Room 5054: Vampi, Fluffy and Pete.

Once upon a long ago hotels were the exclusive domain of humans, but somewhere along the way people decided they couldn’t bear to be apart from their beastly companions for even a short while and the landscape of the hospitality jungle was irrevocably transformed.

As was the concept of coupling in the modern age…

It was a brisk December day, in the year 2013, when she came into my life, the first of the month, to be precise. I should have known something was off by the cut of the weather; December rain always leaves me with a weird feeling, like that feeling you get when you hug that impossibly hot cousin you only see once a year. Or maybe that’s just me? At any rate, there was a mystifying vibe in the air that had thrown me off my game all morning. It felt like I was waiting for something or someone to arrive.

The day turned on a dime at noon, when I was summoned to a vehicle with a license plate that read: TRWLBLD, and everything slid into place. At that moment, I was certain it was going to be one of those days, the kind of day worth writing about, if only to prove it actually happened.

[Bellman’s Note: The plate translated to: “There Will Be Blood”, so you get bonus points if you guessed it didn’t belong to an insurance salesman.]

She called herself Vampirella. She was the kind of dame you’d kill for – if you could afford to be sued by Frank Miller, that is. She slithered past me as I unloaded the trunk; her scent took me to a dark place for an agonizingly brief moment.

Vampirella was a statuesque librarian/weekend vamp with ebony locks, penetrating eyes, cheekbones you could bounce a quarter off of, and a toned frame sculpted to mimic the actual comic book character. And yes, she insisted on being referred to by that moniker. She was even outfitted in a crimson “costume” that was as skimpy as her namesake’s, despite the frigid temperatures outside – not that anyone with a penis was complaining, mind you. (For those unfamiliar with the comic book Vampirella, just picture red dental floss that crisscrosses the naughty bits, thigh-high boots… and nothing more.)

Don’t judge the “real” Vampirella too harshly, folks. One look at her luggage tags spoke volumes: “Eunice” doesn’t exactly scream “sexy bitch.”

Vampi brought both her pets along, their ridiculously extravagant, monogrammed collars made them easy to identify (“Pete and Fluffy”). I have to admit, as much as I love the game, it’s a refreshing change when guests do my leg work.

(Pay attention from this moment on, kiddies, there are some twists and turns ahead.)

The chaos of the lobby can be quite shocking/daunting for some, but Pete was completely gobsmacked and left a puddle in front of the my desk as I stored their luggage before check-in, and Fluffy kept pulling at his collar and leash.

“Behave yourself, Baby,” Vampi advised her pet, “or you won’t get any num nums later.”

I couldn’t help but stare at Vampirella as I mopped up Pete’s urine (bellman don’t mop, but as you’ve no doubt concluded, I’m not your average bellman), from the ridiculously expensive marble lobby floor. To her credit, she shared my fondness for the direct approach.

“To be clear, Mr. Bellguy, ‘num nums’ is a euphemism for sex.”

I was actually impressed by the fact she not only knew what “euphemism” meant, she used it correctly. As for Pete and Fluffy, they just stood motionless, although I’m pretty sure only one of them had an erection. Content that Fluffy had been rendered docile with the promise of intercourse, Vampi scooped up Pete and headed for the Front Desk. That left me with Fluffy who had been ordered to stay behind and watch the luggage. I was hoping he could provide answers to several queries that were searing a hole in my consciousness.

1) What was a four-foot-yet-hulking blonde frat boy doing in my lobby wearing a studded dog collar and answering to the name Fluffy?

(I mean, I could understand the initial attraction; Vampi made Megan Fox look like the Elephant Man, but was she in possession of pheromones that eradicated a man’s willpower with a single whiff? Had she been trained by a secret sect of former-porn-stars-turned-high-priestesses in sexual positions that make the moves in The Kama Sutra look like a step class?

2) Was Fluffy actually a “himbo” who was flexible in every way imaginable?

3) Who names a chihuahua Pete?

And most importantly…

4) Why was “Escape (The Piña Colada Song)” by Rupert Holmes looping in my head?

And is it now looping in yours? (Sorry, but I’m kind of a dick that way.)

Unfortunately for me, the lobby was being overrun by packs of corporate drones arriving for a banking conference and so I was forced to hand Fluffy – and his luggage, of course – over to another bellman while I ran back outside. After years of slacking off training I can literally run circles most of my brethren.

Incidentally, I couldn’t help but chuckle as wave after wave of bankers passed by Fluffy, hurling judgmental daggers as their paths crossed. Who were they trying to kid? Most bankers I’ve met have more skeletons in their closets than a member of the Bush family. In fact, I remember one couple that set the bar pretty high

(or is that low?)

by capping off their conference with a midnight meeting – in the hotel’s laundry room. To be specific, on one of the folding tables. He obviously had an overnight deposit to make that just couldn’t wait…

Fortunately for the hotel, Vampi had chosen to arrive on a Tuesday rather than a Friday; corporate drones are judgmental pricks but they’re less likely to complain about a young man in a dog collar standing in the lobby than a mother of five from Sarasota. Vampi, Fluffy and Pete left the lobby after my third trip back from the valet deck and I assumed this was one hotel mystery that was going to remain unsolved.

[Bellman’s Note: For the record, that was the last time I dared to doubt Mistress Fate. She loves to mess with me as one would toy with a drunken poodle and a laundry chute, but she always has a trick or two up her sleeves.]

Five days later a call for a “bellguy” came in from Room 5054 and I literally jumped at the chance to fill in the blanks. I was ready for anything as I knocked on the door, but I have to admit, the response I received left me shaken… for a moment at least.

“Just a moment, please, Mr. Bellguy! I have to finish untying my boyfriend!”

Three minutes later, a bubbly Vampi answered the door. The musky, straight-out-of-a-Seventies-key-party-that-my-parents-always-denied-attending, dripping-with-sweat odor of the room told the tale.

Something bad happened here.

Sexy bad.

Luck was truly on my side that day; not only were my guests in good spirits – which meant I could say pretty much anything without any fear of recriminations – Vampi wasn’t finished applying her false face, which provided me with ample opportunity to chat with

(interrogate)

Fluffy – after I loaded up my cart with their luggage, of course. Speaking of which, as far as this bellman is concerned, the stranger the possessions, the greater my delight. A bellman’s life can feel like a Möbius strip at times, so I was as giddy as Robin Thicke in an all-girls middle school change room when I discovered my new BFFs hadn’t finished packing their goodies.

Get a load of this itemized list of nuttiness, including everything one needs to partake in the drunken joyride that passes for romance these days:

• One goldfish bowl, minus the goldfish.
• Five garment bags with ripped zippers, containing run-of-the-mill, boring clothing.
• Two garment bags with ripped zippers – which, to my knowledge, Vampi didn’t check in with – containing one Alice in Wonderland outfit – in black and red, naturally – and one Original Generation Star Trek “Red Shirt” uniform. (Talk about your creative crossover cosplay.)
• Two suitcases with broken handles and snaps, held together by blue painter’s tape.A collection of knick knacks, including various nightmarish unicorns that were foaming at the mouth, trolls, vampires and werewolves.
• Handcuffs and various black-as-coal shackles, all polished to a brilliant sheen.High-end camera equipment, including photographer’s lights and several seven foot rolls of various backdrops. (For the record, I’ve seen these many, many times before; amateur Playboy photographers are a dime a dozen in the hotel biz.)
• One cloth bag of ball gags in a rainbow of colors.
• Two boxes of Sportsheets bondage bed sheets. (For the sexually unenlightened: Sportsheets is a company dedicated to “helping couples find new pleasure while exploring new positions together with soft bondage and sexual positioning tools designed for quality, durability and ultimate satisfaction.” We can’t cure cancer or solve the homeless problem but we can enrich the lives of perverts everywhere)
• Two open boxes containing a collection of restraints, blindfolds, floggers, strap-ons, spreader bars and straps.

(When it came to fooling around, this couple didn’t fool around.)

Another bellman would surely have been tempted to call for backup – I’m sure the notion of an extra set of hands crossed Fluffy’s mind more than once – or at the very least, another cart, but I likes me a good challenge, I do. (So I watch a lot of BBC. What of it, guvnor?) By the time I was finished, my luggage cart resembled a medieval battle tank, with four photographer’s backdrops sticking out of each end, but I was pleased with the results nonetheless.

I glanced back as I left the room after completing a final check and there they were: Two 21st century lovers ravenously devouring one another’s tongues while furiously dry humping each other into oblivion. Admittedly, the temptation to linger and soak in the lurid action unfolding in front of me was… well, tempting, but I’m more comfortable listening rather than watching. Fortunately, Pete spared me the burden of breaking the dark magic of the moment by attempting to hump Fluffy’s leg.

(Yes, I’m as unnerved as you are by sentences like that one. Welcome to my life.)

Vampi and Fluffy disengaged and Vampi returned to her shellacking efforts in the bathroom. Finally, I had a chance to get the skinny on this juicy situation; protocol dictated I take my cart and descend to the lobby in the service elevator, but I wasn’t about to let the opportunity for comedic gold pass me by so I convinced Vampi’s boy-toy to join me. Now all I had to do was light the fuse and watch the fireworks explode from Fluffy’s memories. Of course, my plan hinged on Fluffy’s willingness to chat.

Turns out, ole Fluffmeister had plenty to say.

“Man, am I glad to see you, man!” he declared the second the swinging service door began to close, “I’ve been stuck in that room for four days with that animal!”

“Is that any way to refer to Vampirella, sir?” I’ve never been one to let a chance for a zinger pass me by.

Neither was Fluffy, apparently.

“At least that animal will blow me! I’m talking about that crazy dog! You have no idea what happened last night, man!”

“You can trust me, sir.” To my credit, I actually said that with a straight face, “Feel free to fill me in.”

“That’s what she said… several times, in fact!”

You can never go wrong with a “That’s what she said!”, can you? After he stopped chuckling at the depth of his own humor, the Fluff-Man continued, but only after he inquired about the limits of my discretion.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but this’ll stay between us, right, Mr. Bellguy?”

He really did resemble a puppy dog. So much so, that deceiving him would have been criminal. Besides, The Hook doesn’t do deception.

“Actually sir, you can call me The Hook, everyone else does. And no, this most likely won’t stay between us.”

Credit where credit is due: He didn’t miss a beat.

“But why, Hook?”

“Let’s be honest, your story demands to be shared. You’re traveling with a girl who has modeled herself after a vampiric comic book character – “

“You actually picked up on that? Most people just assume she’s a slut!”

“I’ve been a hardcore nerd since birth, sir.”

“She takes the whole Vampirella thing seriously too.” He picked up steam; I think he was genuinely grateful to have another male to talk to after four days of being a wannabe vampire’s plaything. “I mean, all week she’s this uptight, prim ‘n proper librarian chick, but on weekends and vacations she becomes this sexy, insatiable, jacked vampire queen.”

“And you become her bitch.”

Fluffy almost cracked but he held it together as we boarded the service elevator.

“And I become her bitch… with benefits.”

“Who she calls Fluffy. And who she outfits in a studded dog collar. And speaking of canines, what’s with the miniature four-legged border jumper?

That one went right out of the park.

“NICE! I’m going to use that one from now on! You’re pretty sharpy, Mr. Bellguy. Can I tell you about last night now? I don’t care who you tell! I don’t know anyone in Niagara Falls and it’s not like you’re writing a book or anything, right?”

I didn’t have the heart.

“The first three days were awesome as they always are when we go away. We did things to each other that I honestly thought were illegal in Canada.”

Why do foreigners always assume Canadians are behind the times when it comes to the horizontal mambo? I felt I owed it to my fellow Canadians to set the record straight.

“We may be nicer than most Americans but we can get as freaky as any Yankee. Moreso even.” A sexy version of Oh, Canada rang in my head as I sermonized, “Think about it. We drink our body weight in beer during Hockey Night in Canada, we count Pamela Anderson, Laura Vandervoort and Elisha Cuthbert among our number and we worship the beaver. We may be the horniest people on the planet.”

He nearly fell into the lobby’s service area as the elevator doors opened, so raucous was his laughter. He composed himself as we made our way to his girlfriend’s red

(obviously)

sports car. As we entered the hotel’s parking garage, his tale of sexual misadventures gone awry continued.

“Everything was going great at first. We went at it like world-class porn stars for hours. I even had to call a time-out after her fifth orgasm… she screams like a crazy bitch when she cums!”

And they say romance is dead.

“She went to the bathroom to freshen up and I think I must have passed out. All I know is, I woke up, it was pitch black and she was licking Wingus and Dingus.”

I didn’t want to ask, I swear, but it had to be done.

“I’m guessing you’re a Futurama fan… Wingus and Dingus are your balls, right, sir?”

“Oh yeah! And let me tell you, she was really going to town, too! I reached down after a few minutes to stroke her head and then I heard her voice from the bathroom…”

What you’re thinking right now? You’re on the money.

Fluffy had himself an accidental inter-species threesome. Of sorts.

“You know the worst part, Mr. Bellguy?”

I had already figured out the worst part for myself, but I had a feeling it would be more fun to hear it from him. Plus, the hotel’s garage has great acoustics – not to mention these supposedly-stylish round holes covered with wire mesh in the dividing walls – that provide me with an advantage I frequently exploit. Sure enough, we rounded a corner just as Fluffy opened his mouth and our paths crossed with a group of young, smartly-dressed, “pretty girl” corporate drones.

“The dog actually did a better job on my balls than my girlfriend did!”

Fluffy froze when his eyes – which grew two sizes in as many seconds – locked with the collective gaze of the upscale corporate drones who immediately broke contact to erupt into a chorus of girlish laughter. I maintained my course, pleased that my instincts were as sharp as ever.

Love makes fools of us all, its true, but lust is arguably the most powerful of all emotions. The hunt of the all-mighty orgasm often takes us to the edge of reason… and way, way beyond. As a married man, I abandoned the hunt over twenty years ago; I’m more like an animal in a zoo, eagerly awaiting his daily

(okay, monthly)

feeding rather than a predator on the prowl.

Luckily, Mistress Fate has me covered. I’m content to live through Vampi, Fluffy, and their libidinous brethren. Who needs porn when you have access to a traveling circus with a perpetually rotating cast of randy performers?

See you in the lobby, kids…