I’m thinking of the times I’ve spent in hotels. King size beds, fluffy robes, mirrored ceilings, fabulous hair products, sumptuous body creams, waiters coming with room service and the silver domed platter things, champagne on ice and huge bubble baths with thick fluffy towels.
Mostly, it means getting turned on.
The lighting is always dim, there’s fantastic Egyptian cotton, sexy cushions that get flung on the floor, candles in the bathrooms, and yeah, taking off those robes. The novelty of something new, something exciting, the unknown.
And I think it’s the same in a motel. It doesn’t have the luxury at all, but they’re sexy. Just the word motel is sexy – it conjures up naughty, dirty, decadent sex.
So I couldn’t help being fascinated when I read the story in the New Yorker, The Voyeur’s Motel, by Gay Talese. (Read it below)
Gerald Foos opens a motel in Colorado and for decades he watches his clients having sex. Young, old, pretty, flabby, straight, gay – he creeeps up into the attic and watches them.
And then he makes notes.
He documents everything!
In the more than fifteen years, he never got caught. And then one day, like now, he decided he needed to tell his story, and he called Talese and bears all.
Mostly, I think Foos was a cunt and a cheat and devious and how dare he do what he did. But he did.
And there’s something that I’ve been thinking.
Hotel or motel sex is different. It’s somehow decadent. It’s a lot easier to abandon your inhibitions. Try different things. Use the dining room table. Wander around naked. Act out your fantasies.
Know that it’s totally completely private.
Or maybe, know that it isn’t.
Maybe sex that is different – in a car, at a party, in the garden, on a boat, at the doctor’s office – is good for that very reason.
Someone could be watching.
And maybe that is a turn on too.
Read the article here.