The Room

The Room

59 years old and what did I have? A kid who hates me because I sold my soul to a corporate so he [Jason my son] could have the best education and start in life; so Purchasing my ticket to Cambodia I tried to forget him and his Mother who had taken me for 50% of my lifetime efforts. A man goes to work to provide and his cunt stays at home to raise a son of a bitch to hate his father for working. The divorce had gone through, paper work signed; leaving me with nothing but a devastated bank balance. Still third world prices would allow me a comfortable retirement.

Living like a lord was my secondary reason for the Cambodian trip; whilst child sex abuse appalled me, I was prepared to pay for a willing hooker - make up for 30 sexless years with the harlot I foolishly married.

I grasped my ticket, packed and travelled the short tube journey to Heathrow and boarded. Smugly I thought of my new life. Jason was on his own now and the jezebel [I heard] was already offering her decaying body to any fool that would pay the bills.

I arrived in Siem Reap taking initially a more opulent guest house before a long term cheaper rent. I wanted to settle in quickly and pleasure myself. Indulging in every drug I had denied myself for five decades was top of the manifesto, I wished to put Viagra fully too the test! I paid heavily (but reasonable by western standards) and my plethora of narcotics would arrived swiftly. My women would be another hour, so in excited anticipation I retired to my room.

I was ready for the knock on the door, having waited an hour, cleansed my mouth, showered and straightened the linen on my king size bed. The air conditioning made for a cool environment, though the fan was disabled as it created an uncomfortable chill. The rented room was inviting for any guest. The pristine ceramic floor, aesthetic decoration and en-suite made for a comforting base.

Nervous of the beauty of my paid guest judged against my old body I could not settle. I laid out in loose sports shorts with a condom in my pocket to avoid any mishaps whilst clasping a safety blanket beer; I took regular slugs to calm myself. My body changed position numerous times. Legs stretched out, one knee in the air, a roll to left, and then right, disguising my erection; though I wanted my Weston weapon noticed; although not in a grotesque way.

How would my $50 hired help want to see me? How did I want to see me? - Could I look in the mirror at myself or not? I started to think of that fucking bitch of an ex-wife, rage was building so I thought it was time for some drugs.

The local beer slid down my gullet with ease so much so I tore the cap off a second bottle with my teeth to prove my masculinity. I was about to fuck a young girl, a tight young girl and the Viagra was not failing me. Had I taken it to early? No. I am a winner, I thought, a God damn sexual tyrannosaurus. The blue pill swallowed, was swelling me, the coke pushing me up and the valium calming me. A confusing mixture, switching my brain from one thought to another like a high speed train. A joint was needed.

I could not concentrate or settle during the waiting period. I ingested more narcotics and alcohol to keep a sense of patience. I repeatedly pushed the television remote, searching for something to watch; a Western program or some sport. I could not settle. I activated my computer, searching for sensual relaxing tunes to put myself at ease. I wanted to show my hooker I was a good guy with taste. Why? She gets paid to have sex, not evaluate clients musical tastes. The drugs! I was confused and getting tense. The anger steadily growing, I could not get the fucking ex-wife out of my head.

I had paid for a hooker and my only intention was too pleasure myself. Why was I putting so much effort into creating a façade for someone who would have intercourse with me no matter what my beauty, age or possessions?

I thought for a short time about cancelling the appointment, but time and circumstance was against me. I had stashed my valuables and greedily eaten eight downers. My tolerance of valium was low so the eight ingested tablets left me dreary, coke and booze just added to the confused state. I could not get the thought of Jason's Mother out of my head and my vengeance was reaching a crescendo. Staring at my reflections in the mirror, pulling splenetic faces whilst in my best film actors voice speaking all the hate aloud I had wanted to say to the bitch for 30 years.

I reached down for drink, to discover I had unwittingly finished my last bottle. I could not continue without alcohol. I had a choice of running the gauntlet of missing my knock to get more beer or be in a state of panic the valium could not control. Thankfully, in this town money is king and a short walk to the reception a greased palm and more beer would appear. I returned to my room, inserted the room key to activate the electrical systems and sat on the bed uneasy: out of drink, low on coke, short on valium and struggling to roll a joint, spilling 80% of my overpriced weed on the ceramics. The joint rolling had run aground with my shaking hands. I am sure someone would roll me a joint - for a price of course, but I was not leaving this room again.

Though I had quit a packet of cigarettes were present, with no other bulk vice I took the packet, thought hard about the implications but quickly dismissed these thoughts with a hard, deep pull. I continued to flick television channels, settling on a classic 80's ultraviolent film, which calmed me along with the twenty minutes that had passed since administering the extra valium.

The knock on the door startled me as my mood was now very relaxed. I leapt into action, but took control of myself and eased over to the barrier between me and much needed feminine company. Female company did not greet me, the local with my beer order which I had forgotten about stood proud with a bag of strong poison. Taking the bag I returned to the bed, now uneasy as I had been excited. My mood then deepened. Terrible, unthinkable thoughts of violence racing through my drug addled brain scared me, so I returned to the previous twitchy routine of assuming the best position to meet my guest. Never once thinking I would have to stand to open the door and any position adopted would be wasted once I stood. The violent movie I was watching did nothing to lighten my mood.

The consumption of three large beers, mixed with the cocktail of narcotics finally sedated me when the second knock happened it was the most beautiful sound, a symphony to my ears. Raising my slovenly body from the bed emphasized the state I was in, staggering left and gripping a wall to balance. Keep calm. Opening the door a young dark skinned, Cambodian girl, with larger than normal breasts and denim shorts pulling my eyes towards her erogenous zones was stood with a smile that no amount of money could remunerate.

I wanted to fuck; I had waited longer than I expected and immediate anger pulsed through my veins when whatever her name was took charge of the television remote and switched to a non English channel. My 80's movie was gone. My thoughts of my ex-wife returned.

Speaking no English, I decided to kiss (though lips were denied) no name hooker and remove her top. Estimating her age below 25, her breasts were wrinkled and sagged once the bra was removed. A child or two had suckled her Mothers milk.

This was confirmed when I sucked her nipples and the first and only pleasurable reaction she produced occurred. I wanted to fuck. I removed her panties, surprised with a shaven vagina for an Asian girl. No tongue actions though, just cock. This is when it turned sour. My $50 dollar prize lay like a mannequin. An amusing stag party blow up doll had more energy. This girl was pimped out and did not want to have sex. A nice sleep in a comfortable hotel was her goal. This was my ex-wife in bed with me lay flat on her back mind elsewhere.

After several attempts to engage in intercourse, the compilation of drink and drugs hit me like Tyson in his twenties. I have no excuse or am prepared to offer for the strong right hand punch I delivered to the hooker’s nose. The crack was a sickening sound, her nose split in two there was so much blood I panicked; what had I done! There was no way back from this. The screams of agony shrilled through my head. What had I done? what could I do now? The Police or her pimp, it matter not, someone would administer revenge; life in jail or a savage near death if not death beating for damaging an asset was the mortification for my actions.

Fuck? Why so many drugs. I had never taken drugs in my life. I could not control the poison pulsing through my system I took another 20 valium and a snort of coke, washed down with a beer so I could think straight. The screams and tears became louder. Having trained in martial arts, I delivered a single punch to the hookers rib cage that pushed her rib into her lung, thus silencing the stupid cunt; who if had simply put effort into a simple fuck would not be in this state. I needed more drugs. What was I doing, how far was I taking this. This girl was going to die without medical attention and I was heading to jail for the rest of my natural life if caught. Now silenced and breathing almost impossible I took my knife and cut her left Achilles tendon. I was so intoxicated, the thought and action of this deed was elementary. She was not leaving that room. I was off to the 24-7 drug store for more valium. I needed beer and if obtainable coke.

Returning to the room my in a haze I had forgotten all time. There in my room now was a dead girl, Achilles tendon cut, rib punched into the lung and a nose split in two halves. What the fuck had I done? Fuck that how was I going to get out of the country without a jail sentence?

I decided to end it. End it all. I hired a taxi driver to carriage me to every late night pharmacy, I bought what I new, headache tablets, valium, ephedrine and a large bag of coke from my driver. I knew what awaited me in my room and I wanted to die next to what I had killed.

When I awoke, I could imperceptibly make out enough details of my surroundings to realize I was in the prison infirmary. I had survived. The change in my condition brought in a tough looking guard who held my passport and laughed repeating "99 years" over and over again whilst taunting me with my passport. I saw him draw his baton. That is the last thing I ever saw.

The End.

© Ian Hamshaw 2009