Road Trip

In that instant his eyes went off me; I sprang at wingman's body, particularly his right arm, and the hand with the gun. I had to neutralize that weapon before he could shoot me again.

In a run, I grabbed wingman's right shoulder in my left hand and his wrist just above the gun with my right, and brought my knee up as I pulled down hard with both hands. Wingman's body bent to my upcoming knee, and my knee slammed into the elbow of his right arm. A loud snap erupted from the union of knee and elbow, and the forearm broke back across my knee in a very unnatural shape. As I'd been trained many years earlier to do, I turned and twisted, ripping the ulna and radius bones from the humerus socket, and tearing ligaments and muscles before the two arm bones broke in half across my knee in a second upward thrust of my knee. I pulled wingman past my left side, as I regained my own balance. He moaned in pain as his body hit the ground. He held his right arm in his left. The gun had dropped to the ground; I kicked it to the side away from any of the men.

None of the four men seemed threatening now: one dead, one still unconscious, one with severe injuries to his leg – unable to walk or thrust his knife at me any longer, and one rolling on the ground in pain from a mutilated and broken arm that would probably never completely heal.

I briefly wondered what to do now; however, that question rapidly got answered when two cops with drawn weapons came on the scene. I raised my hands with palms out, but then my world went fuzzy, and I fell to my knees. The first symptoms of the bullet shot were getting into my system. Behind the police I saw the blond, now wearing a leather vest over her bouncing boobs, but still in her thong. She kept pointing at me and yelling to the officers, "He's the good guy – he's the one that saved me. Let him go. He's all right."

One cop gestured, and I did the split in a kneeling position leaning against the nearest car as the other cop frisked me. I called attention to the loaded pistol and knife on the ground, telling them the gun was evidence of a murder and urging them not to touch it if they wanted fingerprints.

The blond kept insisting on my innocence. Since she was the obvious victim, the police soon listened to her. Several other people started to gather around now, despite the urging of one officer to 'move along.' Several stated they'd seen most of the fight, and would be witnesses. I explained that I would stay around and explain what had happened. They accepted that assurance, and let me sit on the ground nearby on my own recognizance. The blond came and knelt by me. I noted she'd retrieved her cutoffs and slipped them on again.

She held onto my arm tightly, "Thank you. Thank you so much for rescuing me. I'm Betty Sue Meyers." She looked up at me with the prettiest round eyes I'd ever seen.

"And I'm Jim Mellon ... and this altercation went way beyond anything I expected – at least you're safe." I was having trouble focusing on Betty Sue as a wave of nausea swept past me. My body was starting to exhibit shock symptoms.

We watched as one officer talked into a lapel microphone, hearing but a word or two of the interchange with some headquarters above the loud music. Shortly, three more officers arrived on scene, obviously running from their posts at the concert, and then we heard in the distance several sirens heading our way.

About then, the blond noticed I had a large blot of blood on my left side. I'd been holding my shirttail on the wound on my front to stem the flow of blood. Fortunately, the shot came from a small caliber gun, although the bullet had done damage going in and out of my body. Betty Sue held a wadded up part of my shirt against my rear exit wound. Paramedics arrived at the scene a couple of minutes later, and I got preferential treatment at theaggressive insistence of Betty Sue. When I lay down, I blacked out for a few moments as the EMT men worked on me; I could tell they were both ex-military. I hurt badly.

At the peak of the aftermath at the scene, there were eight local cops, a detective, two ambulances with paramedics, one hearse with two men from the coroner's office, and four Alabama state troopers. My guess is that about two hundred people crowded outside the yellow 'crime scene' tape someone had encircled the area with. The abundance of blinking red and blue lights called attention to the scene.

The police had handcuffed the two injured men to the ambulance while paramedics put temporary splints on the leg and arm I'd shattered. The man with the glass jaw sat in the back of a police cruiser watching the scene probably feeling he was the luckiest of the bunch. Ponytail man had been covered with a blue tarp.

I told the story about what had happened at least a dozen times. The cops had taken Betty Sue about fifty feet away, and the police officers and state troopers each took turns interviewing her too. Fortunately, three of the eyewitnesses to the fight also talked to the police, telling what they had seen.

A crime scene photographer showed up too and took dozens of pictures of each suspect, the weapons where they lay, and the body from every conceivable point of view. When the police finished with Betty Sue, she came and asked the EMT men whether I could go with her to a hospital in Tuscaloosa for treatment of my gunshot. I was feeling a little woozy from the shot and resulting shock, but the EMTs agreed. The police also decided that they would not hold me, but they did want me to come by the local police station in the morning and sign a statement. I promised I would. One cop offered to drive me to the nearby hospital, but Betty Sue insisted she drive me to the Tuscaloosa hospital emergency room. I learned the police don't argue with an insistent and mad southern woman.

We didn't get to the DHC Hospital emergency room in Tuscaloosa until midnight. Betty Sue drove me to the hospital, and then stayed with me, alert and insistent about my care until my every need had been met. Saturday night in Tuscaloosa produced a busy emergency room, including a few others associated with the motorcycle rally, so without her stomping around the emergency room making a scene and demanding attention there was no telling when my gunshot wound would have been attended to.

I spent about five hours under the knife in an operating room while three ER doctors probed around my insides checking for damage from the bullet, and then sewing me back together. One surgeon checked in on me about eight in the morning after the shooting, and well after I'd regained consciousness from the anesthesia; after checking my vitals chart, he said, "Mr. Mellon, you are one lucky dude. You got shot with a small caliber, full metal jacket bullet. I don't know if you know what that means, but basically it didn't do much damage, and it passed right through you rather than spend its kinetic energy shredding your organs, bones, or major blood vessels into unrepairable shit – that's a very specific medical term. Most bullets spread out inside a body once they make contact, that's how they do so much damage; yours didn't. You had a body shot – bad, but if there was one pathway through you that would do the least damage, that bullet found it - good.

I asked in a hopeful tone, "So I can go?"

He shook his head, "Not yet. We want you here today. The bullet nicked your pelvic bone, and we removed that fragment, but it also perforated your intestine. We sewed you back up, and I think we did a really tight job of it, but you need to be on a heavy dose of antibiotics for a couple of weeks, plus painkillers as you feel you need them – and you will. Overall, I think you'll recover in nothing flat and just have two more bullets holes to explain to your girlfriends, along with the other two or three you already have. I'm guessing you were in the military?"

I nodded, "Yeah, Special Forces about nine to seventeen years ago. I got into a couple of nasty scrapes."

The doctor nodded. He said, "There's a rather scantily clad young blond who's been jumping up and down about your health and well-being since you got here. She's a pain in the neck, but if I had to have someone on my side, I'd sure want it to be her. You got into that operating room hours before someone in your condition would have based on her doings. I assume it would be all right to let her in to see you? If your vitals don't change, I might release you tonight after I change your dressings. I'd like you back in here every twelve hours for the next couple of days, and then daily for another week. Can you do that? Oh, and you need bed rest, no exertion, for at least a week."

I nodded my understanding, but already plotted my escape from Alabama, providing no one had stolen my motorcycle.

A hyperactive Betty Sue burst into the recovery room two minutes after the doctor left, and yes, she remained scantily clad from the night before and the wet t-shirt contest. At least, she still had the Daisy Duke shorts, leather vest, and the glossy high heels. After she could sit with me and hold my hand, she seemed to calm down. She and I talked – me rather groggily due to the painkillers I had been given and my lack of sleep the night before. We traded life stories and aspirations, such as mine were at that moment. I fell asleep on her a couple of times.

She didn't leave my side except for a minute here and there to get me liquids or painkillers. Late that afternoon, I got released with the promise of various return visits. Betty Sue had me in her bed in her apartment about ten minutes from the hospital with a pile of pillows. I'd argued for my tent and sleeping pad, but she insisted otherwise, and I didn't put up much of a fight. I did express my concern about my motorcycle and camping gear.

I fell asleep almost as soon as I put my head down, no doubt because of the painkillers the doctors had pumped into me while they worked on me. I woke up once long enough to stumble to the bathroom and then back to bed.

I had this funny dream about Karen and all the women I'd met in the past few weeks. We were all dancing in a sunny field to some strange piece of music, and then someone started shooting at everybody, and one by one we were all dying. I felt such pain and loss, as one by one the people I loved and who had loved me all floated away to heaven to be together in that space ... and to leave me behind. I kept crying, "No," until finally the shooting stopped, and I was alone in this big open field standing in the rain.

I awoke slowly still feeling groggy from the whole fight-hospital-painkiller experience. I had two immediate sensations: first, I had searing pain on my lower left front and back from the two wounds. Second, I felt a naked and robust pair of natural breasts pressed against my arm and side, and a female leg draped carelessly over one of mine. I realized I wore only my briefs. I cranked one eye open and there was Betty Sue sleeping peacefully next to me – completely naked. I liked this naked sleeping arrangement; I'd never gotten into it with my wife. I'd been raised to wear pajamas and did until I went into the military where we all wore boxers or briefs. Coming out of the service, I went back to PJs – until I started this trip; I declared them excess luggage, and now I thought I'd never go back to them.

I stroked Betty Sue's arm lightly, and then the slope of one breast, rounding up her curve to the beautiful, dark brown nipple. She smiled in her sleep and made little mewling sounds of happiness. After a couple of minutes, I watched her pretty blue eyes flutter open. She looked up at me, and then leaned in and kissed my chest.

She said softly, "I just had the nicest dream, thanks to you. When you stroked my arm and breast, you fit right into my little sex dream." She blushed and paused for a moment and asked in a more serious tone, "Hey, how're you feeling? How's your wound?"

"Sore," I replied with a wince as I turned. "It feels as though someone shot me."

She smiled at my gallows humor. She told me, "In the emergency room, before they took you to the OR, I watched a doctor run a long metal shaft all the way through the wound from front to back; I nearly fainted. I know they did some repair work inside you. You were lucky; no vital organs got hit. I have your pain pills in my purse."

"I think I'd like one or two of them right away, if you don't mind."

I started to get up, and then got a jolt of pain from my left side. I winced. Betty Sue hopped up and ran naked out the bedroom door – and a very fine naked it was. She came back in a minute with a glass of water and a brown plastic vial full of pills. I took two.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

I nodded.

"The doctor said you'd been shot twice, maybe three times, before. Is this a habit – your rescuing women in distress?"

I laughed and then winced visibly. "No, I was in the military. Special Ops. I saw some serious action. My getting shot those two times turned out to be the least of our worries. I had to spend three weeks in hospital in Germany on one – it was deeper and nicked a few important things on the way in. The other wound, I made it back to the states with just a field dressing before I got treatment; sort of like this one, I could move around but it hurt a lot. The third wound isn't from a bullet; it's from shrapnel from a bomb I'd planted that went off before I got far enough away."

Betty Sue sat cross-legged on the bed next to me, showing no modesty and giving me the start of an embarrassing hard-on. In the temporary silence following her question, I studied her: young and in her late twenties, beautiful face, blue eyes, blond hair that had a natural sheen to it, and a body that belonged in a Playboy centerfold. Her breasts were gorgeous and original equipment – no scars, suture marks, or artificial enhancements – probably 38-specials with large areolas; they were balanced by a bubble butt and long slim legs. She stood about five-foot three. Of course, in my humble opinion her pussy looked damned near perfect too; the type of cleft you'd just want to dive into any time of the day or night. If I'd been judging that wet t-shirt contest, she would have won hands down.

Betty Sue said slowly, "You probably saved my life last night. You positively saved me getting raped and gangbanged. You are really my hero." She thought for another moment and added, "I guess I sort of asked for it ... entering the t-shirt contest and practically going naked in front of a bunch of bikers. I've never done anything like that before."

"Why'd you do it then?" I asked out of curiosity.

"My girlfriends are always telling me to let loose – break out – not be so up tight. Two of them were in the crowd when the contest went on – they screamed their heads off at me to 'show it all.' It was all a big lark." She chuckled. "My mistake, I guess, was hanging around to hear the music after the contest. I'd decided to come home, but then I ran into those bikers in the parking lot ... and they wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Do you always sit around naked? I appreciate your style of dress; however, you aren't obligated to do this because I rescued you. I'm just glad to be of service, ma'am." I gave Betty Sue a goofy grin.

She looked down at her body and smiled coyly. "I kind of hoped you'd make love to me when you're feeling better. I know you're not at all like those four guys ... and I like you ... a lot. I've been with you for a day and a half now, and well, I really like who you are as a person." As an afterthought she added, "I can make love to you so you don't pull your stitches and all." She thought further and said, "I guess I should offer you breakfast first. You know, the way to a man's heart and all." She grinned at me and shimmied her boobs in a most suggestive manner.

I shook my head and said, "Breakfast first, but according to the doctor's instructions about my food intake. My stomach is growling. What time is it?"

"Ten in the morning. You slept a long time. I got up, but then got back in bed with you. You're nice to cuddle up to, even with all the bandages."

Betty Sue put her spike heels back on plus a little red apron that didn't cover much of the important stuff. The combination was sexy in every sense of the word. She went off to the kitchen to fix a breakfast for me. I lay there in bed thinking about how once again I had found a beautiful sexy woman who was eager to have sex with me. Was this going to happen in every state? I was beginning to think that it just might. I smiled to myself and thought that I could really get used to this way of life.

When Betty Sue returned with my breakfast, she was eager to talk while I ate. She told me that a couple of years ago, she had been engaged to a guy who she found was a total jerk. He was verbally abusive and cheated on her. After she sent him packing, she wanted nothing to do with men and focused on her job at an insurance agency. That was why her girlfriends had been on her to loosen up and to be daring. Suddenly Betty Sue smiled widely and said that her girl friends would be amazed to see her now with a gorgeous male in her bed.

Then Betty Sue began to ask me questions about my life. I had trouble concentrating due to the painkillers in my system and the naked woman perched on my bed, but did manage to hold up my end of the conversation. I talked about my job as a computer geek until I'd quit a few months before when Karen had died. I told her that I was on a road trip through the forty-eight states, and Betty Sue sighed and said with longing that my trip sounded w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l to her.

The recollection about the road trip gave me pause for thought about whether my bike and camp equipment made it through the rally unmolested and in tact. I also recalled that I had told the detective and a sergeant that I'd come into their headquarters today and make a formal statement about what had happened.

Betty Sue said, "Well, all your camping gear and all the stuff strapped on your motorcycle are locked up in my car. I went out there after you zonked out from the painkillers last night and collected everything. Your motorcycle is still there, and so are some nice folks in a couple of RVs; they promised to keep an eye on it until we can reclaim it. They'd heard about the shooting, and were sympathetic."

"Wow. Thanks."

Betty Sue had also called the county police and explained that I'd been laid up because of my wound, but would come in soon to do what I'd promised. She was a take-charge person who knew how to get what she wanted. She told me the detective she talked to understood and wished me a speedy recovery.

I knew Betty Sue wanted me to make love to her, and I was in state of perpetual arousal around this beautiful nymph. We stood in the kitchen and kissed over and over again, raising our body temps. I explored her luscious breasts bringing us both great pleasure. However, even with my painkillers I decided it best to wait a day before going further. In the meantime, there were lots we could do to enjoy ourselves and pass the time while I was recovering. By the time I had recovered sufficiently, I knew I would be one horny guy.

I made my late morning visit to the hospital to get checked out by one of the ER doctors. I got excused from needing a second ER visit that day. He changed my dressing and gave me another shot of antibiotics. After that, we went back to Betty Sue's house, and she went out to get some things for dinner. I passed out again, aided by another painkiller tablet and a very comfortable bed. I slept for a few hours.