Glasses in Bed
By Dale Scherfling
She arrived as always—urgent, unannounced, already working my belt before I could close the hotel room door. I pulled her inside, embarrassed despite myself. She smelled of McDonald’s coffee, cigarettes, and six hours of highway. She hooked a Levi’d leg around me and kissed me like we had minutes, not all night.
The room was dim—just the TV’s glow and bathroom light spilling across the cheap carpet. I’d been about to shower when she knocked, water already running. We stumbled toward the steam, shedding clothes in that breathless way of hers, all momentum and hunger.
Under the spray we slowed, soaped each other with something almost tender.
Still damp, we fell onto the quilts. The TV flickered, bedsprings protesting beneath our rhythm. Diana hummed off-key, eyes closed but wearing her glasses—to see me better, she’d once said. This weird, irresistible woman who drove through three states without warning.
Then mid-motion she pushed me off, sat bolt upright—pigeon-toed, mouth half-open, glasses catching the light. She grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“Benny Hill,” she said, transfixed. “I just love him.”
I lay there, heart still racing, watching her watching him. This was Diana. This was always Diana.
THE END
Author Bio: Dale Scherfling is a newspaper veteran of 30 years, serving as a sportswriter, columnist, editor, and photographer, and a retired Navy journalist and photographer. His work has been accepted by Letters Journal, The Blotter Magazine, 25:05 Magazine, Writing Teacher, Third Act Magazine, Yellow Mama, Close to the Bone, Flash Phantom, Does it Have Pockets Magazine, Lost Blonde Literary, All Hands Magazine, Pacific Crossroads, Daily Californian, Naval Aviation Magazine, Propeller Magazine, Buckeye Guard Magazine, and Oddball Magazine. He is the recipient of three U.S. Army Front Page Journalism Awards and is also a college lecturer and instructor of photojournalism, photography, and music.