The Convertible - Hot Wheels

"OK, I guess." Benvenuto Amico was the location of our first date, and here she was acting like I was taking her to prison. I understood that Julia had no idea I was going to propose, but even so, this was the place we'd had our first date, and we hadn't been back since. You'd think she'd be suspicious that I had something special in mind. I felt more than a little frustrated.

"You know, Julia, if me taking you to a super nice restaurant is too much of a burden, then forget about it." I got up and said, "I'm going for a walk, I need some alone time."

I'm sure she knew I was upset, because the number of times I'd been on a walk by myself since I moved in was, um, zero! I went out and walked for maybe an hour. Even though I was still in a foul-ass mood, I went back home because face it, walking around in the dark was boring as hell.

When I walked in the front door, she wheeled up to me and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry, Landon. I don't want to disappoint you. Well keep our date, and I'll throw her a bridal shower later, OK?"

"I guess," I said, still feeling bad because now I felt like I was forcing her to go with me. Here I wanted to make my proposal a special thing, but instead I was feeling like it was a damned imposition. Julia picked up on my dourness immediately.

"Don't pout, silly," she said. "If it will put you into a better mood, you can have some meals on wheels..." OK, she had my attention now. He phrase 'meals on wheels' was what she called it when I gave her oral sex while she was in her wheelchair.

"I'd like that very much," I told her. Kneeling down in front of her, I pushed up her dress and gently moved her thighs apart, revealing her naked love mound. She'd apparently taken off her underwear while I was out walking; this was a nice welcome home!

Using her arms, she repositioned herself, so her bottom was on the forward edge of the wheelchair's seat. I moved my face in, and began to lick and kiss her labia, her light brown pubic hair tickling my nose.

I loved giving Julia oral. It helped get her wet, and it gave her pleasure to watch me do it. She'd told me that she felt pleasure in her labia, but watching me worshipping her vulva was what really got her in the mood. Over the months we'd been together, I'd gotten to know her sensitive points and developed my technique to the point I could give her multiple mini-climaxes with my tongue.

Soon the first tiny orgasm hit her, so of course I went at it even more fervently, and she had another. She pushed my head back. "Take me to bed, Landon, I want to feel you inside me," she gasped, so I gladly complied. The two of us were naked under the covers in no time, in the missionary position with me looking down at her beautiful face.

As I began to move in her I spoke in a soft undertone, "I love being with you, Julia. I feel so in tune with you, and I when I say you're the prettiest girlfriend I've ever had, that's for real." Instead of giving me a response, she was strangely quiet, but I felt her hands reach down and push on my ass cheeks, as if urging me on, so I picked up my pace. I felt her tighten up as another baby climax hit her, and I thrust even faster, bringing my own shuddering release.

Lust now satisfied, I slipped onto my side and pulled her in next to me, my hands roaming all over the soft skin of her luscious body as I kissed her. "Not that I'm a player or anything, but you are without a doubt the best lover I've ever had," I told her. She was strangely quiet yet again, her only reaction being she snuggled her face against my neck. We stayed that way, clinging to each other until falling asleep.

Chapter 8 - Bait and Switch

The following Saturday, I went to an event put on by my Triumph club. It was a 10am start in the parking lot of a college stadium over in Guthrie, Oklahoma, about 45-minute drive from Julia's house. Since we were going out that night, Julia said she wanted to stay home. After helping her with her morning routine, I made her breakfast and cleaned up the dishes.

Before leaving, I gave her a long passionate kiss. "I can't wait until out date tonight," I said, resisting the urge to tell her that tomorrow morning she'd be my fiancée. I didn't want to spoil the surprise.

This month's event wasn't a rally, it was just an informal meet-and-greet car show for the public. I got lots of compliments on the TR2, and people took a ton of pictures. After the event, the club members went to a local bar for a few beers before heading home. I got home around 5:30, but when I pulled into the driveway Julia's van wasn't there. This was odd.

I came in and kissed Julia hello, and asked her, "Hey, where's the van?"

"Oh, the check engine light came, so I dropped it off at the dealer. They said they'd bring it back Monday." This was also odd. Julia's van was pretty new, too low-mileage to be having problems, but even stranger was a dealership offering to bring a vehicle back to a customer's house. Based on my experiences with dealerships, that level of service was unheard of if you weren't driving a luxury model like a Lexus or a Mercedes.

Thinking nothing more of it, I popped into the shower before changing my clothes. This was going to be the big night, I was super excited. I got out of the shower and dressed in my best blue wool suit with a red silk shirt, and a black tie with slanted white stripes. Black plain-toe Oxford dress shoes completed my look.

I walked out into the living room, where Julia was waiting, but when I saw her something seemed off. She was pretty as always, wearing the same long bright red bare-shouldered dress that she'd worn on our first date, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. When I saw her shoes, though, I was thrown off.

Usually when we went out to someplace upscale, Julia wore leather knee boots with 4" heels that I'd bought for her. She knew how much I loved her legs, and wearing boots made them even sexier. They looked so good, I'd gone so far as to buy her several pairs. Some were high-heeled, some were platform heel, and all of them looked great on her. Taking her boots off and kissing her from toes to knees was one of my favorite things, next to 'meals on wheels'.

Tonight, instead of boots Julia was wearing a pair of plain black flat shoes, the kind of sensible shoes you'd wear at a job where you worked on your feet most of the day, like of you were a waitress. Or, as it occurred to me later, if you managed an art gallery....

Nonetheless, nothing as minor as a pair of shoes was going to ruin this night. I bent down and gave Julia a romantic, passionate kiss, teasing her lips with my tongue. Instead of wrapping her arms around my neck to return my passion like she usually did, she pulled away and said, "Wow, somebody's excited!"

To say the least, that was not the reaction I was expecting; a bucket of ice down the front of my pants would have had the same effect. Nonetheless, I smiled weakly managed to follow though and say, "Why wouldn't I be? I'm taking the prettiest girl in the Oklahoma to dinner!"

The next red flag was a simple one: I deliberately got behind her chair and pushed it down to the car, and she didn't say a word. Early on, she'd castigated me for not asking first so I always did, but tonight I broke from habit to see if she reacted. She didn't. Now I was really suspicious.

When it came time to do the lateral transfer, something felt off. Her arms felt different, and her thin legs that I adored were, well, 'beefy' seemed to describe it best. Then, Julia promptly buckled her own seat belt. While she was certainly capable of doing this, ever since our first date it was our little ritual that I always buckled her in, and she gave me a kiss for it.

As I went around to the driver's side and got in the car, Julia adjusted her shawl, momentarily exposing her upper left bicep, and I saw her ram's head surrounded by roses tattoo wasn't there. That's when I knew it wasn't Julia I was taking to dinner. It was Octavia. Whatever game these two were playing, no proposal was happening tonight, that was for damn sure. My anger building, I maintained an external calm while I pondered how I was going to handle this. Starting the car, I pulled out onto the road. I began seething as I realized where Julia was right now, when she should have been with me.

Before confronting Octavia, I decided to toy with her first. "Hey, Julia, remember last night? I can't wait for that blowjob you promised me. How about we skip dinner and just stop at a motel right now? The thought of your lips around my dick is too much, baby!"

The look of terror on Octavia's eyes was classic. Eyes wide in shock, she stammered, "I'm kind of hungry, Landon. Can't we have dinner first?"

"No problem, babe. We can grab you a burger from a drive-thru on the way to the motel, and you can eat in the car." Octavia was looking really panicked now. Good. It was time to end the charade. At the big burger sign up ahead, I slowed the car, but instead of the drive-thru, I pulled into a parking space and turned off the motor.

"How about we cut the shit, Octavia, and you tell me what's going on?"

"What...what do you mean, Landon? I'm not Octavia!" I rolled my eyes, this was really pathetic.

"DROP IT!" I snapped. "How fucking stupid do you think I am? Did you two honestly think I'd fall for the twin-switch thing? For fuck's sake, this isn't high school! I've been living with your sister for months now; I've helped her with more lateral transfers than I can count, not to mention all those nights I massaged her legs to prevent spasms. Do you think I don't know everything about Julia's body by now?

Your body is the exact reverse of hers, you know. You've got the biceps of a 98-pound weakling and the thunder thighs of a competitive cyclist. As soon as I helped you into the car, I could feel you weren't Julia. Seeing you had no tattoo just nailed it shut. At first, just to be mean was going to let things play out physically to see how far you let things go, but frankly, the thought of it disgusts me. There's no way I'd let you touch my dick. Compared to your sister, physically you're a fucking ogre."

As Julia was her twin, Octavia wasn't really, ugly, but I was lashing out to hurt her. Judging by the pained reaction on her face, that one may have hit home. I guess since Julia's accident she'd bought into the bullshit idea that she was still hot, but Julia wasn't.

Octavia was struggling to find some kind of an explanation, which would have done her absolutely no good. I kept at her, "Julia's at that bachelorette party, isn't she? The one my cheating ex-fiancée and her bitch friend is throwing?" Octavia said nothing, only nodded her head in confirmation. I was moving past livid into unadulterated rage at this point.

Octavia tried to make excuses, "Look, Landon, Chelsea was Julia's caretaker for 2 years. They were close friends!"

"That may be the case, but Chelsea is also friends with Bella! They're up to something!" Then I turned and pointed accusingly at Octavia.

"The worst thing is, instead of being honest with me, your sister deliberately lied, didn't she? Bella played me like that, but I never expected Julia to do the same. I'm crazy about your sister, and I trusted her! You think I'm bullshitting you? Here, let me show you."

I opened the glove box and pulled out a driving glove. Holding it by the fingers, I shook it a bit and a ring box fell out. I opened it, held it up and showed the ring I'd purchased to a shocked Octavia. "Now I ask you, does this look like I was bullshitting? DOES IT?" The ring in my hand somehow made everything too real. It was like a switch was flipped in me, my rage becoming overwhelming heartbreak at the reality of yet another lover's betrayal.

Octavia didn't say anything, just sat there with a horrified look on her face and shook her head no. "Whether you tell Julia or not, I no longer give a shit," I sobbed, "this ring is going back to the jewelers tomorrow."

"Landon..." she began, but I cut her off.

"Don't say a fucking word, Octavia. Save your god damned excuses, I don't want to hear them. Anything that comes out of your mouth or Julia's from now on, I will automatically assume to be a lie. Now tell me the address of the party, and I'll drop you off so you can drive home with your sister. The only other thing I want to hear you say is 'goodbye' when you get out of the car.

"It's at Chelsea's apartment." Since I'd had to drop off Chelsea there from time to time back when she worked for Julia, I didn't need directions. We drove the 25 minutes in silence. As I pulled into the parking deck of Chelsea's building, my phone buzzed; someone had sent me a text message. I pulled into a parking space and opened it.

I saw the text message was from Julia's phone: "Having a great time! Glad you're not here, loser!" The message was accompanied by an image that made my blood run cold. It was Julia, bare-chested and sitting in the lap of a naked stripper wearing a fake fire helmet. She was kissing him -- although the term 'playing tonsil hockey' might have been more accurate. Hell, a dentist couldn't drill that deep. Humiliated, I went from heartbroken to absolutely enraged again. Not saying a word, I showed Octavia the image. She looked even more shocked than I felt.

I got out, went around to the passenger side, and opened the door for Octavia. Yeah, I'm a real gentleman, just one that's too damned stupid for my own good. Octavia got out of the car, saying nothing. Given the amount of fury I was feeling after seeing the picture, her not speaking to me was a really good move on her part.

I closed the door, and got back behind the wheel. Octavia was suddenly busy texting, but I shouted at her, "You can tell your sister I won't be there when she gets home. I'll drop her wheelchair off when I go pick up my stuff."

Throwing the Triumph into first gear, I promptly red-lined the tachometer shifting through second and third gears until finally reaching 95 mph in fourth on Interstate 40. I'd been driving aimlessly for about an hour when I found myself parked in front of Julia's place.

I unloaded her wheelchair, then let myself in and put it in the living room. Moving to the kitchen, I pulled a 45-gallon garbage bag and headed for the bedroom. My hanging clothes in the closet and the few folded clothes I had in the dresser drawer went in the bag.

Slinging it over my shoulder Santa Clause style, I took it to the Triumph and dropped it in the passenger seat. For a moment, I allowed myself to worry about Julia. Who was going to get her cleaned up and help her get ready for bed? Who would massage those wonderfully long legs?

Then reality snapped me back into reality. The cold hard answer was, "Not me." Julia no longer needed my assistance. I was no longer her partner or her caretaker. I'd just been fired.

"Enough," I scolded myself, then hopped back in the TR2 and moved on.

Since I no longer had an apartment to go back to, I stopped at the first cheap motel I happened upon. It was called the Stagecoach Inn, a one-star 'motor lodge' on the outskirts of town that rented by the day, week, or hour. From the looks of it, it hadn't seen a dime of capital improvements since the Carter administration. Perfect.

I brought my stuff in the room, threw the car cover over the Triumph, then went back inside, stripped down to my boxers, and crawled into bed. The room smelled of mildew, bleach, and cheap air freshener. If I was expecting sweet dreams, I was wrong. That image of Julia burned into my brain haunted my nightmares.

As I lay in bed, I said to myself "Welcome to your new home, bro." My life had just become a dumpster fire, and the match that ignited it was Julia kissing a stripper. Fuck my life!

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Chapter 9 - The Enemy of My Enemy Is My Friend

One morning at work a few days later, a guy named Glenn from Accounts Payable caught me in the break room. "You're Landon Garrett, right? You used to be engaged to Bella McLean?"

I snapped at him, "Yeah, thanks for reminding me, I wasn't quite depressed enough. Now my coffee will taste like regret all day. Is there something wrong with my latest expense report, or do you just like to piss people off for no fucking reason?"

"Nothing's wrong with your expense report, no. Your ex-fiancée's, however, is another story."

My annoyance meter was now at 100%. I scowled and barked, "Look, Glenn, Bella and I are ancient history. She can rot for all I care. Kindly go fuck off, if you wouldn't mind, so I can start my day."

Glenn spoke quietly now, at a rapid pace. "Look, I won't go into details, but your ex has made more than a few enemies in our department. She's trying to get the company to reimburse her for some highly questionable expenses that she says were 'work-related'".

He handed me a piece of paper -- a receipt, actually. "Based on the rumor mill, some people in the department thought you might find this to be of interest. I hope your day goes better." He patted me on the arm, then turned and walked away.

The receipt was for 3.5 hours of entertainment services from a place called The Electric Lady Dance Club, with an address on Northwest 10th Street in Oklahoma City. There was a phone number; I went into the parking lot, sat in my car, and called it from my cellphone. I asked the person who answered for the name of the dancer from the date on the receipt, and explained I needed information on the party he'd been at. They took my information, and said he'd call me back. To my surprise, he actually did.

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Chapter 10 - So The Story Goes

The 'fireman' dancer's name was Craig Larabee. I told him that my girlfriend had been at the party and I needed to know what went down; I also said I wanted to meet face-to-face in a public location. That way we didn't have to worry about our conversation being recorded, which suited him fine.

He named a lunch joint on Lincoln Boulevard across from the Capitol building, the Ranchland Diner. I took the next day off from work to psych myself up for meeting him. It was a busy place, with enough people in it to be witnesses if I tried to beat him up. At first, I thought he was being cowardly but then I put himself in his place; if I'd been photographed with a guy's topless girlfriend in my lap, I'd be cautious as hell too.

I walked in, and he was easy enough to spot -- surrounded by government employees in suits on their lunch hour, he was the only 6'2" light brown wearing spandex gym clothes. He'd gotten a table right in the middle of the restaurant. I took a seat. Judging from the dirty dishes on the table and the smell of balsamic vinaigrette dressing, it looked like he'd been eating a healthy salad before I got there. I guess if your job involved getting naked and waving your man-meat at drunken bridal parties, that went with the territory. No deep-fried onion rings for him, no sir!

He extended his hand. OK, I could play nice. I shook it.

"Landon Garrett," I said, "Thanks for meeting with me." Then got straight to the point. "You want to talk about that picture I forwarded to you?"

"OK, first I want to say that while I strip at night, my day job is a trainer/coach at Silverback's Gym. I can't afford to risk my job if some gym patron sees me doing something inappropriate. And losing my job is nothing compared to being accused of rape. When I dance, I dance, I don't have sex with anybody, OK?"

I nodded my head, then cut to the chase. "Craig, I don't believe for a second that you had sex with Julia. Because of her situation, it takes a lot of steps just to get her ready. Plus, when she drinks heavily, it irritates her bladder and she'd probably have peed on you anyway. But she was topless, and you were kissing her. What I want to know is, how the fuck did that happen?" I felt my anger rising a little as I said that, but took a deep breath and calmed down. "Please, fill me in."