If Tomorrow Never Comes

I'm walking along the shoulder of an asphalt highway in the scrubland desert and I don't remember exactly how long I've been walking. Time loses all meaning when there is so little of it left. An hour. A second. The difference is irrelevant. On the far horizon the sky is orange and purple and pink. I decide that it must be the sunset, because I know with absolute certainty that the sun will not rise again.

The last day fades into the final night. I turn my back on the sunset and walk towards a dawn that I know will never come. There's a green square next to the road that reads "ROSWELL 57". The words seem familiar, but I can't remember what they mean or why they are significant. The sky above the empty desert is filled with stars, more stars than I could hope to count, and I walk between them.

The warm night wind blows the thin fabric of my dress against the curves of my body. I can tell that I'm wearing nothing else underneath. I feel light, unencumbered, and free. I have nothing else. My hands are empty. My feet are bare. Even my hair is gone, shorn down to a fine bristle; the gentle desert breeze tingles my scalp.

My being is unburdened.

An unexpected light casts my shadow long ahead of me. Behind me, the peaceful night song of the desert is ripped open by an angry sound--a motor tearing through the night. It's not the first, but the road is lonely enough that I don't remember the last time a car drove past. I'm caught in the whirl of turbulence as the car blows by. My dress flaps around my knees and clings to my back.

The wind is warm. The sound of the engine recedes and I anticipate the quiet's return, but I'm unexpectedly bathed in red light. I look up.

The car has stopped on the shoulder ahead of me. It has no roof or windows. Two men are turned around in their seats looking at me, waiting for me. I walk forward as I've been doing for as long as I can remember, my entire life I suppose.

"Hey, you want a ride?" One of the men calls out as soon as I draw close enough for him to be heard.

"Yes," I answer, because I do. The road is long and walking is slow.

He gets out of the passenger side of the car and stands with the door open. He waits. As I approach, I see that the back seat of the car with no roof is filled with suitcases and golf bags.

"Where ya headed?" he asks. He's young. Handsome. He reminds me of someone but I don't remember who.

"It doesn't matter," I tell him. This makes him laugh.

"Yeah, I guess not," he agrees, looking around at the empty scrubland. "Well, hop in. We'll take you as far as we can."

"Thank you." I don't tell him it won't be very far. It doesn't matter. Instead I sit on the front bench seat and slide over until I'm pressed up against the driver. He's also young and handsome, but in a different way that doesn't remind me of anyone.

The passenger slides in next to me and we are crowded on the front seat, but not uncomfortably so. I feel the warmth of their bodies so close by. The driver pulls back on to the long, lonely highway. "So what's your name?" he asks.

I realize with some surprise that I have one. "My name is Mary." I give my name to the driver. I have no need of it any longer.

The driver introduces himself and his passenger. The words float past my ears and then fade away. There is no need to hold on to them and so I don't even try. I let their names go free.

"We're headed to a convention in Austin," the driver continues. "Need to check in first thing in the morning, so we're planning to drive straight through the night. Hope that's okay."

I smile without responding. How can I tell them that it doesn't matter? How do I explain that there will be no convention, that there will be no morning? I'm ready for the end of all things, but I don't want to spend the time that is left trying in vain to prepare others. So I smile without responding.

"I like your hair," the passenger says, trying to make conversation. He lays his hand on my knee. "It's bold. The buzzcut really works for you."

The warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of my dress is comforting in a way. The car with no roof speeds down the highway through the empty scrubland between the stars.

"Thank you," I accept the compliment. "My hair was a burden. I'm lighter without it."

"Yeah, I totally get that," the passenger continues. "My ex used to have really long hair, like almost down to her butt. She used to spend hours on it, but she finally just got sick of it and chopped it all off short. I mean, not as drastic as you. Still, I bet that's gotta be real easy to take care of, huh?"

"Yes," I agree.

"Yeah, I thought so. We got a brother--a fraternity brother, I mean--he was in the Marines. He still wears a buzzcut. Says a shampoo bottle lasts him like, for years and he only needs like, three seconds with a towel and he's good to go. Cuts it himself with clippers, so he never has to pay a barber."

The passenger talks too much. His words intrude on the steady drone of the car with no roof as it barrels ever forward behind headlights that slice a path through the starlit darkness. I'm worried that we'll reach the end and I won't even notice, distracted by his prattle of idle chatter.

"Do you want to touch it?" I ask, hoping he'll be quiet. I know that people like to touch my head, that it makes them smile, but I don't know how I know that, or why.

"Can I?" he asks with a grin. I tilt my head towards him and he moves his hand from my knee. He shifts in his seat until his arm is crooked behind my shoulders and his warm hand rests on my scalp like a butterfly alighting on a petal. I'm aware of the strum and flick of each individual hair as he pets me, and I'm soothed by the gentle sensation.

"Oh, man. It's so fuzzy," the passenger remarks. "Like those blankets, you know? The really fuzzy ones?"

I roll my neck, first one way and then the other, ignoring his words. He strokes my near-bare pate in the palm of his hand and I close my eyes, enjoying the tingle of his touch. A sigh of contentment escapes my lips becoming more of a soft moan.

"You really like that, huh?" he asks. I can hear the broad smile in his voice, but I wish he would stop talking.

I don't answer. I shift in my seat and turn my face towards him and I press my lips into his mouth. He is taken aback but quickly returns my kiss, pressing his tongue into my mouth, pulling my head against his, running his other hand up my bare leg.

I like this. I like his hands on my body and his tongue in my mouth and the smell of him on the night air. While I kiss him, I move one hand to his hip and the other behind his neck. I pull his warmth towards me and savor the heat of his body. It may be the last thing I ever feel and I relish it, thankful that it's not rough asphalt beneath my bare feet.

His hand moves up my thigh to my ribs, to my breast. The fabric of my dress slides easily over my skin beneath his hand catching ever so slightly on my wakened nipple and I moan into his lips with new fervor as he paws and kneads at my flesh.

My flesh. My body. This earthly vessel that binds me here on this last night of eternity.

I decide to give him my body. I would be free of it if I could, unburdened of its weight and its needs and its limitations. If this man will take me here between the stars speeding through this emptiness, then I am his.

My hand moves to his lap. Parting our lips I whisper "Do you want me?" even as I feel the answer swell in my palm.

"What--I mean... Yeah!" the passenger exclaims and I pounce on his mouth again before he can say more.

With our tongues entangled I fumble with his belt buckle and he pushes his hand up the inside of my thigh. I perceive his surprise and delight as he finds my sex bare and vulnerable in his hand. I feel the wet on his fingers and the eagerness in his lips.

"Jesus, get a room you two," the driver scoffs. "Dammit, I knew I should have let you drive."

We ignore the driver and frantically struggle to free the passenger's straining erection. When it stands tall and yearning in the night air he shifts in his seat and I swing my leg across his lap to straddle him. I am blasted by a torrent of wind. He pushes the hem of my dress up around my waist and the heat of his cock radiates against my thighs.

I lean down out of the wind, taking his face in my hands and I kiss him before he starts talking again. Moving my hips, I shift and I squirm in his lap to align his ardent manhood. His fingers dig furrows in my bare ass. At last I find the swollen head of his cock nestled just within the flowering threshold of my body.

He draws me forward and I thrust against his fullness with a groan of acceptance. Again he drives his body into mine and again I groan with the effort of receiving him, and again, and again until my body is filled and tight.

My hands are braced on the seatback behind the passenger as I ride his cock with a desperate passion. His hands wander over my body under the dress--caressing, stroking, petting--his touch a scintillating convergence of desire. We fly through the night in the car with no roof and the wind buffets the back of my shoulders and head sending ripples of tingling stimulation across my scalp.

The passenger's lips break from mine and he pushes the thin fabric up my sides, over my tits. He takes one into his mouth, playing his tongue across my nipple. The driver reaches over to grope my other bare breast and takes the opportunity to caress my sides, my back, my ass.

The twisted fabric sits awkwardly bunched on my chest so I shift my weight back on the swollen flesh that fills me, and crossing my arms, I pull the dress over my head.

Stretching my arms high into the wind, the torrent catches the fabric in my hands. I feel the tug pulling hard as my dress flaps and snaps in the night air but I have no fear. The passenger clings to me, his body rooted deeply into mine.

The car with no roof speeds through the empty blackness as I ride wind-blown and naked, rocking, bucking, pumping my body on to its ultimate release on a stranger's cock. I fuck him and he fucks me and the dress flaps in the night between the stars.

There is no weight to this reckless desire. There are no consequences, no accountability. I am without fear and without shame. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. The sun will not rise and tomorrow will never come. Tonight is all that is left and tonight I am free, unfettered, liberated from this world. Or nearly so.

I let the dress go.

It flutters away into the darkness, my very last possession, my last tie to this material world. I own nothing now. I am wholly unburdened, naked in the universe.

"Oh shit! Man, she dropped her dress," the passenger exclaims, even as I continue to fuck him, his strong hands holding my hips tight to his groin.

"Should I stop?" asks the driver.

"Naw, man. I think she's getting off on it."

I take his face in my hands and I kiss his succulent mouth once again. His words don't matter. They mean nothing. My final connection to the material world is severed. All that I have left is my body. I give it to him eagerly and he takes me.

With this abdication, I am released. My body is no longer mine to control. Freed in the universe, my spirit escapes through my throat in a passionate wail of surrender. From above the speeding car with no roof, I look down on my naked body, clutching the passenger's head to my chest as he nuzzles my shuddering breasts and tries to contain the furor of my orgasm in his arms.

"Dude, she's cumming like a fucking porn star!" the passenger exclaims.

"She's faking it, man." the driver responds.

I'm not. I have never known such ecstasy as this. I am free, weightless. My whole being trembles in waves of unyielding pleasure in time to the celestial rhythm of the universe. This is how I want it all to end. I am ready.

But it doesn't end, not yet. I am back in the body I had left behind. It's a body stretched tight and full with the weight of the passenger's cock; a body clamped in his warm embrace and caressed by the driver's free hand. It is my body to control once more, but I don't want it back.

I take the passenger's head in my hands and I look deep into his dark eyes reflecting the universe.

"Make me cum again," I beg. "Please, please make me cum until the end, over and over if you have to but please don't stop. I have to cum like that. I have to cum again."

Before he can answer, I press my mouth back into his and devour his tongue, thrusting my hips back against him, driving his cock into this body with renewed need and urgency. His fingers dig into my ass and he meets my thrusts, bouncing me on his lap, up and down, with a strong, steady rhythm.

My being cries out for the weightless freedom of orgasm once more. My urgent need drives this body to furious effort, pummeling the passenger's deep-seated cock, to and fro in desperate delirium. I can no longer bear the weight of this body and I yearn to meet the end of all things without it.

I feel the car with no roof lurch to the right. The torrent of wind fades to nothing and I fear the final resolution is upon us but I'm still bound to this body that I don't want.

I claw at the passenger's shirt as I fuck him, pulling it over his head, clutching his body close for the frantic sensation of his warm skin against mine. I'm crying now, sobbing, tears running down my face as I fuck him harder than I thought possible, thighs burning with the effort to release myself. Pulling his face into my chest, I look to the stars, but they're already gone.

Against the dull black sky all I can see is a message spelled out in flaming letters "Sunset Motel Vacancy". I don't understand what the words mean, but the implication of their red glow is clear to me. The end of all things is at hand; this moment is the last.

In this epiphany, I'm suddenly wracked with a spasm of orgasmic release as my being departs. From beyond myself I can see the passenger embrace my trembling flesh, his hand clamped over my mouth to contain the shrieking ecstasy of my freedom. That body, no longer mine, continues to writhe against him, hips bucking into oblivion.

But once again I've cum too soon. I am back in this body, tears on my cheeks, head resting against the passenger's shoulder, panting to fill my burning lungs with air. My thighs and hips ache and deep within I feel him soften.

"No," I gasp, as his hands languidly caress my spine, my ribs, my ass. "Not yet... Please... Don't stop... Not yet."

I squeeze him within me and grind my raw clit against him with what enervated motion this body can still manage, bathed in the fiery luminescence of the eternal void.

"Dude, keep her quiet! We could hear her inside."

I hear the voice from somewhere beyond reality and I look up to see the driver approach the car with no roof. He opens the door, takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet. Langrets of semen connect me to the spent body of my lover, stretching, snapping, slapping wet against my leg. Behind the driver, the world is bright and white and hard and geometric.

"She wants to go again, man," the passenger huffs. "She just can't get enough."

"My turn," the driver replies, pulling me away from the red towards the white. He looks back over his shoulder to call "We're in room nine."

He has my wrist in his hand and we're running, running, running past a row of dark windows and black doors under harsh white lights. Window door window door window door--there are too many to count. They seem to go on and on forever and I run naked past them. The concrete is solid and abrasive under my bare feet. Every footfall sends a trembling, bouncing wave through this body and the air pushes past, bristling my scalp, tightening my hot skin.

To one side is the void, dark and fiery, calling us to eternity. To the other side are doors.

I don't know where we are going or why, but I follow the driver as he pulls me exposed and vulnerable past the endless doors. I want to tell him it's pointless, that the doors offer no escape from the end of all things, but I don't. He surely knows by now, and if he doesn't, how could I explain? I want him to take this body from me, but how can I give myself to him if he won't stop running?

And then he does. He stops in front of a door identical to every other door, and I don't expect it. I collide with the driver as he reaches for the door and our bodies are entangled. He grabs at me and I take his face in my hands and I kiss him because I don't want him to start running again.

He kisses me back and holds me nude in his arms while I reach down to his belt and try to loose the swelling erection I feel pressed into my hip. Together we push his pants down over his ass and his cock swings wildly out into the harsh white light. He grabs my leg, lifting it, spreading me. My toes find purchase on the low window sill beside the door. The driver pushes himself up and into me and I groan with grateful relief as he finally finally finally takes me.

"Yes, yes, yes," I urge, pushing my hips into his groin as his fresh, vibrant cock impales me. "Take me! Take me now! Hurry! Hurry! Please."

His face is bathed in the fiery red light of the void and in his eyes I see the same urgency, the same desperation for release. He knows.

He knows we have reached the end of all things. He has seen the stars and the road and the car with no roof swallowed by eternity. He knows that his luggage, his convention, his passenger, his name--all are gone. He is as unburdened as I. We two are all that is left of reality and I realize that he is seeking the same solace of oblivion.

I resolve to free him from his body even as he frees me.

I kiss him again with renewed mania, my tongue twisting around his. My chest is crushed to his, his shirt cool against my pert tits and delicate nipples. He has my ass in one hand and my head in the other, holding our bodies together as I cling to his shoulders for the leverage to fuck him harder under the harsh white light against this anonymous doorway.

Over the sound of smacking flesh and gasping lips, I hear an echo of the passenger's voice calling from out of the void, but I ignore it. The passenger is gone. The driver consumes the whole of my perception, his tongue filling my mouth, his scent filling my nostrils, his cock filling my body. We are both desperate to cum together and be free.

Suddenly, I'm falling, falling into darkness and I scream, startled by the abrupt end that I waited so long for. But I don't fall. There are hands in the darkness, hands on my back, my shoulders. They carry me, even as the driver continues to fuck me and I wrap my legs around his waist, rolling my hips around the cock that pierces the core of my being.

They carry me through the open doorway on the edge of oblivion, out of the harsh white light and into darkness.

I'm laid on my back and all that is left of reality feels coarse and yielding beneath me. The driver is above me, fucking me hard as I beg him not to stop. I claw at his back and shoulders, pull with my aching legs and draw him deeper deeper deeper into to this body that he is taking, taking the body that he is giving.

I feel his heat just inches above me, his breath on my cheek, my shoulder, my breast.

Another release begins to crest and I fight it, holding back, resolved to cum only with the driver, only together, he and I, the last of humanity, the anti-Adam, the anti-Eve. I lock my ankles behind his back, holding him deep, deep within me, straining to stall the throbbing energy that wants to overwhelm me. Every muscle in this enervated body clenches against the pending orgasm, arching my back up off the coarseness of everything.

"Hurry!" I beg the darkness as the driver ravishes this body with long, slow, deep incursions. "Please, faster! We have to cum... cum quickly... Ah-hungh... Please... Faster..."