“It’s not a road trip unless you dangle your feet out the window driving down the highway!” she yells over the music and the wind rushing through the car. Her hair is pulled into one braid this time, but the wind keeps pushing the stray strands all around her face.
“You’re right,” I say, pressing on the gas, “and on a true road trip you also have to f**k with a truck driver.”
Her hair slaps her across the face again when she turns her head.
“Huh?”
I grin. “Yep.” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel to the music. “It’s mandatory. Didn’t you know—you have to do one of three things: one—.” I hold up one finger. “You have to moon one.”
Her blue eyes grow big in her head.
“Two: we have to drive next to one while you pretend to be touching yourself.”
Her eyes get even bigger and her mouth falls open.
“Or three: simply pump your arm—,” I raise my arm up and down with my fist in the air, “to get him to blow his horn.”
Relief washes over her.
“Alright,” she says and a mysterious smile curves the corners of her lips, “the next one we see, I’ll consummate this road trip by f**king with a truck driver.” She says it indisputably.
Ten minutes later, our victim—well, ‘lucky bastard’ is more like it; it is Camryn, after all—comes into view out ahead. We’re on a long stretch of straight highway tearing through a flat, treeless landscape on each side. We gain on the semi and keep a steady sixty-five-mile per hour pace behind him. Camryn, wearing those skimpy-as-hell white cotton shorts that I love so much, unfolds her legs from the seat and drops her feet onto the floorboard. She’s grinning wickedly and it’s kind of turning me on.
“Are you ready?” I ask, turning the music down a little.
Camryn nods and I look out my rearview and side mirrors first and then out ahead at the oncoming lane to make sure no vehicles are coming in either direction.
As I pull out from behind the semi and move over into the oncoming lane, Camryn slides her right hand down inside the front of her shorts.
I have an instant hard-on.
I thought she’d do the safe horn-pulling thing for sure!
I grin darkly over at her with all kinds of perverted thoughts swimming around in my head and she grins right back at me. I press the gas a little harder and gradually speed up until we’re level with the truck driver’s window.
Oh my f**king God….
Camryn’s hand moves gently, but visibly underneath the thin fabric of her shorts; the index finger and thumb of her left hand is wedged behind the elastic, pulling it down enough to see her bare stomach. She leans her head back against the seat and slides down a little further. I’m almost too distracted to keep my eyes on the road. She bites her bottom lip and moves her fingers more furiously underneath her shorts. I’m starting to think she’s not pretending at all. I’m so hard right now my dick can cut diamonds.
The semi is keeping pace, too. Distracted by Camryn, I didn’t notice when my foot was slowly releasing on the gas and when the speedometer started to drop a couple of notches, so did the semi’s speed.
A howling, gruff voice shouts from the semi’s window: “Holy hot-damn! Gonna’ give me a fuckin’ heart attack, baby! Whoo-hoo!” He pulls on his loud horn excitedly.
Feeling a pang of possession, I drop from sixty-five to forty-five and fall back behind the truck. Just in time, too, as a van is coming up in the opposite lane.
I look over at Camryn knowing I must have crazy eyes. She pulls her hand from her shorts and just smiles at me.
“I didn’t expect that!”
“That’s exactly why I did it,” she says, propping her feet back on the car door and blocking the side mirror with her toes.
“Were you really…actually touching yourself?”
Forty-five miles per hour has dropped to forty now. My heart is humming against my ribcage.
“Yeah, I did,” she says, “but I wasn’t doing it for the truck driver.”
Her grin deepens as she pulls away a few strands of hair that have blown between her lips. I can’t help but watch her lips, studying them, wanting to bite and kiss them.
“Well, not that I’m complaining,” I say, trying to pay attention to the road and not get us killed, “but now I have a…bit of a problem.”
Camryn’s gaze falls on my lap and then she looks up at me again, cocking her head to one side with a look of mischief and seduction. Then she moves across the seat toward me and grabs a handful between my legs. Now my heart is banging against my ribcage. I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel with both hands. She kisses my neck and then my jawline and moves her lips to the shell of my ear. Goosebumps rape me.
She starts to unzip my shorts.
“You’ve helped me with my ‘problems’,” she whispers into my ear and then bites my neck again. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.”
She looks up at me.
I just nod stupidly because I can’t think with the head on my shoulders long enough to form a sentence right now.
I press my back further against the seat as she takes the length of me into her hand and lowers her head between my stomach and the steering wheel. My body lurches a little when I feel her tongue snake out to lick it. Oh my f**king God…Oh my f**king God…I don’t know how I’m going to drive….
When she slides me into the back of her throat I shudder, my head falls back some, still trying to keep my eyes on the road, and my mouth falls open. I’m only white-knuckling the wheel now with my left hand; as she sucks me harder and faster, my right hand has slid away from the wheel and is gripping the back of her head, her blonde hair wedged within my clinging fingers.
Forty miles per hour has become fifty.
By sixty, my legs are shaking and I can’t see straight. I grip the wheel with both hands again, trying to maintain some kind of control over something, especially the damn car, and I let out a gasp and moan as I come.
I managed not to kill us on the highway after Camryn’s toe-curling head-job. We’re in Galveston by morning and she’s still passed out across the seat with her legs hanging partially on the floorboard. I don’t bother to wake her yet. I drive slowly past my mom’s house first, noting that her car isn’t in the driveway so that means she’s working at the bank today. To kill time, I drive the long way to my apartment, passing down 53rd. Camryn didn’t get much sleep last night, but I guess the car moving slower than usual is enough to wake her anyway. She starts stirring before I pull into my complex at Park at Cedar Lawn.
She raises her beautiful blonde head from the seat and when I see her face, a ripple of laughter bursts lightly through my lips.
She cocks her already crazy-just-woke-up head to one side and grumbles, “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, babe, I tried to keep you from falling asleep like that.”
She leans up, pressing her face into the rearview mirror and rolls her eyes once she sees the three long striped indentions stretching across one cheek all the way to her ear. She probes the indentions in the mirror.
“Wow, that kind of hurts,” she says.
“You’re still beautiful even with stripes.” I laugh and she can’t help but smile.
“Well, we’re here.” I finally say and pull into a parking space and shut off the engine, dropping my hands beside me.
The car is uncomfortably quiet. Even though neither one of us has ever actually said that our trip will end in Texas, or that things between us are going to change, it’s like both of us can feel it.
The only difference is…I’m the only one who knows why.
Camryn sits perfectly quiet and still on her side, her hands folded loosely within her lap.
“Let’s go inside,” I say to stir the silence.
She forces a smile over at me and then opens her door.
“Wow, this place looks more like a campus dorm than an apartment complex.” She shoulders her bag and purse, looking out at the historical building and giant oak trees sprawled across the landscaping.
“It was a U.S. Marine Hospital in the 1930’s,” I say, lifting my bags from the trunk.
Camryn grabs Aidan’s guitar from the backseat.
We make our way down one curvy chalk-white sidewalk and come to my one-bedroom on the bottom floor. I fumble my key in the door and open it into the large living room area. The smell of un-lived-in space hits me as soon as we step inside; nothing funky, just vacant.
I drop my bags on the floor.
Camryn stands there at first, checking out the place.
“Set your stuff wherever you want, babe.”
I move over to the couch and pluck my jeans from it hanging sloppily over the back and then grab a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from the chair and matching ottoman.
“This is a really nice apartment,” she says, gazing around.
Finally she sets her stuff on the floor and props Aidan’s guitar against the back of the couch.
“Not much the bachelor pad,” I say heading into the dining room, “but I like it here and I wanted to be closer to the beach.”
“No roommates?” she asks following in behind me.
I shake my head and step into the kitchen and pop the fridge open; the various bottles and jars in the side-door jangle against one another. “Not anymore. My friend Heath lived with me for about three months when I first moved in, but he ended up moving to Dallas with his fiancé.”
Shutting the fridge door, I pull out a two liter bottle of Ginger Ale. “Want a drink?” I hold it up to show her. “See? I have non-soda or beer in my fridge and you see that I wasn’t even here to plant it in advance.”
She smiles sweetly and says, “Thanks, but I’m not thirsty right now—what’d you buy it for: hangover, stomach bug?”
I smirk at her and take a swig from the bottle itself. She doesn’t cringe like I halfway expected her to.
“Yeah, you got me,” I admit, twisting the cap back on.
“If you want to get a shower,” I say as I leave the kitchen and point down the hall, “bathroom’s just right there; I’m going to give my mom a call so she doesn’t worry and pick up some around here before I get one myself. My plant is probably dead.”
Camryn looks slightly surprised. “You have a plant?”
I smile. “Yeah, her name’s Georgia.”
Her brow rises a little higher.
I laugh lightly and kiss her softly on the lips.
While Camryn is in the shower I work my way through every visible inch of my apartment in search of anything incriminating: disgusting, crusty socks (found one at the foot of my bed), unopened condom wrappers (have a box full on my nightstand—I stuff them in the very bottom of the trash), opened condom wrappers (two in the wastebasket in my room), more dirty clothes and one p*rn magazine (Shit! That’s on the back of the toilet—undoubtedly she’s already seen it).
Then I wash the few dirty dishes that I left in the sink before I left out and sit down in the living room to give my mom a call.