The Fuck It List Ch. 03

It was only a nine hour drive from New Orleans to Savannah but it might as well have been days. Michael felt the familiar sense that he was melting into the driver's seat somewhere around Columbus. He'd learned to be patient with his body, that was the lesson so far. He never knew when his reserves would give out and then the only thing to do was eat and sleep as if he were going to live forever.

If only.

Once he was inside his room at the Hilton, he stripped bare and took the hottest shower he could with the faucet cranked all the way to the left. He knew that his skin would be red and splotchy from the almost cruel temperature but he seemed to crave warmth now. He wondered what was happening inside him; what was incubating that needed more warmth than the sultry Georgia temperatures.

Once he'd used up the hot water, Michael wrapped a towel around his waist and another over his head. He buried himself under the down comforter and shivered in his cocoon. As he closed his eyes, he could see it again. All of it, all of them. The girls were bare and caramel colored, their skin shone in the candlelight. Both of them were shiny and slick with sweat and cum and the passion that radiated from every pore. Here in his dark room, Michael swore he could still hear it, and always had since he'd left their house. It was the beat of far-off drums but most often the tempo matched the beat of his heart.

It was dark outside when he awoke. The echo of the drums had disappeared; it had been replaced by the growling in his stomach. Once again, ravenous, Michael thought with a smile as he stretched and kicked off the sheets. Ravenous for everything. Since the trip had begun, everything was delicious. Every sensation was unlike any other before. Tastes exploded in his mouth. His dick was almost always half hard and everything had an erotic undertone. There were so many little things that Michael had never noticed before that he suddenly found incredibly arousing.

As if to prove his point, his cock lay, thick and ready against his hip. He might have made time to stroke himself off if he weren't so hungry. He'd take it slow and easy and close his eyes. He would grease himself well with the complimentary hotel lotion. He would stretch out and seize his cock and try to remember just exactly the way it had felt in Belle's hand. He wanted to recall the way her finger had felt, right there on the precipice of his ass; that previously forbidden territory that now seemed to clamor for touch.

Good thing he was so hungry, Michael grinned and quickly dressed in a fresh tee shirt and jeans. The chain restaurants were closed he noticed as he drove down the main strip. It was too late for Applebees or Red Robin, but that was fine with Michael. He'd rather find a hole-in-the-wall bar and eat a greasy burger and fries and wash it down with an ice-cold Bud. He had a taste for beer, among other things.

As if the Universe had heard, and answered, he caught the halo glow out of the corner of his eye. There was a neon sign that flashed "cold beer" and it beckoned to him like a siren's song. Michael parked and went inside. There was a notice on the door, a warning that the establishment carded but it didn't really seem likely in a dive like this.

Once inside, Michael noticed that the bar was an ancient, mahogany number. The elaborate spindles and hand-carved divots didn't belong in this place with the concrete floors. The wood gleamed in the light thrown from above the bottles and glowed from the warmth of the pinball machine in the corner. It was a thing of beauty and seemed to hint that someone there had loved it all along.

There were a handful of men gathered around a pool table and two more were watching baseball on television. Michael saddled up and took a seat on a worn, yellow stool. The upholstery was torn and patched with duct tape but the seat was still comfortable.

"What'll you have?" the old man with a full, Santa Claus beard and mustache asked. He wore a "Drink Coke" tee shirt that had a hole in the front and Michael was fairly certain it was an original from the 70's.

"Can I still get a cheeseburger?" Michael wanted to know. He needed it now.

"The greasiest damn burger you ever had," the old man smirked.

"Sounds perfect," Michael almost sighed with longing, "and a plate of fries?"

"Only if you want 'em extra crispy," the man told him with a stubborn look, "almost burnt," he added.

"Beautiful," Michael's stomach made a pitiful yowl, "that and a bottle of Bud and I'm a happy man."

"It really is the simple things," the bartender told him with a nod before he went toward the back where the kitchen was.

Michael couldn't agree more. He downed the first beer quickly and got a second one with his food. The bearded bartender was right. It was the greasiest burger and the grease had soaked into the potato roll, soft as a blanket; and the ketchup and mustard had married with it. It tasted like the first burger he'd ever had, meaty and tangy and fatty and rich. Lately, there seemed to be a lot of firsts, just when Michael had begun to think that there were no more.

"Hi," a soft voice came from behind as he was mid-bite. Even just one word came in a drawl that turned it into two syllables. It was a feminine voice and he noticed immediately that a young lady belonged to it. It no longer alarmed him that she pulled the barstool out and took a seat beside him. This new version of him appreciated ladies that made the first move.

The first thing Michael noticed was bare legs and he let his eyes wander up the expanse of thighs to the frayed hem of a denim skirt. She wore a cut-off Rolling Stones tee shirt, tied at her dainty waist. Her small hands were on the bar as if she needed to hold on. She smelled of fruity perfume and it mixed well with his beer. "Buy a girl a drink?" she asked in the sweet, slow Southern accent and that time, her silky voice made his cock stand up and take notice.

Michael nodded, yes to whatever this was. He never used to talk to girls in bars. At least, he never since he had realized that he was pathetic at it. He managed to get his voice when the bartender came back, "I'll have another Bud and whatever the lady wants."

The old man had a twinkle in his eye and Michael bet that he had all kinds of love stories to tell after all these years. "What'll you have, darlin'," he asked the girl in the skirt.

"Bud for me too, thanks," she said just above a whisper. Maybe she was shy too, Michael thought and maybe that was a blessing. "I'm Marla," she added with a little shrug. Her long, brown hair gleamed in the light of the bar and the tendrils nestled between her breasts and caressed her shoulders.

"I'm Michael," he introduced himself but didn't offer his hand. He felt fairly certain that she wasn't going to offer hers. That didn't seem to be the way to greet each other on a night like tonight.

"I got stood up tonight," she confided once they had their beers. "I feel so stupid." When she tilted her head back and drank, her hair slipped down her back. Michael noticed that her nipples were hard in the front of the tee shirt and he thought she probably wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts looked small but firm. With all that tan, gleaming skin on display, he bet that her nipples were a slightly darker shade of brown, just browner than her thighs. Like a mild dud, his favorite candy.

Michael kept his hand on the bottle, there'd be no reaching out to check if her nubs were right there, ripe for the brush of his palm. "Well, any guy that stood you up is an idiot, so maybe it's better," he told her with a smile. She turned her face up and looked him in the eye. Jesus, she looked so much younger than he thought at first. No makeup, at least none that he could see. Just big, chocolate brown eyes fringed with thick lashes and two dimples.

"Really?" She sounded like she needed to be reassured and it broke his heart a little.

"Really," Michael nodded as if to affirm.

"You're not from here," Marla noticed his lack of a twang.

"No, Chicago," he placed his half-empty bottle on the bar. He wanted to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. He wanted to kiss her on the tip of her turned-up nose, dusted with freckles.

"Good," she grinned, "the guys around here are," she shrugged like they didn't deserve their own word. Almost as if they'd heard and concurred, the guys at the pool table called out in unison.

The two of them sat in silence, legs almost touching, fingers almost touching. She wasn't making a move but she wasn't turning away and by now, Michael had a full-on erection for baby-faced Marla.

The old man smiled from the other side of the bar and seemed to understand. Even from way over there, the bartender must know that Michael was inexperienced with these occurrences. Michael could only imagine, all the years, all the lonely people that had come through this place. They had flirted and drank and made a little corner of their lives less dreary and he watched it all. The guy must be an expert on the age-old dance of attraction and repulsion, he could probably write a book. "So are you going to have two more?" the bartender asked, "or should I cash you out?"

Michael felt it in his throat, he wanted to ask if she wanted to come back to his room. He'd like to find out if he was right about the bra. He just needed the words to come.

"We could leave," she offered and chewed her lip, and looked over at Michael. There was a question in her eyes and her perfume worked its way down into his shirt. "You want to hang out?"

She was so young that hanging out probably meant a whole lot of things that Michael didn't get. Hang out, in his bed, with her skirt off and those flip-flops too. The tee shirt would be off and her billows of brown hair would tumble over his pillow. Yeah, he wanted to hang out, dick in hand as he tasted every inch of those long, lean legs, all the way down to her bare toes. All he said was, "Sure."

Michael paid the bill and left the bearded bartender a twenty for his damn fine burger and matchmaking skills. As they reached the door, Michael opened it for Marla and then watched her little bottom shimmy with every step out into the dark parking lot. "Which car is yours?" she asked.

He pointed to the Acura.

"We should go in mine," Marla cocked her head and grinned. She pointed with one tiny finger toward a green and white Volkswagen van.

"No way," it was an original, like the bartender's tee shirt. "That thing is older than you," Michael laughed. Shit, it was probably about as old as him and suddenly he thought maybe that was why she had sought him out and seemed to be completely at ease with him. She liked old things. Vintage. She was at that age where he might just be retro enough to be cool.

"Yeah," Marla said it like it was two words. "But I always wanted one and my daddy gave me this when I got into college."

She unlocked the driver's side door and leaned over to pull up the lock for the passenger side. Manual locks, a thing from his childhood, like the 8 track, like the fact that Marla had just gotten into college. A baby, pure and simple and sweet, new and fresh, and probably didn't even fully realize what men really thought when they were visually assaulted by bare thighs and jiggling breasts.

Michael got inside and sat in the passenger seat. The scent of marijuana was thick inside and the herbaceous perfume had mixed with the humidity. The air was heavy and settled on his arms like a cloak. There was the other scent, the one of her, the one of girlish perfume and lotion and maybe a hint of beer. It smelled like being nineteen again.

There was a bench seat in the back that took up the whole width of the van. Shag carpeting completed the look and he couldn't help but chuckle, "Marla, this is great. It's original."

She nodded, her face glowed in the light of the parking lot lamp. It sparkled over her cheeks which still had a bit of baby fat and her lips slick with clear gloss, shiny and wet looking and her melted chocolate eyes looked so sincere. Marla was lucky that he was a nice guy, she was altogether too trusting, given what a girl she was. "You know what I miss about having a boyfriend?" she asked him, quiet and slow, her voice inched down the back of his shirt like humidity.

"What?" Michael leaned in to find out.

"I miss kissing, you know, making out," she looked sad as she confessed it. "I mean, the sex was okay, but it was no big deal," Marla shrugged her small shoulders and her tee shirt fell down, bare flesh, no bra. Just like he would have when he had been nineteen, Michael felt a stir. "I really just miss the closeness. Does that sound stupid?"

Michael felt his forehead crinkle as he recalled. Except for the last couple of weeks, there hadn't been any intimacy in his life in years. Holding someone close? Feeling your heart hammer in your chest right before the brush of their breath on your face and mouths met? Jesus, the lack of it was suddenly like a hole in his body, a big, gaping emptiness that he hadn't even known needed to be filled. "It's not stupid at all," he shook his head and settled back into the seat.

"So, would it be okay if we went in the back and," she shrugged again. Marla blushed a little, embarrassed by her request, "Fooled around?"

"I'd love to," Michael murmured. It would be so right, this sweet, young girl in his arms, in her crazy hippie van. She would take him all the way back to the youth that he never had. As a teenager, he'd been too busy to spend a leisurely evening in the back of a girl's hippie van. He'd worked two jobs and studied furiously for his honors classes. Never, not once, had he made out with a stranger like this.

Maybe if Marla hadn't come along, he never would. The list loomed large in the back of his mind but the scent of the girl blocked out everything else.

Michael followed her to the seat and now, he felt a wave of shyness and hesitation wash over him. Maybe this was why he'd always second guessed himself with women, always held back. He'd never had the backseat education that would have taught him the natural flow. Michael turned to Marla and watched her tuck the strand of thick hair behind her ear and look up at him. Like that, in the glow of the light, she looked happy and expectant. She had a glow about her. Like he was a boyfriend, like he was the man, like all she'd wanted was him. Like she had been waiting for it, aching for it. Like all she wanted was his mouth on hers and tonight, he was finally going to kiss her the way she'd been dying to.

Michael wrapped Marla up in his arms and was surprised at how small she felt there and how well she fit pressed against his chest. Her perfume melted into him and when he kissed her forehead, a softly, sweet, almost chaste, fatherly kiss, he could smell her shampoo. When he kissed her cheek, he smelled soap. He placed the softest kiss on her upper lip and smelled the beer. Marla sighed into his mouth and her satin lips brushed his. Every nerve came to life, just that sensation of flesh and breath was enough.

Marla's hands wound around his body and eased up his back as she tilted her head back further and opened her mouth. Just a little, just a subtle invitation, just a girl kissing a boy and their tongues met. Hot and moist, he shared her breath. Michael could feel it down in his lungs as he licked the tip of her tongue. She tasted delicious. She tasted like barley and maybe bubblegum and her breath was warm all the way down inside of him.

He brought his hands up to her face and the kisses deepened. Michael felt it in his cock and his heart when she whimpered. Those little kitten noises, like the girl in his arms was begging him not to stop, not to let go. He wouldn't. He pulled her closer and thrust his tongue deeper inside her small mouth and explored. He gave her his breath as their chests sealed together. He could feel her heartbeat on his shirt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered nipples as Marla pressed into him and panted. Her fingers were wound in his hair now and he wondered if she'd pull it and yank him down or up or wherever she wanted.

That would be just fine with him.

Michael nibbled Marla's bottom lip and her mouth was bare of the gloss now, he couldn't taste it anymore. He had eaten it all. Now her skin was just her and she cooed when he scraped his teeth along her lip, first the bottom and then he seized the top. His hands came down to her waist and he could feel every breath move through her ribcage, every tremor that ran through her skin. Marla pulled back, she pulled away but only to whisper his name. She said it with surprise and desire, "Michael," as she shifted her body into his lap.

He groaned at her like this. In his lap, they were face to face. Her nipples were clearly delineated and hot and pointed against his chest and his hands had a mind of their own. They had traveled down to her bottom and discovered how far up her skirt had come. In his lap, the skirt had moved up to expose her cheeks and he felt the delight of her velvety bare flesh there. Two cheeks, not a large bottom, not a voluptuous bottom, but very soft and supple. Michael wondered if he'd be allowed to see it in all of its glory but decided that it didn't matter. Touching it, pulling her to him, letting her feel how hard she'd made him, there was no hiding that. He kissed her now with hunger, almost as if it were a confession.

Marla's hair hung down his arm and she shivered as their ravenous kisses ran wild with sighs and grunts and cries of need. The girl in his lap wasn't scared of his erection. In fact, she pressed her body into him and felt him throb through his jeans and her cotton panties. His obvious want seemed to draw out the desire in her. Marla reared her bottom back and then eased her hips forward, just like she would if she were fucking him in this backseat. She drug her crotch across the full length of his cock and Michael gasped as he felt her sopping panties pressed against his dick.

She giggled into his neck and admitted, "I'm soaking wet."

Michael pushed up against the center of her panties to bask in the dampness there. He needed no words as the brown eyed girl kissed his pulse. He wondered if she could feel the roar inside him too, the need that was about to boil over. The ache that made his dick hammer inside of his jeans. He could feel his own wet spot in his shorts and knew that the head of his cock had already escaped the confines. His erection intended to find a way out, to discover a way to bask and luxuriate in between the girl's slippery thighs. The sticky pool of precum that soaked into his jeans was meant for her.

Marla wrapped her slender arms around his neck and suddenly, they were making love. Just because they weren't naked, didn't mean it wasn't sex. They humped each other, backs arched and hips rocked. Their mouths sealed against each other, they both breathed down the other's words. There was the yes that clung to her lips and was swallowed by Michael. He just had the yes of her bottom in his hands and the yes of her hips and the yes of the sweet creamy flood that soaked through the front of his jeans. He'd smell her candy cum scent on them later and no matter what was going to happen right now, Michael knew that he'd stroke himself off to that scent, to the memory.

His dick pulsed and his tongue pushed into her open mouth He invaded her and fucked her slow and deep like his cock wanted to. They met the other, stroke for stroke, Marla's hips grinding into his crotch. Michael pushed up from the backseat and thrust furiously between her thighs. She quickened her pace and her hips controlled both of them. Marla rode him furiously and Michael cried out as the throb in his pants became a shudder. Jesus, he was going to cum like this. He'd never, ever cum in his pants before and now, there seemed to be no way to stop it.