In Laymon's Terms

“Shut up goddamnit!” he yelled, slamming at his cock so fucking hard. But he just couldn’t cum. It wouldn’t fucking come out! He grabbed the remote and turned it up as far as it could go.

“Ronald...I’m so lonely,” the room said.

And that was it...Ronald snapped. Hard dick still in hand, porno still blasting, he whipped up, and ran for the door.

Ronald grabbed the knob, and turned it, but it wouldn’t turn.

“Fuck!” he yelled as he pulled. Finally, he took his hand off his cock and began pulling at the door with both hands, shaking at it violently. “Fuck! Open up goddamnit!”

He punched it and kicked it. But the door wouldn’t open.

“I’m lonely,” the room cried, “Ronald, I’m oh so very lonely.”

“I am too, damnit!” he cried back, butt-ass-naked and beaten, sore both physically and emotionally. “I am too,” he whispered and dropped to his knees, burying his head in his hands and shaking it.

Then, his strength returned, he jumped up and he pulled at the door again. “Open up for Christ’s sake!” Ronald pounded on the door. “Old man, can you hear me? Open this fucking door! Please!”

But the door still would not open.

Ronald stopped pulling at the door, and cried—a pathetic whimper of a forlorn man.

“Ronald, I’m so lonely!” the room cried back.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!” Ronald yelled, as he ran headfirst at the window. Arms outstretched, he jumped into it, and it shattered. Ronald flew rapidly at the ground, his arms and semi-hard cock whipping and whirling around like a three-propellered helicopter out of gas. He splattered into the already soaked concrete below.

The old man didn’t look up from what he was doing, although he heard the sound of body smacking pavement. A sound he was rather familiar with. Instead, he calmly passed the register across the front desk.

“What was that?” a soggy and obviously well-traveled, middle-aged man asked.

“I dunno. Thunder maybe?”

The old man shrugged and tossed the key to the man, who caught it, and then made his way to the elevator.

Upstairs, the room was repairing itself, like a self-cleaning oven. It didn’t need maid service. The television lowered to a normal volume, then clicked off. The bed made itself. The shower dried itself. And the window sealed up with a fresh pane of glass. Down below, there was one less empty spot in the almost full parking lot.

And room number 1313 at the Happy Hotel said with a satiated sigh, “I’m happy.”

Dick’s College Poems Scanned From The Original Typewritten Documents From The 1960s

Originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, November 1970

LLRIGHT!”HE felt lucky about this one. Walking backward along the roadside, he stared at the oncoming car and offered his thumb. Sunlight glared on the windshield. Only at the last moment did he manage to get a look at the driver. A woman. That was that. So much for feeling lucky.

When he saw the brake lights flash on, he figured the woman was slowing down to be safe. When he saw the car stop, he figured this would be the “big tease.” He was used to it. The car stops, you run to it, then off it shoots, throwing dust in your face. He wouldn’t fall for it this time. He’d walk casually toward the car.

When he saw the backup lights come on, he couldn’t believe his luck.

The car rolled backward to him. The woman inside leaned across the front seat and opened the door.

“Can I give you a ride?”

“Sure can.” He jumped in and threw his seabag onto the rear seat. When he closed the door, cold air struck him. It seemed to freeze the sweat on his T-shirt. It felt fine. “I’m mighty glad to see you,” he said. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

“How on earth did you get way out here?” she asked, starting again up the road.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Go ahead and try me.”

He enjoyed her cheerfulness and felt guilty about the slight nervous tremor he heard in her voice. “Well, this fella gives me a lift. Just this side of Blythe. And he’s driving along through this...this desert...when suddenly he stops and tells me to get out and take a look at one of the tires. I get out—and off he goes! Tosses my seabag out a ways up the road. Don’t know why a fella wants to do something like that. You understand what I mean?”

“I certainly do. These days you don’t know who to trust.”

“If that ain’t the truth.”

He looked at her. She wore boots and jeans and a faded blue shirt, but she had class. It was written all over her. The way she talked, the way her skin was tanned just so, the way she wore her hair. Even her figure showed class. Nothing overdone.

“What I don’t get,” he went on, “is why the fella picked me up in the first place.”

“He might have been lonely.”

“Then why’d he dump me?”

“Maybe he decided not to trust you. Or maybe he just wanted to be alone again.”

“Any way you slice it, it was a rotten thing to do. You understand what I mean?”

“I think so. Where are you headed?”

“Tucson.”

“Fine. I’m going in that direction.”

“How come you’re not on the main highway? What are you doing out here?”