Route 66 Pt. 03

It was getting dark when we settled in for a late meal in the diner next door -- another time capsule, this one more of a recreation than a restoration. I was feeling again like it really was 1964, and the late-model cars on the highway were the illusions.

"So, what do you like best about this era?" Aurora asked me at one point.

"The company," I answered, truthfully, before taking a bite of my burger.

"Sweet," she replied. "But, really."

So I waved my hand around the room while I chewed and swallowed, then said, "All this, really. This diner. That motel. The car. All the neon and the funky architecture. And then I think, you know, the space program, The Right Stuff, Kennedy... It just feels like everything was just bursting with confidence and potential."

"Potential is good," she mused.

"But it feels like I just missed it. Places like this have been 'nostalgic' our whole lives -- my whole life; but being here today feels like we're there in the heyday. Before interstates come through here and these places are all replaced with Holiday Inns and Howard Johnsons."

Aurora nodded seriously. "Just like that movie, Cars," she said. I had to look really hard to find the twinkle in her eye, then she finally broke down and burst into laughter. Cars? There's some classic cinema. My film studies major was teasing me about our age difference this time.

"So what do you remember from 1964?"

I shook my head. "I'm not quite that old. About the only thing I remember from 1964 was Felix the Cat."

She put her chin in her hands and looked at me seriously, and said, "Tell me about Felix the Cat."

I smiled and started to describe the black cartoon cat and his Bag of Tricks. I knew that exotic dancers are experts at pretending they find guys fascinating, but we were thirty-six hours into this wild hare of an adventure, and she still seemed to be having as much fun as I was.

***

Tonight would be our second night on the road.

I had never gone anywhere overnight with a woman before where the sleeping arrangements weren't already understood. In our whirlwind of planning for this trip, we hadn't addressed whether we were going to be intimate. I was afraid to assume, afraid to project a presumption, afraid to disrupt the fantasy. I still hadn't been convinced this was really happening until we had hit the road, right after she had put her hands over my eyes and told me that she was taking us to 1964.

It wasn't until we picked out a funky little motor court in southern Missouri that we confronted the issue. "One room or two?" I asked before heading in to the office to book accommodations.

"One room is fine," she had said, nonchalantly. "Two beds."

I nodded. I wasn't surprised, or overwhelmingly disappointed.

"Just because I make a living rubbing on strangers' cocks, doesn't mean I have sex on the first date," she told me later, in the room.

"Yeah, I was hoping you would notice I didn't make that assumption."

"I did. Good boy."

"I was thinking, though... this is a hell of a long first date. I was hoping we could look at this trip as, like, five dates in a row?"

"Clever," she said. "Well, we'll just have to see how those dates go."

She had came over to the chair where I was sitting and lowered herself onto my lap. She nuzzled my neck, and let me cuddle her, running my hands up and down her body. No more and no less than I had done many times before in the club; but this time the clock wasn't running. After dinner she climbed onto my bed and sat curled beside me while we watched some TV. Then we had each changed in the bathroom, and settled into our separate beds to sleep.

So, tonight as we got back to Room 8 after dinner, I was wondering how she felt about our "second date."

I took a quick rinse-off shower, my second of the night, to wash off the chlorine from our before-dinner swim, then put on a t-shirt and a pair of nylon running shorts and got into the bed on the left while Aurora went into the bathroom. I heard the sink running, but not the shower. After a few minutes she came out, brushing her over-the-shoulder curls, wearing a simple light blue cotton nightshirt that came halfway down her athletic thighs. She came over and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Still enjoying your fantasy road trip?" she asked.

"Uh huh," I said, wondering if I was about to be enjoying it a whole lot more.

"Sit up," she abruptly ordered. I scooted up higher in the bed so I was sitting with my back against the headboard. She smoothly swung a leg over me and straddled my lap, as she had done many times before in the club. But this time, I wasn't wearing slacks. There were only two layers of very thin cotton between my very aroused penis and the hidden lips of her sacrosanct vagina. I could feel her heat.

Suddenly she pulled her nightshirt up over her head, revealing the twin half-cantelopes of her breasts. They are actually on the small side for her frame, and they ride high and proud.

I felt myself getting hard inside my shorts, but bent sideways. She felt it too, no doubt, against her thigh, and briefly rose so my body could naturally readjust itself. Then she seated herself again.

I placed my hands on either side of her waist, and then gently moved them up to cup her breasts. Aurora, though, was in something more of an assertive mood, and she grabbed my head and pulled my lips to one of her stiffening pierced nipples. I gave it a couple of flicks with my tongue then closed my lips around it and and sucked.

"Taste anything different?" she asked.

"Yeah... chlorine."

We both laughed. "Oh, right," she replied, then wove her fingers deep into my hair and pulled me closer again. "I guess that swim washed off all the taste of Marlboros and Lone Star beer."

Oh. So we're playing that game, I thought. How, oh how, might the stale taste of cheap beer and cigarettes have been introduced to her decorated, pinkish-brown areola?

"I love to push your buttons."

"I know," I mumbled. "I love it too."

She sat upright on me, her weight and heat deliciously oppressive on me. But I felt the tension. Erotic tension, not simmering temper. More like she was deciding which of my fantasies she was going to gift me with tonight.

"You've had a long day," she said. "You should get some sleep. I'm going to go for a walk." And she dismounted me.

"A walk?" I repeated, my voice betraying my frustration and arousal.

She shrugged, almost apologetically.

She got out of bed and walked back over to the dresser, picked up the yellow sundress, and slithered back into it.

Then she gathered up the hem of the dress, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties, slipped them down her thighs, and stepped out of them. She picked them up and tossed them at me. My consolation prize.

She reached down to slip on her tall wedge sandals. "Don't wait up," she said, as she opened the door and stepped out into the night.

***

Aurora may have been the tallest beautiful woman Carl had ever met; may even have been a college athlete. But she was no stronger than any of the calves he had roped and wrestled to the ground. When he suddenly stood up and thrust his head just to the right of her midsection, he had quickly bent her in two and draped her over his shoulder like a sack of oats.

Her legs were flailing and her hands were slapping on his back, but she was laughing as he carried her past the little kitchen and down the narrow hallway to his bedroom. The bedroom was dark and the bed was unmade, but this wasn't a time to stand on ceremony.

His bed sat low, just a mattress on a plywood riser, and when he bent forward and tossed her onto it, she fell a long way, and gave a surprised shriek, and bounced. He hit the light switch, which was only connected to a bedside lamp.

She was on her back, but up on her elbows, her hair disheveled, her expression an interesting mix of excitement and amusement. Her endless legs were open and bent at the knees, and her yellow sundress was bunched around her hips.

She wasn't wearing panties. And she was clean-shaven, except for a narrow landing strip above her slit. Carl could feel the grin that he knew was breaking out across his face. He shouldn't have been surprised. If she was that guy's sugar baby, she would know how to present herself for a man's pleasure. Visually and otherwise.

He stood in the doorway unbuttoning his cotton plaid shirt, revealing his lean, pale, mostly hairless chest and the stark rancher's tan lines on his upper arms. He didn't care much about looking good, not by the time he had a woman half-naked. He kicked off his boots and undid his silver belt buckle, loosening his jeans and dropping them and his briefs in one motion.

Carl always liked watching a woman react to their first sight of his cock. It wasn't porn-star huge and it wasn't iron hard; in fact, he had been told it was ugly, by women who were nonetheless lavishing it with attention. Right now it was halfway between hanging and jutting from his crotch, and curving obscenely to his right like some kind of veiny keilbasa. Uncut. That was his hook, and his "hook."

This sassy woman seemed to be regarding it with intrigue, at least, if not quite awe.

He got on the bed between her knees, put his calloused hands on the inside of her silky thighs, and parted them wider, to bury his face between them.

He ground his three-day stubble into the impossibly baby-soft flesh around her vulva. He could smell the floral and medicinal aroma of lotion, then all he could smell was woman. She must have just shaved, just for him. He was going to make sure she had a rash there tomorrow.

He drove his tongue between her labia. She tasted of butter and salt and that tangy flavor that tasted like nothing else on earth. Then he found the little pink pearl of her clitoris and attacked it.

"Oh, shit, not so fast," she gasped, grabbing his head. But he ignored her. She writhed and bucked like a bronco, but he had tamed wilder fillies than her. He let her squirm and swear at him until she gave up her orgasm.

Then Carl sat up on his haunches; grabbed Aurora by her waist, and yanked her toward him. Her yellow sundress, bunched up around her ribcage, was jerked higher on her body, revealing a couple of small tattoos beneath her breasts. That excited Carl even more. He took his thick, fleshy tool in his right hand and drew it up and down over the young woman's naked slit, finally nestling the sheathed tip between the folds of her lips.

Then he leaned over her, lowering his face to just an inch or so above hers, and reached up behind her back to grip her left shoulder with his right hand. His left hand remained clutched around her right hip. She was the tallest, probably strongest woman he had ever held, but he had her where he wanted her now. He gazed into her hazel eyes, focused on her parted, wine-colored lips... then he pulled her down with his strong arms while flexing his hips, and he felt his cock start to make its way up inside her incredibly soft, wet pussy.

Penetration only lasted a few seconds, but it was the best few seconds of any day; and Carl realized within the first instant that the exotic young woman under him was something extra special. She kept her eyes locked on his, and squeezed him with her vaginal muscles as he pushed forward. Every single nerve in his cock was on fire as he felt, more intensely than he ever had before, his outer foreskin pinned in place by the walls of her pussy; and then his oh-so-sensitive glans roll out from within in, instantly being milked and massaged.

It was the most amazing first thrust of his life, and when he finally felt his pubic bone come to rest against hers, it coincided precisely with her jerking her head back and gasping as he felt himself hit bottom against her cervix. A perfect fit.

For several seconds the two of them lay motionless -- the 6'4" cowboy and the 6'2" dancer, conjoined at the genitals; with him finally in a position to look down into her eyes. Then he gave another little thrust, just enough to make her grunt again, which pleased him no end.

"God you feel so good," he whispered.

"Mmmm," she responded, stroking the back of his head. "You too."

His head was swimming with the endorphins that come with conquest, with victory. He flashed back to her seductive teasing from a few minutes before, and taunted her back. "So, I think you've been taken."

She caught her breath, and then nodded. "Oh, God, yes."

As if to drive home the point, he made a series of short jabs with this hips, each making Aurora squeak. "So deep," she complimented him. "You fill me up, baby."

Carl made a growling noise deep in his throat. He couldn't resist completing the conquest... which he soon would do in the most intimate and liquid of ways. But for now, he needed to crow.

"Better than that guy in Room 8," he ventured.

Aurora smiled, and rolled her eyes, as if to say, "Men." But she couldn't resist giving the cowboy what he demanded. "Baby, he'll never fill me like this."

A satisfied grin spread across Carl's face. Then he moved his left hand from Aurora's trembling waist, and grabbed her at the back of the neck, tilting her head back and drawing her soft, parted crimson lips toward his. Then he crushed his hard mouth against hers, and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth.

And she gave him that too.

***

When she slipped back in the door, I still had the laptop open, but I realized I had been dozing off.

"Hey there," she said softly. "You're still up."

"Not really," I said, closing the laptop. "Did you have a nice walk?"

"Uh huh," was all she said.

She picked up her nightshirt and went into the bathroom to change but didn't close the door. I heard water running in the sink. Not the shower. I waited for her to return, back in her simple gown again. She fluffed her hair with her hands and gave me a very gentle smile.

"You shouldn't have waited up," she said.

"Couldn't help myself," I replied.

"Monkey brain?"

"Yeah, well... my imagination was kind of running away with me."

"Uh huh. Imagine that." She moved to the other bed and got into it, but turned to me and propped her head on her hand. "Did you write one of your kinky little stories about it?"

"Yes," I admitted. She knew I wrote erotica as a hobby. I had shown some of it to her before.

"Maybe I can read it sometime."

"Maybe."

She came over and leaned over me, bending at the waist the way she does, and kissed my cheek. She didn't smell of cigarettes or male cologne; she didn't particularly smell of alcohol. She smelled like chlorine. She must have skinny-dipped in the tepid pool, which was surely empty at this time of night. Whether to rinse off Carl's sweat and semen, I could only wonder, and fantasize about. I couldn't ask her. That would spoil it.

Then she got into the other bed and curled up under the covers.

I turned off the light and lay in the darkness, and listened to the pleasant sound of her breathing as she fell into an apparently satisfied sleep.

***

Surprisingly, I did get to sleep, but I was still up before she was. I got dressed and walked across the street to the diner to get a couple of coffees in to-go cups. They might have been pretending to be in 1964, but they had those.

When I came back in, Aurora was stirring. With her tangled hair and slightly puffy eyes and her nightshirt almost hanging off one shoulder, I thought she just might look sexier than I had ever seen her look.

Her bleary expression made her seem more vulnerable than she had last night, or, really, ever. She sat up and took the coffee that I offered her, and sipped.

"How are you this morning?" I asked.

"Ugh," she said. "I'm fine. I'm just not an early riser."

She paused. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I replied, and I realized I was being truthful.

She had either fucked another guy last night, or she had left me alone for a couple of hours to tease me, because she knew I liked to be teased. And I had come to the conclusion that it didn't matter.

She wasn't my girlfriend. At best we were friends, who knew each other through her work, and who had decided to take a vacation together.

An hour later we were back on the road, the sun on our shoulders as we drove west, mountains looming in the distance.

"Still enjoying your wild hare of a vacation?" she suddenly asked, using a term which I must have used earlier.

"I am," I told her.

"So," she said, reaching over and placing a soft hand on my thigh, below the hem of my shorts. "You didn't get too upset about last night?"

"Well, you had my stomach churning for a while there," I admitted. "But I wasn't too worried. You told me you don't have sex on the first date."

"Oh, babe," she said. "But that wasn't a date."

I took the gut punch and glanced over at her. She was beaming at me, pleased with herself at her little jibe. I shook my head. It sure hadn't taken her long to get back on top of her game.

"Anyway," she continued. "What happens in 1964 stays in 1964."

I figured she was going to dance around this for the rest of the trip. So I thought I would give her something to think about.

"Did it occur to you that I might get pissed off and just leave you here?"

"Yes."

"And you did it anyway?"

"I'm pretty good at risk assessment," she replied. "Better than you, I'd say."

I glanced over. She was smirking at me. Sizing me up, to borrow a phrase.

I've written books, I've negotiated million dollar deals, I've spoken in front of thousands of people. I'll never have the confidence of a 20-something woman who understands the power of her pussy.

We drove in silence for a while, watching the tumbleweeds.

"We can get lunch in Albuquerque," I suggested.

"Fine," she said. Then, "It's your fantasy road trip. Anything you want to do that we haven't done yet, tell me."

Well, she couldn't make it much clearer than that.

Of course I wanted to fuck her. I just wanted her to want it.

She had already given me one of the most gut-wrenching erotic experiences of my life on this trip. If all she did on this trip was play me for a cuckold, leave me marinating in my misery in crappy motel rooms while I wondered if she was off riding a cowboy, that was already more fun than I would have had alone.

When we got to Los Angeles, I would find us a motel in Venice on the beach, and if she hadn't taken the initiative by then, I would put my arms around her on a balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean and ask her to make love to me. If she said yes, it would be the perfect cap to my crazy fantasy vacation.

If she said no, I would have a hell of a tease-and-denial story to write.

"We'll be in Arizona by tonight," I told her.

"Cool," she replied. "Are there cowboys in Arizona?"