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"Heaven is in the Attic"


      (MF spooky)

The rain had turned to snow, and there were icy patches on the road. The windshield wiper and defroster weren't doing very well, and I found myself hunched over the wheel, peering through a clear spot in the ice covered windshield, a spot the size of a postcard. The reflection of the headlights off the whirling snow made it difficult for these old eyes to see, and I was really concerned that I might run off the twisty, two-lane road and kill myself. I wasn't sure where I was, but it sure wasn't the interstate lights, no signs, just blackness. It was then I saw the sign, Whispering Pines Hotel, 1/2 mile.

I slowed even more, searching for another sign. I barely spotted the drive, and the tires skidded as I turned off the road and drove slowly up a hill. I breathed a little easier when I saw, through the snow, some lights. I found myself in a long, crescent shaped parking lot, mostly empty, and I was able to find a space not far from the hotel entrance, which was flanked by warmly lighted windows, a very welcome sight. I took my suitcase off the back seat and made my way to the door. A cold wetness in my right shoe reminded me it needed to be resoled.

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As I approached the door, I could see that the hotel was a big house that looked to be a hundred years old: three stories, a steeply pitched roof, several chimneys, narrow clapboard siding, probably a wooden fire trap. On either side, long, lower additions, showing no lights, extended into the darkness, the far ends invisible.

The inside was nice enough, kind of rustic, with a fire in a stone fireplace. I went over to the knotty pine front desk and stood for a moment, catching my breath and brushing snowflakes off my coat. No one came, so I tapped the bell, one of those little chrome hemispheres with a button on top, sort of like a tit off a four foot female metal manikin. I'm sorry, that observation was out of line, but I guess I've gotten to be a dirty old man these past years.

Anyway, two women appeared, one perhaps thirty-five, and the other could have been her daughter. The younger one spoke; "Yes, Sir, can we help you?"

"I'd like a room for the night."

"I'm, sorry, Sir, but we have no vacancies." The older one looked on approvingly, as if she were training new help.

"Look." I said, "you've got to have something. Big place like this, and so few cars. I'll take anything."

"I'm sorry, Sir." said the older one, "but, you see, it's off-season, and the north and south wings are shut down, no water or heat, you understand. We're all booked up. There's a motel in Anniston. I could call and see if they have a vacancy."

"Anniston? How far is that?"

"Twenty-seven miles." said the younger.

"No way I'm driving 27 miles in this weather. I'd sleep in my car, first. But surely you have something. It wouldn't have to be fancy. Just a bed. I'll sleep on a couch in the lobby, if I have to."

"Well, there is a room in the attic." said the younger.


"Mom, we can't turn the guy out on a night like this."

The older woman looked disturbed. "Sir, there is one room, but we don't rent it out. It's... well, it's not much of a room, not remodelled like the others. No TV, you understand."

"If it has a bed, I'll take it."

"Well, yes, it has a bed, but...."

"Please, Lady, I don't have the strength to go on."

"Of course, Sir. If you'll just sign the registration card. Nancy, let him have it at half price. Sir, if you would like some dinner, or a drink in the lounge, the restaurant is just through there. Perhaps you would like to wait a few minutes. I'll take your bag up and just make sure the room is made up for guests." She came around the counter, took my suitcase, and went to the elevator.

I signed the card and pushed a credit card across the desk. "I don't think I'll have dinner. Not hungry." Actually, I was suffering from heartburn, a nagging pain in my chest. "You serve breakfast?"

"Yes, starting at six. If you would like to wait in the lounge, Mr...Mr. Winslow, I'll come get you when your room is made up."

I went in and sat at the bar. The TV was off; there was no one there. I could see into the dining room. There were only a few people I could see: a couple of men in checkered flannel shirts, a white-haired couple who might be stopping on their way to Florida, a middle-aged man holding the hand of a woman much younger than he was, probably not his wife. Maybe they came to this out-of-the-way place to have their illicit little affair where no one they knew would see them. A waitress came out and asked me if I would like something from the bar. I ordered a glass of milk and two shots of whiskey, the milk for my stomach and the whiskey for my weariness.

It was the older woman who came to get me. She took me up in the elevator to the third floor, and then up some narrow stairs with rubber treads to a sort of attic. "These rooms aren't really guest rooms." she said apologetically, "they're for the staff. There's just this one, at the end of the hall, that we don't use." She led me down a hallway, dimly lit by bare 25 watt bulbs. She pushed open a door and let me in. "There isn't any room phone, but there's a house phone by the elevator, if you need anything."

The room was built against the roof, with the top half of the outside wall sloping inward, and there was a niche with a narrow dormer window. There was a big, brass bed, with fresh white sheets and a huge, thick down comforter, pink. At that point, it looked like heaven. "It will do fine." I said.

"Good night then. Oh, would you like someone to wake you in the morning? No phone, I'm afraid. Or I could bring you an alarm clock."

"No. No," I said, "I feel like I could sleep till noon."

"Well, good night, then. I hope you sleep well." She closed the door behind her, and I heard her walking back toward the stairs.

The silence was almost oppressive. I wondered if anyone else was in the attic, if there was a fire escape. Normally, I always look, but I was so weary, and I still had that strange feeling in my chest, in spite of the milk. I guess the whiskey was getting to me, too. My suitcase was there on the dresser. I undid the noisy brass latches, got out my shaving kit, and went to use the bathroom. The bathroom was a old-fashioned affair, with a tile floor and a big clawfoot tub, placed where there had once been a door to the hall, judging from the outline in the painted plaster. I guessed that there had been two rooms, probably originally for the servants, and they had knocked through into one room to make the bath. Yes, when I went back to the bedroom, I could see there was a sort of curtained alcove where the other half of the second room had been.

The bedside lamp wasn't very bright, and the wallpaper was yellowed, with faded green vines and pale pink rosebuds running upward to an uneven, cracked ceiling. Painted floor, no carpet. I noticed a sort of musty, dusty smell, as if the room had been closed for a long time, but it was inviting in a homey, nostalgic way. It reminded me of the upstairs of a cottage our family had rented one summer when I was...fourteen, I think. Steam hissed in an old radiator, probably just turned on, and it managed to take the chill off the room. I peeked out the little dormer window, but all I saw was snowflakes, inches from my face. I kicked off my shoes and flopped on the bed, sinking deeply into that comforter, and the feather bed under it. I thought to myself, as my weary muscles relaxed, they don't make them like this any more.



Likely I dozed for a few minutes. I remember suddenly realizing that the room had got quite warm, and I had neglected to undress. I swung my stockinged feet to the floor and went to turn off the valve on the burning hot radiator. Then I peeled out of my clothes, laying my trousers on the stand by the bed, where I could find them in a hurry, if there was a fire or something. It occurred to me that there might be coat hangers in the little alcove. I picked up my suit coat, went to the curtain, and slid it back on its tarnished brass rings.

At first, I could not believe my eyes. It took me a moment to adapt to the dark, to focus and convince myself of what I saw, which at first was mostly a pale face and a white bib apron. It was a girl, a woman, just standing there in the otherwise empty alcove. She was wearing a black wool dress which covered her from neck to mid calf, and she had her light brown hair pinned up behind her head, with a little sort of doily for a hat. She smiled at me, a friendly, provocative smile. She might have been any age from 16 to 26, but she had the strangest look, a mixture of childish innocence and seductive sensuousness. She wore no make-up, but she struck me as being very pretty. What does one say when confronted by a pretty woman, when one is naked, save for a handful of clothing held in front of one's privates?

She spoke first, "I didn't expect to find a man in my room, especially an attractive, older man."

"Excuse me." I said, "But are you sure this is your room?"

"Oh, yes, but I'm glad you are here. Let me hang up your suit for you." She stepped closer, took the coat from my hands, and left me there, speechless and stark naked, looking down into her haunting grey eyes. She wore, I decided, a maid's uniform. Perhaps she was used to... no. It was unreal. To my surprise, I found I was sexually aroused at the sight of her. If she noticed, she didn't let on, as she smoothed the coat on a hanger. "Is there anything more I can do for you, Mr...."

"Winslow. Elmont Winslow."

"Elmont. I like that name. I had a friend." she remarked, casually. "Named Elmont. You look like him, a bit. When were you born, Mr. Winslow?"

"December 17, 1926," I replied, automatically.

"He would be a little older," she observed.

I bolted for the bed and pulled the bulky down comforter over me, to cover my raging erection, my nakedness in general. "Would be? Something happen to him?"

"I don't know what happened to him. I haven't seen him for a long time." She approached the bed. "Don't be embarrassed, Elmont. It isn't as if I'd never seen a naked man before." I sat there, hugging the comforter, speechless. "My, it's warm in here." she said. "Do you mind if I make myself a little more comfortable?"

"Who are you?" I said, foolishly.

"Ellen. I'm an upstairs maid."

"What are you doing in my room?"

"This is my room. Was my room. It's our room. You don't mind my being here, do you? I noticed you looked like you could use some female companionship." She pulled the little hat from her head and started to let down her hair, a veritable waterfall of hair, which fell to her waist. "A man your age, Elmont... You can still appreciate a younger woman, can't you?" What could I say? "I suppose you are some sort of commercial traveller."

"Well, I was returning from a business trip."

"Are you married, Elmont?"


"Then you've been sleeping alone, I suppose."

"Yes. Of course." Actually, I'd been sleeping alone, for practical purposes, since long before Madge died, ever since her menopause and her total loss of interest in sex, though we had shared a bed until her final illness. I was uncomfortably aware of, amazed by, the huge pole between my legs. At my age, if you don't use it, you lose it. Oh, I masturbated every week or so, but joylessly expressing some seminal fluid to keep my prostate from packing it in isn't the same as real sex. I couldn't believe it could get so hard.

"Would you mind if I slept with you?"

Weird! This can't be real. Girls young enough to be my granddaughter just don't do this to men my age. "Well, it is a large bed, and..."

"Good," she said, "I'll be with you in a jiffy." She undid the apron strings and the pins which held the bib to her bodice, and she flung the apron away, swirling her long hair as she did. She sat on the edge of the bed and took off her black shoes, then her black cotton stockings, rolling them in her garters and showing me a good deal of white leg.

"Miss..." She gave me a frown. "Ellen. I don't quite understand. You really want to sleep with me?"

"Yes, Elmont, I find you very attractive."

"Is this some sort of service that comes with the room?"

"No! Well, not really. They don't normally rent my room. It's just that I find myself drawn to you, Elmont. The only other man I've ever slept with was named Elmont. Did I mention that?" She stood in front of me and loosened the cuffs of her long sleeves. Smiling, she deliberately undid the dozen or so buttons from the neck to the waist of her dress. "You do so remind me of him. I believe I could love you as much, more than I loved him." She tugged at the opening, exposing a white shoulder, then a slender arm. Coyly glancing at me, she shrugged out of the other sleeve, letting the bodice fall around her waist. She was wearing a sort of white chemise under the dress, cotton, I guessed, and no bra. I could see that. Her girlish breasts, little upstanding cones, pushed out against the cloth. The black wool slid down over the curve of her hip. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and turned, almost twirled, to toss the dress on top of my suitcase. Standing again in front of me, she pulled the chemise up, slowly, in stages, pausing it seemed, as her girlish breasts popped into view, pale white, with pink nipples. Then she hitched again at the garment, got it over her head, and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing drawers with a drawstring, cotton again, almost like loose boxer shorts. Her eyes fixed on mine for a long moment. Then she turned her back while she loosened the drawstring and slowly slid her drawers downward, revealing, inch by inch, her beautiful buttocks. Slowly, she bent over to step out of her drawers, giving me every opportunity to look between her legs as she did so. She stood up and turned to face me, rocked her pelvis slightly, as if to make sure I could see all the fuzz on her mons. "Do you like what you see, Elmont?"

"Oh, yes," I said sincerely, feeling as if I was eighteen again. "Ah, do we have to worry about..."

"Nothing to worry about."

"No infections or anything?"

"Of course not!" She put her hands together between her legs and moved them apart slightly, flashing pink. "Do you like what you see, Elmont? It's practically unused."

"Yes," I sighed, " but...are you protected?" She gave me a quizzical expression. "I mean, you don't need to worry about... getting pregnant."

She covered her breasts with her hands and looked very sad, hurt. "I was going to bear the other Elmont's child. That is when he left me, and in despair I... Now, I can never be a mother."

"I'm sorry." I said, uncomfortably, "It's just that I don't have any condoms or...." I didn't finish my sentence. I could hardly breathe, as she came close to the bed and stood before me, breathtakingly beautiful, naked, there in that attic room. She showed no shame or embarrassment, just stood there, letting me gaze at her, her creamy skin, her slender body, so close, so vulnerable, so willing.

"Elmont." she said. "It has been so long! Please, take me." I flipped the coverlet back, and she slipped into bed, pressing herself against me.

I suppose it would be indecent to tell in detail what we did. We did everything. I kissed her everywhere, stroked every inch of her smooth young body, and she did things to me that made me feel I'd died and gone to heaven. I tried to prolong the pleasure with endless foreplay, worried that once I came I might never get it up again, but that was no problem, not with Ellen, not with her long hair caressing my skin, and her slender fingers, doing their tricks, her sensuous lips, her boundless enthusiasm for anything I did, as long as I didn't stop possessing her. "Don't stop, Elmont." she whispered. And I didn't stop. It was like I was a young stud again, with boundless energy, with a beautiful young girlfriend who was insatiable and game for anything. "I'll do anything you want, Elmont. You won't leave me."

"I wouldn't want to." I said. Ecstasy!

Still, all good things should come to an end, moderation in all things. We fell asleep, snuggled together between the sheets, under that cloudlike down comforter, our legs entwined, her hair across my shoulders, her hand holding mine so that it cupped one lovely breast. I remember my last thoughts, before I lost consciousness, were of utter contentment, of feeling that I would never want to leave my Ellen.

The sound of a siren woke me. Sunlight flooded through the little dormer window. I slipped out from underneath Ellen's girlish body and tip-toed, naked, to the window. It was a beautiful, sunny winter day, early afternoon, with the ground, the trees, all covered in snow. An ambulance was just turning from the long drive onto the main road, its Mars light flashing red. I wondered if someone was injured or sick.

"Elmont, my love." said Ellen. I turned, and saw the door stood open. "Someone is coming." she said, quietly. She leapt out of bed, her long hair flashing in the sunbeams, took my hand, and led me to the little alcove. We squeezed, embarrassed by our nakedness, into the little niche of the dormer of the alcove and clung to each other, trying to be invisible. We could hear someone in the bedroom, stripping the bed, going into the bathroom. Then the curtain was pulled back and the older woman from the front desk came in and took my suit coat off the hanger. She didn't see us, didn't even look our way. I heard my suitcase being shut and latched, and the sound of the door closing.

Later, a tow truck came and dragged my car away.

- The End -

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