He knew. A billowing plume of dust shrouded the ’57 Chevy Convertible. It was always the newlyweds or the cheaters that were the best. His heart pounded as beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. He ran his tongue over the eager perspiration. He booked them in the Memory Suite. His palms whetted, fingers trembled, as he slipped them the registration card.
He peered, as he always did, through the false adjoining door. His erection grew as he watched them fuck; passionate sweat, fevered touch, hungry kisses. They came in screams, he in whimpers ………… a handful of someone else’s memories.