Putting the “Ho” in Hotel

January 16th, 2009

We’ve stayed in these Ho-tels before, but never in the dedicated sex rooms.  In the past, they’ve taken one look at us, walkied back to command that we’re “norteamericanos” and diverted us to the nightly rooms.  But, tonight, we’re in the middle of nowhere and this is all there is.

If you’ve never driven Mexico’s highways, you should know that they are similar to America’s only in that they use asphalt as pavement.  Other than that, they’re a whole different beast.  There are no Motel 6s or Red Roof Inns dotting the highways.  (Not to mention that “freeways” don’t exist.  If you’re on a big, fast road, you’re paying for it, through the nose.)  The mom and pop motel that will eventually be bought out by those corporations aren’t even really here yet.  What does exist is a bounty of motels specifically created as a safe haven for prostitutes and johns — the Ho-tel.

Tonight we’ve driven farther than we should and, desperate for a place to rest, we end up at the Posada Treble Park.  There’s no office, just a list of rates, a microphone, and a slide-out money tray like the kind you find at gas stations in the ‘hood.  Isaac tells the microphone that we want a simple room for the night, but there is some confusion.  A man eventually walks out and sounds surprised that we want the room “until tomorrow?”.  He escorts us to our own private garage with a room attached.

I remember the first time I saw past the high front walls of these places.  I thought “How great — they all have their own individual garages.”  Later, I realized that this, after the high wall, was a primary indication that the place was a Ho-tel.

We enter through the garage.  There’s no key.  Our escort just walks away and we close ourselves in behind him.  The room looks similar to all the other dumpy Mexican motels we’ve stayed in except for the oversized revolving milk door that allows you to order specific items to be delivered in complete privacy without having to leave your room. 

I’m intrigued by the size of the milk door.  I wonder just what are these giant things that people are ordering?  Since there’s no menu here, my imagination is left to wander.

We didn’t splurge for the seemingly popular jacuzzi room.  Our room does, however, have the deluxe version of the Lorenzetti Maxi Ducha.  You may remember this from my prior post “Suicide shower”.  This one, though, has a side attachment that I can find no direct purpose for.  

Again, my mind goes to work, and the Maxi Ducha makes my milk door imaginings seem tame.

The crown mouldings, the hair dryer, and the plenitude of onyx tile are luxuries that we don’t often find in our Mexican motel sojourns.  That, and the free porn — all you can watch, imported from the U.S. of A., only interrupted by rare commercials for porn video games with characters’ named “Cockhammer” and “Clamtrap”.  The goal of the game is to have intercourse.  Sounds pretty straightforward — what’s the challenge?  Avoid getting venereal diseases — morphing your character into “Claptrap”?

The fact that the bed has bleacher seating as a headboard is only mildly disturbing, since I understand its function.  They’ve really tried to think of everything here, right down to the plastic coated pillows. The breath mints are a nice touch, too.  

And though the room does have the haunted air of past sexcapades, I feel strangely safe here, knowing that we’re locked in tight, and that everyone else around us is busy doing their own thing.

Entry Filed under: Stories