In the Middle of the Night

It's sweltering in our hotel room, even with air conditioning on. You lie on your stomach, your face pressed against a cool cotton pillowcase. The lamp on our nightstand casts bright light across the bed, illuminating the scene of our lovemaking finished only moments ago. You are naked, a white bedsheet draped clumsily over your legs, doing little to cover you as you sleep. Your body is shiny with perspiration, a salty sheen of sweat clinging to your face, your back and shoulders. I can smell your scent in the air and it makes me think of sex. The sight of your body excites me, and even though I have just had you, I want you again.

I sit on the edge of the bed, listening to nothing at all. I can't even hear the air conditioner. It's still so hot that I wonder if it is even working. The sticky heat of the night is everywhere. I know I would be sweaty even if it were the middle of winter, you are that good. I remember the first time we stayed in a hotel together, your birthday weekend the year we met. I remember the excitement of hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and not leaving our room, or even getting dressed, until it was time to check out. I remember realizing that I had never had as good a lover as you in my life. You were as good tonight as you were that weekend.

I lean over and touch your face, feeling your breath on my hand. It's hot, but so reassuring. You sleep peacefully, and I am afraid of waking you. As I get up from the bed, I see myself in the mirror that hangs near the bathroom door. Like you, I am naked, soaked with sweat, my eyelids heavy and ready for sleep. I think back a few moments, to you telling me how sexy I am, how much you desire me, how everything I do turns you on. Your words are convincing, and in spite of my disheveled state, you make me believe them.

I come around the bed and turn off the lamp, then find my way back to my side in the dark, and lay down beside you. I love you so much.

Note that there is no signature at the end of this entry. It was in fact written by one of us, but under different circumstances it could very easily have been written by the other.