A Bed Not My Own

I awoke in a bed that was not my own, but rather a very warm and conformable double poster bed. I say that because I have no bed. I arrived in this cacti studded, dusty, old and extremely hot town last week. The only room I could afford did not come with the luxury of a bed. I’m using my torn and battered Sears and Roebuck sleeping bag I purchased at a local second-hand store when I first arrived here.

I know I spent last night at  the Swizzle  Stick bar. I remember the bartender asking me for my id. “What  are you drinking Curt.” Other memories started to reform in my mind. Girls and more girls. Someone asking me to spend the night  with them. Then things went black and the curtain came down.

Suddenly there was movement beside me in the bed.  I smelled some wonderful perfume. A female hand touched mind and said, “You were wonderful Gary. It was worth the wait just to be with you.”

As I closed the door I shouted back, “and I will be sure to tell Gary what a great time we had.”