IaW Ch. 03: What a Long, Strange Trip

"Good!"

###

Between road head and sex in the Grand Canyon, we'd set our tone for this trip. We were so high on risky sex, I expected we'd make a "breakthrough" of sorts that night in Flagstaff. Like the canyon itself, I figured we'd leave monogamy in the rear-view mirror.

Sex had its own kind of energy with her. She was the exhibitionist, and I was the voyeur, but her energy was bringing out my own inner show-off. At the very least, it was a jolt to perform with her.

Now, on the road, I couldn't think of a better spontaneous environment for that energy than a college town like Flagstaff. The drive had been long and the sex had been good. I was exhausted, but now drink was flowing...

Oddly, once we were in town, she went introverted. Not away from me, but away from that manic sex goddess that this kind of setting usually brought out. I didn't understand, but I wasn't pushing it.

As I thought about it, it actually felt like a little manic-depressive cycle. Not that she seemed depressed, but she'd dialed back the energy.

That night, it was all about us. In the cool, thin mountain air, we laid out in a park and stared into a sparkling black sky. We made up our own constellations and counted the shooting stars.

It was a good night.

###

The next morning, still basking in relationship bliss, we left early and visited Meteor Crater. We crawled around on the Apollo Capsule, uploaded pictures, explored the crater itself and for a little while, actually talked about something other than sex.

Like last night, this was the kind of moment I was aiming at when I suggested a road trip. Could we connect? Turns out we had that kind of cool, conversational dynamic even when we weren't out on a formal date. With no wine flowing, she was still laughing at my jokes.

So far, so good.

###

We roared toward New Mexico, catching the touristy spots along the way. There was a petrified forest and some sort of arch rock at the border, at which my red-haired sex goddess busted out a knowledge of geology. Had no idea she knew or cared, but this was the kind of surprise that was icing on the cake.

Quarter of a state later, we stopped to explore the "Ice Cave" and Bandera Crater. Given that it was a hundred and four degrees outside, ice was something we had to see.

The caves were a seriously rough volcanic area that went down deep enough to trap cold air. So cold, in fact, that there was ice on the bottom of the main cave. A hundred degrees outside at the surface, but natural ice down there! That was pretty cool, so to speak.

Why else was this relevant to a dirty story? Her second-day shirt wasn't as sheer as the first day, but it was thin enough that she could light the way as we explored the riskier lava tubes on our own.

Those "danger of collapse" signs seemed to flip a switch in her.

We crawled around where it was warm, dry and utterly black. Quick check with phone lights to make sure there were no spiders, and she quickly took off her shirt. Yeah, there were other people around, sorta, but we doubted they'd come this far.

She dropped to her knees and blew me right there in the cave. I took video because that's what I do -- and it was surreal. On the screen, she was basically floating in space, giving head.

She was so high on sex that our dirty-talk turned to the local ranger guy. Suddenly, Ginny had to be "rescued" from the cave.

I was filming her, spotlight shining in the dark. "Would you blow the ranger?"

"Totally," she nodded.

"You want me to go get him?"

She giggled, thinking about it. "If you could do that without leaving me here in the cave alone, totally yes. But..."

"Alright, I get that. But you liked him?"

"Liked him? I don't know him, but I'd definitely give him head."

"You little slut..."

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. "Tell me you love me."

"I definitely love you."

"I love you, too! And, yes, I would definitely blow the ranger..."

"You know, we could go back and see when he gets off. Then you could make sure he gets off..."

"Ooo..." She was thinking about it.

And that made me cum.

Moments later, we were scrambling out of the cave, my jizz smeared over her shirt. Did we head back to the main cave? Nope, I'm guessing cold feet on a hot day: she made a beeline back to the Bronco.

Sudden silence.

As I drove, she held my phone in her hand. She studied the video, watching and listening to herself. Her finger kept hovering over the delete button, but she never did.

It was that manic-depressive cycle again.

I glanced over at her. "You okay?"

She gave a deep sigh and a tiny shrug. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Listen, until we do something, we haven't done anything. It's only dirty talk." I took a moment to compose. "If we do something, even if you're the only one doing it, it's still an 'us' thing."

She clicked off my phone. The video lived.

###

We arrived in Albuquerque and she switched to let's-not-get-arrested tourist mode. This meant a more modest outfit, though her tight, midriff-baring camisole and low-rise utility capris still blazed with sexy fun. Together with trail runners, she had a kind of a Ruby Roundhouse vibe going (Jumanji, if the name doesn't ring a bell).

I held up my end of the fashion deal with brown cargos and a khaki button-down that brought a touch of Indiana to balance out her Lara Croft.

The Albuquerque Adventure started with sampled green chile breakfast burritos at some diner called "Frontier." Both the burritos and the cinnamon rolls lived up to the hype. Instagrammed, of course.

After that, a trip to the spooky Nuclear Museum (Facebooked), then a trip up a tram that took us to the top of the local mountain. Decent dinner and an amazing sunset.

Sex? No, you perverts, but plenty of romance. Deep kisses and a warm connection on a calm night. It was a good reset.

###

I could feel the energy building in her again. The manic phase. The exciting phase.

These cycles brought up one of those "can I deal with this for the rest of my life?" questions. The answer was yes, at this level, I could. The question was: if we actually broke the kink barrier, would she make peace with it or would the cycles get worse?

She'd crossed the "kink barrier" once before, doing a friend of an ex (at her ex's suggestion, before that guy became an ex). She'd loved it at the time, but was burned by her ex so bad she was hospitalized in psychiatric. So... did doing it once make it more likely she'd do it again, or was it "Once Burned, Twice Shy" and all that?

Either way, I was willing to push the buttons to find out.

As we left "Duke City," she was back in her first outfit. The traveling outfit. She'd packed light, hand-washed the cum out and hung-dry her clothes. Not like there was a lot fabric there anyway.

Once we were on the road, I admired the casual travel outfit that just radiated sex. "Okay, this is totally cliché, but you gotta try flashing a trucker..."

"Is that what people do?"

"That's what I've heard. I doubt most of the flashers look like you, so..."

"Okay," she agreed. "How do we play this game?"

It was simple: I pulled up to a semi-truck and paced it. After a few seconds, that was usually enough to get the driver's attention. If she got a look, and was feeling it, she'd flash him.

Between Albuquerque and Socorro, she flashed six truckers -- and got appreciative honks every time. That, I gotta admit, was fun.

It was almost a shame that we didn't stop at any of the rest stops because I'm damn sure the truckers would've loved to have met her in person.

Instead, we veered off to check out the Very Large Array. If you've never been there, the VLA is a collection of ginormous antenna dishes that are used for radioastronomy. Cool little museum, but mostly friggin' epic antenna dishes.

It had a kind of space vibe that echoed the Meteor Crater. Cool in its own right, but being pop-culture junkies, it led to discussion about what movies the VLA had been in. I knew it from "Contact" (1997). Ginny remembered it from "Terminator Salvation" (2009).

Again, this had been the whole point of the road trip. After we had our fun on a Friday night, did we still get along on Saturday morning? Finding somebody worth sleeping with was easy. Finding somebody worth waking to was the challenge. So far, I was just falling deeper and deeper.

Before we left, there were the requisite pics. Not even any racy ones this time, just an appreciation for the coolness of the setting. And they were all taken in "airplane mode."

###

Back on the I-25 south, briefly, we were again amongst the trucks. The VLA talk faded and the flashing game began again.

By the third trucker (ninth total, I think), her exhibitionist streak was in full bloom. This time, I had the phone out and took pictures and video of the shenanigans (she's Irish, I can say that...). Again, she was totally into the performance.

For her, the truckers were the spectators but I was the audience. By the looks, she enjoyed that I enjoyed watching her show off. That soothed the nerves a lot, I think.

I took video of her giving me road head again. Naturally and properly, she wasn't wearing a shirt. So, while my topless fiancée nursed on my knob, I started getting creative...

"So, the guy in the red truck. The one that almost drove off the road when you flashed him."

"Oh, God," she giggled. "Him?"

"Would you blow him?"

She glanced up at me, glanced at the phone, then back at me -- and nodded. She went into stroke mode while she answered. "Yah, if he's normal, up close. Would you want me to?"

"Yeah, watching you flash him was hot. Watching you blow him feels like kind of the natural next step." Her hand was good, but just talking about this would've been enough to keep me hard. "I don't want to presume, though. What goes through your head when you flash a guy like that?"

She shrugged. "On average? Blowing the guy."

"Does that get you hot?"

She nodded, maybe a little self-conscious.

I adjusted my grip on the phone. "We're at a rest stop and he walks up to you: 'Howdy, ma'am'."

She broke out laughing. "Howdy, partner!"

"Just wanted to say thank you for that display back there."

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Ma'am, I kept jamming mah-self into 10th gear after that."

Ginny almost spit. "Well I'm happy to provide a little distraction."

"Well," I drawled, "I wouldn't want to put you out..."

"I meant..." Ginny got a devious look. "Actually, where's your truck? We'll have to make it quick..."

"Nice! Nice..." I nodded, breaking character. "Have him text pictures to me."

"Oooh," Ginny laughed. "See my kink and raise me?!"

"As long as you feel comfortable."

"Seriously? A trucker?" She looked up at me with those big green eyes. "Would that be a good start towards 37...?"

"Seriously. Yes." In case you didn't know, yes: she knew about my Veronica thing. "That would be an awesome start."

"Really? Really, really?" She was locked on. "Because I am totally serious. I'm your fiancée, but if you let me, I WILL go down on a trucker..." She gave my cock another massive suck. "...And 36 more guys..." Another big suck. "...And I WILL enjoy every single one. Do you hate me?"

"No," I laughed. "I am not Ed, this is not a trap. This is a camera, recording the hottest words ever said in amateur porn."

"Well, then..." --suck-- "Next time I flash a guy..." --suck-- "Pull over so I can suck his cock!"

"Ginnifer, I've moved past bedroom talk. I need to make sure you're on my wavelength before we take this next step together."

"Rick..." she pointed at herself. "Exhibitionist. The thought of blowing another guy in front of my fiancée is terrifying, yet... It's so fucking hot I can't even..."

"I can not wait to watch another guy's dick slide into your mouth."

Gin's breath caught a little -- and she went right back to blowing me.

"...Or even just know that it happened."

This was a blowjob. Road head. I was the one that was supposed to be coming, but with just one flick of her finger and she was convulsing. Her head in my lap, she came before I did.

###

No, the guy in the red truck never found us. Nor any other trucker, which given our current state of mind, was both a surprise and a shame. But that's reality.

No, in that moment --after her orgasm-- she looked like she was plunging into the depressive part of the cycle. I focused her back on my dick and she sucked and stroked until I came all over her face.

Getting me off actually seemed to stabilize her a bit. Juicy validation, I'm guessing.

Before she could backslide any more, I pointed at the gear shift. "We keep forgetting, but I still want to watch you on that thing."

"Do we have lemon-scented wipes?"

"Uh, that's oddly specific."

"I don't want to taste Clorox."

"Clorox? Like the bleach?"

She nodded. "Because I'm going to suck it first, get it wet, then I'm going to fuck it like the Bronco it is..."

"Fuck."

"What?"

"I'm hard again."

###

Even when the conversation wasn't on sex, we could talk about anything. She was smart. Really smart. We were having a good time and that was the litmus test this whole trip was about. Were we compatible?

We were seeing the little things about each other, like which way did we put the roll of toilet paper? Did she steal the comforter? Did I squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle? All of that gets amplified in the sardine proximity of a road trip.

A few differences, sure, but you know the saying: for every hot girl, there's a guy who's tired of her shit. Ginny fit that hot archetype. So, would I get tired of her shit?

You've probably also seen the Venn Diagram of traits: Hot -- Smart -- Sane. Pick 2. I didn't have to figure it out: Ginny had been in psychiatric and occasionally washed down Prozac with limoncellos. I could deal with that.

The only thing that stuck with me was that she was kind of indecisive when picking stuff out. It wasn't a deal-breaker.

As far as I could tell, she classed me as only "semi-barbaric" (and therefore tolerable).

When the conversation drifted back to sex...?

Funny you should ask. As we headed into southeastern New Mexico, she woke up from a nap and shared a realization:

"I think I'm making peace with being an exhibitionist."

"Flashing truckers got you over that hump?"

She shook her head. "No. You watching me flash truckers... got me over that hump."

"Cool. Still seems like there's a 'but' in there."

"Well, yeah: my butt. Where do I draw the line?"

"On your butt?"

She air-plonked me. "Exhibitionism is so much more than just showing off tits and ass. It's about showing sexuality."

"So, being seen..." I chuckled, "live sex show?"

"Sorta? The whole 'getting caught' thing really... it admit: it does it for me."

"Did that turn you on when you were blowing Ed?"

She nodded, which was a plus: I could now invoke her ex without sparking brush fires. "I've been 'seen,' and maybe even the videos count for that... Okay, the videos definitely count for that... but I've never actually been 'caught'."

"You want to be caught?"

She nodded again, looking at me.

"My dick is intrigued. What happens then?"

This was the topic of conversation as we crashed the gate to White Sands National Monument. It was dusk by the time we got in the park, so not too surprising that it was practically deserted.

Fortunately, there was still time to surf the soft white dunes. We rolled down the hills, buried ourselves, and got sand into places that would take years to get back out again.

With jagged black mountains all around us, it was beautiful in its desolation. Naturally, this became an opportunity to let out her inner exhibitionist. Clothes off, her pale skin complemented the sands well, perfectly offset by the freckles. Let me tell you: this latest iPhone takes really good low-light pictures.

Some shots were safe. They made it to social media. Most weren't: those went in our private album.

The Visitor's Center was a big adobe building. The lights were on but for the life of us, it seemed like there was nobody else there. No cameras around either, so she snuck into the men's restroom right behind me.

Oh, but there was one camera: mine.

We started out in a stall, but no footsteps, no cars, and a minute later, no limitations. We broke out and I gave her a grand fucking right in front of the big mirrors. On camera, of course.

I was about to come inside her when I pulled out instead. "Turn around! Turn around!"

She spun and dropped to her knees, instinctively knowing what I wanted to do.

I gripped, stroked and came on her face. Between the visuals and the location, the orgasm ripped through me hard enough that I nearly fell over.

After I steadied myself, probably more for the camera, I looked down at her. "You are so hot."

"With cum on my face?" she giggled. "Am I beautiful or am I hot?"

"You're always beautiful, but you're hot with cum on your face."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Do you prefer me beautiful or hot?"

"Right now? Like, while we're still young? Definitely hot."

She looked up at me, her finger in her mouth. "I wanna be hot for you."

I glanced at the door. "The hotter, the better."

A second later, it dawned on her what I meant. A devious smile spread across her face as she glanced at the door. "Does anybody want to make me hotter?"

On cue, I heard a car out in the lot. I eased toward the door, just to make sure it wasn't a bus full of kids while Ginny traced lines through the cum I'd left on her face. Not a bus: driving through the dark was a New Mexico State Trooper SUV.

"Shit. Time to go..."

Gin's eyes went wide and a second later, both of us eased out of the restroom. We were walking away when the SUV pulled up and both officers hopped out and went in.

Thank God they weren't even looking at us.

Ginny shrugged. "When you gotta go, you gotta go!"

"True. We gotta go."

She cocked her head like she was considering some "official business."

I shook my head. "Kinky, babe, awesome kinky, but these guys look like they sleep in their police hats."

She squinted through the darkness, eventually nodding. "Their loss..."

"Yeah..."

We were safely in the Bronco by the time they emerged. They definitely looked like serious types.

Ginny slid down in her chair a bit. "Good thing we escaped."

###

She never did wipe off my cum. Instead, she just opened the window and let it dry. After a while, the warm desert wind scraped the cum flakes from her face, blowing them who-knows-where.

For a little while, her eyes were closed, but I know she wasn't sleeping. Meditating, it looked like. Finally, her eyes fluttered open. "Is there such a thing as sexual psychosis?"

"Maybe? Probably. Like a nymphomania kind of thing?"

She tapped the dashboard. "I've always thought about going back to school. Maybe I should sign up at GCC and study sexual psychology."

"Yeah, you're a natural for 'lab work'."

"You ever read Masters & Johnson?"

"I haven't even mastered my own johnson."

"Ha ha. I'm guessing that's a no?"

"I've never read it, no, but I know a guy that worked on the series."

"That's right!" Her eyes went wide. "There's a series! Masters... of Sex?"

"Yup. Showtime's dime. I think they shot most of it at Sony."

"Huh." She stared off into the inky night sky. "I started doing research after my breakdown. They were sex researchers. Heard of the Kinsey report?"

"The Kinky Report? Yeah, sounds familiar..."

###

Our route took us to the caves at Carlsbad Caverns. Beautiful. Chilly. Really cool. Of course there were pictures. Yes, they were posted to Facebook. No, none of them pornographic.

We ate Tex-Mex in El Paso (Instagrammed) and bought tequila in Juárez. I joked about catching the notorious "donkey show" while we were there (no, we didn't).