Road Trip

"We're hoping to get $15,000, but we can put you on this bike for something like eight dollars a day. How does that sound?"

I replied, "It does sound interesting and enticing. Let me think about it. I'll be passing by here more frequently for a while. You keep this one around, and I'll keep looking at it." I smiled and gave a wave as I turned and kept walking. Darren went back inside the Cycle Shop.

On the way back to work, I hummed some country song to myself. I used to love music and listen all the time; I liked to sing along to some of the songs I knew, particularly if I knew no one was listening. I could even strum a few chords on a guitar. Since Karen died, my music hobby had fallen by the wayside. I got in the alley that ran behind the diner so I remained hidden from the Cycle Shop. I paused behind the diner and called the Alexandria Police Department and left a message for Detective Roux – "GPS device installed. Tell me when you want its data. Regards, Jim."

That afternoon I had to wait on a really cantankerous stereotypical southern gentleman at the counter. Everything I did to please him seemed to lead to a complaint or gripe of some kind. I was too slow, too fast, inaccurate, used stale bread (it wasn't), not cooked right – over cooked or under cooked, or I wasn't polite enough, needed to show some spine, and on and on.

I rolled my eyes at Pat when I'd turned away from him at one point. She seemed to have a special sparkle in her eyes as I mimed my difficulty, so much so, that I began to think something was afoot. Consequently, I redoubled my efforts to please the older gent, this time bringing him a complimentary cup of coffee.

As I put the cup down in front of him and told him it was 'on me,' he pulled back and studied me. He was sizing me up.

He finally spoke again, this time in a more genteel way – his southern drawl more pronounced than ever, "Boy, do you know who I am?"

No one had called me 'Boy' in over twenty-five years. I replied, "No sir, I don't. You seem important; however. I'm must apologize for the shortcomings of the food and service today. I'm new, so please don't think my mistakes apply to the entire establishment." I smiled apologetically at him.

He laughed – and behind me I heard Pat laughing too. Pat came up and took my left arm; "Jim, let me introduce you to my father and the mayor of El Dorado, Otis Peyton."

Otis put his hand out and grabbed mine and shook it really hard. "You did just fine, son; and you can call me Otis. I was trying to rattle you – had to see what kind of man we have working here with my daughter. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want. Patricia said you were sleeping out back?"

"Yes, sir, and thank you for the compliment. I travel light and camp out a lot. I'm making a tour of the forty-eight states; this just seemed a good place to stop for a few days since Pat told me she needed help, and ... well, here I am."

Otis slapped a single key down on the counter. He turned to Pat and said, "Patricia, have this fellow use the house in the back – no charge. We've got a storm coming up tonight, plus that place has better plumbing than what he's apparently used to." He laughed again, stood, slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter for a eight-dollar lunch, turned and walked out the door with a wave over his shoulder.

Pat gave me a love pat on my butt again. I went and waited on a couple of other customers, but not before I jested with her a moment about setting me up with her father. Later, I asked her about the house Otis had referred to; it turned out to be about three hundred feet behind the diner through thick foliage and up a dirt path that connected the rear of the diner to the house. I hadn't noticed the cut through in my comings and goings.

Pat continued to brush against me and flirt all day. The longer we were together, the more liberties she took. I watched carefully, and there wasn't one other customer that she paid the least attention to in the way she had started to hit on me.

One time after she had slid by me rubbing her butt against mine, I jokingly asked her, "Hey, pretty lady, what have I done to invite your attentions this way?" I glanced down at her pretty rear end.

Pat laughed, ran her hands down her hips, and said, "You've got pheromones – nice ones. You know what those are?"

I responded with a grin, "Aren't they some special kind of odor or smell I give off – it's supposed to make me even more attractive to females?" I grinned and puffed out my chest.

Pat looked around the nearly full diner at all the patrons engrossed in eating; no one needed service that instant. She then pulled me into the doorway to the kitchen and in response to my answer to her question said, "Right and right." With that, she stood on her tiptoes, pulled my head down to hers in a bold gesture, and gave me a solid kiss on the lips. After a few seconds, she pulled away and looked at me.

I patted my chest and fanned my face as though I felt faint and needed to catch my breath because of the kiss. I said, "Well, I guess they're still working." As Pat turned to go back to the counter area, I reached down and playfully pinched her shapely and petite bottom. She loudly squealed and jumped out of the doorway into the restaurant causing the customers to turn and look at her. She turned scarlet with embarrassment. They could all hear my laughter from back in the kitchen.

During a lull in the afternoon, Pat had me fold up my makeshift tent and my camping gear behind the diner and take it to a little white house just out of sight of the diner. The trail through the trees was wide enough that I could ride the motorcycle though from diner to house, and so I did, parking the bike in the empty carport attached to the house.

The little white house sat on a slab, had two small bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room with an old TV, and a kitchen, and small eating area. There were a few worn but useable furnishings in each room. The whole place couldn't have been more than six hundred square feet. I checked that the beds were clean and freshly made and the bathroom spotless. Pat later confirmed that she kept this place up for her father to use for special visitors to the town, although they were few and far between.

The afternoon lull continued after I got back to work. Pat and I talked, and she started to ask me increasingly personal questions. So, I shared with her my reasons for my cross-country trip. I told her about my marriage, Karen's death in February, rebuilding the motorcycle, my sister Anna's suggestion I ride cross-country to visit her, and then my expansion of that idea to include a visit to part of each of the lower forty-eight states. I even explained about my ceremony of spreading some of her ashes in each state.

As we got busy, I started to hum and even sing in a very low voice. The words to a couple of country songs kept running through my head. I took my return to music and singing as a signal that I'd passed some hurdle in my healing from Karen's tragic death. I did feel happy. Maybe I should have considered going back to work.

Pat and I worked through the dinner crowd, and again I kept ahead of the dirty dishes whenever I had a spare moment. Shortly after we closed, Pat declared us finished and able to go home.

At Pat's request, I turned off the lights in the diner and shut off the outside signs. We parked our aprons on a couple of hooks behind the kitchen doorway. When I turned to go to the back door, Pat was right there in the dim light from the street. She put both arms up around my neck and pulled my head to hers for another serious kiss – a very serious kiss.

This time I eagerly entered the kiss – and the ones we shared after that.

As our kisses got increasingly physical, our bodies started to grind together. Pat unbuttoned a couple of buttons on her dress, took my hand, and pulled it inside her dress to her breasts.

After fumbling around with my hand at an awkward angle, I kissed her and used both hands to unbutton all the buttons from the top of her dress down to her mid-section. When I'd finished, I gently reached around her tiny frame and undid the clasps that held her bra. The weight of her breasts pushed the lacy brassiere forward. I used both hands to slide the dress and bra down her arms; I tossed the frilly brassiere onto the lunch counter.

After a French kiss, I used my tongue to trace down her neck and upper chest, circling first one taut breast and then the other. My hands gently stroked each mound. I could feel her nipples harden as I got closer and closer to the tip of each tit. I could also hear Pat's breathing getting deeper and faster as I ministered to her. When I finally got to her areolas, I allowed my tongue to graze her nipples – erect nubs of flesh protruding from the peak of each breast about a half inch. Pat had become one sexually excited woman.

Pat's hands tried to rub the front of my pants, right where my hardening cock lay trapped inside. I knew my rod would come into use tonight. Now, I realized that all the funny banter and jesting had been foreplay.

Pat spoke in a throaty voice just past a whisper: "You darling man. I want you to take me. I want you to take me here – on this counter, in that booth, on a stool, everywhere. I've had a fantasy for years of making love here, and now you've come to rescue me from everlasting boredom and make my fantasies come true."

I pushed Pat's dress over her hips to the floor. She still wore the white sneakers that were her daily work shoes. I laughed to myself at the incongruity they posed, as she stood there nearly nude.

Beneath her dress, Pat wore little lace panties. I knelt and blew hot air into the gusset of her pants, allowing the heat to penetrate deep into her body right about where her clit and vagina were. She moaned some more until I couldn't stand it, and I pulled the feminine panties down her legs.

Pat kicked off her shoes and stood nude before me, now fumbling with the buttons on my shirt and my belt simultaneously. She couldn't undress me fast enough. She panted in anticipation as she removed each article of clothing I wore.

When we stood naked we both pulled apart and studied each other for the first time, the only light in the diner came from a couple of neon signs outside, a street light, and the reflections from passing headlights. Pat was beautiful: about five feet tall, trim, shapely legs, gorgeous full breasts with silver dollar sized areolas, a bubble ass, and a face most models lusted after.

I whispered my desire to her, and she flowed into my arms, intentionally trapping my cock against her belly as I bent down to kiss her. I picked up her small frame and set her on the diner's counter only a few feet down from the cash register. The move put her pussy exactly at the height of my cock. Pat opened her legs and pulled me to her as she started to wrap both legs around my body. I used one hand to position my hard shaft against her pussy, rubbing some of the rapidly flowing female juices on my rod.

And then, I was inside her. Pat had her heels on the edge of the counter and her cunt pushed forward into me. The way she used her arms to push into me also pushed her breasts forward into my chest. My cock sank deeply into the warmth of her nest as I leaned forward to kiss her. As I bottomed out in her, Pat's eyes had grown to the size of saucers. She whispered to me, "My God, you're huge. You feel sooooo good." Her panting continued, now more audible and apparent. She could thrust back and forth a little with that leverage, and she did as I started to pump slowly into her. Slowly was a must according to Kim; it stretched out the lovemaking and heightened the intensity of the orgasms. In my limited experience, she was right. Prior to that, I had two speeds: on or off.

Thanks to Kim, sex had become a spiritual experience for me, an act not limited by the close-in boundaries of lust. As I'd learned about Tantric sex a little over a month earlier, I'd come to see making love as a way of joining two beautiful physical bodies together to form a spiritual whole. I found new energy in the physical union: the power to lift me not just to an orgasm where I 'pop my rocks off' in some cunt, but an energy that carries me upward to some higher space – to where I really feel connection with a greater Universe of wonder, awe, and delight.

I whispered my thoughts to Pat, and with each sentence she thrust harder and harder against me, finally enjoying not just one orgasm, but also a series of climaxes that started to blend as we actively joined. I felt certain that the diner had never heard such moans or sounds of sexual excitement.

I lifted Pat from the counter while my cock remained deeply buried in her body. I carried her over to booth number three. She lay back on the table and put her legs up over my shoulders. I pounded my shaft into her tunnel in this new position – something obviously exciting to her as she stored up memories of our sex acts around the diner to reflect on later – maybe tomorrow when the place was full of customers. The window overlooking the street was only a few feet from her head. I watched Pat's breasts oscillate in time to the moves our lower bodies made into each other. I felt the spirit of Eros fill my body and hers as we fucked – we honored the Greek God of sexual love and beauty.

We were in resonance with each other. I moved her to another booth, and another, and had her kneel on the bench seat as I entered her from the rear. She moaned loudly as the tip of my cock started to stroke against her G-spot. She started another series of orgasms, or it might have been one orgasm that just lasted and lasted. In another booth, she came over me and bounced up and down, repeatedly rising and dropping down my shaft as fast and as hard as she could.

I had her sit on one of the high counter stools and put one leg over my shoulder as I penetrated her depths and looked into her blue eyes. She climaxed immediately, and looked at me with huge doe eyes – pleading with me to stop while simultaneously imploring me to never cease our mating. Her panting revealed a new level of excitement inside her; I'd tapped into a part of her I hadn't seen before: that part where lust and love and all the worldly emotions come together in perfect harmony and balance.

I moved her back to our starting point near the cash register. We were both damp with sweat from our lovemaking. There was nothing about Pat I didn't love, and nothing about me she didn't adore. We were in harmony. Pat came again and again.

I warned of my impending orgasm. She just writhed and twisted beneath me with more fervor, and I instantly knew that she wanted me to be where I was when I came: deep inside her.

I did explode. Pat did too, giving into 'the really big one' as she later called it. I did something I seldom did; I moaned out my passion and pleasure as the jets of my cum left my body and shot into hers. Pat was vocal too, expressing some words about this being the absolute best ever fuck by far that she'd ever had in her life. We pleased each other.

As we came down from our highs, we kissed and cuddled there with her sitting nude on the diner's serving counter, and my cock buried within her pussy. The counter was just the right height. In our afterglow, we made some speculations about what it might be like to do this tomorrow in the middle of the lunch crowd. I hypothesized how much money we could make charging for the live sex show.

We dressed, Pat produced a flashlight, and we ran back to the little house through a light rain. Once inside, we made love again – and again, before we slept.

The next day was Saturday, and we were both at work on time: six a.m. Pat explained that Saturday had a different clientele from weekdays: a few more teenagers, and a smaller lunch crowd. She reminded me that they closed early on Saturday, since few people wanted dinner there that day of the week. Thus about two or three o'clock, if things were slow, she locked up. The diner was closed on Sunday.

We spent Saturday afternoon, night, and all day Sunday making love, except for a few moments spent in recovery and rest for our next interlude. I took her to dinner at Mel's Seafood – a name I found humorous since we were about two or three hundred miles from the Gulf of Mexico. We laughed, and acted like a couple of horny happy teenagers all weekend.

Monday, things returned to normal. We both admitted that our bodies needed the rest found in a full day of work instead of a full day of fucking. We laughed at that concept too. The banter and love pats continued.

After the lunch crowd had thinned, my cell phone rang.

"Jim Mellon, this is Detective Laurence Roux from the Alexandria, Louisiana Police department."

"Yes, hello. I got the GPS tracker planted last Friday morning, if that's why you're calling. I left you a message last week."

Roux said, "Oh, I expected you'd get it on there all right. With your training and demeanor, I could expect nothing less." He snorted with laughter. "Why I'm calling, is that I need you to download the information our little device has collected since Friday. We had three armed robberies over the weekend – convenience stores, and we want to see whether it's the guy you think it is ... and, by the way, I let the El Dorado Police know that you were helping us. If you look down at the end of the lunch counter, you'll see a sandy haired guy wearing a yellow shirt; you might want to introduce yourself to him."

I agreed to do the download and email him the file. We spoke another sentence or two and hung up. I looked down the counter and sure enough there was a lanky middle-age guy in a yellow shirt looking at me with a smile. I walked down the counter and spoke with him, "I think we might have a mutual friend in Alexandria – Laurence Roux?"

The man smiled and put his hand out, "I'm Frank Withers, here to serve and protect – and one of two detectives on our robust El Dorado P.D." He laughed at his sarcasm, aimed more at himself than to anyone else. He went on, "I gather you've had an interesting couple of weeks ... even got yourself shot rescuing some maiden in distress in Alabama. You doin' all right?"

I rubbed my left side and commented, "Yep, the wounds are healing nicely. I think the stitches have started to dissolve too ... and, yes, an interesting couple of weeks." I thought about the sex, besides the episodes with the police, fire departments, hospital, doctors, detectives, and jail, going back to the start of my road trip. I smiled.

Withers slipped me his business card, and I put it in my pocket. He said, "You need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. Laurence Roux brought me up to speed on what had happened to you, and what you think you might have found up here. I know that man – Darren Parker; he's been in trouble with the law on and off his whole life – he always thinks he's got an angle. Just keep me up to speed, and don't do anything foolish. You were a Green Beret I hear; that should mean you have some smarts about staying out of trouble." I nodded. Withers stood and put a ten-dollar bill down to cover his late lunch and tip. I thanked him as he walked away.

About three o'clock that afternoon, during a lull at the diner, I went back to the house and got my laptop computer and the interrogating device Roux had sent. I brought them back to the diner, and set up both of them in the empty end booth that looked out at the Cycle Shop. Pat seemed curious about what I was doing, but didn't say anything. She did grin, point to table number three, and make a lewd gesture to be sure I remembered our foray on that table a few nights earlier.