Brad's Road Trip Ch. 09bySpotInTheSand©
Note: This is the ninth chapter in what will be a fairly long series. If you haven't read Chapters 1-8, this section won't make any sense. I mean, the sex scenes will mostly stand alone, but there's a pretty significant back-story. Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated! Special thanks to AnInsatiableReader for helping me clean it up.
Keep in mind: this story is set in 2007.... the year I started writing it. I know. Sorry. Anyway, since it is set in 2007, things relating to sports in this chapter are from 2007. I've even used some new-fangled literary tool called.. er.. foreshadowin' or somethin'. I read about it in a book. Anyway... enjoy!!
Thursday, June 19
Sumter, SC to Pittsburgh, PA
People have a lot of foolish reasons for waking up at the buttcrack of dawn.
For instance, a Marine buddy of mine tried multiple times to get me out on the links with him at 5 a.m. My grandfather loved to be out on the lake as early as possible, line cast and beer in hand in time to see the sunrise. My uncle back in Idaho routinely woke up in the middle of the night to go hunting, hoping to be out in the woods with something in his sights before alarms went off in the eastern time zone.
Me? I don't hunt, but I don't have a problem with those who do. I couldn't catch a fish if it jumped into the cooler for me, but I still try my hand at it once in a while. And while I think golf is the stupidest game invented, I'd learned early on in my business proposal process that more money changes hands on the 7th fairway of your local country club than in any corporate boardroom. So, I took up the game.
But getting up before the sun, the roosters and the active duty Marines? Fuck all that. That insanity was reserved for three things: gushing arteries, sex, and baseball.
Thus, I was cruising north out of Charlotte, North Carolina on I-77 at 6:30 a.m., trying to reach Pittsburgh by 2 in the afternoon. Josh, a buddy I'd met through playing fantasy baseball online, had season tickets to the Pirates. First pitch was at 4 p.m., and I wanted to get there in time to tailgate with him for a little while prior to the game. Since they were his tickets, I was going to have to root for the Pirates – an activity best done under the influence.
I'd only gotten a couple of hours of sleep after Kelly and I hung up, but I was still mostly alert due to a cup of coffee I'd grabbed from a Starbucks in Columbia. Just plain coffee didn't really do it justice – it had more names than a soap diva on her fifth husband and tasted a java-flavored sugar, and it definitely had my blood buzzing. Unfortunately, it was still too early to wake Kelly up – nymphomaniacs need sleep, too – and I wouldn't be dealing with any big city traffic until I hit Pittsburgh, so I decided to use the quiet time to take stock of my situation.
A week ago, I'd pulled out of San Antonio, free from my commitment to the Marines and ready to explore the country. I'd just had some pretty hot phone sex with a girl I barely knew, and while I figured I'd get laid a couple times along the way, I was really just eager to watch a lot of baseball and see a lot of concerts, catch up with some old friends and visit some parts of America I'd never been to.
I'd done all that, but the sex had been pretty much constant, too. During a three-day country music festival in Tulsa, I'd had sex with three women and played around with a couple more, including two threesomes. I used a big blue vibrator to get a pretty redhead off in my car on the way to the Florida panhandle, where I was going to visit my best friend from high school.
I'd watched a future major leaguer hit four grand slams in one minor league game, and a few hours later I had a foursome with my best friend, his girlfriend and a local girl I'd met. During a trip to Charleston to see some of my old military buddies, I'd given an attitude adjustment to a loudmouth girl I met during dinner, fucking her brains out while looking out at the Atlantic Ocean and earning a visit from the local police in the process.
Yesterday, I'd gone to visit my grandparents' graves and caught up with two of my cousins. One had been a planned meeting – the other had been part of a steamy threesome in my hotel room. I hadn't seen her in 15 years, but luckily we'd realized we were related just before we went too far.
The most surprising development, though, was Kelly. A week ago, she was a girl I'd had sizzling phone sex with, and someone I thought I might like to get to know a little better. Now, she was everywhere in my brain. She was on my mind when I woke up in the morning, and she was the last thought I had before going to sleep.
She insisted that I tell her everything I did in finite, explicit detail, and usually had her fingers buried in her pussy while I told the story. In Pensacola, we'd had phone sex on speakerphone while my friend Scott and his girlfriend Lynette had actual sex in the next room. The next night, we had phone sex again, this time while I fooled around with Stacy, the girl who'd joined Scott, Lynette and I in a foursome just a few minutes earlier.
Kelly was spontaneous, open-minded, funny, and genuinely caring – not to mention blood-boilingly sexy. Besides sex, we shared a lot of the same interests, and could talk for hours without getting anywhere near an X rating. Of course, I had no idea what she looked like, what her plans were beyond the Taco Bell she ran in Idaho, or if we'd have any kind of chemistry in person.
As a 23-year-old male, I was of course thrilled at the amount of action I'd been getting on this trip, but as each day passed, I was getting more and more bummed out that Kelly wasn't with me. There were only so many ways I could tell her what I'd been doing over the phone, and besides, if she was with me, her bubbly persona and overflowing sexuality would have no doubt enhanced each of my encounters.
To sum up: I was damn sure going to enjoy the rest of my jaunt across the US of A, and lap up each and every opportunity that came my way. But for the next two weeks at least, Kelly was a permanent fixture in my life, and I was looking forward to finishing the trip so I could meet her and see if there was a real connection.
I stopped a little before 9 a.m. in Wytheville, a town halfway through the state of Virginia on I-77. When I got back in the car, I noticed my cell phone blinking at me. I had one missed call – apparently, Kelly was up early.
"Not answering my phone calls now, huh?" she answered when I called back. She sounded like she'd just woken up – that is, insanely scorching hot.
"Well, there's an urban legend about cell phones triggering static electricity and blowing up gas tanks," I replied. "And really, not sure what the 300-pound trucker using the urinal right next to me would have thought if I'd whipped out my cell mid-stream."
"Maybe he'd want a little piece of you, too, huh?" she giggled. A little after 7 a.m. her time, and she was already in sex mode.
"There's a pretty long line for that, or so I hear," I said, firing up the Stratus and pulling back onto the highway.
"You hear correctly," she said. "Except, I don't want just a little piece."
"I'm a whole pie kind of gal," she said, and I could almost see her licking her lips as she did.
"With whipped cream and a cherry on top?"
"Whipped cream, definitely," she purred. "I don't know how many cherries are left, but you can have whatever you can find."
"Anyway," she continued before I could come up with a suitable answer. "You only missed my call by a minute. The pot is starting to bubble, but it hasn't boiled over just yet." Her 'just' lasted about five seconds.
"What were you thinking about, huh?" I asked.
"Just keeping the dream I was having going now that I'm awake," she said.
"Simple," she said. "Your cock in my pussy. From behind. Forcing me down into my mattress. So hard that I'm biting down on the blanket to keep from screaming out. Blistering my ass with your palms."
Damn, I thought. She must have been close when she called. She usually liked to warm up a little bit, but this time was straight to the point. I generally liked to warm up, too, but I could jump in late in the game when necessary. My cock went from about half awake to massively uncomfortable in less than a second.
"You are such a dirty little girl," I spat out, taking as strong a tone as I could. "You like taking it from behind like this... you like it when I turn your milky little ass black and blue, don't you?"
"Mmhmm." It was barely a whimper.
"What would your neighbors think, Kelly? I bet most of them are really, really conservative, aren't they? What would they think if they found out the sweet, proper little girl next door was really a depraved slut who likes having her head forced down into the pillow while she gets plowed like a wheat field?"
I'd never called her a name before, but I didn't think she'd mind. She didn't.
"I am a slut," she said. "Your slut."
"I know you are, Kelly," I continued, rubbing my cock through my shorts as I talked. "And you know what good sluts do, right?"
"Hmm?" she moaned the question.
"Good little sluts cum on command," I said.
"Oh, fuuuuuck," was her reply. I badly wanted to toy with her a little bit, just to see how long I could keep her on the edge, but that would have been unfair. She'd been at it before I called, so she was probably already too close.
"Are you a good little slut?" I asked. I thought of a hundred possible replies – she came up with number 101.
"I want to be." She said it so meekly, so demurely, in stark contrast to the heavy-breathing sex goddess she'd been a few moments before. "For you."
I just about came in my shorts.
"Good," I said. "Then cum for me, Kelly."
I got no response – not in English, anyway. She just started crying out, babbling incoherently and climbing up and down the octave scale faster than an early-90s Mariah Carey song.
When she came down from her high – it could have been a minute, or it could have been 20 – she kept it going.
"Brad?" she asked, the meek voice returning.
"I know I'm your slut, but..." she paused. I wasn't sure if this was a real hesitation, or just faked for the sake of the situation. "Can I make a request?"
"Well... I know how much I turn you on. You're probably really hard right now, right?"
"Here's the thing," she said slowly. "I've cum for you a half dozen times while you've been in your car."
"But you've never cum for me while you've been in your car."
She had a point. "Do you want something, Kelly?"
"Well... I want you to cum for me."
"I cum for you all the time," I replied. I was going to make her ask. I was going to make her ask me in language that would make a porn star stutter.
"Yeah, but... I want you to do it right now."
"I can't," I answered sweetly. "I have shorts on."
"I've ruined half my panties thinking about you," she said. "You can't ruin one pair of boxer shorts for me?"
"I haven't heard you ask me to do anything, Kelly."
"God," she stammered. "You're really going to make me beg you, aren't you?"
"Only if you really want me to do something."
"Please, Brad," she said. "My pussy is still dripping wet, and my fingers are still buried inside it. If you stroked your cock for me right now... if you rubbed it through your shorts, and got off for me... I think I'd add another wet spot to my sheets."
"You think?" I replied curtly. My free hand was already rubbing my cock furiously through my cargo shorts.
"I know I would, baby," she cooed. "All I need is to hear you cum for me. All I need to hear is you moaning while you rub that rock hard dick through your shorts. All I need is to hear you calling out my name as you shoot that white-hot cum all over your legs—"
"FUCK, KELLY!!" I shouted as my orgasm gripped me, causing me to shudder and momentarily take my eyes off the road. Luckily there were only two other cars near me, and they were at least a half-mile ahead.
"Yes, baby," she murmured. "Cum all over yourself. Imagine they're my legs. Imagine it's my pussy, and you're creaming all over it."
I could feel the warmth on my thighs as my cum coated them, either dribbling off my still-hard cock or rubbing off my boxer shorts.
"Jesus, Kelly," I said, remembering that she was close to a second shockwave. "There's a stain on my shorts about four inches wide. That's your fault, baby. You're two time zones away, and you made me shoot cum all over the place—"
This time it was her turn to interrupt me, cutting me off with a wail wrapped neatly around the word 'cumming' and several of its offshoots. She was breathing so hard into the phone I thought she might start hyperventilating.
"Breathe, baby," I said. "Take a deep breath for me, and blow it out slowly."
She did just that. Even her exhaling into the phone was incredibly sexy.
"Relax, Kelly. I'm here."
We said nothing else for at least 10 minutes. I just listened to her breathing, trying to memorize every sound. I thought I might have heard some light sobbing in there as well, but I wasn't going to push her.
"So, I have a question," she said, finally deciding to break the silence.
"It's actually your turn to share today," I said.
"I know that," she said. "And I have no clue what I'm going to say. But this is a direct question."
"Ok," I said.
"Have you at least turned west yet? For the love of John Elway, please say you're turning back west today," Kelly said.
"Tomorrow. I'm in Pittsburgh tonight, Indiana tomorrow," I replied. Then: "Wait. For the love of who?"
"John Elway. It's just an expression my dad used to use."
"OK, this is kind of critical. You're a Broncos fan?"
"Only since birth."
"Oh, God. I think we need to stop talking to each other."
"Aww," she said. "The team I root for must be better than yours."
"There are college teams better than the one you root for," I answered. "So, not likely."
"It's one of the most storied franchises in football."
"So are the 49ers. They suck, too."
"Who's your team, smartass?"
"The Cowboys," I said. She began to laugh, that kind of pot-kettle-black tone of voice, so I had to finish. "Made the playoffs this year, went 9-7?"
"The Broncos won nine games too!"
"Oooh," I said. Had I been with her in person, I'd have made that childish scary-fingers motion. "Who cares if you win nine games if you don't make the playoffs? You play in a weak division anyway, and couldn't even win 10 games. You should be so proud of yourself."
"Stop picking on me," she said. "My dad and I used to go to Denver twice every season, and we'd sit in the cheap seats and watch the games. No matter how cold, or wet, or snowy, no matter how bad the team was. He took me twice every year."
"Yeah, well, you're an adult now, Kelly," I said. "You can't use your parents' poor taste as an excuse for yours anymore."
"He died three years ago," she said. Talk about foot-in-mouth disease. "It's one way I keep his memory alive."
I had no good response. Part of me wanted to apologize, but I wasn't sure that would be appropriate. Kelly knew I didn't know, and didn't mean anything personal with my jab.
"Well, then, that's a pretty cool tradition," I offered. "Maybe this fall we can go down to Denver and catch a game."
She didn't reply for a minute or two.
"Or not," I added. "I understand if that's something you want to keep to yourself."
"No," she said finally. "I would love to. I think watching football with you would be awesome."
"As long as they're not playing the Cowboys," I said. "It'll be hard enough getting me to cheer for the Broncos -- I'm certainly not going to if they play Dallas."
"Fair enough," she giggled. Pretty soon, though, her laughter died off. "Thank you for not saying you're sorry."
"Sure," I replied. "I'm pretty damn close to my parents. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose either of them."
"Pretty much the most awful thing I've ever experienced."
I nodded, quite dumbly since I was alone in the middle of West Virginia.
"He had a heart attack, two weeks after I graduated high school," she went on. "We rushed him to the hospital, and they told us it had been a pretty mild one -- extremely so considering it was his first. He was always in really peak physical condition, though, and the doctors said that helped a lot. A week later, he came home. Two days after that, he had a stroke and died on the way to the hospital."
I started to tear up listening to her story. I didn't detect any sounds of sobbing on her end -- I'd guess she had enough time to deal with it by now that just the thought didn't cause her to break down. Still, the pain in her voice was bare and raw and I couldn't have missed it if I was deaf.
"It was pretty difficult for a while," she said. "I didn't even follow the Broncos the year he died, and I haven't been back to Denver since. He refereed local high school football games, and I used to go watch him once in a while. I haven't been to one of those since then, either."
I stayed silent and just listened to her talk. When it was apparent she was done talking about it, I spoke up.
"You didn't have to share any of that with me, Kelly," I said. "I can't begin to understand how painful that must have been, but I did lose a couple of Marine buddies overseas. I didn't mean to pry."
"You didn't," she said. "I have certain things I want to keep a secret until we meet, Brad, but besides those, I enjoy sharing myself with you. I didn't tell you anything I didn't want to tell you."
"Glad to hear it," I answered. "Thank you for trusting me enough to open up."
"I do trust you," she affirmed. "I think that's my show and tell for the day, though."
"Definitely," I agreed. "Again, thank you."
"So," she said. "What's in Pittsburgh?"
"The Pirates," I answered.
"That's baseball, right?" she asked innocently. I cringed for just a second.
"No, Kelly," I deadpanned. "It's professional basketweaving."
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, laughing. "My dad was the only one who liked sports in the family, and he wasn't much for baseball."
"I can teach you," I said. "I'm a Braves fan personally, but Denver has a pretty good team, too, the Colorado Rockies."
"Yeah," she said, her voice turning sour. "One of my ex-boyfriends was a big Rockies fan. I tried to get into it with him, but he didn't like sharing that part of his life with me."
Hmm. I was learning a lot about Kelly this morning. Still, I needed to tread carefully.
"What's life if you don't share it with those you care about?" I asked. "Sounds like an industrial-sized bag-o-douche."
She laughed raucously. "You have no idea."
I stayed silent, hoping she would say more.
"But, I think I've shared enough for today," she said, reading my mind. "That's a story for another day."
"OK," I agreed. "What's your plan for today?"
"Well, first, when we get off the phone, I have a little surprise I'm going to send you," she said.
"Surprise, huh? What surprise could you be giving me when we're not even on the phone?"
"Men," she sighed. "Look up surprise on websters.com."
"Fine," I sighed back. "Smartass."
"Always," she answered. "Then, I have to get up and get moving. I don't have to work until the dinner rush tonight, but I have errands to run all day."
"Ooh, errands," I said. "That sounds like so much fun, I almost wish I was with you doing that instead of going to watch baseball."
"Yeah, right," she said. "If you were here, though... I bet we could come up with ways to make it more fun."
"Very good point," I replied. "Although, I'm not sure how much the folks at the post office would like what I have in mind."