Chrissie cups his face with her hand. Roger kisses that hand and embraces her the length of her arm, undoing her pillowy crease.
Roger: Mirka doesn't know. she was just about to read your tweet when i tossed my phone up in the air and smashed it down the 17 stories of the hotel we were staying with my racquet. i'm not known for a powerful serve but that was the hardest serve i ever hit. 100 i'm sure. we're not divorcing only separating. she's taking the kids to her sister's. they do that, i'm never around so they have vacations without me.
Chrissie: i'm not exactly sure what you're saying. something about a bird. you here for a Tokyo tournament?
Roger: HELL NO. what is hell in Romansh? it's hell. Hell is Hell in any language, we are all humans destined for Hell.
Chrissie: you speak Swiss. which is just English, right?
Roger paces back and forth the considerable length of the room.
Roger: i can't believe i let Delpo into my head again, his accent is alarmingly disarming. speaking of, can i fuck you? maybe you can be some sort of jammer, what do the baseball players call it? rutbreaker. i love those baseball jocks, they're always on ESPN challenging me to a rugby match, saying they're gonna tear my knot corduroy sweater.
Chrissie: wow. this has been my dream all along. but things are moving too fast. why don't i show you round the place first. swanky room, huh? i paid for it with a credit card. look outside. smell the technology hovering my brain. it's like Tron out there, no roads, just lights. Tron was the last movie i saw and remember, cos it was the last movie that was paid for me by a date. damn you, Jimmy. everywhere you turn, buttons to push. the Yoshito, this hotel is a modern marvel. they say it is made entirely of a mech's penis. whatever that is. the tower is suffocated in lasers like a candycane lighthouse struggling to breathe. the stories move around like alive tetris puzzle pieces. except this floor. the city is purple. never all red, never all blue...
Roger: can we move this along? let's go, let's do this.
Chrissie: right here right now?
Roger: there is no other place i'd rather be.
Chrissie: i'd always imagined our first time would be at least in a bed.
Roger: this expensive Asian thread rug will catch our droppings. sorry. what are you wearing?
Chrissie: *sashaying in a twirl* can't you see?
Roger: i gander. and i gather. but i mean what are you wearing? i don't know. the brands.
Chrissie: well it's my usual. my Henley nightshirt...
Roger: i need to get over this. remove everything save the boots.
Chrissie: *smiling proudly* my Markons. spitshined them this morning, had a premonition something special would happen.
Roger: save your spit. you'll need it. it the spit. i spit on my tennis balls like golf balls. can i please slide inbetween your insanely-big tits?
Chrissie: wow. you are more of an Adonis naked than i pictured. you have perfect proportions. your dimensions are from another dimension. your asscheeks are the same size as your facecheeks.
and so the two novice lovers motorboard without a manual and with only a stickshift. standing up. Chrissie rumbles and rocks her matronly mammaries, swamping his little Switzerland-flag-red roger hiding it away in her crease. Fed is rollicking against her slappy flesh and mumbles in Swiss.
Roger: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUGHHHHHHHHHHHH
and Roger is not known as a screamer. and he cums so hard. harder than his hardest serve. 101 mph at least. he shoots his cum like a frozen rope up to the ceiling tiles and tastefully gaudy chandeliers of the old Shinto gods, knocking out all the lights in the room. and the building. the hotel power goes off. for a second, until the ingenious sedulous Japanese kick in. the emergency power glows an eerie green in the back corners.
Chrissie: i'm exhausted. i did all the work. that required extreme coordination of limbs and sinews, i'm not getting any younger. my wrists hurt. i may never serve again.
Roger: *panting* thank you. that was hot. it cooled me down. you were my favorite player growing up, the boys in Brazil made fun of me for liking a girl. my back is broken from standing but it was worth it. i can't see you now. i went blind!
Chrissie: i'll order us room service. but it's gonna take awhile cos the food needs to be cooked over a candle. let me call my girlfriends in the interim, i must give them the play-by-play.
Roger: it's already on twitter. how do you achieve power?
Chrissie taps her phone against the back of her head.
Chrissie: darn, no bars. had one bar for one second.
she steps outside her room. she pokes her head out full of dirty blonde authoritarian hair that is all messied up but still manages to form into a bun.
Chrissie: room service?
all the other occupants in their rooms roll out of bed baked or naked and poke their heads out. in the middle of their stories. the middle of what they were doing. wondering what's going on. with the lights. they are all on the R floor. Chrissie's room is R611.
one drop of rain falls from the sky.
THE LATE PHOENIX: I WANTED TO BE FAMOUS. INSTEAD, I HAVE THIS BLOG.
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