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A Lamp

By: litdave



I was awoken by the bedclothes being pulled back, my legs being spread and the weight of the man straddling me, trying to push his tiny penis in. I could only turn and twist my head enough to look behind him at the next man in the doorway removing his trousers, by the look of him it was probably his Son. 'Family Outing', I thought, 'They all stick together'. 

The big man grunted, gave one last puny thrust into me and climbed off, to be replaced almost immediately by his Son.

I turned my head to see how my Husband was faring in the adjoining bed. At least his day had started well, the girl straddling him was quite young, about twenty, the previous two Girl's were probably related too, I thought. His day had started earlier than mine had, as the rays of the rising sun through the window had struck his bed before mine. It looked like their Mother was next, as she was standing to one side of the doorway removing her Knickers. He turned his head to look at me, which was all he could mange too. I managed a quick look at his penis before it was engulfed by the Mother, Wow! even on one of our past good shags I had never seen it that big and swollen! 

Our eyes met.

You're probably wondering how we got into this predicament, and how long the queue was, Male and Female of all types, creed and age, lining up patiently to shag either my Husband or me. I have all day, until the sunsets, to tell you our story . . . . . . .

It all started on a Spring Saturday afternoon doing what I love, Gardening. Digging out old plants, planting new seedlings, raking up the rotting leafs from the trees, potting and generally getting things tidied up. I was digging a small hole amongst the tree roots when my spade struck something with a metallic 'Clang'! 'Uh, Oh', I thought, 'Another discarded Baked Bean Can'.

Our home was built on Land Fill, though according to the Surveyors and Council was very, very old Land Fill dating back centuries, and was quite safe for habitation. 

It was only when I dug up the object that this fact occurred to me as it appeared to be the sort of thing that Sinbad would have, a lamp, no less, just like the one from which a Genie would emerge!

Upon close inspection it appeared to be in a very good condition, no rust, just a coating of dried dirt, which was easy to shake off. Although dull in appearance the engraved symbols were easy to read,

" No Wealth - Only Health and Happiness". 

'Odd meaning', I thought, and took it indoors to show Hubby.

He inspected it, agreeing that it indeed was akin to a Genie Lamp and had a very old look about it. "Give it a rub and wish for something", he said, grinning.

I felt a bit silly, but rubbed the lamp with my Gardening Glove and wished that my neck would be healed. (I have had problems for years with that due to a work accident that left me partially paralysed).

In total amazement I dropped the Lamp and reached for my throat, strange sensations were occurring to my neck and arms, tingling feelings running though them, and then a flash of light before my eyes. In disbelief I sat down, the constant agony and pains had completely disappeared from my neck and arms! I actually felt young again!

Hubby looked at me with surprise on his face, noticing the change in my eyes.

"You OhKay, Hon", he said. Huh! more than that!, I got up and threw my arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss, feeling as though I had a new lease on life, young, vibrant, and above all, no pain!.

I gingerly retrieved the Lamp from the floor and studied it carefully, lest it bite. It still looked the same as when I first found it, but what did I expect, a Magic Lamp? A Genie?, HaHaHa!, 'But then maybe', the thought sending slight shivers through me, 'Supposing it is', for there was no denying that I had never felt so better for years.

"Here, you try it", I said to Hubby, "Ask it for your problem back to be fixed"

Hubby was, as expected of all men, sceptical, and we did as any other ordinary people do, that is, say 'Silly you' and so on and 'this is the Modern Age of Space Travel and Reality Medicine but in the end gave it a rub and wished for a cure for his back.

He dropped the Lamp and looked as if struck by lightning, his whole body went into spasms and he fell to the floor. In horror I rushed to him and lifted him onto a chair. He shook his head and stood up, his face appearing drained of the lines of pain, which the years had etched into it. He held me tightly and said wonderingly, 

"It's gone, the entire ache and pain has gone, and not only that, you lifted me up, which you couldn't do five minutes ago with your arms and neck being what they are".

I forgot about gardening, wondering what the Lamp was capable of, and studied the Inscription again, 'Hmmm, No Wealth, only Health and Happiness, well, that's about right so far, the Health bit', I thought, 'So, where is the Happiness, is that in conjunction with Health, why separate words'?

I looked at Hubby, 

"Gonna try something", I said, "Just for a laugh this Lamp can get Dinner for us"!

Hubby looked puzzled as I rubbed the Lamp and said out loud,

"Lamp, a nice roast dinner for two with all the trimmings"

Nothing ...but then from the dining room came the unmistakable smell of Roast Meat! We both peeked around the door and thought it was Christmas! The Table was fit for Royalty, Platters of Meat and Veg, Wine, Deserts, Napkins, even Candles! The whole table was laid out perfectly for two to dine romantically!

We hurried to clean up ourselves and sat down to the perfect dinner, each course cooked to perfection. We carried on like kids in a sandbox that evening, not quite believing but revelling in our new found Health, and Happiness. We also risked asking the Lamp to wash up the dinner things for us, nothing happening until we left the room and came back later to find that it was cleared and emptied, all the dishes placed neatly away in the Kitchen Cupboards. It was apparent that some 'Wishes' had a delayed effect before being, umm, granted.

We slept well that night, making Love to each other like Young Schoolkids, giggling and discussing what else we could get the Lamp to do. We awoke to the smell of Eggs and Bacon, having wished for breakfast 'On The Terrace', (Giggle), we went out onto the back Veranda and sat down to the perfect Breakfast, leaving a wish for The Lamp to clear it away. 

After a few days of wishes we had now gotten, well, brazen, with the Lamp, and tried for things like four new tyres for the car and even a new TV set but was met with nothing but what we thought was the sound of distant thunder up in the nearby hills. It was only when I wished for a win on the local Lottery that we knew what the Inscription really meant, the whole house shaking as if in the middle of a major earthquake, so prudently I left the 'Wealth' bit out of our wishes.

We were happy for many months, our Health had returned along with. . Umm, Happiness, I hoped, but our lovemaking began to tail off.

Many times I tried something different to keep Hubby happy in bed, but eventually I had to ask him.

"It's not you", he replied, "Just that the Lamp can give us Happiness, and I fancy a couple of Girl's. .Not that I don't love you", he said quickly, looking me in the eyes.

So, feeling the underdog, as he looked so unhappy, I said,

"Well, if you want to. .Umm. . 'Play Around', so can I then, fancy a couple of Boy's, that is"

"Oh, Yeah, Great", he said enthusiastically, "D'ya mind if I ask the Lamp for some"?

"Be my guest", I stupidly said.

And he wished for a coupla Girl's and Boy's to shag us all day long!

So that's what happened! 'All Day' means from the first ray of sun to the last ray over the nearby hill! I wasn't aware of it when I went to bed that evening in frustration with him, only the first day when I was awoken by the bed being shaken and waking up to see our aged next - door neighbour sitting naked on him jumping up and down like a demented horse!

I could only lift and rotate my head. I did not feel panicky or uncomfortable, being able to feel my body being penetrated with all the associated feelings that go with having sex, but not having the ability to move it, probably, or more likely, hubby was in the same predicament. I did not even feel hungry or thirsty, but I look forward to the Sunset, when I can get up and eat and drink, courtesy of the Lamp. I'm not sure if he does! 

No, we don't talk much together, now. I haven't a clue as to how to 'Turn Off' the wishes, God knows, we have both tried, but we are VERY careful as to what we say now, after all, a 'Coupl'a' things are what?

Coupl'a hundred?

Coupl'a thousand?

Shit. . a Coupl'a million! 

A Land Far, Far Away



Part 3 in the Black's Magic series

*

"Don't you dare hang up on me, April."

Daniel tried to keep his eyes on the road as the female beside him gripped her cell phone more tightly, holding it directly in front of her face, screaming into the mouthpiece, hot flashes of anger lighting her violet eyes. He knew it wasn't funny, and he tried not to laugh, but the way her nose wrinkled and her forehead creased . . . she looked like a little kid in the middle of throwing a gigantic tantrum.

It was as if part of him wanted to smile politely, pat her on top of the head and say "Yes, dear. Whatever it takes to make you happy." The other part of him wanted to double over in laughter and ask her if she was serious? You're 32 years old; you can't be acting like this.

But . . . since her anger was directed at one of her employees and not him, he felt it was best to keep his mouth shut, his eyes forward, one hand on the wheel and one hand on the gear shift.

A low growl escaped from the back of her throat. "You sit there, and you listen. I made the schedule before I left, and everyone agreed to it. I also made it abundantly clear that I was going to be 300 miles away from town this weekend, and if ya'll were expecting me to show up in physical form at any time during the next two days, you were SOL. So, do not fuck with me, April."

He listened in mild fascination as the female on the other end of the line continued to chatter away, attempting to present her case, as Mecca's grip continued to tighten on the phone, both her disdain and aggravation growing. Given two more minutes, he was certain she'd snap the phone in half.

Mecca huffed loudly then pressed the phone directly against her mouth, enunciating each syllable of each word with deadly intent. "You will show up for your scheduled shift. You will show up on time. You will not leave early. And if you call me again with more of your whiny bullshit before I show up at the restaurant Monday morning , I'll make sure you only work one shift each week for the next three months, and if you don't show up for 'em, you're fired."

At that, she flipped the phone closed and stuffed it into her hobo bag, a deep scowl marring her normally tranquil features. She re-tightened the blue flowery bandana on top of her head, safely securing it beneath a cascade of light brown curls, then folded her arms across her chest and sank further down into her seat. "Fucking bitch."

Hearing her curse, he finally felt comfortable enough to turn to face her. The tense moment between the two females had passed, and he, now, felt free enough to converse with his traveling companion. "What was that about?"

She sighed heavily, uncrossing her arms, bringing her right hand up to massage both sides of her temple simultaneously. "April is this 19-year-old whiny bitch that I hired purely out of desperation. She just got married, and her husband's out of work and blah-blah-blah, but I was down to two waiters, and if I didn't hire somebody, I was gonna have to do it. And I absolutely, positively despise the front of the house. I'll play hostess if I have to, I'll bus a table if things get too busy, and if a guest wants something simple like water, coffee, tea, sugar or a refill, it's no big deal. But as for working an entire shift as a waitress, I'd rather shoot myself.

"So, April comes in, and I have my doubts, but . . . you gotta do what you gotta do. So, she trains, then she starts workin' on her own, and she's pretty okay. You know, she's young, she's quick and she's very accurate with her orders. But she has all these personal issues that interfere with her job performance: all this bullshit with her husband, her mother, her car, the phone company . . . but I just tell her, you know, 'You gotta handle that stuff on your own time.' I mean, I do what I can when I can because everybody has a life outside of work, and I try to accommodate that, but she's taking it to extremes, and . . ."

She shook her head, then rolled it to the left then to the right, trying to relieve her growing tension, he assumed. She placed her right hand over her left shoulder then began to rub. "Technically, I could use another waiter on staff, but business really isn't gonna pick up for another month or two, and the wait staff doesn't make that much to begin with, so I figure: minimum staff, maximum hours. It cuts down on my labor costs, and it increases their paychecks so . . ."

Daniel feigned a yawn, covering his mouth and closing his eyes, beginning to snore.

Mecca sighed. "I know it's boring, but this is the shit I have to deal with every day and . . ." She rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the top of the seat. "Shouldn't have brought my fucking cell phone with me."

He elbowed her lightly in the side. "Told ya."

She slapped his shoulder in response, then sank further down into her seat, drawing in a deep breath, then pushing it out, allowing her eyes to drift partially closed. "This management gig just isn't all that it's cracked up to be. It's more money, but it's a lot more work and tons of headaches. After a year, you'd think things would've calmed down, and I would've just settled into a groove, but . . . anytime things start to get settled, somebody comes and rocks the boat and half my staff goes out the door." She turned her head to face him, still keeping it in contact with the headrest. "And I'm this close to it happening again. And April is at the core of it."

Daniel shrugged, pushing back the sleeves of his windbreaker, then resumed steering the car. "So fire her."

She threw her hands up in the air, directing her face forward again. "Fuck it. This is supposed to be my weekend away from everything. I am completely pushing everything about work out of my mind, and I'm just gonna focus on you, me and all these trees."

Daniel sighed inwardly as she smiled for the first time since she'd hung up with the April-girl. The phone had rung almost the instant they'd finished packing up his car and she'd sat down in the passenger seat. For the next 67 minutes, he was forced to listen to one side of a phone conversation, clearly going nowhere. 

After 15 minutes he was ready to grab hold of the phone and pitch it out of the window, but instead of thanking him for saving her from 40 more minutes of bitching, whining and talking in circles, he knew Mecca just would've cussed him for interfering and tossing her $300 phone along the highway. Not that he couldn't afford to buy her a new one 100 times over, but, for her, it would've been the principle of the thing. Modern women didn't want to be rescued from the dragon or the tower or their wicked stepmothers; they wanted to be commended for being able to hold their own for so long.

Which he had no problem doing . . . as long as he didn't have to see their suffering for himself.

Mecca stretched her arms out in front of her, then folded them behind her head, a slight smile gracing her stubborn mouth.

She was clearly beginning to get out of her foul mood, but to insure she completely got it out of her system, he reached over, turned on the CD player, pushed a key sequence of buttons, then there it was: the music to soothe the savage beast.

"What the hell is this?" she laughed.

As the folksy pop music began to fill the car, what little resentment still hung in the air dissipated, and he felt her genuinely begin to relax. Her limbs lost their stiffness, the tension lines faded from her face, and her spine collapsed into itself, her entire body going completely slack in the car seat.

"You sly dog," she shook her head, then turned towards him, a thoughtful smile etched across her face. "What the hell is this."

He shrugged, knowing full well what she meant. "I believe they call it 'music.'"

"You hate the Beatles."

He shrugged again. "Hate is a strong word. Would I be listening to them if you weren't in the car? No. But, do I feel like gouging my ears out because the sound is so unpleasant? No."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"I told ya. I'm just not a soft rock kinda guy. I need music with an edge or something with some meaning."

She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head. "Whatever."

A few minutes passed in silence, the scenery whizzing by as they drove farther and farther away from home and the familiar, and steadily approached the new and uncertain. Of course, they had directions to their destination; it was simply the fact that neither of them had ever been there before. They were going on a recommendation from a friend of a friend.

They'd both decided they wanted to get out of town, and neither of them had any interest in gambling, site-seeing or pub crawling, so instead of going into one of the surrounding cities, they decided to retreat further into the country. They were going to go hiking, they were going to set up camp, and they were . . . just going to enjoy being around each other. No TV, no land lines, no impatient customers, meddling family members or cock-blocking friends. 

Mecca laughed.

He turned to face her. "What?"

She nodded her head towards his hand that was rhythmically tapping against the steering wheel in time to the ending measures of "Hey Jude." Not only that, he caught himself nodding along to the beat of the song. He quickly stopped, giving her a sheepish grin.

"Catchy, isn't it?" she smiled.

"It's kinda hard not to sing along when the words are so easy. And they've got quite a little jam session going on."

"I always knew you were a hippie way down deep inside."

He scoffed. "No one's taking my guns."

She reached over and patted the top of his head. "Yes, dear."

He waved her hand away. "Cut it out."

From "Hey Jude," the CD transitioned into "Let It Be."

She put her hand back in her lap, pulling at a loose thread at the end of her faded blue jean cutoffs, then brushed off some imaginary dust from her white cotton caftan. She'd kicked off her shoes the instant she'd sat down and tossed them in the back: a pair of brown, well-worn Doc Marten Maryjanes.

He couldn't help but marvel at how clean she looked, despite the unseasonal heat and stickiness of the day, and today she smelled like fresh-washed linen and vanilla. He inhaled deeply, allowing the scents of her to wash over him.

"I haven't done anything like this in years, but I'm so looking forward to it. Mountains, trees, trails . . ."

"Streams," he added.

"Fuck that. I'm not going anywhere near the water."

"I brought fishing poles."

"I don't have a fishing license."

Daniel shrugged. "Neither do I. How many people do you think are honestly arrested for fishing without a license?"

"I don't know, and I don't wanna find out."

"You're seriously not gonna fish?"

"No," she laughed. "I am an upright, law-abiding citizen, and I don't need any hassles from some uptight forest ranger on a power trip. You ever seen the movie Crash where the cop feels up this guy's wife just because he can? And I don't mean just tits and ass, he stuck his fingers up in there."

He flipped his visor down, attempting to obscure the growing brightness of the sun and the glare across the windshield. "As if I'd let that happen. I'd cold-cock his ass and throw his body in the river."

"Yeah, I could see that happening."

"Seriously. You don't touch another man's cock. You don't touch another man's gun. You don't touch another man's car. And you certainly don't touch another man's woman."

"Is that right?"

"You best believe it. Violate any one of those four rules, and you ain't a man."

"What do they do? Snip off your balls and make you wear 'em as a bowtie."

"Fuck that. You're as good as dead. If the other guy you're dealing with is an honorable man, that is. If he's a dickless piece of shit, it doesn't matter what anybody does to him."

"So I guess this is the latest incarnation of chivalry. A cock is still a cock, no matter when or where. A gun is a modern-day equivalent of a sword. Your car is your trusty steed. And your 'woman' is your lusty wench."

Daniel laughed. "Why's she gotta be a 'lusty wench?' Why can't she be a 'virtuous maiden?'"

"In 2008?" she laughed. "You do realize there's a law in this country called 'the age of consent.' Most women over the age of consent have already given their consent at least half a dozen times before an 'honorable man' manages to make his way to her."

"Well, if they just would've waited . . ."

Mecca scoffed. "As if 'honorable men' don't dip their wicks every now and then. C'mon, now, don't kid a kidder. You weren't a virgin when I met you."

As if on cue, the song switched from "Let It Be" to "Don't Let Me Down." Nobody ever loved me like she loved me . . .

"No, but . . . the intent was there."

Something unreadable flashed across her face, then was quickly consumed by an amused/bemused expression that made him feel oddly embarrassed. 

"You mean you honestly thought you were gonna marry the first woman you slept with."

He shrugged, noncommittally. "It's hard to remember. Was a long time ago."

"I bet," she said. "What were you sixteen? Seventeen? Fourteen?"

"Nineteen," he said somberly.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Details. Was she older than you? Younger than you? Short? Tall? Skinny? Fat? Black? White? What was she, Daniel? This first woman you were ready to dedicate the rest of your life to?"

"Older. Short. Ridiculously thin and ghostly pale. Thick, wavy hair, dark brown eyes. A thrift store junkie. Just a really laid back kind of girl. She was never without a pair of combat boots and this completely ratty knapsack that just had . . . everything in it."

"And did this tubeful of wonderful have a name?"

He didn't mean to smile as big as he did. He certainly had no intention of offending the female currently riding beside him, but he couldn't help it. Even after all this time there was just something about her that made him feel warm all over. Better than fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, Mom's apple pie or homemade buttermilk biscuits . . . something about her always said "home."

"Susanna," he finally said.

Mecca laughed. "Like that folk song? Oh Susanna, don't you cry for me. I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee . . ."

"Yeah," he nodded. "But she would've knocked you into next week if she'd heard you sing that."

Her laughter continued. "I swear. I just can't imagine that. I mean, no offense to you or to them but, I just can't see you with some scrawny, little white girl."

He shook his head. "Me either, but . . . it just kind of happened. And, technically, she wasn't entirely white. She was like . . . black, white, Filipino and . . . something else I can't remember. She was just . . . approachable, I guess. I had another shop before this one, down in Virginia: action figures, comic books, collector's cards and shit, and she used to come in about everyday. And she always had something funny to say or something weird she was looking for or . . . I dunno. She just kinda . . . stood out, but blended in. You know what I'm talkin' about?"

"Kinda like me?" she poked him in the ribs.

"Cut it out." He colored slightly then swatted her hand away. "But you know Jake, right?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Your obnoxious, body-building cousin."

"Well, he came down for a visit, and she was in there, and after she did her usual schpiel and left, he was like 'She wants you.' And I was like, 'You're outta you're fucking mind.' And he just kept on and on. And he was down there for the entire weekend, and every time she came in, he'd just give me this look."

"I'm sure I can imagine that look. I've given it as well as received it a time or two. But when did you finally nail her?"

"Jesus, Mecca. A little sensitivity."

She scoffed. "Guys aren't sensitive about their first times. Unless you count the fact they generally don't wanna talk about it because they usually last like . . . less than a minute. And I can see how that would be somewhat . . . emasculating, but, I dunno. I think the more you know about a person, the closer you feel to them, the more you like them, the less you wanna hurt them, and the less likely you are to dick them over."

The beat of quiet between them was covered by the CD player. John Lennon seemed to be asking, if not downright begging for the favor of this female: 

Don't let me down. Don't let me down.

It sounded real, raw, open and pained. If he had to pick a Beatles' song as one of his favorites, it would be this one. It had meaning.

And from the first time that she really done me, 

Oh, she done me, she done me good

Though he tried to hide it, not wishing to freak her with some outrageous emotional declaration as he had done just a couple of months ago, he couldn't help smiling. He liked the sound of that. A lot. The not-wanting-to-hurt-him part. He'd gone through that so many times with so many females . . .

"Well," she said, "stop holding out on me."

Daniel cleared his throat, giving a sideways glance to the highway marker on the side of the road. He didn't want to miss their turn off. "Well, it was the last day Jake was supposed to be down there, and Susanna was in the shop looking at . . . something or another, and he looks at me, then he walks over to her, and he says, 'Me and my friend have this bet going on.'"

"How original."

"I know, right? But, anyway, he says, 'I say you wanna fuck him, and he says no way.'"

Mecca laughed, her nose and forehead crinkling as she tossed her head back. "Awww, I bet you turned like 15 shades of red."

"At least," he admitted. "But she just looks him, puts whatever it was down and walks out."

"That doesn't sound like the beginning of a beautiful relationship to me."

"I didn't think so either. Which is why I picked up this box of staples I had on the counter and threw it at him." Daniel sighed. "But, he gets hungry and says he's gonna go out and grab some food, and I tell him to bring me something back. And while he's gone, she comes back in."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"She comes up to the counter, and she's like 'Was that really one of your friends?' So, I was like, you know, that was my cousin; he's a dumbass. Don't pay any attention to him, and I'm really, really sorry.

"And she's like, 'Oh, it's no big deal. I'm just not used to being called out like that.' 

"And I completely stopped breathing at that point. And she's like, 'I'm a private person. I like to keep things on the down low, and no one needs to know who's been sleeping in my bed except me and the person who has been sleeping in my bed.'"

"Did you soil your drawers when she said that?" she asked. "Leave a little wet spot in the front of your boxers?"

He squirmed a little in his seat. "Something like that."

"So, what happened?"

He shrugged again, a bare amount of color rising to his features as a smile spread across his face. "She asked if I had a girlfriend, I shook my head, no, and then she was like, 'Would you like one?'"

"Awww." she crooned. "First love."

This time it was he who rolled his eyes. "Fuck off."

"Nooo . . . That's actually kinda sweet."

Daniel shook his head. "It's stupid."

"Why?"

He shook his head again. "That . . . pretty much set the precedent for all my so-called romantic relationships."

"How so?"

He scoffed lightly. "Do you know I've never asked a girl out in my life? And I have no doubt that if none of them ever came up to me . . ."




A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02



"What are you so fucking happy about?"

Mecca sat in the passenger's seat, an almost irritatingly bright smile on her face, both long, lean caramel-colored legs tucked beneath her shapely ass. "What's not to be happy about?" She held a fry out to him, and he opened his mouth to receive it. "I'm here, you're here, and my cell phone hasn't rung once since I hung up with April."

He finished chewing and swallowing before answering. "We've been on the road for almost five hours, and we're still not at this Tomlinson Run-place. We both smell like we just escaped from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It's the beginning of April, but it feels like it's the middle of July. And after I repeatedly told the fucking drive-thru bitch no mayo, there's extra mayo on my hamburger!"

She shoved another French fry in his mouth. "But I'm more than happy to share my nuggets with you, and the god of tubers has blessed us with an over abundance of fries."

"Soggy fries," he grumbled.

"And let's not forget the blowjob I gave you while hurtling down the highway just a few hours ago."

"Well . . ."

"Or the hot sex we had on the other side of the guardrail while cars passed by overhead." She presented him with another deep-fried tuber.

He opened his mouth, chewed, then swallowed, the barest amount of color rising to his cheeks. "That was kind of hot, wasn't it?"

"I'm a very good lay," she boasted with a smile.

He shook his head, the blush spreading to his neck and ears. 

"Want a nugget?"

He nodded.

She popped one into his mouth then allowed her fingers to linger on his lower lip. "Of course, you weren't half bad yourself."

He turned his head away from her, causing her hand to drop back to her lap. "You talk more shit than anyone I know."

She fed him another bit of food.

"That stupid bitch."

Mecca rolled her eyes, reaching back into their shared bag of food.

"If it wasn't such a tremendous waste of time, I'd find the nearest exit ramp, backtrack the way we came, throw this shitty food in the dumb bitch's face and cuss her till she ran in the bathroom crying."

"That's awful," she laughed.

"How hard is it to make a fucking hamburger without mayo? There's the hamburger. There's the mayo. Don't put it on there. Sheesh!"

Mecca laughed again. "I know it's a big deal to you, and I know how picky I am about my own food, but . . . Ours isn't the only food order in the world. They probably take hundreds if not thousands of orders every day, and, working in the food service industry, I know how hard it can be to keep one order straight from another, which is why I always tell my staff to continuously question the customer to make sure they get each order as accurate as possible. Some people will tell you when you've made a mistake, which is good because it gives you the opportunity to correct the situation: go above and beyond the consumers expectations. But if they don't like the food, and they don't say anything, chances are they won't come back, and they'll probably advise people they know not to eat there . . . Which is why you have to be so careful with customer service. Word spreads like wildfire, man."

"Shitty burger," he cursed again.

"Well, when we get to the campsite I promise I'll cook you something you do like to eat, and mayonnaise is nowhere in our food supplies."

He stuck his tongue out. "Blech."

"Last one."

He opened his mouth and chomped down. "Exactly where is the 'nugget' located on a chicken, anyway?"

Mecca shrugged. "The real mystery is chicken fingers. They don't even have fingers."

"Touche."

Having completed their fast food meal, she crushed the cardboard container and stuffed it back in the bag, then crumpled it, dropping it on the floor, the combined waste landing with a thud, the uneaten burger weighing it down. She then stretched her legs out in front of her and placed her feet flat on the floor. "Remember when Happy Meals came in boxes?"

"What?" he laughed.

"Happy Meals," she repeated. "They used to come in brightly-colored boxes instead of overly-recycled, completely transparent, totally washed out bags."

Daniel nodded. "Yeah! And they used to have collectors' glasses, actual glass and not that smelly plastic/acrylic shit." 

"And lunchboxes used to be made of metal: embossed, painted and bolted together."

His smile grew. "Yeah. That shit was built to last; I think I still have one or two of mine. Up in my dad's attic somewhere. All the 'cool' kids had metal lunchboxes, and everybody else had to brown bag it."

"I had Strawberry Shortcake, Holly Hobby, Pac-Man, and Mickey Mouse and the Ice Capades. Then they just . . . stopped making them, I guess, and I had to get the plastic ones."

"I can't remember all the ones I had, but I know Star Wars and The Dukes of Hazzard were among them. And Styrofoam! Everything used to come in Styrofoam."

Mecca nodded. "And the drinks used to stay cold, and the burgers used to stay hot."

"And the shit didn't fall all over the place. You actually got your food kind of the way they made it."

"So you could just eat it instead of reassembling it."

He smiled and laughed, a bright twinkle in his eyes. "Whatever happened to those days?"

"Environmentalism. Styrofoam was non-biodegradable, so, after public and political pressure, they stopped using it."

Daniel scoffed. "There's no such thing as environmentalism."

"What?"

"Seriously. Nobody wants to save the earth; they just wanna save a buck."

Mecca purred, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his knee. "Forget French or Italian, cynicism is the true language of romance. Talk logic to me, baby."

"Will you quit?"

"No-no, tell me more about 'Forget the world; save a dollar."

Daniel sighed. "I don't wanna start a fight about this."

"Who says I wanna fight?"

"C'mon. You recycle everything. They don't have a program in your neighborhood, so you make a special trip to the recycling center just to drop off your junk. You use those crazy little canvas bags to pack your groceries in. You drive a Hybrid. Given, it's an SUV, but still . . . And your restaurant recycles; you make them do it."

"True," she nodded, "but like you said, sometimes it's less about ecology and more about economy. Some people (like me) don't really give a shit about the big picture, and how what we do today affects what we can and can't do tomorrow. I'm a realist, Daniel, and I live in the real world. This so-called War on Terrorism isn't really about 'terrorism;' it's about oil. They have it, we want it, so let's take it.

"As a result, the price of oil has skyrocketed, and the price of gas is ridiculous, which is making the price of everything ridiculous. Now, does the average American give a shit that oil is a non-renewable natural resource, and once existing supplies are gone we're screwed? No. They're just sick of paying so much for gas that they'll do whatever they have to in order to avoid it. Which means buying smaller cars that use less gas, buying fuel-efficient cars that get more miles per gallon, or buying a car that relies on an alternate source of energy, be it ethanol, electricity or whatever else it is they're coming up with."

"Diesel," Daniel said.

"Like that makes any sense. Diesel's the most expensive gas there is. But, anyway, everybody recycled in Pennsylvania, and, if I'm not mistaken, businesses were required to do it by law. Having spent . . . just over eight years there, some things just rubbed off on me."

"And the canvas bags?" he questioned.

"Are totally kick-ass! They have handles (unlike paper bags) and they don't break like those increasingly flimsy plastic ones. I mean, what the fuck? You put a loaf of bread in one of them, pick it up, and it busts in two. Yeah, yeah, let's save the earth, but give me something I can carry my groceries in first. People gotta eat."

Daniel laughed.

"And speaking of food, what about all this organic shit? Apparently, you have to pay more if you don't want your food injected with hormones and peppered with pesticides. Like, all this stuff that's supposed to be 'all natural' is supposed to be better for you, and help you live longer, but it costs so fuckin' much the only bastards who can afford it are the ones who have healthcare out the wazoo, anyway."

"So, we're not gonna fight about this?"

She laughed, punching him in the shoulder. "No. I assume we're pretty much on the same page. I mean, I'm not gonna go out of the way to trash the place or anything; I watched Captain Planet when I was a kid. And Woodsy Owl and Smoky the Bear."

"MacGruff the Crime Dog," he ventured.

"Nooooo, but there was another one. When Earth Day was Arbor Day . . . I think it was a cardinal. Charlie the Cardinal? Does that sound right?"

He watched as she scrunched her face up, her dark brown eyes narrowed in concentration. "I wouldn't begin to know."

"But he danced around with a bunch of trees and shit. It was kind of funny in this really campy musical sort of way. Something about planting a tree . . ."

"I remember that Bob Denver one. Plant a tree for your tomorrow. Plant a tree for your today . . . Or something like that."

"Geez we're old!" she laughed.

"Don't remind me," he said. "Anyway, I say we'll blow each other to smithereens long before we cut down the last tree and suck up the last drop of oil."

"Now, that's a cheerful thought."

He shrugged. "Watch the news. Pick up a paper."

"You can't go by that."

"Whatta you mean? It's the news."

"If it bleeds, it leads," she said. "Nobody wants to hear about all the people that weren't robbed or weren't murdered or didn't lose everything they had in a fire. People are . . . pretty awful at the core. It's as if we thrive off the misery of others. Like gossip. You don't wanna hear how great your neighbor's life is and how everything they touch turns to gold. You know why?"

"Envy," he said simply.

"Exactly. Nobody's ever happy with what they have; we always have to compare ourselves to others, and we don't like it when we come up short."

"So instead of working harder to lift ourselves up . . ."

"We figure it's easier to throw a few stones and knock them down."

Daniel shook his head; Mecca frowned.

"Not me, though."

He paid her a cursory glance. "What?"

"I've never knowingly done anything against another person. I've wanted to. Time and time I've wanted to, but . . . it just would've made me feel bad in the long run. Like that movie 'Dead Man Walking.' I know what Sean Penn's character did was horrible and unforgivable, but," she shrugged, giving this utterly helpless, desperate sigh, "call me naïve or whatever, but, every life has meaning, value and significance. Everybody has a mother or father, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, lovers, ex-lovers, and I don't feel that I--or anyone else, for that matter--has the right to fuck with those connections. It isn't meant for one human being, who is completely and utterly fallible, to sit in judgment of another human being and say 'How dare you?'" She shrugged. "I mean, none of us have a clean slate, and one sin is just as offensive as another. Live and let live, you know."

"You reap what you sow."

"Yeah," she nodded. "Divine retribution. The laws of karma. I've never had a problem with another person that didn't get taken care of in some way, shape or form."

"For example?"

"The racist bitch that wouldn't promote me at one of my former jobs. I got sick of her shit and found a new job, and then four months later, she lost her job due to corporate downsizing."

Daniel laughed. 

"Then there were these two girls that used to torment me in high school. One isn't married and has four different kids by three different dads. And I heard the other one's basically a crack whore."

"Nice."

"Coupe de grace: the guy that . . . sodomized me . . . totaled his favorite truck and broke his leg two weeks after he did what he'd done. Had to spend a week in the hospital because they thought some bone marrow had gotten into his bloodstream, and, apparently, that's really bad." 

Daniel loosened his non-existent collar, wiped imaginary beads of sweat from his forehead and cleared his throat a little too loudly. "Remind me never to fuck you over. You've got some powerful voodoo working on your side."

She slapped his shoulder then gave it a light squeeze. "Puh-lease. My great-grandmother was the witch, not me."

He chuckled, scratching the bit of reddish-blond hair growing at the tip of his chin.

"Seriously. She was a Wiccan. My grandma used to tell me stories about her that just fascinated me. Her natural remedies and her herb garden, a little animal sacrifice every now and then."

"What-ever."

"No. She was never sick a day in her life."

"Then how'd she die?"

She was quiet for a moment, then she spoke. "They found her dead in the middle of a clearing in the woods behind her house. Natural causes, they said."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No. I wouldn't make up shit about my family for anything in the world. I mean, shit, they're odd enough all on their own. And I've always taken each one of them at face value, exactly as they are."

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

"Believe what you want." She bent over and readjusted the garbage at her feet.

"Yet you don't believe in magic . . ."

"She was the Wiccan, not me. I'm Catholic, remember? I believe . . ." her voice trailed off, and he found himself taking his eyes off the road and the road signs just to look at her.

"You believe in what?"

She put on a thoughtful smile, the most tranquil light shining through brilliant brown eyes. She turned to face him, bent her left leg and tucked it beneath her right one, then leaned forward, resting her left elbow on her bent knee. "I believe that before we're born God tells us everything we're going to go through in this life. What color we're gonna be. Who our parents are. Where we'll live. All the people we're going to meet, and all the shit we're going to go through: good things and the bad things, and things that happen just because they do. I mean, He tells us everything that's going to happen to us from the moment we're born till the day we die. And then after He tells us all this stuff, we get to decide if we want this life not. If we do," she clapped her hands, clasping one about the other, "we're all set. This is what we get, and there's no going back. If we don't want it, it gets passed to somebody else, but . . . since everybody's different, the events of 'your' life unfold differently than if you'd chosen it for yourself."

"So," he said, "if He told us all this, why don't we remember it?"

"Birth is traumatic, and traumatic things make us forget. But every now and then will get these glimpses of the things He told us. Like déjà vu. We haven't actually been there before, but we were told we'd go there, and something important was going to happen. Or when you just meet somebody, and you can't stand them."

"Because you have this vague recollection that they're going to cause you some amount of harm."

"Yes!' she smiled. "Exactly."

"And people you've just met, yet you feel like you've known them forever."

"He probably showed you all the years you were going to spend with this person and how happy they were going to make you, and the first time you meet them is just . . ."

"A tremendous relief," he half sighed, half cried.

She poked him in the ribs. "Cut it out."

He squirmed beneath her touch, but kept his hand steady on the wheel.

"You're so . . . atypical male."

"What?"

"Like, if I was writing a romance novel, no offense to you and everything I find completely endearing and overtly erotic about you, but most girls--notice I said 'girls' and not 'women'--wouldn't buy you as a romantic lead. I mean . . . you're losing your hair, you're carrying some extra weight, you're clumsy and aloof and . . . pale."

"Shrek," he said.

"What?"

"You're describing Shrek. Except for the 'pale' part. I guess green could be considered pale, though . . . He's big, bald, obnoxious, completely lacking in social skills and graces."

"Hey. I'm much more obnoxious than you are, and a slightly receding hairline is a far cry from being Curly from the Three Stooges."

He ran his hand over his cloth-covered head. "I thought about shaving it all off once."

"No! You love your hair. Terri said you about cried when you had to cut it all off for that job in the jewelry store."

"Fuck that. I don't cry."

"But it's just starting to grow back. The way you like it, right?"

Daniel scoffed. "That's what I need, right? A mullet?"

"You do not have a mullet."

He scoffed again. "You've forgotten what's under here, haven't you? Or rather, what's not under here."

She waved him away. "Whatever."

"Whatever, yourself."

"But, as I was saying, girls go for the tall, dark and seemingly-romantic type. They're too young and empty-headed to know what a real man is made of. They'll get older and they'll learn that those types of men are only interested in anorexic bimbos, whose boob size is bigger than their IQ. They want a woman that's easily placated, easily controlled and easily disposed of, or rather, a girl that's easily placated yada-yada-yada."

He laughed in spite of himself. "And what do women want?"

"Kevin Smith."

"Kevin Smith?"

"He's funny, sensitive, intelligent, and articulate. He's artistic, prolific and multi-talented. He's big like a bear, cuddly like a kitten--"

"Going bald under his cap . . ."

She backhanded his shoulder. "Not to mention highly successful and extremely wealthy in his own right. He's no pretty-boy; he's a man. And real men have flaws and foibles and--"

"Damaged hair follicles?"

"Daniel."

"I'll stop."

"But, screw anyone who doesn't see you for the great guy you are. It's their loss and my gain."

"And this was brought on by?"

She shrugged, again scrunching her face into a misshapen form. "Just stuff."

"Ride of the Valkyries" began to resound through the car.

Daniel swore. "Not again. Don't answer it. Toss the damn thing out the window, and I'll buy you another one."

"Fuck you." She dug the phone out of her purse and looked at the caller ID. "April again."

"Don't you dare open that phone. Ya'll are just gonna go through the same shit all over again, and I don't wanna hear it. You told her what she has to do, and if she doesn't do it, it's her ass. Fuck her. It's your fucking day off. Make them leave you alone."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

'Ahhh, hell no.' Before she could flip the phone open and give a verbal greeting, he snatched it from her hand, rolled the window down and tossed it alongside the highway.

"Daniel!"

"Screw the $500 fine. It's worth it."

She punched him full-force in the side of the arm, causing the car to swerve to the left. "You asshole! That's my job you're fucking with. If she's not going to come in, I have to find somebody to cover for her."

"There is no one to cover for her, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Fuck you!"

"I listened to you tell her that over and over again, and unless something's changed--"

"Nothing's changed!"

"Then what the fuck are you yelling at me for? You have an assistant manager; let her do her fucking job and assist you."

"But it still comes back to me."




A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02



"Two fucking days, Mecca. Are your underlings so inept they can't survive two fucking days without you?"

She clenched and unclenched her hands. "You just. Don't. Understand!"

"'I'm so tired, Daniel. They drive me crazy, Daniel. I just can't take it, Daniel. It's so much work, Daniel. I'm so stressed out, Daniel. They expect me to do everything.'"

She slumped back into her seat.

"'They don't appreciate me, Daniel. I didn't get my raise, Daniel. I need another job, Daniel. Just two days, Daniel. Two days away from the job, away from the phone, away from the people and far, far away from town. Is that too much to ask? Is that more than I deserve?'"

She slumped further down in her seat, rubbing her temples, shrouding her eyes.

"'It's been over a year, Daniel. Five, six and sometimes seven-day work weeks, and I haven't had time to use a minute of my vacation. But I don't even want a vacation. I just want two days off. Two days--"

"Far, far away from everything." Mecca sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have cussed you; you were only . . . Well, you had my best interests at heart. I just don't know how to relax, anymore. I tell myself I'm going home; I tell them I don't wanna be bothered, but the minute that phone rings, I'm there. I'm a fucking slave to that place."

"Well, just call me Frederick Douglas."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Mother-fucking April."

"Stop it. It's over. It's done. You're not gonna hear anymore about it till we get back in town late Sunday night."

She sighed again, then nodded.

"Take a deep breath and count to ten."

"There are just so many people that want me to fuck up, Daniel. There's a big chain I'm a part of--60 operations--and I'm the only black manager. And that either speaks really highly of me, or really stupid of me."

"'Stupid' of you?"

"This place has gone through so many managers just like that, and I ain't the one. People are cursing me, wishing me ill, hoping I fall flat on my nigger face, and I ain't going out like that. They will have to pry that place from my cold, dead hands before I give it over to somebody else."

"But if it makes you miserable," he tried to argue.

"You make me miserable, too, sometimes. Or at least you used to," she corrected herself. "I didn't give you up, though."

He smiled to himself.

She began to hum. Some tune that he thought he'd heard before, a distant memory, a half-remembered dream, hazy, diluted and unclear. Then words followed. He thought he knew those, too.

"Trees

Trees

Charlie's Arbor Day Foundation

Spreads the word across the nation

About Trees."

"What the fuck was that?" he laughed.

"It was Charlie the Cardinal. And there was a line about," she covered her mouth with her left hand while snapping her right. "It's practically a crime when someone damages a tree . . . Or something like that. I can see the cartoon really clearly, but everything else is iffy. It used to come on around the same time as School House Rock and uh, shit. What was it? Ah! The Tootsie Roll commercial. You know, 'the world looks mighty good to me, cuz Tootsie Rolls are all I see. Whatever it is I think I see. Becomes a Tootsie Roll to me.'"

"I remember that."

"I know, right? Nothing but good times back then."

"Well . . ."

"Childhood trauma aside, life was a lot better back then."

"Agreed."

"You know what I liked best about the old Happy Meals? The ones in the boxes?"

"What?"

"The entertainment value."

"What?"

"Like grown-up meals were huge in comparison to that little bit of shit we got, so you'd be finished in like two seconds, and everybody else would still be chowing down and running their mouth, and you'd just be sitting there with your box. You'd already taken the toy out and did whatever can be done with it, but the family's still nowhere near being done eating, so you look at the box. There's Ronald and Grimace and the Fry Kids, the Hamburglar and the . . . Pirate Guy or whatever. And they had word finds, pictures you could color, mazes you had to find your way through, stupid trivia, awful jokes, and before you knew it, they were done eating, and it was time to go."

"They were really hard to fold, though. Or maybe I was just really stupid. Anyway, my mom always had to re-close it after I'd opened it."

Mecca laughed. "But that's what's wrong with kids today: they don't know how to entertain themselves. If they don't have TV, video games, or the Internet--"

"They're masturbating in the bathroom."

"What!"

There was nothing more attractive than the sound of her unrestrained laughter. "Kids these days," he said. "If they're not watching TV, playing video games or surfing the net, they're discovering new ways to . . . get off."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked.

"Puh-lease. I played sports."

"And that's how you get off. Swingin' the bat around them tight ends, then kickin' some balls around till you score."

He glowered at her, a fake frown on his face. "Woman, you better remember who you're talking to."

She jumped out of her seat. "Stop!"

"What!" He kept going, unable/unwilling to stop in the middle of the highway.

"We just missed our turnoff."

"What?"

She turned all the way around, pointing to something unseen behind them. "Tomlinson Run State Park. That sign said it was the next right, and we just passed the next right."

"Mother fucker."

She turned back around and sighed, slumping down in her seat. "No big. We'll just take the next exit and backtrack. We're both smart people; we can do this."

"I blame you and your Happy Meals. Not so happy, now, are we?"

Mecca laughed.

Three wrong turns and thirty-five minutes later, they were there. 

Mecca was the first to exit the vehicle. She reached her hands high up to the sky, stretching up on her tip toes, her head falling back as her mouth hung open. "Can you smell that?" she asked.

"What?" he secured the driver's side door, then moved to pop the trunk.

"Air," she said. "Not the paper mill or the meat packing plant, the stables or one of the many farms we live around, but air. Plain, simple, unadulterated air." She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. "Ever been to Canada?"

He shook his head. "Can't say that I have."

"It smells just like this."

He smiled then through one of the packs over his shoulder.

"Use the shoulder straps and the hip strap or you'll hurt yourself."

"Fuck that," he poked his arm through the other shoulder strap. "I may be old, but I'm not that old."

She walked up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Hold still." She reached behind him, unlatching the hip strap, adjusting it to the required length, then securing it snuggly, but not tightly around his midsection. Her movements were measured and sure, her touch light and reassuring. And having her so near him again, free to see her and to touch her without fear of running off the road . . .

He smiled down at her. "You've done this before."

She shrugged. "I used to be a Girl Scout. Troop 2023. I earned just about every merit badge there was. I was a chronic overachiever."

He allowed a sly smile to quirk the corners of his mouth. "And speaking of chronic . . ."

"No," she warned him. "We have to check in at the ranger station, claim a campsite, set up our tent, grab a shower, and then you can huff and puff all you want while I get dinner ready." 

"Heh. Like I'm the Big, Bad Wolf and you're Little Red Riding Hood."

Her hands remained at his sides though the pack was in no danger of slipping from where she'd positioned it. She pressed her hips against him then pushed herself away. "Not this time."

He watched as she grabbed her own pack and put it into place with effortless expertise, and then grabbed the beverage cooler and a canvas bag full of groceries, including bread, marshmallows, dry cereal, graham crackers, peanut butter, popcorn (of the non-microwave variety) and Hershey bars. He was carrying the tent, the pots and pans, the dishes, a couple of fishing poles, some bait and tackle, a grilling rack, some skewers and a hunting knife. She carried the sleeping bags, their clothes, toiletries, toilet paper and towels. They both had water bottles, sunscreen and insect repellant.

"All set?" she asked.

"Gimme the cooler, bitch. You'll break a nail."

She swung it beyond his reach. "Fuck you, carrot-top. You'll sprout another hernia."

Daniel frowned.

"This shit ain't heavy, anyway. Do you know how much a case of wine weighs? Like, in the wooden crates?"

"A lot?" he ventured. 

"A lot," she nodded. "And try carrying them up two flights of stairs from the basement to the kitchen and from the kitchen to the banquet room. Harsh!"

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

"Well, we can't stand around in an empty parking lot all day. Let's go." 

"And exactly where are we going?" He took a passing glance at the scenery around them. Directly ahead of them, about 30 feet from their current location, was a large cabin with a super-sized map of the grounds encased in Plexiglas, posted beside what-seemed-to-be the main walkway. Off to its left was a large pond of clear, sparkling water, its edges lined with green grass and fragrant flowers, newly blossomed in the un-seasonal heat. Behind the pond was a smaller cabin with a big sign hanging above its porch, proudly proclaiming "Dump Station." Beyond the dump station, the main road broke off and divided into two forks, both sides leading to similar sites. There was a wooden walkway on either side of the forks, and at the end of the walkways, positioned off the side of the road were these tan and green, circular tent-like structures equipped with wooden doors.

He couldn't help but point. "What the fuck are those things?"

"Yurts," she shrugged.

"And a yurt is. . ."

"It's like a big, circular tent. Because of their unique construction, they're supposed to be more durable and weather-tight than regular tents. And those particular ones come with a cooler, a propane stove, a lantern, a picnic table and cookware."

"What! And you made me dig out all this crap because?"

"One: I didn't rent a yurt, and two: I plan on doing this quite often with you in many different locations, so I figured we might as well get the stuff, now, and get as much use out of it as possible."

Daniel sighed in defeat. "But that looks so cool."

Mecca shrugged. "If you wanna stay in a yurt, stay in a yurt. But I'm taking the tent, and I'm pitching it at one of the non-electrical sites."

He rolled his eyes, trudging after her towards the check-in site. "Let's defeat the purpose of the whole trip, shall we? Not even married and you already want separate rooms."

The girl giggled. "I assure you I will never want to sleep away from you. Unless you impregnate me with septuplets and I grow unwieldy large. Then I want my space."

He laughed. "Septuplets, huh?"

"Don't think you're up to it?"

Against his wishes, he felt his face flush.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You do want kids, though, right? I mean, with your whole we'll-blow-the-world-up-before-we-cut-down-all-the-trees point of view, you may not want to 'put forth' new life on a seemingly doomed world."

He shrugged yet again. "We've all gotta go sometime, and we're supposed to live each day like its our last. I think I'd make a good dad. I could certainly tell them plenty of things not to do while they're growing up."

At last they made it to the cabin's entrance. 

"I have no idea what that'd be like," she said. "Having a man around to help raise the kids."

He grabbed the door handle and held it open for her.

"I mean, I was practically grown by the time my step dad came into the picture, and I didn't wanna move in with them, so I stayed with my grandma."

He followed her inside. "My dad wasn't always there maybe when he should've been, but he did what he was supposed to do. He paid the bills, kept us fed, and if he felt the need to run off and drink himself half-dead, he always came back."

Mecca stopped in her tracks between the main doors and the doorway at the end of the vestibule, staring him dead in the face.

"Or at least that's what my sisters and my brother told me. He never ran off as far as I know." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "But what do kids really know about their parents' problems?"

She seemed to be at an unusual loss for words. "Paul never struck me as that type of man. He seems really . . . family-oriented, I guess?"

Daniel shrugged. "Even more so since mom died. He calls me every fucking day."

She laughed, dipping her head forward, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "Did you tell him what you--we've been doing?"

 "I think he came in his pants."

She opened her mouth wide, her eyes crinkling up with laughter.

"Seriously. It was a really weird situation. I was apologizing for not stopping by more often because I was busy, you know, boning my new girlfriend."

"You did not say 'boning' to your dad."

"No," he admitted. "I didn't. But I almost did. Just to see what he'd say."

"Awww, you'd probably give him a heart attack."

Daniel scoffed. "More like, his heart would explode with joy."

"You and your dad," she laughed. "And your brother, too. Why isn't he married?"

He laughed out loud, slapping his knee, stomping his foot.

"C'mon, now. Don't be mean."

His laughter died to a chuckle, he wiped tears out of the corners of his eyes, then he raised his head to regard her face-to-face, the humor of the moment having faded. "Because, Mecca, not everybody sees people the way you do."

She shook her head, lowering her lashes, her blush tinting her toasted almond complexion a subdued rose. "Now, who's full of shit?" she asked.

He gave her a slight push forward. "C'mon. I'm sure the check-in guy's getting creeped out. He heard the main door open, and he hasn't seen anybody, yet."

The check in was smooth, easy and painless. They paid in cash, signed the register, and read over the rules. The registrar, a tall, thin, tan vaguely teenaged-looking man, gave them a campground map, a key to the bathhouse (seeing as how it was just him and them there) directions to the various campsites and a guide book, pointing out the highlights of the park's two hiking trails. He then told them about the drinking water supply, located in the nearby pond, and then warned them of the dangers of leaving food out or failing to completely extinguish your campfire. Daniel and Mecca smiled and nodded at the appropriate places, took the offered pamphlets and set out to find their campsite. 

"Wouldn't think they'd have a stuffed and mounted bear in a ranger station."

Daniel laughed. "So much for animal conservation."

They continued to walk on. This being day 2 of camping season, they had their pick of the sites. Some had electric hook-ups; some didn't. Some had a nice view of one of the many ponds in the park; some didn't. Some were handicapped accessible; some weren't. There were four that were close to one of the two shower houses. And then there were the four yurts . . .

He gave the circular-shaped tent a longing look as he passed by. "If we ever come up here again, we're getting a yurt."

Mecca laughed. "Until 20 minutes ago you didn't even know what a yurt was."

"But now that I do know, I can't imagine my life without one."

"C'mon, doofus," she grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the wooden walkway. "We can take that site up there. We can see the yurts and the pond, and it's near the shower house. E3."

"You just like to tease me," he pouted. "I can see the yurts, but I can't touch them."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, giving him a sly smile. "I've got other things you can touch, though."

He stopped resisting her pull, actually lifting his feet as they traveled down the fork in the main road to their chosen spot. "Just touch?" he asked.

"Touch. Taste. Smell. See. What's the fifth sense?"

"Hear," he replied.

"And that, too."

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he imagined all the ways he could engage his five senses with her firm body. Touching her all over. Tasting her sweet center. Smelling her arousal. Seeing his cock disappear into that hot, wet slit. And hearing her scream his name as she climaxed beneath him. 

They stopped at the spot marked "E3" and began to unload their packs. 

"Tent first," she said. "Then everything else."

"I've already pitched a tent. Now, it's your turn."

She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head at him.

"What?"

"Didn't you say you used to be a Boy Scout?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "But I got kicked out for eating a Brownie."

A tight grin spread across her face, repressed chuckles causing her chest to heave. "You just ain't right."

He shrugged, throwing his hands up in the air, feigning innocence.

"Now, get the tent out, set it up, then I'll see about taking care of your pole." She crouched down, reaching into her own pack, pulling out the toiletries and a mini-sized duffel bag.

"And what are you going to do? This is supposed to be a group effort."

She looked up at him. "I feel dirty, and I'm sure I smell gross. I'm gonna grab a shower before it gets dark, and then I'm gonna cook for you."

"If we'd rented a yurt, the tent would already be up."

"If we'd rented a yurt, we wouldn't have had any need for sleeping bags--two single sleeping bags that zip together to become a double."

"Say no more. The yurt is forgotten."

"No, it's not," she laughed. "But if we ever come up here again, you can have a yurt."

"And you'll share my yurt?"

"I'll share your yurt."

"Nice," he nodded. "Now, go get cleaned up, so we can get down and dirty."

"Listen to you," she laughed. "What do you know about getting down and dirty?"

He shrugged. "I know there's a pavilion on the other side of the campground."

"Where?"

"If we'd turned left when we left the check-in center instead of turning right. And a pavilion is kind of like a gazebo."

She shook her head. "You don't have the balls. Even though it's basically just you and me, the thought that Ranger Registrar could catch us doing something naughty will you keep you from doing anything out in the open."

"Bullshit."

"I'll bet you," she said.

"Bet me," he repeated.

"I'll give you till the time we pull out on Sunday to make love to me in the pavilion."

He started briefly, not sure he'd heard her right.

"What?" she asked. "What's that smile for?"

He smiled at her, completely unabashed. "You didn't say 'fuck;'" he said simply.

She chuckled uneasily, her features again taking on a rose tint. "Fuck you, asshole. One turn of phrase is as good as another."

He shook his head. "No. Certain ones are undoubtedly better than others."

She scoffed, grabbing her belongings and rising to her feet. "Whatever."

"And just because of that, it's gonna happen."

"Sure it will."

Before she could take two steps away from him, dismissing him in her infuriating, yet flirtatious way, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, her athletic frame crashing into his nylon-covered chest as her toiletries landed haphazardly on the earth around them.

"What the fuck, Daniel?" She tried to stoop down to retrieve her things, but he held her tight. "Daniel, what?"

He said not a word, merely stared down at her.

"What?" she asked again.

He continued to stare at her, her wrist still held captive by his hand, her full breasts and child-bearing hips pressed snuggly against him.




A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02



"It's broad daylight," she said.

Again, he gave no reply.

She was getting nervous, he could tell. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and her eyes refused to stay focused on just one spot. A thin film of sweat formed above her upper lip as she began to lightly gnaw upon the lower one. "What?" she said yet again. She reached her free hand up and wiped at the corners of her mouth. "I got something on my mouth?"

He leaned in close. "No." Closer. "But you do, now." Closest. This was the closest he'd ever felt to a female in his entire life, and he'd be damned if he let his own embarrassment, his own insecurities, his own self-doubt, keep him from claiming something that so obviously wanted to belong to him.

"Daniel . . ."

He slipped his tongue between her lips, tasting the salt of the French fries they'd so recently shared and the sweetness that was solely her own.

She moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch.

"Think I won't do it?" he asked her. "Fuck you right where you stand?" 

She gave a throaty chuckle, staring up at him. "No, I don't."

He reached for the snap of her jean cut-offs.

She tried to pull back, but he held her fast. "Daniel!"

His thumb and index finger took hold of her zipper. "Think I won't do it?" he asked again.

She stuck her chin up, meeting his eyes defiantly. "If it's a game of chicken you want, it's a game of chicken you'll get."

Tooth-by-tooth the zipper came undone, his lips fastened to the column of her throat. Bees buzzed around them. Birds chirped overhead. Wind whipped through the leaves, whispering a soft, willowy tune. He pressed his hardness against the soft flesh of her right inner thigh.

"Still think I won't?"

"You're just teasing," she said. "You'll never go all the way. Out here where everyone can see."

He reclaimed her mouth. "Maybe I want them to see . . ."

She gasped as he sent his hand down the front of her short pants.

"Wet already," he said. "And you just changed these."

She shook her head. "I'm just hot," she said. "Sweaty."

He skirted the outside edge of the crotch to her panties, then dipped his middle finger inside, feeling the slick moisture forming on her outer lips. "Awfully slimy for sweat," he retorted.

"Stop that." She moved her hips against him as he masturbated her with his hand.

"Does that mean you give up?" he asked. "You don't want me to take you right here where you stand?" He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb.

"Stop!" she tried to shove him away. "I--I'm gonna cum."

He placed his mouth in the crook her neck, hooking his middle and index fingers, shoving them deep inside her as his thumb continued to stimulate her from the outside. "Then cum for me, Mecca. Shower me with your love."

She cried out, her entire body snapping taut, then going limp in his arms. She gulped for air as he continued to kiss and caress her, his fingers still twisting in her undulating canal.

"That's it," he encouraged her. "Give it to me. Let me have it all."

She cried out again, another orgasm overtaking her as he held her tightly in his arms.

"More?" he asked.

She shook her head against his shoulder.

He slid his fingers from her slit, smearing her juices across her lower lip before slipping them into her mouth, allowing her to lick them clean as he rubbed his cock against right leg.

"Dammit," she choked out as his tongue replaced his fingers and he tasted her essence on the tip of her own tongue.

"I think I'm gonna help you with that shower."

She nodded again. "Good. I don't think I can walk too straight right now."

He stooped down to pick up the bath supplies, wrapped his arm around her waist, and led them back to the shower house. He highly doubted the young ranger would disturb them in there. He seemed rather reserved and lost in his own world, more irritated than relieved to welcome the first campers of the season. He was probably one of the rare breed that thrived on isolation and solitude as opposed to human interaction and companionship.

Once they reached the shower house door, he reached in Mecca's front pocket, fishing out the key the ranger had given her.

"I bet he masturbates a lot."

"What?" He turned the key in the lock and pushed it open, ushering her inside.

"The ranger. All alone out here. No one else around. Nothing else to do."

Daniel shrugged. "He could hump a knothole."

"He'd get splinters," she argued.

"He could hump his hand and pretend it's a knothole."

"Ewww."

They walked down a long, dark corridor, feeling along the wall for a light switch. It wasn't pitch black, some light streaming down from rectangular windows high above, but there was certainly less illumination than either of them preferred in a strange environment.

"Maybe he likes it dark," she said. "Afraid the forest animals will get funny ideas if they see him naked."

He kept his positioned in the middle of her back, the swish of his nylon track suit and the light clinking sound of Mecca's unzipped shorts the only real sounds in the echo-y chamber. "He probably doesn't like to look at himself naked."

She gave a knowing laugh. "Like certain other people I know."

Daniel shrugged. He seemed to be doing that a lot: shrugging. It wasn't that he was completely indifferent, he just . . . didn't have anything verbal to say. It wasn't something he was entirely willing to confirm, but it wasn't something he could whole-heartedly deny. "So, I'm a little body conscious," he said.

"My tits are too big," she said. "And I've got teeny, tiny stretch marks around my ass."

"You do not."

"And the very tops of my thighs still touch."

"So?"

"Models' thighs don't touch. A-List actresses' thighs don't touch. Even strippers' thighs don't touch."

He slipped his hand between her legs, rubbing the underside of her crotch. "I like your thighs." 

She drew in a deep breath, then pushed it out, leaning slightly back against them as they continued to wander their way around the shower house. "And I like your hands. And your eyes. Your lips. Your laugh. That really weird thing you call a sense of humor. And I love your cock. It just gets me every time."

"That's what it's supposed to do . . . I guess."

She reached behind her, caressing him through his clothing. "It's smooth and hard, and the head is the perfect shape for sucking. Kind of tapered at the end, then it just flares out and . . . Damn, that's good shit."

"I'm glad you like it."

She stopped walking, and he stopped behind her. "Love it," she said. "And you," she added. "Kind of like a package deal."

"Package," he laughed.

"Seriously," she said. "I feel completely overwhelmed sometimes, like I'm drowning and I can't get enough air, but . . ."

"You can only say it because you don't have to look at me."

"Daniel."

"Seriously. You don't want me to see you like that. All scared and vulnerable and shit. Like I'd reject you or something."

He felt her shrug.

"Maybe."

He smiled there in the darkness. "I'd love nothing better than to push you down on your knees, shove my dick in your mouth, then fuck you from behind till we're both sweaty, sore and spent."

She drew in a shuddering breath.

"But, I'd rather take you back outside and make love to you in the pavilion, under the stars, beneath the trees, out in the open where everyone can see us and just . . . envy us because I know we have something some people search their whole lives for and never find."

Quiet.

"Mecca?" He reached out blindly before him, touching nothing. She was there, then she was gone. "C'mon, now. Don't do this. Did you leave?"

"No."

He turned at the sound of her voice. Somewhere over his right shoulder.

"My mother hates you," she said. "Not that I particularly care what she thinks, but she is my mother, you know."

"What? When did this happen?" He kept moving forward, listening for the sound of her voice, hoping to stumble into her again.

"You know, like when you talked to your dad because he wanted to know where you'd been. Well, my mom called and she wanted to know where I'd been. Not that we're really close or anything, but we like to remind each other we're still alive."

A few more feet and he was certain he'd have her again. 

"Anyway, I told her I'd been seeing someone. Someone I really like. And she got all motherly and excited, telling me it was about time I found a man, and she told me to come over so we could talk face to face."

The way the place echoed confused him. He couldn't tell if she was in front of him or just behind him on his left side.

"So I went over there, we sat down, we talked, and I showed her your picture."

"My picture? Since when do you have a picture of me?"

"Years," she said. "Terri gave me a picture of you from her wedding. Two, maybe even three years ago. You were 'decorating' her car."

The idea she had a picture of him in her possession made him feel oddly exposed, the eyes of unknown people traveling over an unfamiliar face. Where did she keep it? Whom did she show it to? Who did she say he was?

Or maybe it was something she kept for her eyes only. Tucked beneath a mattress. Hidden under a loose floor board. Locked away in a keepsake box . . .

"She asked if I was out of my fucking mind," she paused to laugh there, quiet, pensive, derisive. "Literally. I mean, my mom said the 'f' word. She doesn't cuss, she doesn't smoke, she doesn't drink. She . . . She has walked the line her entire life, and has never bent a rule, let alone broken one." She paused again; silence filling the shower house. "Unless you count having me. Unwed teenage mother, you know. That's not exactly on the narrow path." She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. "She looked at me like she wanted to murder me. I mean, physically hurt me. And she just kept saying it over and over: 'He's white. He's white. Are you out of your fucking mind? Just look at him. Look at him.'"

Daniel cleared his throat, trying to clear out the large lump that had settled there. 

"And then she just got really hateful. 'What kind of man wears a ball cap to a wedding? What's he hiding under there? Is he bald, Mecca? How much older than you is he? Does he have any kids? Ex-wives? Alimony? Child support? Does he work? Does he have a car? Does he have his own place or does he sponge off everyone else?

"'Look at those eyes. Is he a stoner, Mecca? A pothead? What else does he do? Does he have you on that shit? Is he a pimp? Trying to turn you out?

"'And what does he call that shit on his face? It's certainly not a beard. Can he even grow a beard? Only a real man can grow a beard, you know. He kind of looks like a momma's boy; like he's scared of girls.

"'I bet he doesn't really like you,' she said. 'You're just convenient. He doesn't have to admit he's gay as long as he has you. And I bet he'll try to talk you into some of that three-way nonsense. You, him and another guy, no doubt."

She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. "'Open your eyes,' she told me. 'He's fat, he's ugly, and he's using you. There's only one thing a white man wants from a black woman, and it has nothing to do with living happily ever after."

Quiet.

Daniel swallowed hard, uncertain of where to start. "And what did you say?"

Mecca laughed. "Nothing. I didn't say anything. Not one word." She laughed again, a hacking cough disrupting the melodious sound. "I would've fucking killed her. I would've reached across the fucking couch and strangled her. Squeezed her throat till that awful tongue popped out of her mouth and her neck snapped, stopping up all those hateful words and ugly lies."

He felt his blood run cold, Mecca's icy tone considerably cooling the air around them. He began moving again, this time away from her voice.

"She always ruins everything for me. Anytime anything good happens to me, she has to ruin it with that awful tongue and her ugly lies!"

"Just . . . Just take a deep breath and calm down, Mecca."

"She doesn't even know you. Never even met you. Who the fuck does she think she is?"

Her voice seemed to be growing louder; she must have been getting nearer. He kept backing his way around the room, trying but failing to recall the way they'd come in.

"Who the fuck does that to their daughter?"

He shook his head, uncertain if she could see him. "I don't know," he said. "I don't have the answer."

"She never should have had me," she cried. "She said if she knew I'd turn out like this, running after some old, fat, bald white man like a common, street-walking whore, she would've aborted me."

He stopped retreating at that point.

"'Where's your black pride?' she said. 'Where's your black pride?'"

Again, quiet consumed the room.

"Mecca?" He trained his ears, listening for any sound of his forlorn love.

"I just don't know if I can do this again, Daniel."

He laughed out loud. "What?"

"I'm weak," she said. "I play pretend really well. I act really tough, and I try to keep everything under control--at home, at work, with you . . . but you make me feel so out of control, Daniel . . . Not necessarily in a bad way, but . . ."

Again, he found himself reaching out to the darkness, trying to feel his way back to her.

"I walked out of her house and slammed the door behind me. She's got some family portraits hanging on the wall, and I swear I heard them go crashing to the floor."

Just a few more feet, he told himself. A little to the right.

"I've always tried to do the right thing, Daniel. I've always tried to make everybody happy. I try not to rock the boat or kick up a mess, and I always try to leave a situation better than when I found it. Like Manny, Terri's husband, your cousin. Terri used to tell me stories about when Manny was a logger, and how he knew all the trees by name and leaf shape and bark type and . . . all this other shit normal people don't give a damn about. But, anyway, Terri said that, as loggers, they had to plant a tree for every one they cut down or, eventually, there wouldn't be any more trees to cut down."

Daniel nodded, taking a moment to stand still and take in his surroundings, refocus his efforts. "That makes sense." 

"Well, for every tree I've cut down, I planted two. But when people have come and cut down my trees, they never planted anything. I have one tree left, Daniel. And it's really small and totally pathetic. I mean, Charlie Brown's Christmas tree would put mine to shame."

Left! Definitely left.

"I just don't wanna end up barren, you know. Scorched earth or whatever."

"Gotcha!"

She gasped, and he gasped with her.

"What the fuck were you doing?" he rapidly ran his hands up and down her back trying to stave off her series of shivers. "Was that some perverse version of Marco Polo?"

She shifted in his embrace; he could feel the points of her elbows digging into his lower ribs. "Do you know what it's like when you go to the grocery store to find your favorite brand of . . . cookie or cracker or chip or . . . whatever it is you like to snack on. And there's an odd-colored sign beneath your favorite food. It seems it's been marked down 75% because it's being discontinued. Well, this is your favorite food, and you love it more than anything, so you buy every last box they have."

Daniel nodded.

"But you're not the only one who likes this particular food; you have friends that like it, too. And seeing as how you bought all there is, the only place they can get it is from you."

Again, he nodded. 

"Which is no big. You're not a selfish bastard, afterall. So you share. You share and you share and you share till one day you're down to the final box."

"And you don't wanna share anymore," he said. "Because it's yours, and you know once you finish it off, it's all gone. For good."

"So you eat sparingly from it, savoring every bite."

"But you still can't make it last forever."

"But you try," she said. "Canning it, freezing it. Doing anything you can to prolong its life."

"But," he sighed, "eventually, you come to the last chip. The last one there will ever be. And what do you do?" he asked.

"Hold on to it till it goes stale and rots."

He laughed to himself, feeling oddly . . . empowered by her analogy. Like the Lord of the Rings. No one person had ever given him such total control over their lives. "All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not whither, deep roots are not reached by the frost."

Mecca laughed, too. "What? Since when do you recite poetry?"

He shrugged. "It's not poetry; it's Tolkien, the guy who wrote 'Lord of the Rings.'"

She slapped his shoulder. "I know who Tolkien is. I just don't remember him saying that."

He cleared, stepping away from her. "I'm gonna let you clean up in here."

"What?"

"I think we both need some time to re-collect ourselves, and this darkness is--"

Suddenly, the lights clicked on.

He looked at her, she looked at him, then they both looked around the shower house. It was one big room, tiled in white, tiny dividers protruding from the walls, separating one shower head from another, but not shielding one shower user from the prying eyes of another.

Then the ranger/registrar appeared wearing nothing but a towel. He was tall, thin and surprisingly muscled for someone so slim. He visibly started when he noticed he wasn't alone.

Mecca and Daniel, again, regarded one another. Her shorts were undone, floating dangerously low on her hips. Her hair was tousled, her face was flushed and, her eyes were bloodshot red. Daniel was completely clothed, but he was sporting a rather rampant erection, a marked tent having formed in his track pants, causing his jacket to poke out as well.

"I--I'm sorry," the man said. "I--I didn't know anyone was in here. It was dark. I--I'm sorry." Though obviously apologetically and clearly embarrassed, he made no move to distance himself from the scene before him.

She looked up at Daniel, then over at the young ranger. "See something you like?" she asked.

He shook his head, averting his eyes. "I didn't mean to stare."

A predatory grin quirked the corners of her mouth. "Join us, or get out."

The boy chuckled nervously; Daniel scowled. Mecca repeated herself. "It isn't an offer you're likely to ever get again, so I'd consider it very carefully."

Daniel's frown deepened. Despite what Mecca's mother may think, if he were to ever get involved in any type of three-way, it would be him and two girls; not the other way around.

"You're kind of skinny, and definitely younger than I'd normally like, but . . ."

The boy stumbled backwards as Mecca advanced. "I'm so sorry. I won't bother you two again." He scampered out the door, his shower shoes flopping against the floor tile as he went.

She turned and smiled at him.

"What the fuck was that?"

Her smile grew. "You may have won the first round of Chicken, but I certainly got you that time."

He threw his arms up in the air, rolling his eyes.

"I'm done with this place. Let's just get the tent set up and fix something to eat."

"Agreed."





A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02



The flames danced, licking at the sweet treats, hardening them on the outside, melting them on the inside. The end of the stick beginning to glow red due to the prolonged exposure to the heat. He was about to marvel out loud at what strange things marshmallows were until she spoke.

"I never wanna go home."

He sighed, contentedly. "Let's move out here, then. We'll barter with the ranger and live off the land."

Mecca laughed, the firelight dancing in her dark eyes. "Do you know how much a cabin out here would cost?"

"Cost?" he laughed. "Chop down a few trees, nail 'em together, and instant house."

"As if. Do you know it used to be that nobody wanted to live out here? It's in the middle of nowhere. No city water, heat, or electric. No phone and certainly no cable. Your nearest neighbor is Smokey the Bear, and once snow falls, you're stranded here till the spring thaw."

"That's 'The Shining' you're talking about. The Overlook Hotel."

She shrugged. "Close enough. But anyway, the cheapest, bare bones, basic model cabin is 300 hundred thousand dollars."

"Bullshit."

"I looked in one of those Homes and Land magazines. They're between 299,000 and $499,000."

"That's half a million dollars." 

"I know!"

"Fuck that. We'll rent a yurt."

She removed the marshmallows from the fire and blew on them. "You and your yurts."

"One yurt, two yurt, three yurt, four."

"Such a goofball," she laughed. "Want one?"

He shook his head. "Wonder why they cost so much, now?"

"Marshmallows?"

"Cabins in the mountains."

"Before, everybody wanted to move to the city and get a good job, so they could have it all. Now, everybody's sick of it all, so they wanna move out into no man's land, so they can have some old-fashioned peace and quiet. I mean, do you know how noisy it is in the city? A real city?"

"The sirens, the horns, the car alarms. Barking dogs, rowdy neighbors, loud music from the club across the street . . ."

"What would you have paid to get away from all that?"

"Anything," he answered honestly.

"So, you don't like marshmallows?"

"Too sticky."

She shrugged, shoving one into her mouth. "Your loss."

"And what if that ranger had tossed his towel aside and started grabbing your tits."

She scoffed. "As if you'd let him do that. You'd cold-cock him and drown him in the drinking water."

"Fuck that. He ain't contaminating my water."

She finished off her second marshmallow, then stood and stretched.

"What are we gonna do, now?"

She smiled down at him. "I am going to take a shower. Alone," she added quickly. "And you are going to pull out our sleeping bags."

"Inside or outside?" he asked.

"It's getting kind of chilly. Better put 'em on the inside of the tent."

He gave her the thumbs up, sat up, then did as he was told.

Twenty minutes later he'd extinguished the campfire, secured their foodstuffs, turned on their battery-powered lantern and stripped for bed: bare feet, boxers, a black doo-rag and his favorite Raiders T-shirt. The night air was cool, the campground was quiet, and the sleeping bags were cushioned. Thinking of a warm, wet, freshly-washed Mecca was all he could do to keep himself awake.

Twenty minutes turned into thirty, which soon grew into forty.

He rolled onto his back, folding his arms over his chest. What the fuck was taking her so long? It's not as if she had to do her hair or anything. She hadn't brought any of her styling supplies, and if she had, she certainly wouldn't be using them just before bed.

He rolled back onto his side, staring at the open flap of their tent. He'd give her ten more minutes. If she wasn't back by then, he was going in after her. In the meantime, he'd just rest his eyes a little, sparing them from the glare of the moonlight on the pond water.

Mecca laughed. "You weren't supposed to fall asleep till afterwards."

He opened his eyes, yawned, stretched his feet inside the sleeping bag and his arms outside of it. "I wasn't sleeping," he said.

"You were resting your eyes," she supplied.

He blinked a few more times, his eye finally beginning to come into focus. She was standing beside the sleeping bag, her hands on her hips. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"What does it look like I'm wearing?"

He snickered, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Would you like to buy some cookies?" she asked.

"Are they made with real Girl Scouts?" he asked.

She crouched down beside him, adjusting the obscenely short hem of her green jumper, pulling it down, only to have it ride back up. Her legs were far too long, and her ass was far too round to be completely covered by such an insubstantial amount of fabric.

He reached out and touched it, relishing the feel of the course polyester between his thumb, index and middle fingers. "Is that the real thing?"

Mecca scoffed. "As if I could squeeze my fat ass into that tiny little uniform I used to wear. These are officially licensed Girl Scout socks and garters, though. And this is my original sash, completely covered in merit badges."

He sat up to get a better look at her get up. She was even wearing a white shirt, a red criss-cross tie and a beret. He remembered fantasizing about what Girl Scouts wore under their uniforms from his own scouting days. Boy Scouts had officially issued undershirts, tighty-whiteys and tube socks. If Girl Scouts had similar accoutrements, he never got to see. 

"So, what you wearing under the uniform?"

"Aren't you a little young to be asking something like that?"

He chuckled easily. "How old do you think I am?"

The girl shrugged. "Ten, eleven?"

His laughter grew. So, it was role-playing she was after. "I'm twelve," he finally said.

She put an overly bright smile. "Wow. An older guy."

"And how old are you?"

"Ten. I just went over the bridge."

"So, you're not a Brownie, anymore."

"Nope. But what do Boy Scouts know about Brownies?"

He scooted closer to her, brushing his fingers up the back of her arm. "They're good to eat."

"I like chocolate chip cookies better."

"Oh?"

She nodded.

"You sure have a lot of merit badges."

"I'm very skilled," she said.

"Yeah? What's this one for?" He poked one just above her left nipple.

"Sewing."

"And this one?" He poked one just below her right nipple.

"Babysitting," she said proudly.

"Babysitters are hot."

Mecca laughed.

"I peaked on mine once. She was changing clothes in the bathroom, and I saw her boobies."

She laughed harder, her cheeks glowing a bright red. "You did not."

"I did, too. But I think yours are bigger than hers."

"Nuh-uh. I bet she's 16, at least. She's probably got ones out to here." She cupped her hands a good two feet in front of her chest and shook them.

"Yours are still bigger," he insisted. "Take your shirt off, and I'll show you."

She shook her head.

"What? Why not?"

"You're not supposed to?"

"Why not?"

"It's private," she said. "And if someone tries to touch you there, you're supposed to run away and tell a trusted adult."

"I'm a trusted adult."

"You are not. You're 12."

"It's okay, then. I'm a kid, you're a kid, so there's nothing wrong with kidding around."

"What's that in your pants?" She poked at his burgeoning erection. "It's making the sleeping bag stick up."

Daniel gasped.

She pulled her hand away. "Did that hurt?"

Damn, she was staying true to form. Did that hurt?

He shook his head. "But you know what?"

She leaned closer to him, curiosity brimming over in her eyes.

He drew nearer, whispering in her ear. "You just touched my special place."

Her eyes grew large, her mouth dropping open.

"And you know what that means, don't you?"

She shook her head again.

"Since you touched me, I should get to touch you. Down there," he added for impact.

She quickly clamped her knees together.

"C'mon," he said. "It's only fair. You touched me, so I get to touch you. You're not a cheater, are you?"

"No!"

He put his hands on both her bare knees. "Then open up."

She pushed his hands away. "Someone'll see!"

"Just me," he said quietly. "C'mon. Fair is fair."

She looked at him, then around the tent.

"No one else is here. Just you and me."

"Well . . ."

"Aren't you curious?" he asked. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

She bit her lower lip, then gave one resolute nod.

Daniel smiled.

"But not here."

"Where then?" he whined. 

"The pavilion."

Even in the low light of the tent, there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. She wanted him, and she intended to have him. He swallowed hard. He knew what he'd said, and he knew what he felt, but . . .

"Chicken?" she teased.

"Nuh-uh."

"Then meet me there." She rose to her feet then darted out the door.

"Mother-fucker."

He sat there for a full minute debating whether he should put his clothes back on or not. It was the middle of the night, and Mecca and he were the only campers. The ranger had been so freaked out by the shower house scene, he doubted very seriously if he'd come anywhere near their part of camp.

Try as he might, there was just some part of him that didn't like the idea of some strange set of eyes watching him in one of his most intimate moments. Some things were just meant to be done behind closed doors. Yet, he didn't seem to have any qualms about sticking his hands down the front of her pants, masturbating her till she came in the palm of his hand.

"Think I won't do it?" he'd asked her. "Think I won't fuck you right here where you stand?"

And, in all honesty, at that point in time, he would have done it. Without a doubt, without a moment's hesitation, without a second thought. 

The way she smelled. The way she felt. The way she responded to his every touch . . . So wet for him. Ready for him. Tight for him. All for him. Anything for him. The last tree in the forest. The last chip in the bag of a discontinued brand.

He reached down the front of his boxers and stroked himself.

He removed his hand, unzipped the bag and left the certainty of the tent behind him. What idiot would sit alone and masturbate when there was a warm, willing body in the immediate vicinity?

He gave a passing glance to the shower house, then strolled passed the yurts. Starshine and moonlight lit the path. At the fork he came to the dump station, the drinking pond, the check-in station, the main road and the parking lot. Beyond the ranger's cabin, the road split into another fork. The night was chilly, and the air was still, but everything around him seemed alive. The moon danced on the water, leaves swayed on their branches and crickets chirped in the distance.

It was just like summer camp. But instead of sneaking out with the boys to steal ice cream from the freezer in the mess hall, he was stepping out on his own to attain something just as desirable and even more forbidden.

He licked his lips in anticipation. Sweet, creamy and oh-so delightful.

The pavilion was just off to the right. And she was waiting for him. Still in uniform.

She smiled at him as she watched him approach. There wasn't much to the structure: a concrete floor, four support columns, a pitched roof and three railings--one on each side and one in the rear. Benches were built in, connected to each of the three rails. 

The front of the outbuilding was left completely open. The main road was to the front. A pond was to the immediate rear, and the check-in station was just to the right of that.

Mecca sat at the rear of the structure, her legs crossed at the ankles. He sat down beside her.

She fidgeted in her seat. "I've never done anything with a boy before."

"No?" he asked.

"I let a girl feel me up once, but that was because she was completely flat, and she wanted to know what they felt like."

"Is that right?"

She nodded, meeting his gaze, then lowering her eyes.

"You are so fucking pretty."

The girl giggled. "You said a bad word."

"I wanna touch you." He slid his hand up her left thigh, scooting closer as he came to the area in between them. "Your skin's so soft, so smooth."

She giggled again. "Tickles."

He increased the pressure he was applying, attempting to eliminate the ticklish sensation.

Mecca gasped. 

"Better?"

"Feels weird," she said.

He scooted even closer, pressing his right thigh against her left one. "Feels good," he whispered. "Uncross your ankles."

She shook her head as he pressed the heel of his palm against her inner thigh.

"Fair is fair," he reminded her. "You said you'd let me if I came out here."

"I heard it hurts," she said.

He shook his head. "Noooo. It's amazing. It feels incredible."

"What if I don't like it?" she asked.

"You like me, don't you?"

She shrugged.

"If you didn't like me, what'd you come to my tent for? Why'd you touch my special place? Why'd you say I could touch yours if I met you out here?"

As if on cue, she blushed.

He kissed her on the cheek.

"Daniel . . ." her blush deepened.

He kissed her again, closer to the corner of her mouth. "Do you know what I wanna do to you?"

"What?"

He drew her left earlobe into his mouth, sucking on the tender piece of dangling flesh, till she writhed beside him, her hands fisting in her lap. "Why don't you touch me?" he asked. "I've got all sorts of surprises for you."

Mecca moaned, tilting her head back as his mouth moved from her ear to the front of her throat. Again, he attempted to part her thighs, kneading her firm flesh, running his palm over the smooth skin, his fingers slipping along her inner creases. She reached up, cupping the back of his neck, urging his mouth towards her.

He resisted.

"Please," she said. "Kiss me."

He kissed her, but not on the mouth; he tossed her tie aside and unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse. He then proceeded to trace the contours of her collarbone with the tip of her tongue. "You know what I want," he said. "Open sesame."

She shook her head.

"No?" he questioned her.

"Good girls don't do that."

He yanked her out of her seat and pulled her onto is lap.

"Stop! Don't."

Catching her off guard, he parted her thighs with his right knee, then maneuvered his hand to the desired location.

She tried to push it away.

He gave a stinging blow to the outside of her right thigh. "Hold still," he warned. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"There's something hard in your lap," she protested.

"The more you move, the harder it'll get."

She immediately stilled.

"Good girl." He repositioned her on his lap; her clothed core directly above his hardening cock, her legs spread wide as she straddled his thighs.

"It's poking me," she laughed.

"That's because it likes you," he said. "It wants to get closer to you."

She squirmed again, pressing her hot core against his throbbing shaft. "I don't see how." She reached between her legs and took hold of the bulge burgeoning beneath her. "It's right under me. You can't get any closer than that."

He placed his hand over hers, urging her to increase the pressure she was applying to his genitals, as he pressed his lips to the rear of her ear. "I beg to differ."

She giggled. "That tickles."

He released her hand, moving it slightly upwards, then sliding it beneath her wrist to rest upon her woman's mound. He then sucked her left earlobe into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth as he thrust his hips against her, his middle finger running along the seam of her clothed sex.

She sank down into him, her head falling back, her hips moving in time to his rhythm.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

She sighed her reply, tilting her head to the side, allowing him to nibble along her neck, then down to her collar bone.

"You're so wet," he whispered to her. "You've got me hard as a rock."

"It's sooo big," she seemed to swoon.

"May be . . . But it's the perfect fit for you."

Mecca gasped, her body temperature rising, her chest heaving. "My heart's beating so fast."

He moved his other hand to the front of her jumper, briefly cupping her right breast before moving to pull the zipper down. After creating the necessary opening, he slipped his hand between the folds of fabric, deftly undoing the tiny buttons of her white blouse.

"What are you doing?" she breathed heavily. "You said you just wanted to touch me. Just touch me down there."

He continued to stimulate her with his lips, hands and hips. "But it feels good, doesn't it? You like what I'm doing to you, don't you?"

"Your hands are so big, Daniel. And that . . . thing is growing."

"You're making it grow," he replied. "It likes the way you're touching him, the way you feel on top of him."

The girl groaned.

His left hand finally reached its goal: the soft stretch cotton of a seamless, underwire bra. He wiggled his fingers, maneuvering them inside the cup, his entire finally coming in full contact with her bare breast. She squirmed and gasped as he kneaded and squeezed, testing the weight and fullness of the fatty tissue, tweaking her nipple till it was turgid and rounded.

"Stop, Daniel. Please."

He slipped his fingers inside the outside edge of the eyelet-trimmed panties, his tips coming in contact with her lips. He groaned in decadent delight as he found no trace of hair on her nether regions. Never had he had the exquisite pleasure of being with a fully shaved female . . .

The girl giggled, attempting to sound innocent and unknowing, he assumed. But it's effect was the opposite. A fog of lust settled over his brain, and he could see nothing beyond the back of the head of the girl on top of it. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

He, again, swept his hand over her bare sex simply to make sure he wasn't imagining things. "You shaved," he said gruffly.

She giggled again. "Don't be silly," she said. "I'm not old enough to shave."

It took every ounce of restraint he had to keep from blowing a load in the front of his boxers. "I wanna see it," he choked out.

"See what?"

He dipped his longest finger in her steaming hot snatch, unable to stave off the shiver that shot down his spine as her inner muscles clamped down on him, seeming to suckle him, drawing him in deeper. "That." He gave her a light push, easing her off his lap, her feet landing flat on the ground, her statuesque frame just a few feet in front of him. "Turn around," he said. "And drop your jumper."

She turned around, staring down at him, her eyes glowing, her face flushed, her beret askew, a large gap present in her clothing, where he'd unzipped her jumper, unbuttoned her blouse and fondled her within the confines of the cup of her bra. "It doesn't drop down," she said. "I have to pull it up and off."

"Do it."

As she did so, he stood and dropped his drawers, his erection now free to expand to its full length. He grasped it tightly with his right hand, giving it a light shake, a few drops of precum spilling from his head onto the concrete below.

He watched intently as she undressed herself, exposing her nearly flawless form to the earth, the sky, the trees and anyone or anything that happened to be in the immediate vicinity. Inspired by her boldness, he removed his remaining garment, tossing the Raiders shirt along the railing of the pavilion.

She ran her hand down the front of her body, dipping her hand between her slightly parted thighs, quietly gasping as her fingers found her center of pleasure. She tilted her head to the side and smiled at him. "See?" she said.

He waved her towards him. "Come over here."

"You're not gonna hurt me, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not even in my worst nightmares."

She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out, causing her buxom bosom to bounce.

Some part of him said this wasn't really happening. He wasn't really outside. He wasn't really naked, and Mecca certainly wasn't anywhere near him. Both he and she were far too decent to indulge in such outlandish behavior. They were modest, God-fearing individuals who felt more-than-a-little uncomfortable simply holding hands in public, let alone other more intimate displays of affection.




A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02



Yet, here they were: naked and not ashamed. 

The moon and stars above them. The air and trees around them. The grass and water beneath them.

He held his hand out to her, and she took it. He pulled her to him, and she let him. He rubbed the small of her back, kissed her forehead, cheeks and chin. She opened herself up to him, allowing his hands to wander where they may, his lips blazing lazy trails across her upper body. "So good," he breathed hotly into her ear.

Mecca merely nodded.

"Do you want me?" he asked. "Do you want me to touch you down there?"

She nodded again.

He took her there. In the pavilion at Tomlinson Run State Park. She knelt in the bench attached to the railing, his T-shirt cushioning her knees. He took himself in hand, entering her from behind, gradually sheathing himself inside her as she shuddered beneath him. He grabbed hold of her right breast, his thumb ghosting over the distended nipple, his palm massaging the firm mound, his hips forcing his shaft in and out of her moist interior. Her inner muscles clung to him as he receded and welcomed him as he advanced.

She bowed her back, tucking her chin into her chest as their hearts pounded, the sweat poured and the sound f flesh slapping against flesh resounded amidst the West Virginia mountains.

His left hand found her clit as his right hand traveled down her side to grasp her hip. He then forced her back towards him, his balls smacking against her sweat-slickened flesh as his male member plunged deeper and deeper into her scorching hot core, the force of the impact from his blows causing the smooth skin of her ass to ripple.

Only then did she break character. "God, yes, Daniel! Fuck my hot, little hole. Make me scream. Make me come."

He pounded into her with renewed vigor, arching his back, tightening his ass. The forest, itself, seemed to be swaying in time to his movements. Back and forth. Back and forth. Harder, they seemed to say. Drill her knothole till she shoots sap all over your big stick.

He closed his eyes, biting his lower lip, the coppery taste of blood belaying his imminent orgasm.

Mecca cried out, squeezing her inner muscles tightly around him, continuing to slide her slick channel all along his engorged length. "I'm coming!" she tossed her head back, creating an entirely seductive curve in her lower back, her ass protruding for his further pounding. "It's so hot inside! Come for me, Daniel. Come with me, Daniel."

He cursed, his balls tightening, his shaft spasming as his cock shot load after load of potent seed into her awaiting womb. "Take it all," he demanded. "Milk my dick dry."

She seemed to climax again, her entire being jerking as he felt a fresh rush of fluid coat his cock from head to base.

He took hold of her hips with both hands, riding the tide of her orgasm, humping her till neither of them seemed able to move. Breathing slowed, pulses decreased, and sweat cooled.

Finally, he broke his union with her, his, now, limp member slipping from the tight passage. "Dammit," he collapsed onto the bench beside her, his arms stretching over the railing, the coolness of the wood providing a nice contrast to the heat of his flesh.

"Yeah," the girl agreed.

He glanced over at her slumped form, his inner male gloating at the disheveled sight of her. Lord only knew where her beret had gotten to. "Tell me you're not going to try to drag me up at the ass crack of dawn and force me to wander winding trails, while taking snapshots of the various flora and fauna of the area."

She shook her head. "We'll get up when we get up," she said, pushing her damp hair back from her face. "I do wanna see the falls, though. I heard it's totally wicked, and I'm a total sucker for . . . natural beauty and whatnot. I went to Niagara Falls once, and amazing doesn't begin to describe it."

"Who'd you go with?"

"Don't get jealous," she smiled warmly. "Me and a girlfriend went on a bus tour to Canada, and the Falls was one of the stops. We also saw the Phantom of the Opera, and got to eat and go shopping. The mall was so big it covered two blocks. It was fantastic."

"I bet," he said.

She yawned, shifting her position on the bench, turning to face the main road instead of the pond. She scooted her ass to the edge of the seat, resting her head at the top of the railing, stretching her legs and feet out in front of her.

"Tired?" he asked her.

"I could sleep," she nodded. "The down of those sleeping bags would feel pretty good about now."

"Wanna streak back to the tent?"

Mecca laughed.

"Seriously. We're all sweaty and smelly, anyway. And you made a mess on my shirt." He patted the black fabric currently beneath her behind.

"Race?" she asked.

"You'll cheat," he said.

She tsked loudly, sitting up, reaching for some of her garments in the immediate area. "Cheaters never prosper."

He grabbed his boxers and snatched his shirt out from underneath her.

"Ouch!"

He chuckled. "Shirt burn."

She rose to her feet and stretched, extending her arms, arching her back, jutting her breasts forward, presenting herself to him in altogether erotic profile. "Well, if we're gonna do this, let's do this. First one back to the tent--"

He darted out of the pavilion, running along the moonlit pathway, his cock slapping against his thighs as he went. "Gets to choose whether he wants to give or receive oral in the morning."

Mecca set off in pursuit, Girl Scout costume in hand, breasts flapping against her chest. "Mother fucker!"

"And this is just Friday," he called back to her. "We've got two more days of this." He rounded the drinking pond and passed the dump station.

"Not if you don't let me win!"

"I just love the taste of shaved pussy in the morning."

"Daniel!"





A Land Far, Far Away



"You'd be a very 'honorable' man," she elbowed him in the ribs.

He shrugged her off. "Hands off, wench."

She put her hand on his upper thigh and gave it a light squeeze. "C'mon, now. Don't be so serious. Would it be such a bad thing if you were?"

"You tell me."

She cleared her throat, giggling lightly. "Actually, after the first couple of times I . . . propositioned you, I . . . Well, after the way you responded, I was like: a)he doesn't really like girls, and he's just not ready/willing to admit; or b) . . ."

"'B'-what?"

"You'd never . . . indulged in . . . the pleasures of the flesh . . . so to speak."

"You honestly thought that?"

She shrugged. "That or gay. I mean, if you stick your tits in a guy's face and tell him to put your change in the cleavage, and he doesn't do it, he's either really shy, really gay or really stupid." 

The hand on his leg traveled higher, resting itself in the crease between his hip and thigh. He drew in a short, sharp intake of breath, then repositioned himself to allow her to caress him more comfortably.

The track had changed on the CD player again. Instead of going to the next song, it went back to the beginning of the last one.

Don't let me down, don't let me down.

Don't let me down, don't let me down.

"You like that?" She kept her head facing forward and her eyes on the road.

His eyes flicked from the road ahead to the hand in his lap. "Mecca . . ."

"Or maybe they're just a little sad and confused and . . . just a tiny bit scared. I mean, some of these so-called virtuous maidens turn out to be wicked witches in disguise, and then what happens to the poor guy? He wanders around the country all blind and shit cuz the wicked witch pushed him out of a tower and knocked him into a brier patch, and he couldn't see his 'true love' if she was right in front of his face."

Nobody ever loved me like she does

Oh, she does, yeah, she does

He moved both hands to the steering wheel as her hand slipped beneath the band of his track pants and over the soft cotton of his boxers.

"Which is sad, but the princess is kind of relieved when he finally does find her cuz she's not the same person she was back then. I mean, after the witch chopped off all her hair, she went into hiding because she thought she was so hideous and no one should have to be cursed with her presence. Of course, she wants him to be happy and healthy and whole, but if he can't see her, he can't reject her. So she has him, if only in part."

He forced his eyes to stay open as her fingers found the opening to his underwear and began to tousle the fine hairs at the base of his shaft.

"But, in the end, she can't stand to see him like that. I mean, he really used to love her, and he spent all this time looking for her . . . even though she wasn't worth finding anymore."

"So she cries," he said, "and her tears cure his blindness."

"And he sees her and isn't repulsed."

He felt his balls tighten as she took hold of his cock, lightly squeezing and gently tugging as she stroked him from base to tip. He cried out brokenly. "Stop. I don't wanna mess up my pants."

"In that case . . ." her hand stilled as she unfastened her seatbelt with her right hand, pulled her knees up in the seat and then turned to face him, lowering her head to his lap.

"What the fuck?" 

I'm in love for the first time

Don't you know it's gonna last.

It's a love that lasts forever.

It's a love that has no past.

He removed his right hand from the wheel to make more room for her.

She smiled up at him, her chin resting on the inside of his right thigh. "As if you've never thought of doing something like this." She readjusted his waistband, pushing it down to rest beneath his balls as she licked his head with the tip of her tongue, her saliva mixing with his pre-seminal fluids as she effortlessly slid him into the warm recess of her mouth.

Don't let me down, don't let me down.

He closed his eyes then quickly forced them to open. They weren't on the couch in his apartment; he was in the driver's seat of an automobile going over 70 miles an hour. There was one car about 50 feet in front of them, and there were two cars visible in his rear view mirror. As he tightened his grip on the wheel, attempting to ground himself in the here and now, she increased the suction on his cock, rolling his heavy sac in the soft palm of her hand. The edges of his vision grew blurry, the tingle in his toes overriding the feel of the wheel as he struggled to maintain control of the car. "Dammit . . ." he panted. "Stop."

She pressed her nose to the crux of his thighs, the head of his erection lodged down the back of her throat, the tip of her tongue tickling the top of his balls.

And from the first time that she really done me

Oh, she done me, she done me good.

His hips thrust forward, his foot hit the break, the steering wheel jerked left.

Mecca, at last, released him, slipping across his lap, the top of her head bouncing off the driver's side door as the steering wheel wedged itself between her shoulder blades. Daniel grabbed hold of her hip to keep her from falling into the floor, and she curled into herself half out of pain and half out of instinct.

The two cars passed him on the right, blaring their horns and flipping him off as they sped past him, half on the shoulder, half off. Aside from them, and a few cars on the other side of the Interstate no one else was close enough to them to notice.

With her still in his lap, he steered them onto the shoulder, turned on his flashers and turned off the engine, cutting the power to the CD player as well. "What the fuck was that!"

She sat up, scooting back to her own side of the car, rubbing the top of her head, then shrugging her shoulders, doubtless trying to eliminate the ache the steering column had caused. She frowned, wiping the cum from the corners of her mouth. "I was feeling froggy, so I took a leap."

"Shit!" he slapped the steering wheel and shoved himself back in his pants, trying to regain control of his bodily functions. "Do you realize I could've killed us?"

"It never happens like that in the movies," she shrugged. "Except for Parenthood. Rick Moranis hit a . . . stop sign or a guardrail or some other immovable object."

Daniel sighed, slumping down in his seat, wiping his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Well, don't ever do that again, okay." He took a few more deep breaths, trying to rid himself of the adrenalin rush from the averted car crash and the euphoric high from his recent climax.

"Sorry," she said. "When something . . . moves me, I have to do something about it."

"Moves you," he repeated. 

"You know . . ." she scrunched up her face, making elliptical gestures with her hands. "Feelings . . . stirrings . . . When something gets to you, grabs hold of you and won't let go. Like an emotional whirlwind that has to end with an explosion!" She jumped up, hitting her head on the roof of his car. "Owww. . ."

Daniel shook his head. "Mecca . . ."

"Well, when something intangible grabs hold of me, I have to grab hold of something tangible . . . like your leg," she smiled overly bright. "Or other things in the immediate vicinity."

He fought off the urge to laugh, but failed. 

"And once I get started, stopping isn't really an option."

He shook his head again, covering his mouth, containing his chuckles. "Dammit, Mecca . . . what the hell are you doing to me?"

She shrugged. "Something good, I hope."

He reached over and grabbed the hand in her lap.

She laughed, squeezing his hand in reply. "You love me."

He allowed himself to indulge in the innocent, yet inherently intimate contact a minute longer, then snatched his hand away. "Fuck you, bitch."

"You don't mean that," she smiled.

He put one hand on the wheel, the other on the ignition key. "You'll see what I mean when we get to where we're going."

"Is that right?" she taunted.

He gave a resolute nod, then gave the key a turn. But before he could complete the motion, starting the car, her left hand was around his wrist and both of her legs had managed to find their way on either side of his hips. Not only was she fast; she was flexible.

Her lips crashed down on his, and he tasted himself on her as her tongue breeched his stronghold, encasing itself in the warmth of his mouth. She rocked her hips against his as her fingers wrapped themselves in the loose curls at the nape of his neck, bringing them closer together, molding her form further into his. He snaked his arms around her supple frame, crossing his wrists behind her, using his right hand to massage her left shoulder, and his left to tend to the right. She moaned into his mouth, her back arching of its own accord, her clothed core grinding into his quickly-hardening cock.

"It's been too long," she whispered between heated kisses coupled with lingering caresses.

And it had been. Over the past three weeks, between her job, his shop, his dad, her sisters and their friends, they hadn't had three minutes alone together.

"I know, but you have to stop. We're right along the highway, and anyone could just come along."

"Bathroom break," she said, her lips breaking contact with his to travel along his chin, cheeks and then forehead.

"What?"

She turned her face away from him, directing his attention to the guardrail that separated the shoulder of the road from the wooded lands beyond.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"You don't wanna be seen, and I can't wait till we get to Park-Whatever-It's-Called. There's plenty of cover, but we're not gonna go so far away that if somebody wants to try something with your car, we'll be right there."

"And if it's a cop that stops?" he asked.

Mecca laughed. "What was it you said about cold-cocking a park ranger and drowning him in the river?"

Daniel laughed.

"I'm sure it would work equally as well on a cop . . . not that we'd be doing anything illegal like fishing without a license." 

She ran the tip of her tongue along the outer shell of his left ear and, suddenly, he couldn't think of a single reason not to jump the guardrail and have a quick fuck in the forest before they reached their actual destination.

He unlocked the door, allowed Mecca to slide out over him and then joined her on the side of the road. He swung the door shut, hit the keyless remote lock, set the alarm, then proceeded to follow her off the marked road way. As she was about to straddle the rail, she glanced over her shoulder, causing him to follow suit.

"Car's coming," she said, schooling her face into a neutral expression.

They both turned towards the maroon-colored sedan as it pulled up behind his black Maxima. There was a young blond girl in the driver's seat, and an older grandfatherly-type on the passenger's side. They both listened as the automatic window rolled down and watched as the blond stuck her head out of the newly-made opening.

"You folks okay?" the woman yelled over the noise of passing cars on the other side of the highway.

"We're fine," Daniel called back, carefully shielding Mecca from their prying eyes. "She just couldn't hold it any longer."

Mecca gave him a sharp jab in his kidney, forcing him to wince and buckle in on his right side.

The woman stared a moment longer, then nodded and smiled. "I see," she said. "The next rest stop ain't for about 50 miles."

"Yeah," he nodded. "We've been paying attention to the signs . . . or at least trying to."

"Well, if your car's fine, and ya'll don't need anything . . ."

"We're fine," Mecca replied.

Daniel glanced over his shoulder at her to see if she was actually annoyed as she sounded. She responded by slipping her hand down the back of his nylon pants and firmly squeezing his rear. He gave a low groan then quickly turned his attention back to the interlopers. "We're fine," he repeated. "Thanks for stopping, though. Not too many people would do that these days."

"Sure." She gave them a departing a wave, then turned back onto the highway.

After they'd departed, he released the breath he'd been holding.

"Didja think she was cute?" her hand still possessed his right ass cheek.

"What?"

"C'mon," she teased, "she kinda looked like . . . what's-her-name? Like a younger, really thin Reese Witherspoon."

"Whatever."

"Kinda like she was in Election, but with longer hair."

"Mecca . . ."

"You wouldn't have hit that?"

"No."

"Even if she asked you to?" she smiled, batting her eyelashes overly-dramatically.

He leaned back into her caress, enjoying the feel of her soft palm against his cotton-covered, ever-warming flesh. "Tracy Flick can kiss my pasty, white ass."

Mecca huffed. "Not as long as I'm around." She threw her other leg over the guardrail, then began sidestepping down the slight grade of the apparent grassy hill beneath them. "C'mon. Before another car comes."

He crossed the barrier, carefully descending down the sloped ground, skillfully maintaining his footing despite the semi-rocky terrain and quickly shifting loose piles of dirt and grass. Though Mecca was just ahead of him, and she never left his line of site, he couldn't help but feel just a little bit lost and disoriented. Yes, he was a country boy, and, yes, there was a wooded area just outside his childhood home that he, his brother, his sisters and his cousins used to play in for hours on end . . . But he was younger, then. Smaller, then. More nimble, easily able to adapt to quickly changing conditions. He thought nothing of slipping or falling or breaking a bone in those days. He was young, he was invincible, and he was fearless.

He never thought of losing anything he cared about; everything (whether broken or misplaced) was always easily replaced. He never worried about death or dying or getting older; he was barely old enough to understand the concept, yet alone comprehend their ramifications. And he had no concerns over food or money or shelter; being a child, everything was free for him. If he wanted something, he asked for it and received immediate gratification. And on the rare occasions his parents or one of his siblings told him "no," he simply waited till they weren't around and no one could see what he did or didn't do, what he did and didn't have or where he did or didn't go.

Though he'd made many mistakes that had landed him in an infinite amount trouble, he'd enjoyed his youth and all the mischief-making it had entailed. 

But now . . .

"C'mon, old man," Mecca laughed. "You don't wear sneakers on a hiking trip." Her movements were born of effortlessness, of ease, of familiarity. His were forced, overly thought out and sometimes ill-conceived.

He ducked beneath branches, dodged patches of what appeared to be Poison Ivy and avoided snagging his pants in an inconspicuously placed brier patch. 'This better be worth it,' he idly cursed, becoming slightly winded by the effort it took to remain upright in such a stilted environment.

Fifteen feet later, the land leveled out and they found themselves completely shrouded by trees. Though they knew it was daylight, just past noon by his calculations, it was dark, damp and refreshingly cool. Dappled rays of sunlight broke through the undulating leaves above, the light rustling filling the quiet corner they'd found. Though the effect was 100% natural, he couldn't help feeling that he'd entered some type of time warp, and instead of being 15 feet below a national highway, he was at prom in high school at the resort hotel just outside of town. Somehow he'd managed to miss the entire event except for this moment: the last dance. All the lights were off, and it was completely quiet as the band was gearing up for its final song. As the beginning chords were played, a single spotlight came on, its wide beam ingeniously directed at a mirror ball, providing multi-faceted prisms of illumination that danced and swirled around the room as a bunch of hormone-crazed teenagers rushed to find that one dance partner they were supposedly going to remember for the rest of their lives. 

"Not bad, huh?"

Except they were beside a highway.

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, staring at the overhead canopy of trees. "Did you ever go to the prom?"

Mecca nodded. "I went with your cousin, Melanie. It turned out . . . uh, the guy she wanted to go with, wanted to go with me, so . . . instead of being a tremendous, disloyal bitch, I went with her instead of him."

"Who was it?"

She was slow to reply.

"Mecca . . ."

"Well, it's kind of embarrassing."

"I assume I know him, then."

She nodded. "You know him. Quite well, actually. At least I think you did back then."

He attempted to recall all of his friends past and present that might have had some . . . unexpressed interest in Mecca. 

The only one that repeatedly came to mind was . . . "It's not Jamie, is it?"

"Actually . . . yeah, it was."

"That sly dog," he laughed. "You didn't ask him to ask her instead?" 

She shrugged. "Well, one of our other friends had already asked him to ask her, but he said he didn't like her that way and didn't wanna lead her on."

He couldn't help but notice the hint of sadness in her voice.

"I always end up in these weird triangles, you know. I either like a guy who likes another girl. Or a guy likes me, but my friend likes him, and I'm just . . . all sorts of sad because I don't wanna disappoint him, but I don't wanna make her mad. And then," she sighed, "there's the altogether awkward occasions when you end up with one of your friend's exes."

"Sloppy seconds," Daniel laughed.

Mecca forced a smile. "I, uh . . . I loved him so much I would've taken him any way I could've had him. She may have had him first, but she didn't treat him right, and I can't stand that. If there is anything that will take me from zero to pissed in under 60 seconds, it's a good guy being dicked over by some nasty whore."

Daniel stared at her, just barely able to make out her features in shifting light.

"Not that my girl was a 'nasty whore,' but . . . they broke up because she fucked another guy in the bathroom at work."

"What?" he half-laughed, half-choked.

"And she told him about it like it wasn't supposed to be a big deal, but I knew it was gonna get really fucked up. I mean, he was head-over-heels for her, and she just . . . didn't get it, I guess. And I . . ." She let her sentence trail off, her eyes falling to the moss-covered ground. "It's not like I . . . caught him on the rebound or anything. I waited so long for them to get their shit sorted out, and he was telling me all this shit, and I just wanted to choke her and be like, 'Do you know what you did, you cock-sucking, double-dealing, shit-faced whore!'"

He felt himself recoil inwardly, not altogether shocked but somewhat dismayed. He could hear her breathing, a rapid then ever-slowing succession of inhales and exhales, attempting to calm her racing pulse. He could see her struggling to force down the foul things threatening to spew forth from her mouth, the tension in her jaw, the rigidity of her frame, the clenching and releasing of fists. And most noticeably, he could feel the weight of the heft of her sorrow, taste the heat of her red, hot anger, and smell the acrid odors of decaying leaves and dewy moss as they wrapped themselves around her, mixing, yet not diluting her own scents of fresh linen and vanilla. 




A Land Far, Far Away



"What'd I tell you?" she laughed easily. "From zero to pissed in under 60 seconds."

Everything grew quiet.

"I mean, he was kind of . . . no good . . . after she got through with him. Not the same as he was when I first met him. She changed him, ruined him, actually. And he would've made some woman a really good husband, but she just . . . she tore him all to pieces, and I guess I, uh, I couldn't put him back together."

He shuffled his feet, lightly, not quite meeting her gaze. "All the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put Humpty together again."

"I know, right?"

It was weird. They'd seemed to be in such a hurry to get down here, and now that they were here . . .

She cleared her throat. "I, um, I think I could . . . you know, love you or something, Daniel, but, I . . . uh . . . I've been talking to . . . various sources, and this name 'Alicia' keeps coming up, and there's all these, what I'd call, 'horror' stories tied into her, and looking back on the way we started out and whatever, I think she . . . broke you."

He looked at her, and she looked at him, dappled rays of light dancing over both of their features.

"I think you've basically put yourself back together, but I also think you've . . . misplaced some pieces, I guess."

He couldn't help but squirm. He swore his heart stopped beating, and he could feel all the blood rushing out of his body. The way he felt now, macho posturing or 'fuck you, bitch' wasn't even an option. "Wh-who've you been talking to, anyway?"

Mecca shrugged, her eyes never leaving his face. "Your dad. Terri. Jake. Michael. Your sister, Sam."

The foot shuffling turned into a forceful kick, sending forest debris beneath him flying. "Yeah? Well, the next time you talk to any of them, tell them to mind their own fucking business and stop running their mouths about shit that has nothing to do with them."

"Fair enough," she shrugged. "But . . . they only answered me because I asked. You can be so weird sometimes, Daniel, and . . . Allen used to get weird, too. And like you screamed at me that night: you're not Allen; I'm not Alicia."

Just the sound of her name made him want to curl into a little ball till he shriveled and died and was blown away.

"I know I've got my ways about me, Daniel, but I . . ." she took a step towards him, then another and another. Till she'd started her forward progression, he hadn't realized how far away they'd been standing from each other. "I'd really like to be that . . . amazing person I see reflected in your eyes sometimes when I look at you . . . But . . ."

"But what?" he finally said.

"I'm afraid I won't be enough. I'm afraid I don't know where all the pieces are . . . or even how many there are. And then, even if I manage to find them all . . . where's the guarantee I'll put them in the right place?"

Again, quiet claimed them.

"There isn't one," she finally said. "There aren't any guarantees in situations like this. But . . ."

Cars passed by. Leaves rustled. The light shifted. She moved closer.

"But what?" he finally asked.

"Trust."

"Trust," he repeated. 

"Trust that I intend to do you more good than harm . . . even if I'm not quite sure how to express that 'good.'"

Right in front of him. She was right in front of him, now. She reached out, placed her hand on his shoulder, lightly following the contours of his arm till she came to his pocketed hand. After minimal resistance, she freed it from its sheath and brought it up to her mouth, placing a chaste kiss in its palm.

Daniel's breath caught in his throat, a tantalizing tingle running up and down his spine. "What're you gonna do to me?"

She smiled up at him, nibbling along the underside of his thumb. "I think the question is: what are you going to do to me?"

How could she do this? Arouse him so easily? Touch him so tenderly? Look at him so longingly? Respond to him so lovingly?

"Dammit."

"What?" she asked with a smile.

His heart was racing, his pulse was pounding, and he was quite certain his palms were sweating. Just a few minutes ago, 15 feet above, beyond this canopy of trees, it was she who couldn't wait for him, now . . .

"You're hard."

It was too dark to see it. She wasn't quite close enough to feel it.

"I can smell you," she said. "Sweat, semen and adrenalin. This cool, damp air carries scents like nobody's business, and I always pay attention to how you smell."

That was it. He needed her, and he needed her, now.

But not on the ground. They hadn't thought to bring a blanket, and her knees were bare.

"Anytime you need me," she said. "Anywhere you want me. Just say the word."

Over her shoulder he caught sight of a rather sturdy-looking oak with a thick growth of moss on its trunk. The tree wouldn't allow for any give, and the lichen would afford her some amount of comfort, prohibiting (if only slightly) the brittle bark from biting into her smooth skin.

"Against that tree," he breathed hotly against the palm of her hand.

She glanced over her shoulder at it.

With her head turned, he took the opportunity to cup the strong column of her neck in his hand, his thumb lightly ghosting her right cheek, as he lowered his lips to the front of her throat.

"Daniel . . ."

Up the underside of her jaw, over the tip of her chin, along the corners of her lips, up to the outer shell of her left ear, he tickled her with his tongue, seducing her with the softness of his lips as his mouth applied gentle suction to every square inch of her exposed flesh. "Your back against the tree. My pants around my ankles. Your shorts over that tree branch. Your legs around my waist."

She shuddered and gasped within his embrace, her arms falling limp at her sides as she allowed him free reign over her athletic frame. As he stepped forward, she stepped back, his lips never losing contact with some part of her form.

Forward and back. Forward and back. Forward and back till they reached his pre-determined destination.

Once there, he immediately loosened the drawstring to his pants, letting them fall to the forest floor, then dropped his drawers, giving his erection the room it needed to grow. He then pushed her firmly against the trunk of the tree, slipping his hands beneath her shirt to see to the fasteners on cut-offs. First the button, then the zipper.

"Good," she crooned to him. "So fucking good." She lifted her left leg, then her right, allowing him to completely undress her from the waist down.

As he'd said, he placed the two garments on a nearby branch, hanging just to her right over her head. Once he'd completed the job, and they were, again face-to-face, he positioned his feet in between hers, brushing his burning cock against her right inner thigh. He'd made no move to touch her between the legs as of yet, but there was a glistening trail there just the same. He eased her legs further apart, widening his stance and hers, then, again, sent his left hand up her shirt, only to smooth itself across the firm flesh of her stomach, then over the softly-rounded swell of her hips, the taut muscles of her inner thigh and the slick surface of her woman's entrance.

Mecca gasped.

He kissed her as he caressed her, his fingers exploring, his hips rocking, his tongue still detecting traces of his seed in her mouth. She opened herself up to him, allowing him access to her every orifice. "You have such a pretty pussy, Mecca."

The girl groaned.

"All trimmed. So smooth."

"D--daniel . . ."

"All hot and tight."

Mecca merely nodded, her breathing coming in gulps and swallows.

"And you're so fucking wet, Mecca. Dripping." He felt a shudder shoot through her spine, his form allowing her no forward movement, the tree prohibiting any type of retreat. "You're literally melting in my hand."

"Yeah," she nodded. "Feels good."

"What feels good?"

"You feel good," she sighed heavily. "Your hand, your fingers. Your lips, your tongue." She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out, his fingers moving from merely circling her clit to actually rubbing it. "That crazy crop of facial hair you got goin' on, and . . ." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes drifted closed.

"And what?"

"That big. Beautiful. Cock of yours, Daniel. Please put it in me."

"Yeah?" he asked.

She reached down and took hold of him, stroking him from base to tip, then directed it to her entrance, holding it steady as she ran her slick folds over his engorged member.

"Damn . . ." He thrust himself further into her hand, her abundant juices coating his cock as her soft palm encased him. "All right, princess," he reached behind her taking her ass in both his hands, slightly hoisting her off the ground, "get 'em up."

She gasped at the suddenness at her change in position, throwing her back against the tree to maintain her balance. "Owww."

He brought his mouth down to her ear. "Sorry."

"Warn a girl before you do something like that," she laughed.

"Sorry," he repeated.

"Man, I'm gonna have so many bruises from this weekend, I'll look like a fucking leper."

He kissed her below her left earlobe, kneading the globes of her ass as he ground himself against her. "A fine ass leper."

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him to her as he serviced her with his lips, teeth and tongue. "Daniel . . ."

He pushed her hair back from the nape of her neck with the tip of his nose, inhaling deeply, delighting in the change in the air around them. What was once dead and decaying was now spicy and alive, their combined sexual scents mixing and melding with the leaves, trees and damp earth. Perhaps this was how Adam and Eve first came to know each other in that blessed garden of Eden all those years ago at the beginning of time, or rather, at the dawn of man. Naked to the world, reveling in earthly delights, basking in each other's company, shaded from the harsh heat of the newly-created sun, but always under the watchful eyes of God.

"What's that smile for?" 

He knew she couldn't see his face, but perhaps she could feel the shape of his mouth in the curve of her neck. "Can I call you 'Eve?'"

"Eve?" she laughed, tilting her head to the side, allowing him better access to her most sensitive areas above the waist. "And I should call you 'Adam,' I suppose?"

He hoisted her up higher, further spreading her legs, forcing her to, again, find a new sense of balance. He then pulled her hips flush against his, his turgid tool just below her welcoming entrance, his heated groin pressed to her woman's mound, his pubic hair tangling with hers.

Her chest heaved beneath the flimsy fabric of her white caftan, the tips of her hardened peaks reaching him even through two layers of fabric. "This was a pretty good idea of mine," she said. "You look pretty hot in this light: like 'You Tarzan; me Jane.'"

"Nothing like some filtered light to diffuse the ugly."

She grabbed his face then, in both of her hands, pressing her lips to his, refusing to relent till he'd opened himself to her, allowing her access to the deepest recesses of his oral cavity. Their tongues touched, their teeth gnashed, their lips grew tender and swollen. Still, she refused to release him, till he found himself panting and quivering beneath her touch. "You are not ugly."

He focused solely on her face, noting with great interest how the dappled light danced in her dark eyes, a teeny-tiny reflection of himself caught in her twin pools.

"You are . . . ridiculously beautiful to me . . . and if you don't fuck me right now, against this tree, I'm gonna cold-cock your ass and rape you on the forest floor."

He put on his most indignant expression. "Twigs'll get up my ass."

"If I have to act like the man in this situation, twigs'll be the least of your worries."

He smiled at her, giving her ass a playful squeeze. "So Jane wants to swing on Tarzan's vine."

"No. Eve wants to be plowed by Adam's tool."

"Or maybe Mecca wants to get lucky with Jamie after the prom."

She slapped his chest, the nylon of the jacket adding a degree or two to the volume of the stinging blow. "Fuck you," she laughed.

He let her bottom drop down, his hands sliding to the middle of her thighs, spreading her legs, leaving her core open and exposed, allowing him to push into her. "No," he brought her further down upon him, filling her to the hilt, "fuck you."

Mecca gasped, her legs instantly locking around him, half for support, half from blind need. Her hands grabbed on to nearby branches to help keep her upright.

He moved his hands back to her ass, lending her further support as she attempted to ride his cock, her back bowed against the bark of the tree trunk, her heels digging into his lower back. "That's it," he said. "Move them hips, girl."

"Dammit . . . Daniel . . ." 

He grunted, thrusting himself forward, tightening his hold on her hips as her movements became less measured, more free. "Ride my cock, Mecca. Fuck it hard. Milk it dry."

The slick sounds of flesh slapping against flesh soon filled the formerly quiet clearing. The tree shook from the force of their actions, branches bending, leaves trembling, Mecca's shorts and panties falling to the forest floor. He followed the bounce of her restrained breasts, the smooth lines and pronounced angles of her clavicle as her neck and shoulders strained, the tree acting as her only solid support in their erotic endeavor. Sweat poured down her face; her caftan clung to her. She was clearly near the point of collapse, though not the point of climax.

"Let go," he said.

"What?"

"Hold on to me," he added. "Wrap yourself around me. Arms around my neck."

"I'm too heavy," she panted. "You'll drop me."

He continued to thrust into her, his cock making the most obscene sounds as their combined fluids squished around inside her. "I'll fall flat on my ass," he said, "before I let that happen. Trust me."

She ground herself into him, throwing her head back. "Mmmm . . ."

He slid his hands up her back, bunching the fabric up, then smoothing it back down, pulling her forward to lean against him. "That's it. I gotcha."

Mecca sighed. "Damn . . ." she rolled her damp head against his broad shoulder. "I swear I can feel you at the top of my head."

He stayed still within her for moment, simply enjoying the tight feel of her hot sheath all along his fleshy sword. He placed his mouth at the base of her neck and worked his way up, licking, sucking and nibbling his way to her left earlobe. There, he bit, sucked then traveled the outer shell of her ear with the softness of his lips. "Not heavy at all," he said. "Pure heaven in my hands."

Mecca shivered.

He gave her a light swat on her right ass cheek. "C'mon, now. Get back to work. You can't hang around here all day."

She gave him a light nip on the side of his neck then kissed it away. "Slave driver."

As he was about to come back with a snappy retort, she produced a movement that was so slight but so precise, it nearly drove him over the edge.

"Kegels," she replied to his unasked question.

He had no clue what a kegel was, but if it was responsible for the sensation he just experienced, God bless kegels.

She repeated the process again, this time tilting her hips forward, seeming to allow him to slip in even further.

"Dammit, Mecca . . ."

Then she began to move, slowly, sensually, seductively up and down the length of his shaft, the tip of his erection never leaving the warmth of her undulating canal. Her head rested on his shoulder, her breasts to his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs locked around his waist, her pelvis pressed firmly against his as her pubic hair repeatedly brushed against his.

He closed his eyes, his head falling back as his hips thrust forward.

"No sleeping on the job," she warned him.

He then brought his mouth to hers, his tongue mimicking the movements of his lower extremities, his hold on her hind end tightening as he felt himself nearing his peak.

"I'm close, Daniel. Can't last much . . . longer . . ."

He slipped his hand beneath her, running his finger along her crack, coating it in their juices then circling it around her puckered little hole.

The girl tensed.

"Relax," he whispered. "I won't stick it in but . . . just let me make you feel good."

She shifted in his embrace.

"Does it hurt?" he kept his touch feather-light, his movements rhythmic and deliberate, the tip of his finger rimming the tiny aperture.

She shook her head "no." unable, or perhaps, unwilling to give a verbal response.

"I'd never want to hurt you," he said, "and sometimes it seems like . . . you like me to play in your backfield."

She seemed torn, uncertain as to which stimulation she preferred more: the cock in her pussy or the finger rimming her ass. She laughed, a deep, guttural, altogether alluring laugh. "And you said you'd never want to try it."

"I don't but . . ."

"Butt," she laughed.

He removed his finger and pulled her legs from around his waist, holding her up till her feet touched the ground. "Face the tree," he said.

He watched as her chest heaved, the filtered lighting fleeing across her face as leaves twirled on the breeze and cars passed by overhead. He then grabbed her around the waist, forcing her against him before sliding his hands down to cup to the firm globes of her bare ass. "Afraid I'll do something you won't like?" he asked.

"It's dark," she said easily. "Anyone could make a mistake."

He kissed the top of her forehead. "No. No mistake. My arms are just tired, okay?"

"I told you I was heavier than I looked."

He slipped a finger in her from behind, the single digit lightly scraping the warm, wet walls. "And I told you I won't let you fall."

Her eyes drifted closed, her ass attempting to sit on the source of the undoubtedly wonderful sensations currently coursing through her frame. 

"Turn around. Grab the tree. Spread your legs."

Her hips bucked, the beginnings of her first orgasm coating his finger. He turned her away from him, keeping his hand in place, then forced an arch in her back as he urged her legs apart with the sides of his feet. He inched his right hand forward, removing his finger from her entrance, but positioning it and his index finger directly above her clit. He then took hold of himself with his left hand, sliding it swiftly home, his fingers deftly swirling over her center of pleasure.

She grit her teeth, cutting off the scream before she could make it.

"That's it," he said. "Take my cock. Work those hips."

Mecca panted, her shoulders slumping, her head dropping.

"Does it feel good?" he asked her. "Does it fill you up? Stretch you tight?"

"Fuck yeah," she called back.

"Do you feel my cock, Mecca? Feel it in that hot, little hole of yours?"

She pushed back against him, following every movement of his hips. "So big," she said. "So hard and smooth."

"That's right. Take it. Take it and love it."

"Ohhh, Daniel . . . Fuck me hard. Rub my clit. Spank my ass."

To oblige her, he delivered a stinging blow across her backside as his fingers continued to work her clit to a turgid erection. He felt the flutter of her inner walls, then the tightness of his balls, the tension in his groin. His vision blurred, her form clouding before him, his thrusts increasing, spurred on by a blind need for completion.

"Daniel!"

Her inner muscles clamped down on him, he roared his release, repeatedly slamming into her till he was spent and soft, and she had no choice but to cling to the tree before her to avoid completely collapsing to the ground.




A Land Far, Far Away



He straightened himself, smoothing his bandana down then firmly securing it in place. He then lifted his jacket and T-shirt, lowered it and lifted again, attempting to cool off his overheated body parts.

Mecca soon began to stir, freeing herself from the tree's embrace, securing her own bandana back into place then searching out her lower garments.

"Never did it outside before," he said.

"Me either," she said. "Or standing up." She stood up, shook off her shorts, used her panties to clean herself then slid her shorts on. "Nothing comes between me and my Calvins," she winked at him. "Here," she tossed him the used, pale pink cotton fabric. "I've got others in the car."

He caught them midair, mildly abashed, then used them to lightly clean his genitals. Since they'd both agreed that sex was . . . indescribably better without all the provolactic encumbrances, she went on the Pill, and, to be completely fair, he paid for them. But, the lack of condoms did make for a messier clean up.

He was going to throw them back, having carefully dabbed beneath his balls, but before he could, she waved him away. "Keep 'em," she said.

If he wasn't flushed before, he certainly was, now. "What for?" he laughed.

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Whatever guys do with women's underwear."

He looked at the pale pink fabric, now stained with splotches of white. "I have no clue about that."

"Well," she shrugged again, "I'm sure you'll figure something out." She then began the climb back up to the shoulder of the highway, fading into the greenery, leaving him with his pants down.

He'd certainly get her back for this.

"C'mon," she called back after him. "You know I can't drive stick."

He pulled up his pants and boxers all at once, adjusted himself, then secured his drawstring. He then took off after her. "Maybe you can't drive stick, but I'll teach you how to handle my stick once we get to the campground."

"Promises, promises."

He ducked and dodged his way back up the embankment, avoiding the Poison Ivy and dodging the brier patch. "And you best put some damn panties on before you sit on my seat."

The girl laughed. 

"All my boys don't need to know what your puss smells like when they climb in my car."

She laughed again. "Like they can't smell it when you talk to them."

"Ohhh," he groaned. "You're just askin' for it." 

She disappeared through the canopy of foliage, having broken back into the daylight. "Open the car, asshole."

"Lick my ass, cocksucker." He, too, broke through the foliage, shielding his eyes as they readjusted to the full brightness of daylight. He pulled his keys from his pocket, disengaged the alarm and unlocked the doors.

Mecca went immediately to the trunk, retrieving a fresh pair of panties from her pack. He climbed into the driver's side, cranked the ignition and rolled down the windows. She soon joined him in the passenger's seat.

"I was just kidding about the underwear, you know."

"I know," she shrugged. "But, seriously, decent girls don't go without panties."

He took hold of the steering wheel, turned the key in the ignition, pushed in the clutch, shifted into first, second, then third as he resumed his place in the normal flow of traffic.

"So . . . in the car, in the shop, at your place or in a motel?"

"What?" he finally said.

"Your first time. Where was it?"

He laughed to himself. "You don't miss a beat, do you?"

"Not really."

He smiled to himself. "In a gazebo, in a park, just before daybreak, during a rainstorm."

"Nuh-uh."

"No. It was just after a free concert, and everyone else had left and cleared out. We stayed and hung around, and it started to rain and . . ."

"You gave her your jacket, and asked her if she was cold."

"And she said, 'No,' and started taking all her clothes off . . ."

"Cuz she was so hot, and she just couldn't resist your animal magnetism."

"So she throws me on my back and climbs on top of me."

"Don't forget your clothes," she said.

"She ripped those off with her teeth. She was a wildcat. Clawing and biting and licking."

Mecca laughed. "You are so full of shit. You wouldn't even kiss a girl if you thought someone could see you . . . let alone fuck her. And you just told me you'd never done it outside before." 

He smiled at her. "So I . . . embellished the truth a little."

"A little?" she laughed.

"Or a lot," he admitted. "But you're right. I'm way too self-conscious for anything like that. To be that out in the open. But it kinda sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Hey, I can make believe just as well as the next chick."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

She smiled at him, tossing her head to the side, smoothing her blue bandana back in place. "Who's to say our tent isn't a gazebo?"

"You can't be serious."

She sat back in her seat, an altogether smug smile on her face. "Well, you'll just have to wait and see when we get there, won't you?"

"Mecca . . ."

Part 2 to follow . . .