Road Trip

When I awoke it was dark outside, and Betty Sue quietly sat beside me in the bed – very naked – reading a romance paperback. I blinked awake and got the nicest smile from her, and then a kiss on my forehead. We just stared into each other's eyes for a couple of minutes while she stroked my face and we kissed. I was sure this was great therapy, and wondered why the Army nurses hadn't provided this service for my prior wounds.

Apparently, I'd slept through dinner. Betty Sue prepared some homemade chicken soup for me, and I downed two cups of the broth. I took two more painkillers and fell asleep in her arms.

In the morning, after my visit to the ER to change my dressings, Betty Sue drove me about forty miles back to Forkland where the rally and concert had been. She pulled into the parking area, and then headed to where I'd parked and set up camp near a big RV. My Harley had been untouched. After thanking the folks in the RV who had kept an eye on my bike, I followed her back to Tuscaloosa carefully avoiding potholes and bumps in the road.

We had a late lunch, I did a healing meditation, and then I napped. I'd been cleared by the ER doctors for 'soft foods,' so for dinner Betty Sue made a simple cheese omelet, and fixed me some oatmeal to go with it. We slept naked together, comfortable except for the two clumps of bandages over my wounds. I woke up listening to Betty Sue calling into work and telling them she wouldn't be coming in 'today or tomorrow.'

As she hung up the phone, she turned back to me and said in her cute southern drawl, "Jim Mellon, if you are well enough, you are so gonna fuck the livin' daylights out of me this morning, and then we're gonna go to the hospital again and then go to see the nice detective and do our statements, and then we are coming back here and fuck some more."

And that's exactly what we did.

Given my infirmity, I used all my tricks I could to make our lovemaking last – things Kim had taught me only few days earlier. Betty Sue relished the extended fuck, savoring orgasm after orgasm as her body writhed and squirmed above me. Finally, I allowed myself to release deep into her body as she carefully lowered herself into my arms.

Lying on my good side in our afterglow, Betty Sue allowed as how bringing me home was probably the best thing she'd ever done. I allowed as how making love to a beautiful Alabama woman was a peak experience for me too.

Betty Sue and I spent a good part of the next week in her apartment making love while I tried to heal. We got amazingly creative about how avoid stretching or agitating my wounds too, yet found no end of positions that were exciting and worthy of remembering for someone in my delicate condition. Moreover, we surprised ourselves with how many locations in or near a one-bedroom apartment there were to fuck besides her bed: the balcony off her living room, a bus stop shelter, her apartment's roof, an outside stairway, and on my motorcycle while it sat in her carport.

We were insatiable and inspired each other to new sexual fantasies and highs. I found myself particularly pleased when I could invoke much of Kim's self control over my sexual function, delivering many orgasms, enjoying many of my own, yet recovering in rapid time to do it all again and again. Between our couplings, we sat around and told each other fantasies and things we'd like to try ... and some of them we'd go out and try, like fucking on a park bench in the middle of the town park at two in the morning.

Detective Lieutenant Howard Burr set up an audio recorder, but also sat at a laptop computer touch typing as I described the fight and shooting on Saturday night: discovering four men about to rape a young woman, challenging them, being accosted by one, and then another, flattening a third one before he could be a problem, and then fighting a fourth man with a knife. How I'd told Betty Sue, whom I didn't know at that point, to run for help. I told how I identified them as I'd thought of them that evening: the turk, the wingman, baseball hat, and ponytail. I described sucker punching baseball hat, and then breaking the leg of the turk to avoid being knifed, only to find that wingman had a gun. I described being shot, poking fingers into ponytail's eyes, and told how I'd grappled with ponytail swinging him around just as wingman fired into his chest, and then how I'd broken wingman's arm. I added details about distances, and time intervals as best I could recall. The whole incident had only taken about ninety seconds.

Detective Burr had me describe my background, nodding in validation of his own assumption, that I had special training – as a Green Beret. Burr showed me a gallery of about thirty mug shots on his computer and asked for me to identify anyone I knew. Without hesitation or equivocation, I identified the four bikers in the fight, linking them to the funny names I'd used. He asked a few clarifying questions, printed out my statement, had me sign it, and then asked for me to wait in an anteroom while he interviewed Betty Sue – who had been waiting outside as we talked.

When she was through, Burr came out with her and talked to the two of us. The four bikers had a long list of assault and battery charges, as well as a few felonies scattered here and there. All had been in jail or prison. The three survivors had been treated for their injuries and were now locked up in the County Jail. All had been arraigned that morning, and pleaded not guilty. Betty Sue had no qualms about testifying about their rape attempt and the fight. Burr mentioned that several of the other witnesses had already given statements and were ready to testify if needed.

Burr said the problem with the not guilty pleas is that they are guilty. We have statements from you two and five others that saw part or all the fight, particularly when you got shot and when the fourth man got shot. Ultimately, these guys will do a plea deal with the prosecuting attorney. Wingman, as you called him, will get manslaughter and attempted rape convictions. Turk will do a term for attempted murder and rape. The third man will do time for attempted rape.

Burr got contact information from the two of us, just in case they wanted us to testify. He reaffirmed, however, that mostly likely our part in this sordid chapter was over unless the men decided they wanted a jury trial. We thanked each other, and left.

After a week with Betty Sue on a soft food diet, I was ready to eat a buffalo. Finally, one of the ER docs I'd been seeing gave me the green light to go back to normal meals with only a few restrictions. Thus, on a recommendation from Detective Burr, I took Betty Sue to the Epiphany Café in Tuscaloosa, a romantic little restaurant with superb service, cuisine, and ambiance. We were having our first real date. We cooed and pawed over each other, made racy comments to each other, and took turns telling each other sexy stories from our lives. We also shared more about ourselves.

Despite being a decade younger, Betty Sue proved unusually insightful about my grief over Karen's death a few months earlier. She carefully asked whether I wanted to talk about anything 'there.' I finally told her about the discovery that Karen had lived in a group setting for a couple of years, and that she'd experimented with women – both points she'd kept a secret from me. Betty Sue carefully rationalized Karen's choices, trying to make me feel more comfortable with Karen's decisions when she made them, as well as her decision to keep them secret from me.

Despite her own innocence, Betty Sue could see that I'd carried simplicity and moral purity into our marriage. She carefully explained that the world really didn't operate on that level, even though many people wanted it to be that way. She said, "We all want things to be black and white, with clear and easy decisions to make, but things just aren't like that – like the ad agencies would like us to think. Like your late wife, she fell in love with a bunch of other people instead of just one, and she let that play out. She also discovered she felt romantic attachment with some other women – even her sister – and she went with those feelings. I think she was wonderful to see she could do those things. I wouldn't worry that she couldn't share them with you at the time; you just weren't on her wavelength at all back then. Maybe you are now ... maybe you're not. Does it really matter?"

Just those simple words from her gave me more to think about. Her last words made me think about how my boundaries and values were changing now ... right now. I again tried to act out in my head how I would react if Karen were alive and she came home and told me those revelations about herself. I even conjured up some other things that might be tough decisions based around some of the fantasy things (if they were), that Kim and I had talked about my last afternoon with her in Florida.

I asked Betty Sue, "Would you have lived in a group setting and loved multiple people?"

She gave me a smile, "Maybe. I'm wound pretty tight due to the jerk who I was engaged to. I lost trust in men and in myself. So I'd have to loosen up and regain my trust before I could be adventuresome in living arrangements. My friends always chide me about my rigidity, but I'm doing a lot better especially after being with you this week! What I have loved most this week isn't the sex – although it has been great, it's the sharing and loving that I have felt with you this week. So I imagine I could even get into something with a group and even another girl under the right circumstances.

We chatted some more over dinner, but one thing seemed to hang over us: my inevitable departure on the rest of my road trip. Without preamble, she asked, "Do you think we'll ever see each other again after you leave?"

"To be honest, I don't know. However, someday I might come back and see you again. It won't be for a while." I spoke quietly too, hoping the tone of my voice would signal the caring I felt for her. I also needed to be entirely honest with her; there were no hidden agendas here.

Betty Sue got up from her chair, and came and knelt beside me. I stroked Betty Sue's hair as she lay against me. I could tell she was sad, and I didn't know what I could say to change that.

Suddenly, she popped up and said in an upbeat tone, "You know, I accomplished what I set out to do last weekend."

"How's that?" I asked, now curious about her change of direction.

"Remember, I told you my girlfriends were telling me to loosen up?" she said.

I nodded.

"So, I got up enough courage – at first, aided by a little beer – to enter that wet t-shirt contest. You were there. I shimmied and shook my boobs at everyone. My thong got wet too – it was as transparent as my t-shirt. The audience could see EVERYTHING! And then, I almost got raped, but some really nice knight came along on his white horse and rescued me, but not without doing some damage to himself. And then, I spent the next week shacked up with this knight broadening my sexual horizons every which way." She paused, "I have topped anything any of my friends have EVER done. I've got more stories about being free, loose, and carefree from this week than any of them all put together have ever imagined."

Betty Sue giggled. She whispered, "I bet you I've had more sex this week than all my girlfriends put together have had in the past year too. How'd you ever learn how to get a girl to cum so many times; you are truly a girl's dream come true." After a long pause, she said softly and in a sexy voice, "So don't feel guilty because you're leaving. My God, I'm the happiest person in Alabama right now." After another long pause, she said, "And ... well, this wasn't a competition. I really like you. I knew instantly when I saw you. I will treasure these few days the rest of my life, even if we never meet again."

When we left the restaurant, Betty Sue asked, "Would you do me a favor? Would you come and visit two of my friends with me ... just for a couple of minutes?"

"Sure."

Betty Sue made a cell phone call, and then we drove about ten minutes to another town house development. She led me to one of the units, and amid shrieks of joy and the careful appraisals by two young women, I let her do her 'Show 'n Tell' with me to two of her friends that roomed together – Laurel and Katie.

I tried to look my 'hunkiest,' yet remain a perfect gentleman, and one especially attentive to Betty Sue – something easy to do. I was my conversational best. I dismissed my gunshot wounds as a small price to pay for finding someone as charming at Betty Sue, a point that made both women swoon and roll their eyes at their friend. We left after half an hour.

The next morning, I awoke with Betty Sue nestled into my body. My side hurt; I resolved to take one of painkillers when I got out of bed. I studied the pretty blond as I rested my head on my hand. A few minutes later, her clock radio started to play a gentle little tune from her iPod that had been plugged into the top slot. She stretched next to me, smiled, and kissed me on the chest.

Betty Sue said in a happy but a groggy voice, thick with sleep, "I could stay here all year ... but you have to find your way into Mississippi and the rest of the country, and I have to go back to work."

I nodded.

She sat and swung her legs out of bed, her pendulous breasts swaying as she moved. I captured that image to remember forever. She stood and stretched, also creating a marvelous sight picture to remember her by. She turned to me with a coy glance obviously aware of the effect her nude body might have on my libido. "Want to join me for a shower? I'll tape up your wound so the bandages won't get wet."

I agreed, and a few minutes later thanks to a plastic trash bag and some duct tape; I joined her in the shower. We took turns cleansing all the little nooks and crannies on our bodies, with Betty Sue taking special precautions with my wounds.

Remarkably, we didn't make love. I commented, and she agreed, that the previous night was the best possible send off and departure we could make for each other. After coming home from that romantic dinner and a short visit to her friends, we'd made love several times – tender, sweeping love that took us to other dimensions of the soul and spirit.

I packed up my things and loaded them onto my motorcycle with my morass of bungee cords. Betty Sue did the things a pretty woman does in the morning to impress the world with her beauty. We hugged and kissed tenderly in the parking lot, saying all the right words about staying in touch, remembering each other forever, and thanking each other for coming into the other's life.

I mounted the motorcycle, and she kissed me goodbye again, ending by holding her finger against my lips. I watched two tears slowly run down each cheek and felt the heart pain of departure from someone dear.

I rode out of the apartment parking lot, looking back briefly to see her waving – a gorgeous woman I was proud to know. I wondered what awaited me next as I accelerated onto the main road – soon heading west on U.S. 82 to Mississippi. This trip had turned out nothing like I expected it to be when I left New England.

"Here's yar dinner."

I responded, "Do you have some wine, maybe a 1995 Chardonnay? Two glasses, if you can join me."

"Wise ass. Keep up that kinda stuff asshole and the judge tomorrow won't ever let you get out of here."

I sat in the corner bunk in a jail cell in Alexandria, Louisiana. The room was hot, fetid, and smelled of urine. I reflected back that only two hours earlier I had been sitting astride my motorcycle minding my own business near the town square, and working my iPhone to get directions to the home of an Army buddy – another Green Beret – named Andy Jefferson.

Then in a blink of an eye, I'd been accosted by three police officers, frisked and handcuffed while under the cover of drawn weapons, accused of armed robbery, and dumped in a jail cell. Supposedly, I knocked over a 7-11 convenience store around one o'clock in the afternoon, as well as one the previous evening. I'd been told an eyewitness nailed the description of the motorcycle and me, so there had been no doubt I was the felon the arresting officers sought. I'd been allowed one phone call, so I called the only person I knew in the area – Andy.

Dinner – without the Chardonnay – consisted of a helping of cold spaghetti with ketchup over the top instead of marinara sauce, cold mashed potatoes, turnips, a very small wedge of limp three-week-old lettuce, and a metal mug of water. I found myself hungry enough to sample the first two items on the tray, yet I wondered if I would contract some dread disease from the food. After eating, I settled back in the bunk to contemplate my future in this two-bit town.

About eight o'clock at night as I lay dozing in the lumpy bunk in the cell, the deputy on duty came and slammed his nightstick against my cell bars: "Hey, Mr. Motorcycle Man, wake up. You have a visitor." He turned and walked away, leaving behind him an absolutely stunning older woman in business attire and carrying a briefcase.

She spoke brusquely, "You James Mellon?"

I nodded as she approached the cell. She looked me over, and then pulled over a rickety chair from the corner of the hallway that gave access to the six cells in the local jail. I was the only tenant. She sat on the other side of the bars, opened her briefcase in a most businesslike manner, pulled out a pad of yellow paper and looked at me. "Talk. Tell me the story about why you're in here. I'll see whether I can get you off."

"You are?" I asked politely as I sat upright and moved to be closer to her on my cot.

"I am Attorney Lacie Landers and your only hope of a short sentence in the kangaroo court that presides over this town. Judge Entwhistle is ruthless. Now talk."

"And you got here because?"

"Because you called your Army buddy – Andy Jefferson, and he called me because I am the best. Now talk, I've got better things to do on a Monday night than baby sit you all night."

I thought for a moment and decided to give her a compressed version of the past six months.

I started with some sarcasm, "I'll talk fast so you can get back to your astounding social life that I have pulled you from. First off, Andy and I were in the Green Berets together. I haven't seen him yet; that was the purpose of my visit to Alexandria. It's been over nine years since I saw him."

Attorney Lacie Landers started to scribble wildly on a yellow pad of paper with a scratchy ballpoint pen.

I went on, "Six months ago, I wouldn't have taken this trip, but Karen, my wife died at age thirty-two. Her death hit me hard so I decided to take a long ride to clear my head and put her wrenching illness and death behind me. I found a derelict motorcycle that had been my Dad's and worked for two months restoring the bike. I'm meandering my way through the forty-eight lower states ultimately aiming at my sister's home in San Diego. I've come down the east coast mostly, and then up to Alabama from the Florida Gulf Coast, across through Mississippi, and then into Louisiana to here."

Attorney Landers looked at me over the top of her readers, "And your little encounter with the 7-11 store about one o'clock this afternoon and last evening?"

I shrugged, "Sorry, but the last time I was in a 7-11 store was probably in Maine, two months ago – to pay for gas I put in my motorcycle."

"So you didn't go to two different stores, pull a gun and hold it on two cashiers, and then rip each of them off for a couple of hundred dollars each?"