Three (and More) For The Road

Rhonda managed to stagger from the bathroom. I quickly replaced her. Ahhh... Then some cleanup. Teeth-brushing, too. I emerged to see Rolf lift Rhonda's inert, clothed body into the converted dinette bed and throw a sleeping bag over her. I stepped beside him. He opened his mouth; I cut him off.

"I'll climb to the cabover," I said. I nodded at gently snoring Rhonda. "She needs to be down here. Maybe I'll get drunker tomorrow night and claim this bed." I shook my head. "I really don't know her well, only from classes, and from talking today. I guess we're all learning about each other. I know you're a good guy." I closed the few inches between our faces and brushed his lips with mine. He stroked my shoulder and peered into my eyes.

"We'll see how good I am tomorrow," he said. "Whoever makes noise first has to brew coffee. Nighty-night." He stroked my other shoulder and turned to his bed.

I climbed the little ladder to my bed, switched the cabin light off, stripped to my panties, snuggled in the sleeping bag, are replayed in my mind the evening's music, the music WE made. I felt pretty good on various levels. I slept eventually.

===== day two =====

Hungover Rhonda groaned loudest after dawn. "You get to make coffee," I told her, yawning. She beelined for the bathroom. I heard Rolf laugh behind his thin door. I took pity on her. I pulled on a long tee, climbed down, converted her bed back into a dinette with table and seats, and returned all our bedding to storage.

Visualize this: The forward bathroom door screens-off the cabin; the rearward bathroom door closes the two-foot-wide access to Rolf's king bed filling the back section, no margins. Close the doors and the passageway is open and the bathroom is shut off. Open the doors and the bathroom enlarges while closing the passage for privacy. I hope that's clear to you. For us three adult humans, it's just cozy.

The cozy (that means tiny) kitchen was just adequate for brewing coffee, frying bacon, and scrambling fresh eggs and crisping hash-browns. I worked the skillet while Rhonda recuperated and Rolf observed. Orange juice completed the meal. The day had begun.

"How far we going today?" Rhonda asked blearily as she scrubbed the utensils. I had cooked so she earned cleanup duty. "Don't worry, I can take it."

Rolf lounged in the reversed passenger seat again. He stretched.

"Not far," he said. "Some days will be short, others long. Today we'll drive back over the volcano and then head to some hot springs in Nevada. The next day will be longer, off toward Yellowstone. Sound okay? And is anyone up to a run this fine morning?"

"More coffee," Rhonda groaned. "Then I can run. I've been in worse shape. Run or die."

We were all in shorts and tees already. We laced-up our running shoes and were ready to go. Cool, thin morning air whisked our sweat away but we were ready to de-funk-ify when we finished. Rolf went to Twiggy's little shower again. Rhonda still seemed unsteady so I shared a Park Service shower stall with her. We lathered each other's hair and laughed.

"Gotta remember what altitude does to alcohol," Rhonda said. "But the music last night — that was so much FUN! Guess I overdid it."

"We'll be at elevation a lot till we cross the Rockies," I said. "Adjust or suffer, I guess."

She only groaned a little, "Story of my life. Adapt AND suffer. And keep running. Black girls can't stand still, not in this world."

I rinsed my long red hair and my long freckled body and laughed. "Irish girls gotta run, too. I had to outrun neighbors and cousins. They didn't like not catching me. Tough."

"Why isn't Rolf chasing us? He doesn't seem gay."

"Y'know what I think we have here?" I asked. "A decent guy."

"Yeah," she said, "but we're only one day out. Let's see what happens."

=====

Twiggy's awning and slider were retracted when we returned. Guitars were in the cabover; our duffels joined them when we each finished dressing in bathroom privacy. It was my turn in the front passenger seat. I wore short cutoffs and a tee over my bikini top, with moccasins handy. I would wait for a safely straight road to tempt Rolf with my freckled legs and feet.

We drove back over the volcano to see everything from the other direction. Fan-fucking-tabulous! We stopped at a few spectacular sites, strolled around, and inhaled sulfurous fumes, just like tourists.

"No time to climb the volcano today, sorry," Rolf said. "But there's a treat ahead. Your treat, anyway. Down at the visitor center. Don't worry; it won't break your food budget."

The cafeteria 'treat' was an inexpensive offering. "Best damn meatloaf you ever tasted," Rolf promised. "And just two bucks a serving for our take-out lunch." We stocked up.

Cellphone signal strength was good at the visitor center. Rhonda and I called our families to say we were okay, and where, and what might be next. No, I did not think Rolf would abduct us. But it does not hurt to leave a trail of crumbs.

We called regularly; I won't mention it again.

The road east from the national park was smoother. I slipped off my moccasins, reclined my chair, and rested my bare feet on the middle of the dashboard.

"Nice legs," Rolf said. He reached to squeeze my knee. "Nice toes," he said, and lined a finger across my naked sole. I squealed! Well, only a little.

Baroque sonatas wafted from the sound system. We lunched on our fan-fucking-tabulous meatloaf at a lakeside rest stop and then edged from volcanic peaks to a desert basin and up into lower, drier, browner mountains. Rolf waved at the surrounding geography.

"The flat salt playas below are the dehydrated remains of a vast ancient lake, leaving miles-deep salt in the Smoke Creek Desert and the Black Rock Desert — that's where Burning Man happens, and land speed record attempts. There's a nice set of hot pools in between them but it gets crowded. I know a quieter spot and the road isn't rough enough to destroy Twiggy. Or us."

The narrow, twisty, gravel track obviously had not seen much traffic lately but we did not shake, rattle, and roll TOO much. We rockily rolled into a wide treeless field ringed with scraggy peaks. Rolf parked near a grass-fringed open pool a few yards across.

"Welcome to Vishnu Springs, ladies. I'll have camp set up in a few minutes. Then how about if we run a little more?"

I groaned now. There was no cloud cover and the sun was mid-afternoon high. It was time for sunblock. SPF-80 might keep my creamy, delicate hide intact. I retreated to the bath's privacy to smear myself and emerged to see that Rolf had extended the awning and slider, rolled an AstroTurf carpet under the awning, and setup folding chairs and table from the outside storage compartments. An Indian raga played softly on external speakers.

"Welcome to the outdoor living room, ladies," he said.

"The comforts of home without property taxes, sure," Rhonda said.

"Just so," he said. "But sorry, no phone service here."

We donned socks and Nikes and trotted toward warehouse-size boulders. Rolf pointed out Native American petroglyphs and more modern graffiti. No beer cans! Miracle!

We rested after a couple miles and sipped our water bottles. Rolf flexed his long arms.

"You always run this much?" Rhonda asked him.

"Working, and on short travel days, yeah; longer days, not so much. But my work has me sit on my ass keyboarding an awful lot. Too many computer folks just blob-out. So I run it off whenever I can. I hook-up Twiggy in an urban RV park or on campus and leave her there. A folding bike — it's locked on the roof now — gets me around town."

We trotted back to Twiggy. I prefer trotting to forced jogging or all-out racing. I can trot almost forever. But it was nice to plop into a padded folding chair in the awning's shade.

"Shower time?" I asked.

"Maybe in a bit," Rolf said, "but now it's bath time." He removed his shoes, belt, and glasses, and emptied the pockets of his cargo shorts. "Last one in, et cetera," he said. His socked feet walked him directly into the hot pool. "Aaaahhhh..." He submerged and surfaced, hair and nose dripping.

"You done wigged out?" Rhonda asked. "Go in there fully clothed?"

"This feverish mineral water is almost as good as soap but not as nasty," he said. "Better than a laundromat stop. Good for tired muscles, too."

Shoes off, pockets empty, into the water I went. Rhonda shrugged and followed.

I floated on my back but not for long; that sun was bright! I dunked, bobbed, and relaxed. Damn, my arms, legs, and back sure DID feel better! Is a hot tub in my future?

Rhonda surfaced a few feet away. "Oooh, this ain't bad, kids," she said. Down she went again, and back up, with a contented sigh.

I soaked a bit more but I could feel my skin wrinkling. "I think I'll skip going prune," I said, and climbed from the pool. The slight breeze instantly cooled me. Some people jump from a sauna into deep snow. I am not that rugged.

"Good idea," Rhonda said. She and Rolf followed; she immediately goosebumped. "Hey, what now? Where are the towels?"

"In a minute, ladies," he said. "It's rinse-off time first. Step this way." He circled behind Twiggy's rear end. We followed. He opened a panel on the far side. A shower nozzle extruded from above. He twisted a knob; a fine spray washed down.

"Like sea salt, you don't want to leave those minerals on your skin," he said.

Rhonda and I dashed into the flow and laughed. Wet tees over bikini tops revealed our female forms in fair detail. Rolf looked good too. I showed even more when I doffed my tee and shorts, my innocence maintained by a modest bikini but my tattoo revealed. Rhonda's undies were skimpier. Rolf looked fine in nicely bulging boxers and a flat belly. We rinsed our bodies well.

Across my mid-belly, above my navel, LIVE LAUGH LOVE in Comic Sans font was obvious. "Nice tat," Rolf told me. I only blushed a little.

Rolf shut off the spray and produced fresh towels. "Dry off, get redressed, hang the wet stuff to dry, and then it's about dinnertime, init? Well, happy hour first. More cheap wine. Watch yourself, Rhonda!"

Her dark skin actually flushed. "Don't go taking advantage of me, now. Have mercy."

He grinned. "We'll see who exploits whom, won't we?"

Clothed for evening, we lounged in the soft chairs, sipped wine, listened to gamelan music on the wind, and chatted about arts, sciences, and insanities. Rhonda went inside to cook a great paella. Rolf retracted the awning; a skyful of Milky Way illuminated our fine dining. Then more wine, and Rolf fingering blues and jazz riffs on his folk guitar, and me and Rhonda accompanying, and some singing, and more wine.

And goodnight hugs. I was the bleary one tonight. Rhonda slept in the cabover.

===== day three =====

I was not loudest in the morning but I was closest to the coffee pot so there you have it. Rolf rattled in the bathroom. Rhonda quit snoring, stirred, and peered from her high perch.

"What, I gotta make breakfast today?" she asked. "No leftover pizza? I'm used to cold pizza even when I'm not hungover. Staff of fucking life, y'know. That and chicken Ramen."

A clothed Rolf rubbed my shoulder as I packed bedding and restored the dinette. He reached up to stroke Rhonda's neck. "Let's have granola and yogurt with our coffee," he said. "I still feel that paella dinner and today is a long drive. You're off the hook for now, milady. But you owe us."

"What did you say yesterday?" she asked. "Guilt is rent paid for nothing, right? So no guilt trips! Obligations, now... okay, I'll cook again. Fish sticks and coleslaw, no problem."

"You feed us just that," I said, "and you had BETTER feel guilty!"

"Okay, okay, you'll get sweet potato crisps too. Anything to shut you up."

We hastily fed, packed, and rolled. Rhonda had the front seat; her bare feet took the dash.

"Nice ankles," Rolf said, pinching her nearest foot. She squealed. Well, only a little.

=====

Our easterly gravel track skirted the north edge of the huge Black Rock Desert playa, its endless miles of perfectly flat white salt now only containing... a ship? Yes, a sailing ship, seemingly a sloop mounted on a truck chassis. The northwest wind sped it toward distant dry mountains.

"It's noisier during Speed Week or Burning Man. Better now. Hey, Mucktown is coming up," he announced. "That's Winnemucca (WIN-ah-MUCK-ah) on the map. My cousin's a dentist there but she'll be busy. We'll just stop for supplies."

Supplies: Fuels for Twiggy and her generator; water for humans to drink and cleanse; delicatessen coleslaw to bolster the remaining meatloaf for lunch; and reassuring cell phone calls to Rhonda's and my families. Then another back road aimed northeast.

"The freeway is faster but fuck that," Rolf said; "this is no Cannonball Run. Greater Yellowstone awaits us. Unless anyone wants to go further north."

"What's up north besides Canada?" I asked though I was not geographically illiterate.

"Glaciers and mountains, then a drive east across a whole bunch of nothing."

"Any alternatives?" Rhonda asked.

"Shorter paths across the dreary prairie. More cities to skip around. Better cell signals."

I steamed, thinking he was playing games with us. "Look, YOU pick the route, and drive, and buy fuel. Where the fuck do YOU want to go?"

"Easy ways," he answered. "On to Wyoming, then."

I took my barefoot turn in the front seat. "Nice toenails," Rolf said. I had just painted them as bloodshot eyeballs.

On and on we rolled through the wild fucking west. Sagebrush scrub; scraggy pastures; eroded peaks; remote ranches with huge junk piles of decaying vehicles and machinery; coyote skulls on fence posts above rusty barbwire; mountain gorges; many sunflowers.

Sunset behind us cast long shadows before we pulled into a remote woody Forest Service campground near where Utah and Nevada meet Idaho. "It's not much but the site is flat and free," Rolf said. "I won't go all Camp Cucamonga, won't setup outside, but we should be comfy enough in here tonight."

Dinner in the slid-out dinette was good. Cleanup was easy. Wine was good enough. Dessert was... a fat joint. Mine.

"Anybody puff?" I asked, holding the doobie. Rhonda nodded. Rolf grinned.

"Yeah, and it's safe out here," he said. A lighter jumped into his hand. "You first."

I took a deep toke and passed to Rhonda. She took a deep toke and pulled Rolf's head toward her. "Don't mind me," she said, pressing her lips to his and filling his lungs from hers. I saw a little tongue-waggling before they pulled away.

The wine buzz, and the puff buzz, had me already. "My turn," I said. I inhaled, pulled Rolf to me, filled his lungs, and probed his tonsils. He tasted good.

"My turn," Rolf said. He inhaled, and exhaled into Rhonda, and inhaled again, and blew smoke into me. Each exhalation took some time. Tongue-dancing delayed us. I produced a roach clip to extend the joint's useful life to its bitter end.

The dinette table was out of the way. Rolf had the bench seat on one side; Rhonda and I sat together opposite him. He leaned forward and stroked our faces.

"Ladies, I stink from the day," he said. "I've got to clean up. We've only limited water so keep showers short." He staggered to the bath and shut the door. I heard the shower and then his singing: "Blue skies, shining on me..." I heard him bump around. I heard his bedroom door click shut and the rear springs squeak.

I thought... I do not know what I thought, besides... well, the obvious. I stood, stripped without falling over, and pushed into Twiggy's little shower. Okay, set the curtains just SO and do not get the floor wet. Then clean myself everywhere. Then escape and towel down as best I can. Hair is not too wet. I am pretty dry. I think I am ready.

Yes, more than ready. Horny as fuck, actually. Stuck in here with this decent good-looking musical guy? Feeling his rare touches? Yes, I HAD to have more.

=====

I violated Rolf's privacy. I opened that narrow door. Starlight from surrounding windows dimly illuminated Rolf stretched across the bed, watching me. I crawled in and clicked the door shut. I heard Rhonda in the bath behind me.

"It's tight in here," he said; "climb over me."

My naked body topped his. He stopped me there. My mouth found his. We kissed. His hands held my butt. Our tongues battled; both won. I rolled to his side, snugged-in by pillows and a blanket, and he rolled to face me. Mouth to mouth. His mouth to my neck, his hands to my sides, my hips, my butt, and back up. His hardon pressed me.

He slid down and kissed between my breasts. He took a nipple to his mouth and his fingers to the other nipple, softly circling, raising my areolas as bumpy traitors betraying my lust.

"Nice tits," he said, and resumed torturing me. He sucked that nipple a long time. He feasted on the other even longer. He kissed between my breasts again, and nibbled my neck, and tasted my mouth. We breathed together.

The door clicked open. Rhonda squeezed in. "Hey, any left for me?" The door stayed open.

"Excuse me; I'll be back," Rolf whispered, and rolled to face her. I saw him hold her face and kiss her mouth, and her throat, and her cleavage. I saw him suck her nipples, long and slow. I rubbed his butt; his tight glutei maximi wiggled. I rubbed his shoulders. He rolled back to face me.

"I haven't forgotten you, Kaitlyn," he said, and we tongue-danced again. Then back to him biting my neck and nursing my anxious breasts, back and forth, and now his hand rubbing my vulva, and me moaning, and Rhonda's hands stroking him and sometimes me — and it's getting damn stuffy in here.

"In here" was the back bedroom space and it was quite tight. The king bed was almost seven feet long, filling Twiggy's width, and almost six feet across, which did not leave much room for three tall, trim adults amid the soft bedding. At least the roof was not low.

"Ladies, I love your breath and body heat but how about a little cool, fresh air?" Rolf asked rhetorically as he opened the surrounding windows; the roof vent was already up. Then he turned back to Rhonda. Damn him!

He sucked her tongue. He sucked her good-sized dark tits. He scooted me over a little and pushed her toward a corner. He tongued her inny navel. "Nice belly-button," he said. Hey, mine's an inny too!

He rolled back to me, easing her aside, moving me corner-wise, and again kissing my face, my throat, and sucking my tits, oh ghod... and kissing down to my tattoo and my navel, and pulling my legs up so he could kiss my not-too-knobby knees. And kissing up my thighs. And a lick into my pussy, oh ghod...

"Nice flavor," he said. I creamed a little more. But then he turned from me, back to Rhonda, that bitch! His mouth on her mouth, on her neck, on her breasts, back and forth, lucky girl! And kissing her navel and knees, and down to her pussy... and he stayed there.

She stiffened beside me. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," she whimpered as his hands stroked her nipples and his tongue stroked her labia and clit. "Oh fuck, oh fuck..." I rubbed her arm.

She must have been hair-triggered, or even hornier than me. She wailed and convulsed before long. Damn, would I do that when he got to me?

She calmed, crying. He slid up her body and kissed her mouth, then turned to me and kissed my needy mouth with his wet face. Now I knew her spicy flavor. I licked his lips, and his nose, and his lips again. I sucked his tongue. I maneuvered down his body and bit his neck, and sucked his perky little manly nipples, nibbling a little, and I licked his navel clean, and rubbed my chin on his knees, and aimed for his cock, long and hard now.

He pulled at me. "Kind of cramped in here. Swing around, would you?"

He tugged at my legs. I got the idea. We scrunched up close, me on top, my dripping pussy on his only slightly whiskery face, his sweet sturdy cock in my willing mouth. I had studied Deep Throat; I took him in till his pubes hit my lips. I held there as long as I could. I emerged gasping, slobbering. "Nice cock," I said. I licked his wet shaft.