En Medias Res

…looking for company?”

You don’t respond, just remain face down on the cot, the odor of the men who came before fueling your urgency. The stranger evaluates your body from the doorway. Beyond him is the whisper of bare feet and the percussive slap of flip-flops circling your room. Through the thin wall you hear the intimacies of the men next door; a metronomic pounding of a meaty butt, the throaty grunt of a man on the verge.

The door closes.

The cot creaks under his added weight. A heavy hand brushes the small of your back with surprising tenderness, then slides down your spine to the cleft of your ass, which you raise to meet his touch. You are already lubed up and his finger slips in easily, then a duet, a trio.

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