One of the first questions people ask me when I tell them I work at a hotel is,
“Do you ever hook-up with guests?”
The answer is Yes. And not just for me, but for many of my comrades. That being said, it’s not an all-out bang fest. I’m pretty picky, as are my fellow co-workers, with just who we will engage in such activity with. It’s not like, “Hey, Welcome to the ______________, wanna bang?”
In upcoming stories you will learn I have joined in the exhilarating experience of spanking a few guests, but this next story is from one of the coolest room service guys I know.
He’s a straight shooter from the Midwest and about as down to Earth as one can get. We often pass each other in the thick of work and share our war stories.
Working in room service you experience very intimate contact with guests. You enter a domain where most people never go. Behind the hidden door and into the real lives of people.
A domain where girls and guys wear little, if any, clothes. A domain where people have just finished copulation or continue to regardless of your presence. A domain where cheating, scandal, and swinging is all very present. A domain where you see large amounts of drug activity. A domain where you see the unhappiness and man’s attempt to cover it. A domain where you witness the mask removed and people being themselves. It’s quite the sociological study.
As a room service waiter, you are literally invited into someone’s room to serve them their meals morning, lunch, dinner and in the wee hours alcohol.
In my party hotel there’s a lot of alcohol served. And $300/bottle is the starting price. Add on the additional 20% room service charge, the tax, and you’re looking at about $380 for the lower end of the spectrum.
And for most of our guests, they don’t even blink twice doing it.
One of our regulars likes to enjoy himself. He comes in once a week and gets a room for $600 bucks. He brings along with him two brunette beauties. They’re hired. They do what he says, when he says it. And he gets them what they want, when they want.
Well, sometimes.
So, of course, this guest likes to drink and to have drinks available for his women, so he orders bottles everytime he comes to play. My main man, Jonesy (sounds good, right?), the best room service waiter there is, waits on him every time.
And every time, when this guest invites Jonesy into his room. He asks him to stay. “Hang with us. Come on, just have one drink.”
Jonesy assesses the room and decides the coast is clear. He joins in on the fun.
The guest offers him cocaine. “No, thank you,” Jonesy says.
“Weed?” the guest says. “Sure,” Jonesy says.
Jonesy loves his weed, and receives it as a tip a lot! I mean a lot!!!!
So the party continues and the guest takes one of the brunettes into his bedroom part of the room. He is about to close the door and then shouts, “Take care of him,” to the other brunette sitting next to Jonesy.
Jonesy knows where this is going. In fear of losing his job and the attempted rape claim, he bolts for the door.
“I’ve got another order I gotta run up.”
“Wait, don’t go. Please. I’m so horny,” Miss Brunette says.
This happens for three weeks. Every time the same thing. The bottle is ordered. Jonesy arrives. He parties with the guest and his hired girls. The guest heads for his bedroom. The guest orders the other girl to take care of Jonesy. Jonsey bolts for the door.
Well, the time had come again. And Jonesey couldn’t resist.
As the guest closed the door to his bedroom, Jonesy and Miss Brunette went at it. And by at it, I mean she was on top of him. And Jonesy was thrusting with all his might.
It was AMAZING! Sexy! Fun! Delicious! Everything you could dream of or imagine in a random hook up.
That was until Jonesy was alarmed by something very wet.
First he thought, “Wet is good. This is great.” But the wetness became overwhelming. It was becoming wetter and wetter. Something wasn’t right.
In the midst of the bang session, Jonesy peaked down to find himself, and the chair he was sitting on, covered in blood.
“Holy Shit!” he thought, as he pulled Miss Brunette off.
“I gotta go.”
“Wait. Just a little longer. Come on. I’m so horny,” Miss Brunette whined.
“I got an order,” Jonesy said as he ran out the door.
Bloody evidence remained on his apron and pants. He had the stain of his adventures. The stain of her. The stain of a bloody Sunday.
Jonesy found himself trying to explain where the blood came from for the following 20 minutes.
“Dirty guests. Dirty guests.”
Whenever my temptations become too high, I always think of Jonesy’s escapade.
What was too good to be true, WAS too good to be true.