It was three weeks before I saw Joey again. I had spent many nights looking for him, waiting at his bus stop, waiting for him to show up to catch his bus, only to watch the last bus of the night drive away without him. Maybe, I reasoned, he's found someone else, someone in better financial conditions, or better hung. It was clear to me the first time I fucked him that he wasn't a virgin and accustomed to getting fucked by well hung men.
On one rainy night, I was lying in bed in the little hotel room I rented, quietly listening to my Walkman radio as I read a mystery novel I purchased at the Public Library book store for fifty cents when I heard a knock at my door. I pulled the earbuds from my ears and listened, certain I was mistaken. I knew no one in the hotel, and I couldn't have outside visitors. Again, I heard the rapping of knuckles on my door. Dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers shorts, I got up and opened the door suspiciously.
Joey was standing in the hall, his hair wet and falling in his face, making him look even younger than I remembered him. He looked at me with those soft brown eyes and smiled broadly.
"At first, I thought I had the wrong room number," he told me.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed at him, pulling him into the room before quickly looking up and down the hall to see if he had been noticed by anyone. I wasn't worried about the gossip as much as I was the possibility of his presence coming to the attention of management. The Traveler's was the cheapest hotel in town, and one of the few that allowed its residents to rent by the month. I had it good there and didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.
"I wanted to see where you lived," he told me nonchalantly. I closed the door behind him, then nervously handed him my towel. It was still damp from my earlier shower, but he was soaking wet.
"How did you get up here?" I sat on the edge of my bed and turned off my Walkman. No point in wearing down the batteries.
"I just walked up the stairs," he said, as if it was obvious. I was still left with wondering how he got past the guy working the night shift at the main desk. "You told me the room number the other day, so I didn't need to ask which room you were in."
"That was three weeks ago," I smiled, "You remembered my room number all this time later?"
"It's just a number," he giggled, "It's not like I memorized every word you said."
