Chicks nicknamed me pilot
They get high off my dick
I take them to my home
They call it the cockpit
Time to take off their panties
They drop quick
Now that’s first class fuckin’
Ain’t that some fly shit
Lapdance, N.E.R.D.

Rain descended on a small town–routine of the time. Curtains slightly pulled back, Trent stared out of the dirty motel window. The night was black and his world was even more.

He didn’t want to go home. The quiet would mock him; he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Home wouldn’t be home.

He’d become tired of the drive. The reflection of himself in the rearview, his eyes reminding him of his failure. The lights of other drivers, shining on his car like two bright spotlights of shame. The radio, with its sullen melodies, left him with a difficult decision: endure them or suffer the thoughts that would arise in silence. He chose the latter.

Having more than he could stand, he stopped in a little rinky-dink motel. He could certainly afford better, but he felt unworthy of anything nicer, unworthy of anything more than a shitty bed, toilet, and kitchenette. The television didn’t work, but he didn’t give a fuck; it was stupid.

His luggage sat on the bed, his Malice Championship tucked under a hill of clothes. It was no reassurance of his success, for he feared it’d be gone soon enough.

Fuck the Malice title! He threw his luggage across the room, shirts falling out into a corner.

Fuck Draco! He kicked the television off its piece-of-shit stand before flipping the mattress against the wall which suffered a few angry blows.

Fuck this! With a frustrated effort, he slammed the door, reaching into his pocket for his iPod. He pressed the earbuds deep into his ears, a hard song of nothing-much played as he threw a hood over his head and took off into the rain.

He didn’t know where he was going. He only walked, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, in one direction, as aimless as the wind. He walked for an hour before he came across a bar. Looked terrible, but cosmetics escaped his mind at the time. He only needed a drink and some place to dry off.

Fuck what Doctor Reid had put him up to do. She was asking him not to be himself and he could no longer be something that wasn’t Trent.

He walked in to find it more populated than he’d expected. The thought to look at his watch crossed his mind, but it was useless to him.

He found a place to sit, quickly, ordering something cold and hard. Something to wash the awful taste of defeat from his mind, dull his senses, put him out of his misery.

The liquor wouldn’t be good enough. He needed a companion and she had to be in this room.

The pretty girls and high maintenance chicks clung to his limbs and he could have them and their friends, but he knew he was undeserving of such sweet twat tonight. He wanted the lowest, still fuckable girl he could find. She had to be no train wreck, but any girl he felt was less than himself. Some girl he wouldn’t mind slapping up and telling her how much of nasty slut she was. That usually ruined the mood with all the Amber’s and Tiffany’s that flocked around him.

Slamming his third drink on the bar, he saw her: his little fuck-toy for the night. She stood across the room, leaning against a payphone. His eyes looked her up-and-down and she looked okay, but he knew she’d look a lot better with her face in the pillows. She returned his stare, almost gawking, much like a child gazed at ice cream. Trent was a triple scoop.

He paid the bartender and walked over to his new bed buddy. Her smile widened as he approached.

“Hi, I’m...” She told him her name was Tracy. It didn’t matter; he wouldn’t remember it. He wouldn’t even try.
“Hi, you goin’ with me?”
“Yeah...” She said, coyly. He knew the fake shyness would end once they were in her apartment.

And it did. They stood before her bed, Tracy tugging at his clothes, her facade now gone. She ripped the belt from his jeans, undoing them and taking him in her mouth. Collecting some of her hair in his hand, he guided her motions.

“Alright, lay on the bed...” He whispered.

She complied, allowing him to strip down. He climbed onto her bed, crawling up towards her, in a stalking manner. He turned her over and she bit down onto the pillow as he slowly worked his way in. Slow movements shortly became rhythmic motions, as her body synched with his, their shadows cast upon the nearby wall by the moonlight.

Soon, she lied on her back and Trent jabbed between her splayed legs, ignoring her moans and hands clutching at his back. He was only in it to pleasure himself. He didn’t care if she got off or not, she was only a girl that would make sure he did.

He stared into her face as he quickened his pace, her winces becoming frequent. Her eyes seemed to glow red, with some sex demon inside of her. But it only mattered that he was inside of her. A sadistic part of him felt powerful, this submissive being beneath him, groaning in accordance with his attacks. The control, the pleasure. He felt like God.

As he pulled out, Tracy rose, stroking him as he came across her supple breasts, getting in her last few tired moans.

Trent stood, quickly pulling on his jeans. He couldn’t find his boxers in the dark, but it didn’t matter. She could have them.

He considered himself having done an honorable act. Bitches love to brag to their friends that they fucked Trent King. She could mean it.

He didn’t say bye. Just walked out, fixing his belt in the hallway, when he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before: a kid sleeping in the next room. He frowned, but everything was done and over, now.

He grabbed his hoodie from her couch and left. It wasn’t raining anymore; it was almost morning.

He smiled to himself, as he put the earbuds in his ears once again. The first time he’d had sex in over three weeks. Although he didn’t remember her name, he was happy that he’d met Tracy.

But, soon enough he would meet someone else.