Even though it was before noon on a weekday, all the love hotels in Tokyo were fully booked, and only an old love hotel on the outskirts of the entertainment district was available. In that one room, she straddled me and twisted her hips. Over and over again. Gradually, the small room was filled with the stale scent of men and women and the lewd sound of mucous membranes rubbing against each other. Her soft breasts swayed, and a thin layer of sweat was on her white neck. It was probably her job that made this already sensual situation even more appealing. Normally, she would be surrounded by children and practicing singing at this time of day - "I work at a kindergarten. I love children," I asked her casually at the cafe where we met, and she smiled. Her answer somehow made sense to me, probably because the image of her wearing a nursery school teacher's apron and singing in a circle with the children came to my mind so naturally. Everyday, she draws pictures, sings songs, and laughs with the children. An ideal and peaceful daily life. But silence always harbors heat inside. It's been more than a year since she broke up with her boyfriend. It wasn't loneliness that was building up inside her, but something more urgent and instinctive. She took the day off work and chose this day. On the sofa, there was a pair of lace underwear that she said she "always wears." The desire contained within was all too frank. We made love again and again, and eventually, both of us were out of breath and sank into the sheets. I held her close for a while, and she was breathing quietly in my arms. It was 2:30 p.m. I looked at the clock and suddenly thought. ? ? I see. It's actually about time for a nap now.