ashtray.

Hillary heard the faucet in the bathroom; she also heard what's his name whistling. The song whizzed through her head, "Happy days are here again!" he whistled. Hillary smiled a little and shook her head. She was still in a moment; she began to see herself outside herself.

Hillary saw a large woman with mahogany skin, long jet-black hair that fell past her shoulders.  Shoulders so board she could be a linebacker. Hillary pulled up a white sterile sheet that barely covered her breast, breast that hung almost to her nonexistent waist.  From above she watched herself crush out her cigarette and place the ashtray on the nightstand. Although, Hillary insulted what's his name's beer belly, her stomach was just was large if not larger. She threw back the sheet and examined the ripples and rolls of fat, which should have been her stomach and sides. This led to Hillary's thighs, also rippled with fat. When Hillary slapped her thighs, they ripple like the sea.

Hillary drew the sheet across her chest, covering her low hanging breast. What's his name came out of the bathroom. He was still whistling that same tune; he was fully dressed except for his shoes. He sat on the edge of the bed and put them on. Then he turned to Hillary and said, "Well, doll, I'm going; stay all night if you like, the room is certainly paid for. I had a great time, thanks." Then he walked over to Hillary and planted a light kiss on her lips, scooped up his keys, and walked over to the door. He turned back toward Hillary, and said, "I'll call you later Halley." With a broad smile, then turned and walked out and closed the door behind him.

Sheila Goram, contact: SBG917@aol.com 
Copyright 2003 Sheila Goram
Comments and reviews requested
Posted 05/07/2003