Chapter 1

In all honesty, it has to be said right up front that room 69 of the Lakeside Motel was haunted. Of course, you want to know right away what I mean by “Haunted”. In the simplest terms possible, I am telling you,

“There is a ghost in room 69”.

No need to panic, because the ghost can’t leave the room for reasons that even I can’t explain properly. I am not certain if it is a religious thing or something linked to revenge or anger or fear or, perhaps, even a combination of all of them.

I guess I should start at the beginning.

My name is Roberto Mancha, but my friends all call me simply “Rob”. My parents came to this fantastic country from the beautiful country of Spain many years ago, long before I was born in a fifth floor apartment on the east side of Manhattan on a rainy spring day of no consequence. Obviously, I have no memory of the occasion, due to the fact I was zero years old and could barely open my eyes. We were lucky because we shared the apartment with a young couple from Puerto Rico who spoke Spanish with a strange accent. I only say we were lucky because my stingy father often remarked just that with my mother frowning nearby with that look that she got whenever she felt like hitting him on top of his head with her spatula that she used for almost everything except stirring.

I never got into trouble growing up in the big city.

That was unusual for a boy like me born to parents that spoke poor English and lived in what could only be called a “Barrio”. I think it was my teachers in the Catholic elementary school that gave me a good foundation in my education that made me more of a bookish young man and not some gang member with crime on my mind.

The high school was a Public one and suddenly I was thrown up in the mix of the “melting pot” of big city demographics. For the first time, I was talking to black people and not running to find a place to hide. In fact, I met a pretty black girl called Candy who introduced me to the world of oral sex in a way that would stay always in my memory. She was super intelligent and told me point blank that she would never consider me for a husband, because I was more like a typical “white boy” rather than her preferred pool of black and brown male selectees. I had no thought of getting married anytime soon, but I felt a bit slighted and hoped it wasn’t the size of my pathetic dick.

My love life after high school improved somewhat, but I found it difficult to sustain a sexual relationship without some sort of commitment of everlasting love. I found that impossible to declare, since I was having too much fun being free as a bird.

I discovered one early Saturday morning that I had neglected my “slap and tickle” agenda for over a month. Since I was not one to take a solo route to happiness, I immediately called a convenient number garnered from a bathroom wall for “escort services”. I was directed to the Lakeside Motel in a seamier part of the city.

There was no plausible reason why the seedy-looking place was called “Lakeside” because it was at the end of lonely street visited only by transients and people of ill repute. There was no body of water in sight in any direction and the owners must have been drinking when they decided on that name. The desk clerk was an older female with a look of having seen it all. A tired-looking cigarette hung forlornly from her barely moving lips stuck there by some glue of cosmic design. The sign behind her stated, “No Smoking” making a mockery of any sense of authority.

I accepted the key to room 69 and made my way down the never-ending hallway to the very last room on the left. All of the odd numbered rooms were on the left and all the evens were on the right. There was an exit door right next to the last rooms. I noticed that the release bar was taped down so that outside visitors could enter without having to produce a key or a card. My thought was that these last two rooms must be very popular with the “by the hour” clientele and the sheets needed to be changed often.

My hand was a bit shaky as I picked up the house phone and called the number given to me by the “date” assignor at the other end. She only promised that my new friend would be there in fifteen minutes and that her name was Doreen. I took that with a grain of salt because I had found out that girls of this breed mostly used throw-away names for purposes of remaining hidden in the shadows. It made no difference to me just as long as she delivered the goods at the right time with a certain amount of enthusiasm, pretended or not.

Just as promised, the hot-looking Doreen knocked on my door within the allotted time frame and whisked inside with a practiced look over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t observed. Once inside, I looked her over.

She was a little out of breath. I assumed she had run from the car that delivered her across the parking lot and straight to the unlocked back door to the Lakeside Motel. Her hair was a bit mussed up but still sexy with rich black tones that looked more natural than artificial. She had one of those huge bags that could hide everything including a hair dryer.

Her dress was too tight to which I had no complaint at all.

It accentuated her tempting ass shelf with a rousing success. All I wanted to do was to bend her over and take her from behind without further delay. I could tell she knew exactly what I was thinking because she told me to put my “donation” in her handbag and get undressed. I followed her instructions and we were doing the happy bump Olympics naked on top of the sheets in record time. I liked the way she left her open crotch pantyhose on her legs along with the high black leather boots with six inch heels. I looked in the mirror at the vision of me riding her slim heart-shaped bottom with the skill of bronc-buster pausing only to spank her juicy cheeks with pure abandon. I suspected she was Puerto Rican because I could understand her choice selection of filthy words using that dialect from my old neighborhood. It only made me hump her harder, because I had always had a thing for the young bride of our apartment sharers in my formative years.