1 comments/ 21625 views/ 1 favorites Road to Nowhere By: Selena_Kitt "I need the map." I shook her shoulder as gently as I could. Susie opened one eye and stuck out her tongue, turning toward the passenger door. "Can you get it? It's in my bag." "Do I smell chicken?" Both eyes were open now and she sat up, blinking at the brightness. "Yeah." I nodded at the bucket on the floor. "I need to know which exit." "Did I really sleep through you stopping for chicken?" She yawned, leaning carefully over the seat and fishing through her bag. "You slept through half of New Mexico, doll." I admired the swell of her behind as she stretched over the seat, pulling the map out of my bag and putting it down between us. Susie settled herself in the front seat again, digging through the red and white bag on the floor and pulling out a tub of coleslaw. "Oh, evil temptation!" I steered around something in the road. "What exit does it say to take off this?" Susie looked at the hand-drawn map and carefully printed directions. "Sixty-three." She put her bare feet up on the dashboard, pulling a white spoon/fork combination out of its plastic and studying the eating utensil. "I bet the guy who invented the spork is going to be a millionaire." I noticed her toes, painted a deep, blood red. "Hey, are you still hungry?" "Nah. I had a couple wings." I nodded to the greasy red and white bucket on the floor, leaning over and squeezing her slim leg through her sun dress. "Although...I could go for a thigh." "Bad!" She poked my knuckles with her spork. "Watch it!" I put my hand back on the steering wheel, smiling. "Oh right, like I could take you with a spork?" "You just like saying spork." "Where are we, Mark?" Susie tapped the spoon against the dash to some invisible beat. "There's nothing to see out here but sand and more sand." "Not true—look, there's a cactus!" I pointed, using the diversion to grab the utensil out of her hand. Susie rolled her eyes but rewarded me with a small smile. I held out the modified spoon. "Wanna spork?" "Bad!" She groaned, but took it back. "I'm so tired of being lost. How did we end up heading to a town we couldn't even find on the map?" I glanced over to see her pulling the lid off the bucket of chicken and peering inside. I shrugged. "Maps don't know everything." "If it isn't on the map, it doesn't exist." She gave me a Susie-look, the one that said, 'I know everything, even if you think I don't.' "Well, let's hope you're wrong." I watched her use the rubber band around her wrist to pull her long, dark hair back into a ponytail and sighed. "Never happens." She flipped on the radio with a delicate flick of her small wrist. I smiled, slipping a hand behind her neck, massaging. "You're so smug." She slid all the way across the Malibu's bench seat—even with the air on, her long legs stuck to the vinyl—and snuggled up beside me. "Mmm. I think I found something better than chicken." "Susie..." Her fingers did the walking up my leg, dancing across my crotch. "I'm driving." "So drive." There was no stopping a determined Susie, and she was determined now, unzipping my fly, her small hand finding my already-hardening cock through the gap in my boxers. "Oh Christ." Her mouth was warm and wet, licking me into a swelling state of hardness as I leaned back in the seat, giving her more room to work. The soft, hungry noises she made from my lap were maddening, and the road seemed to melt, a fading mirage in the orange glow of the setting sun, as my eyes half-closed in pleasure. "Mmmmm," she murmured around the length, her lips coming up red on the tip. "Now this is what I call a tasty meal." I tried to control myself—my breathing, the pressure of my foot on the gas pedal, the play of the steering wheel in my hand—but my hips moved all by themselves, thrusting my cock into her willing mouth. She made a fist around the shaft and stroked me fast as her tongue circled the head. I knew she could taste my precum, just mere pennies compared to the payoff her hard work was going to give her in, I gauged, probably less than a minute. "Oh, sweet Jesus," I whispered, grabbing onto her ponytail—the perfect handle—using it to pump myself into her mouth, feeling it building, a deep well, a fountain ready to burst. The speedometer read a steady fifty-five, and that was good. Don McLean was crooning a goodbye to Miss American Pie, and that was good, too. The road was straight and even, the yellow lines stretching upward as we began to crest the top of a hill, and I was riding high toward my own summit, Susie's mouth working its magic between my legs. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, it's coming!" I moaned, the shove of my hips forcing my cock deep into her mouth as she swallowed—I heard her throat working, trying to take the full load of my cum—and it was in that moment of unimaginable heaven I saw the flash of lowbeams converging with the blacktop as we came to the very top of the hill. I had time to think that it was early for lights—mine were still off—as the sun was just setting somewhere deep in the desert. I had time to feel Susie's blissfully unaware sigh as she licked the last bit of my cum from the tip of my cock. I think I even had time to hear the last bit of the song on the radio: Bye-bye, Miss American PieDrove my Chevy to the levyBut the levy was dryAnd them good old boys were drinking whiskey and ryeSinging this'll be the day that I die...* At least, I think I heard it, maybe I just remembered it that way, the DJ saying, "Number three on the charts this week, that was..." I realized the car was in our lane, no mirage coming over the hill in the fading heat-haze of a blood-red sun, but a hulking, flying mass of metal that would knock us fully into darkness. So I closed my eyes. There was nothing else to do but close my eyes and wait for it, and when my breath turned to glass in my throat, when the impact didn't come, when the Malibu continued on its way under my power down the ever-darkening ribbon of highway, I opened them again in a panic. Seeing the truth made me want to retch. Seeing only half of Susie's head resting in my lap, the blood soaked end of her pony-tail slick in my hand. Seeing the front end of the Malibu—brand spanking new and cherry red in 1972—crumpled like an accordion in front of me, its body rusted, the paint faded almost to pink. There were no lights, there was no road, no smell of chicken, no radio playing. Some time during its lingering stay on the side of the road in the middle of the desert for the past thirty-some years, the Malibu had become a convertible, it's roof completely gone, leaving us completely exposed to the elements. Not that it mattered. We were the elements now. "Susie." I blinked, whispered her name, and she sat up, still licking her lips. There was no more blood, no more nightmare gore. She was just Susie again, her eyes bright in the orange glow of sunset. There was no car coming toward us, and the Malibu seemed to know its own way down the desert highway. "Susie, did you...?" I wanted to ask her if she had seen, if she knew what I had, in that awful, liminal moment between worlds, realized. When she pressed her fingers to my lips, and then kissed me—god, I could taste my cum on her mouth, how could that be?—I understood that she knew, too, had known all along. She snuggled up next to me and turned up the radio. It was that song again, that same song, singing this will be the day that I die... "Just keep driving," she murmured, and I did, steering us ever toward our destiny, on a darkening road to nowhere. *American Pie by Don MacLean Road to Nowhere "Fuck! Just my goddamned luck!" Though no stranger to cursing, Pam's outburst had a rare fury as her brand new MINI coasted, engine silent, to the side of the country road. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK, fuck, fuck-fuck!" The car settled to a stop. It wasn't just that her still-got-that-new-car-smell MINI had died. It had died, as her next vitriol proclaimed, "In the middle of FUCKING NOWHERE!" Pam pounded her fists on the steering wheel: the universal, futile signal to an automobile that its owner is less than happy. Her cell phone was no more helpful: twelve noon, no signal. The fine city of Fucking Nowhere didn't have cell coverage. "Fuck," she said, this time not more than a sigh. Pam collapsed back into her seat. "Might as well sit and wait. Eventually someone is going to go by... I hope" thought Pam. The road stretched straight ahead and behind. She could see far enough to have plenty of advance warning to flag down a passing motorist. No denying the undeniable. Barring a miracle she was going to miss her flight. Time had already been running tight; that's why she had taken this god-forsaken shortcut through nowhere in the first place. Now she had all the time in the world and nowhere to be. Which was probably a good thing, because Nowhere was exactly where she was. For all she knew she might not have a job anymore. In the three years since this young female advertising apprentice first walked through the doors of Ward Worldwide, Pam had been on the fast track. With her non-threatening girl-next-door looks she was able to work well in the male world of automotive advertising. Her shapely figure and unassuming demeanor got her foot in the door, and her marketing ideas landed the account. It didn't take long to go from shock absorbers to performance tires; bigger and better accounts. Pam had made a name for herself. This trip was the big break. Her boss had agreed to give her a shot at a major account: a big-name Japanese auto manufacturer. And now it looked like she had royally blown it. An hour later there had been no passing motorists and all hope of catching her flight had long since passed. The people of FN, as she had begun to call her temporary home in the sun, must not have much to do. A half hour ago the car had gotten too hot to leave the windows up. At least the radio worked, though in FN the only station was an oldies station. The sounds of "America" drifted out the open window. I been through the desert on a horse with no name, It felt good to be out of the rain, In the desert you can't remember your name, Cos there ain't no-one for to give you no pain, "Fitting." she thought. A grumble from her stomach reminded her that in her rush to get to the airport she had skipped breakfast. And now having the windows down wasn't enough. The car was getting hot and her back was sweating against the seat. "Not much chance of AAA happening by, is there?" she said to the MINI. Getting out of the car she peeled off the jacket of her skirt suit. God only knew how long she could sit here without a passer-by: time to hoof it. At least she was wearing walkable sandals and not heels. She always wore sandals when flying; airport security had done her that favor. Not thrilled to be wandering alone in the middle of FN, Pam winced with the realization that her airport security unfriendly pepper spray was back home sitting uselessly on the counter. She grabbed her purse, locked the door, and began her trek continuing in the direction she had been driving. No sense backtracking as she couldn't remember passing anything for quite some time. An hour's hike later, still no traffic and nothing in sight. "Horse With No Name" continued to echo in her head: After two days in the desert sun, My skin began to turn red, After three days in the desert fun, I was looking at a river bed, Pam was beginning to worry. She wished she hadn't left her jacket in the MINI. It would be nice to have something to shield the sun from her hot neck and shoulders, which she feared had already turned pink. She didn't need three days in the desert sun. For that matter, three hours on the road to FN was more than enough. Checking her cell phone for at least the thirtieth time, her heart quickened. Connection! Only one short bar, but a connection! She dialed 911. It rang twice and she heard the line being picked up. Then nothing. The one little bar was gone. Maybe she was just out of range. Pam ran back down the road, she trudged across weeded fields, she held her phone high in the air. Nothing. By now it had been over two hours since the MINI's engine had sputtered to silence. And the story it told of a river that flowed, Made me sad to think it was dead. Pam was beginning to get nervous. This could be bad. Though she dearly wanted to, she resisted crying. Fundamental thoughts like conserving water crossed her mind, and though she was unsure if it would make any difference, tears are water. Hoping to do something about her dry mouth, Pam was engrossed searching her purse in hope of a stick of gum or a Tic-tac and didn't notice the approaching cloud of dust. The truck was nearly to her when the rumble caused her to abandon her search. The truck was ancient, a tow truck, the sort that were really nothing more than a hoist mounted in the back of a pickup. This particular pickup looked like something from TV's Mayberry, maybe older. Pam was amazed that the rumbling heap could even stay together. But who was she to be choosy. After all, it was her brand-spanking-new MINI sitting dead a few miles down. The truck skidded to a stop and a dust cloud thrown up by the tires grew, temporarily enveloping the truck. "Di'ja cawl nien unnunn?" she heard through the grumbling engine and settling dust cloud. "What?" she yelled trying to be heard over the rumble of the old truck. The truck's engine went silent. "Did ya call nine-one-one?" came the reply. The dust had settled and Pam could now see the driver. He sat in the GMC straddling the open window with his free arm resting on the door, his fingertips drumming. "Yes, that was me" Pam replied. "Are ya in any kinda trouble?" "Well other than my car crapping out and being stranded in the middle of Fuh..." Pam caught herself. Nothing to be gained by taking it out on this fellow, "No, I guess I'm OK." "OK, well you're lucky I'm around. State police are at least an hour away. They got a 911 hang up and asked me to take a peek. Jus' a sec while I call 'em and tell 'em know everything's OK." "OK. Thank you Ted." "Howd' you know my name was Ted?" "Just a lucky guess." Pam said pointing at the side of the truck on which was hand-painted "Teds Towing" in what looked to be white house paint. At least it looked like it had once been white. "Oh. Yeah." Ted grimaced an embarrassed smile. "OK, well I gotta call this in." Ted pulled his arm into the truck; the arm of someone not unaccustomed to hard work. While Ted placed his call Pam did her best to measure him up. Nice face, though a shave might help. Hard to tell about his dark brown hair as the truck's open window had tussled it pretty bad. But it was that tanned arm that Pam really noticed. That arm that had went from the impatient fingers, up the sinew of muscles, and disappearing into a white sleeveless T. "Not too bad looking" Pam thought to herself. "Shame. I can't imagine they hire the best and brightest to drive truck in FN". She laughed. Funny how mere minutes ago she was concerned about saving water; basic survival. Now her biggest worry was that the tow truck driver might be Jethro Bodine. Ted got out of the truck and came over to her. "OK, all set. What do you say we go get that car of yours?" Pam nodded. Ted really didn't sound bad at all. His low voice sort of reminded her of the deep rumble of the truck. She reviewed her own condition: Filthy feet, knee length suit skirt, a sweat-soaked white blouse. With social graces again more relevant than survival, Pam blushed to note that with all her sweating the blouse would work well in a wet t-shirt contest. "OK, jump in the truck and lets go get your car" said Ted. Picking her blouse out away from her skin, Pam got into the driver side. As Ted wrestled the truck's transmission into first, Pam noted the truck was every bit as nice on the inside as the out. The seats were torn and had been patched with duct tape innumerable times, but obviously not innumerable enough. She felt her bottom sink into one of the rips. Despite the welcome breeze through the window, the cab smelled of grease, stale beer, gutted fish, and something she couldn't identify. "Aren't you going to ask where my car is? Ted laughed. "Well, seeing as I came from the north and didn't see it, and since you were coming from the south, I gotta figure south. Right?" Pam nodded. "Guess we're even" said Ted. Pam gave him a perplexed glance. "That name on the door thing." he said. "Boy did I feel dumb. But we're even now." he laughed again. What had seemed an eternity to walk took no time to retrace in the pickup. Approaching the MINI Ted asked "Um, so where's the other half of your car?" Though Pam had probably head that "joke" a dozen times a month she refrained from wincing and laughed politely. Pam stayed in the cab and watched as Ted hitched and hoisted the MINI. First impressions weren't too far off. As far as she could tell Ted was lean and strong from his head to his toes. His jeans rode beltless on a narrow waist which rose into a well-muscled chest. Then there were those shoulder muscles wrapping their way down his arms and up his tanned neck. But the show didn't last long; in minutes they were again heading north. As the pickup gathered speed, the breeze filling the cab was a welcome relief. Pam pulled her blouse here and there to let the wind fill it, cooling and taking at least some of the damp out. Ted seemed to keep his eyes on the road, but she thought she saw a quick dart of his eyes when the front of her blouse billowed in the wind. Not that she hadn't taken a few darting looks of her own. "Um, NOW can I ask where we are going?" said Pam, realizing she hadn't a clue. "Closest repair shop back the way you came is 57 miles. My shop is only ten minutes north. Plus I do better work. If that's OK with you." he said. "Yeah, that's fine with me. I think I need to call the MINI people though." Pam took out her cell: still no signal. "Not gonna work here in Pashaw County. No coverage. We aren't important enough for that sort of thing." "Figures" Pam muttered to herself. So Fucking Nowhere has a name: Pashaw County. Ted continued "I've got a regular phone at the shop. 'course ya gotta crank it just right to get it going and can only make calls afternoons when Thelma is working the switchboard down to the trading post." Pam looked at him incredulous. Ted started laughing. "Not really. We aren't quite that stuck in the past." Pam blushed realizing her comment hadn't been as private as she had thought. "I'm really sorry, I..." Still smiling his easy smile, Ted said "Don't worry about it. Sometimes I feel the same way. But to be honest, in the end I know this is where I want to be." After some thought he continued, "Hell, now-a-days we've even got ourselves commodes right in the house!" This time, Pam and Ted laughed together. The tow to Ted's shop was uneventful. Ted told Pam how he lived in the same home in which he had grown up. How he had went off to college and ended up in a reasonably well-paying insurance underwriting career. How life in the cubicle had sucked his soul, and about his eventual decision to go back where he belonged to take over his dad's repair shop. He lost his characteristic smile and his eyes moistened as he told of the painful but priceless time with his parents during their last days. Pam told her history: Career woman. Nothing in life more important than climbing the corporate ladder. How at first she had thrilled to the creative and artistic outlets it provided. And how meetings with corporate know-it-alls, a climate where politics outweighed quality and the cutthroat nature of the business eventually deflated the joys. "Not that I'll have a job tomorrow. I was on the way to meet with our biggest account. I have a feeling they aren't going to be too thrilled." Pam surprised herself to feel almost relieved about it. "Ted's Towing and Service" read the front of the metal-fab building housing Ted's business. Unlike the truck, the building was modern, well-kept, and tidy. A second drive curved toward a beautiful brick farmhouse. Despite its age -- Pam was no expert but she guessed at least seventy-five -- the home had obviously been well cared for. "That's my house. I've got another shop out back of it. It's smaller so you can't see it from here. I like to think if it as my play house." With that Ted hopped out of the truck Interrupting any question Pam might have had to his comment, Ted opened his door and hopped out of the truck. Ted showed Pam to the shop phone. "There ya go. Go ahead and make your calls while I try to figure out what's wrong with your roller skate... er, I mean, car." Pam was starting to like Ted's friendly sense of humor, despite his lack of originality. Pam was able to finish her phone calls, the first to let friends know that she was OK, and the second to MINI road service. Ted returned with the verdict of bad fuel pump. A few calls later a fuel pump was promised Fed Ex the next morning. The day's activities were taking their toll on Pam. Tired and hungry she asked Ted to call her a cab for the nearest hotel. "OK, now there's maybe a problem." said Ted. "I can call you one, but the nearest one is almost 40 miles from here. Nearest taxi is probably 50 miles. I might be able to find someone to take you but I gotta stay here -- I am a businessman you know." Again that easy ear-to-ear grin that was making her feel just a bit flush. "We don't get many out-of-towners here" he said gesturing out the window. Pam nodded. "OK, don't take this wrong or anything, but if you aren't looking for anything fancy, I have an extra room up to the house. You're welcome to stay until your car is purring again. The room locks in case you might worry about me." Again the reassuring smile. "How do I know you aren't some sort of Norman Bates" she said, trying to make it sound like a joke. Ted thought for a moment. "Well then, I guess you can just shoot me." He reached under the counter and set a handgun on top. Pam could tell he was serious. "No, I guess that's not necessary if I can make another call and tell my friends the address and that I'm staying here." "Sounds good to me." He handed her a Ted's Towing business card. "Here's the address and phone number. Make your calls then let's grab your stuff and get some dinner." The inside of Ted's home wasn't at all what Pam would have expected. Rather than the bachelor pad she expected, it had remained a modestly decorated family home. Ted carried her bags and led her upstairs to her room. "You can stay in here. As you can probably tell, it's my old room." A hand-made plaque written in a youthful hand hung on the door: TEDS ROOM NO GIRLS ALLOWED THIS MEENS YOU! "That isn't quite true anymore. For some reason I never took it down. After my folks passed I moved into the master suite, so this is your room for now. Bathroom's down the hall, fresh towels and such in the cabinet. I'll give you a call when dinner's ready." Ted's smile had a hint of softness Pam hadn't noticed before. As he had promised, the room locked from the inside. The room told Ted's life story. Little League trophies sat on a shelf along side books about cars and engine repair. The walls were covered with framed letters, photos, and awards. A picture of a younger Ted catching a football with both feet off the ground, "Pashaw HS" just legible on his uniform. His high school diploma with Validictorian-stamped gold star. A National Merit Scholar Finalist Award. College acceptance letter offering full-ride scholarship. She smiled remembering her initial country bumpkin impression. After unpacking, Pam grabbed what she needed and headed to the bath. She was a little surprised to discover that the old farmhouse had only a tub, no shower. Along with the washcloths and towels she found bath oil beads and bubble bath. Feeling like she stunk to high heaven and could use all the help she could get, Pam took avail of both. She felt relieved to get out of the dank outfit and into the warm tub. It must have been years since she had taken the time to soak in a nice foamy bath. Swirling the water to keep the temperature even as it filled, she enjoying the lapping of the waves against her skin. Once filled, she laid back, closed her eyes, drifting into thoughts of carefree days gone by. Pam was in the middle of a long walk when she woke in the tub, without a clue how long she had been asleep. A quick check for puckered toes or fingers reassured her it hadn't been too long. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so relaxed. Reluctantly she got out, dried, and wrapped herself in a towel. Checking first to make sure the hall was clear, she made the short dash to her room. Preferring to travel light, Pam's wardrobe options were slim: clean panties and bra, a second skirt suit, and oversize T-shirt and jogging shorts. "I doubt this is going to be a black-tie event" she thought to herself, and opted for the shorts and shirt with fresh underwear. Dressed, Pam opened the door and entered the empty hallway. An aroma wafting up the stairs told her dinner wasn't far off, and it smelled good. Of course right now a butter sheet of paper might taste good. It was near dinner time and Pam hadn't eaten all day. It seemed so long ago that she had skipped breakfast dashing out of her apartment to catch a plane. Downstairs, Pam found Ted setting the kitchen table. "Hey there, I hope spaghetti and salad are OK. I apologize, but I don't keep a lot of food since it is just me. Spaghetti and garlic bread will be ready in about five if you'd like to start on your salad. Wine?" Still a little wary of her situation, Pam opted for ice water. Diner was filling and filled with light and polite conversation. Pam helped clear the table and had to admit to herself -- as if there had ever been any question -- that there was nothing wrong with having dinner with a good-looking guy. Everything he did he seemed to do so effortlessly. He had a certain calmness about him, even when laughing. "I know dinner wasn't very fancy, but I do have a nice dessert planned. Interested?" After skipping two meals Pam though dessert sure couldn't hurt. "OK then. Why don't you go into the living room and watch some TV while I get it ready?" Pam tried to pay attention to an episode of Seinfeld she'd seen twice before, but the clanking and banging of pots and pans and who-knows-what coming out of the kitchen was incredible. "Everything OK in there?" she called out. "Almost ready! Just hang tight." The rattling and banging continued until Ted emerged from the kitchen carrying a beautiful silver platter covered with an ornate silver dome, the sort used in hotel room service. "Ready?" he asked, with the now-familiar grin. Pam stifled a giggle. "Um, sure." "Whalla!" he exclaimed, and with a flourish swept the cover off the platter and to behind his back, revealing: Two glasses of milk and a bag of Oreo cookies. The absurdity took a moment to register, but when it did, Pam could not hold back. She burst out laughing with Ted joining in. It was that rare infectious laughter that feeds on itself, building until both Pam and Ted were nearly choking for air with tears in their eyes. Road to Nowhere Ted sat down next to Pam. After the laughter had run its course they demonstrated their respective Oreo-eating techniques. With the exception of an occasional milk-and-cookie refill run to the kitchen, they spent the rest of the evening in small talk like old friends. The sun had set by the time Ted turned to Pam with a more serious expression "Would it be OK if I showed you something I have out back?" "What is it?" "I'd rather just show you." "Why don't you just tell me what it is." "I'd rather it be, um, a bit of a surprise." Ted's expression was earnest. Pam had really gotten to like Ted but this "secret" bothered her. He's probably still the nice guy I hope he is, but what if he isn't? She pictured newspaper headlines: "Woman Disappears In Fucking Nowhere." "OK, but you have to let me clean up the mess" said Pam, indicating the remnants of cookies and milk." "OK, great!" said Ted, obviously cheering. "I'll run upstairs and get my keys. Be right back." Pam hurriedly carried the dishes into the kitchen. As soon as she heard Ted's footsteps on the stairs, she canvassed the kitchen, quickly finding what she was looking for and sliding it under her waistband and covered with her shirt. Just a bit of insurance. Returning with the keys Ted opened the kitchen's back door. "OK, follow me." Pam followed him into the black of night. It really wasn't as dark as it had seemed. As Pam's eyes adjusted she realized it wasn't as dark as it had seemed. The near full-moon's light gave a good view of the back yard and the path leading to toward the smaller building which was obviously their destination. Pam followed, brushing her side with her arm to reassure herself that her acquisition was still in place. Ted unlocked the garage door. "In here he said, gesturing into the garage. It's in here." His tone was reassuring, but then again, other than that nasty habit of rape and murder, Ted Bundy was an alright guy too. Entering the pitch-black garage, Pam reached behind and under her shirt, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the large kitchen knife. Just in case. Pam felt horrible about doubting, but she was standing in a pitch-black garage with a man she just met. Better safe than sorry. She wondered if sorry was deciding to stay here. "The switch is over here. Follow my voice." Pam cautiously moved in the direction of Ted's voice, barely able to discern his silhouette in the light leaking under the door. The small bit of what else she could see was nothing more than indistinguishable shapes. Pam took a few steps then about jumped out of her skin by bumping head-on into Ted. He grabbed her shoulders and firmly turned her away from him, facing into the dark garage. She jumped again at the sound of a loud clank followed by blinding with light. "So what do you think?" asked Ted. Pam realized the sound must have been the lighting relays closing, and the blinding light, was, well, lights. Then she gasped. As her eyes adjusted, from blinding white emerged a deep, luxuriant blue, the bottomless color of ocean depths. A blue so dark it flirted black in the shadows. She knew what she was looking at, exactly what she was looking at. A chromed island floating in the ocean of blue read SS 396. The most perfect '68 Camero she'd ever seen. A mutual love of cars had been a special bond between Pam and her father, a love that eventually fueled her career in automotive advertising. Her earliest memories included dad taking her to a car show and inevitably cajoling a reluctant owner to allow him to take a picture of Pam in the driver's seat of their beloved vehicle. Dad's shop walls were covered with Pam sitting, barely able to reach the steering wheel, in every imaginable antique, vintage, and custom vehicle. As she grew older she would pour over his automotive magazines to keep up on what was new, and to be ready for dad's favorite game: Name That Car. They picked favorites brands and models just to have something to disagree and tease about: Pam loved the British roadsters, Dad preferred German coupes. In truth they had nothing to disagree about, as they both had the same love: classic American muscle cars. No car ever build was more representative than the Camero now gleaming in Ted's garage. "That's yours?" she asked turning to Ted. "So you like? I'm glad. Bought her when she was nothing more than a trailer-park ornament. Took her apart every nut, screw, and clip, Then built her back up. Not all stock, but I did my best to keep her true to her heritage. She's got a few surprises though." "Can I?" Pam asked motioning toward the driver seat door. Ted nodded. Pam walked around the car and bent over as if admiring the underside -- which as a matter of fact she was -- and while out of Ted's view slipped her kitchen friend under a nearby shelf. There was no way she was going to risk that interior. Like everything else the interior was immaculate, the bucket seats and door upholstery a rich black leather. A Hurst 4-speed rose from the center console. "Oh my God, I've loved these for years!" said Pam as she slid into the drivers seat and held the wheel. She laughed to herself when she realized she was posing out of habit, unconsciously waiting for the flash of her father's camera. Holding the wheel, she closed her eyes and tried to picture what it must be like to drive this beauty. "Go for a ride?" "Hell yeah!" "You wanna drive?" Ted asked. "Of course I do! But I don't dare." Pam got out and got back in the passenger side while Ted opened the garage door. "Buckle up" said Ted, getting in, but Pam was already more than ready. The car started and gently vibrated with a low purr. Not quite the glass-pack-loud, wide-open sound she had been expecting. More like the family car with a bit of attitude. The headlights flashed on, and off they went. Ted turned onto the main road, the headlights cutting into the darkness ahead. Everything in the car was like new, or better. It felt like being in some sort of automotive time machine. "You called it 'her'. So does she have a name?" "As a matter of fact she does." He paused while he tuned the radio to a classic rock station. "Her name is J.Lo". "Why J.Lo?" "Because what folks spend the most time looking at is her rear end." With that Ted floored the accelerator. The gentle purr turned to a lion's roar and the Camero rocketed forward, pushing Pam firmly back in her seat. She'd never felt that kind of power. It was incredible. No, it was more than that. It was sensual and exotic, like they had somehow harnessed a dragon. Ted began to slow and Pam figured the show was over just as the car went into a four-wheel drift onto a side street she hadn't seen coming. "You OK?" Ted yelled over the roar beneath them. "Do I have to repeat myself?" Pam yelled, her grin now every bit as wide as Ted's. "Hell yeah!" The tree-lined road twisted and turned, climbed hills, and ducked into valleys. Ted knew his machine, as relaxed at the wheel as eating Oreos. As he put the car and the road underneath through their respective paces, Pam relished the illusion of the Camero -- J.Lo -- as a living, breathing beast carrying them through the night, its roar crying out warning to lesser creatures. A yellow sign declared "One Lane Bridge Ahead." Ted downshifted, dropping off speed. J.Lo's jungle voice tamed to a purr as Ted turned down a side road before reaching the bridge. "Public Access" and "Dead End" signs briefly shone in the headlights then returned to the darkness as they passed. J.Lo came to a stop under an overhang of branches. A picnic table on a grassy clearing shone in her headlights. "Up for a walk?" asked Ted. Earlier apprehensions gone, Pam nodded and the Camero's purr fell silent. Pam fumbled, just slightly, with the door latch. A bit of jitters, but she wasn't feeling at all scared. It took a moment to connect. It had been a long time since she had felt this particular edginess: the giddy nerves of a first date. The moon's glow filtered to the ground illuminating moving silhouettes traced by the tree's branches swaying in a light breeze. Not having Pam's difficulty with the door, Ted was around to her side and took her hand as she stepped out of the car. "It's a little darker than I expected" said Ted moving to stand under a lit opening between the trees. Pam thought Ted handsome in the light of day, but standing in the flickering shaft of moonlight his face had nobility and strength daylight had been unable to reveal. "My memories of this place go back as far as I can remember." said Ted. "When I was real little we used to come here for picnics. Mom would pack the food and dad always had a blanket in the trunk. I guess I must have inherited that habit." Ted unlocked the trunk and pulled out a well-worn tartan blanket. "Sorry, no picnic basket. I figured if we stop and sit we won't have to worry about getting our pants dirty. I have to confess though. I'm really more worried about J.Lo's seats than ours." The smile was back. Pam laughed, thinking to herself she'd insist on the same if the Camero were hers. Ted tossed the tartan over one shoulder and lead Pam across the small park. Eyes finally adjusted to the moonlit night, Pam could see that the park hugged the shore of a small river. Probably the locals called it a creek, or crick, she thought. With each step J.Lo blended into darkness behind while the way ahead became clear. The overhead canopy of branches stopped at the water's edge, allowing a river of moonlight to shine on her watery sister below. Ted spread the old blanket on the grassy slope leading to the water's edge. "When I got older," Ted continued, as they sat facing the river, "my dad would take me here fishing. Then when I got older still, I'd come here when I needed time to myself. Sometimes I think I did as much growing up along side this little crick as anywhere else." Ted drifted into thought. Sitting quietly beside him, Pam was thinking about the day, stretching to her life, and what was it all about. There is always something about nature that brings a perspective four walls and electric light can hide. Pam thought about the important overseas meeting which, because of time zones, she was missing right about now. "I wouldn't say I've been missing it" Pam thought, remembering a line from "Office Space". Fact was, she wasn't missing it at all. The idea that she might lose her job was surprisingly calming. Of course she would probably get off with a scolding, and this would be the excuse the boss used for lousy raises the next few years. Pam tilted her head back to the stars and the bigger world surrounding her. There had to be something better than the life she was living. Pam broke the silence. "I need to do this more often." A light breeze from across the crick broke the stillness of the night air. Pam brushed back a wisp of hair from her face. "What, shoot through the night in a hot Chevy? Or sit in the dark 'long side a crick with a pickup truck driver?" Pam laughed "Well, yes, that too. But I meant, like they say, I need to stop and smell the roses." "I know what you mean. That's why I came back." The breeze was teasing the back of Pam's hair when she felt a sharp pain. Instinctively she slapped her neck at the offending site. Examining the bloody spot in her hand she announced "Mosquitoes!" Then another on her arm. In a matter of seconds the air was filled with mosquitoes and Pam and Ted were slapping and shooing a loosing battle. "Breeze must have brought a fresh hatch." said Ted. "Come on, let's get back in the car!" Ted grabbed the tartan with one hand and took Pam's hand with the other to lead her on a dash back to the car. Pam was grateful for Ted's hand as he knew exactly where to go in the darkness. She felt the strength and warmth of Ted's hand. She wanted to hold on, but as they approached the car Ted let go to open the trunk and put the tartan away. Pam opened the car door. "Not so fast" said Ted "this time you are going to drive." He tossed her the keys and quickly squeezed past into the passenger seat. The Camero started with the now-familiar sleepy purr and continued its well-tamed behavior as Pam drove out to the main road. Sort of strange; it was pretty much the rule that a car that really screamed had horrible street manners -- loud, rough idle, jumpy starts -- but J.Lo didn't act like that at all. After pulling onto the main road Ted said "Nothing on this road for 10 miles. Give it a go!" Pam floored it. Again the Camero roared to life -- an awakened dragon. Hands on the wheel Pam felt part of the machine. The shifter was tight and firm, the steering pushed back just enough road to guide the beast. J.Lo drove as nice as she looked. Pam retraced their route through the twisty curves, but not knowing the car's limits she didn't push J.Lo quite as hard. Even so the thrill was intense, like riding the high during sex. Pam didn't miss the look of approval on Ted's face as she piloted a best line through a tight series of curves. The curves behind them, Pam brought J.Lo back to purring speed. As the adrenaline rush waned she had a desire for a cigarette even though she had quit quite some ago. "God" she thought, "this car really is sexual." Reflecting on the car's 'gender' she laughed out loud thinking "Guess that make me a lesbian." "What's so funny" asked Ted. "Oh, nothing." said Pam, thinking perhaps that particular thought might better remain unsaid. "Well, there is one thing. How is it that J.Lo has this Jekyll and Hyde personality. I mean, just tooling around she drives smooth as my mom's Buick, but when you stand on it, she's an atom bomb?" Ted's answer was the proverbial uncorking of a genie's bottle. He told of how his father was an intelligent but uneducated man who had ideas far larger than himself. He had been a bit of an inventor, but his lack of education put limits on what he was able to achieve. Every invention and idea, good or bad, every experiment, every result, Ted Sr. would carefully chronicle in a spiral notebook. "This book is a gold mine. All I need is a little bit of money to get one started." he would say. But the money was never to be, the gold mine was never to be prospected. What little extra money Dad had made was put aside to send his son to college. After his father's passing, Ted had sat down with the old spiral notebook. Some of the ideas were, well, rather absurd. "Perpetual Engine" headed one page followed by an intricate diagram. Unlike his father, Ted had the education to quickly find the overlooked detail that derailed this invention of the century. But not all were bad. Some were rather clever. Some were ahead of their time, and now being realized by evolutions and revolutions in technology. Then there was one that stood out. One that stopped Ted in his tracks, one that just might work. It took Ted nearly a year to implement his father's idea. Like so many, it was an idea that only time and the evolution of computers had made possible. It wasn't as easy as Dad had thought, but he had been right that it would be expensive. In the end, the proof of that pudding was J.Lo. Ted started to tell Pam about how it had to do with coordination of a continuously variable exhaust back-pressure with a customized fuel-injection system. How a unique cam design made it possible to... Polite as Pam was being, he could tell he was beginning to lose her. "I guess the end result speaks for its, I mean, her, self." he concluded. "I think your Dad was right, there was as gold mine in that book, just waiting for his son the prospector to stake a claim. So when are you letting the rest of the world in on your secret?" "Turns out Dad was right more than once. I've tried, but no one will listen. I've written letters, made phone calls, and tried to set up demonstrations. Nobody wants to hear about some country boy's Camero. And like Dad said, "It takes money to make money, and money I ain't got." The seed of an idea flickered in Pam's mind only to be interrupted as the house came into view. Pam parked J.Lo in the garage. While Ted went about closing the garage door, she retrieved her kitchen friend from its hiding place, again secreting it in her waistband for a return trip to the kitchen. However getting an opportunity to replace the knife proved impossible. Returning to the house Ted noted the late hour and suggested it was probably best to call it a night since he had a shop to run in the morning, especially if a particular MINI owner wanted her car fixed. Pam surprised herself by thinking it wouldn't be so bad if the MINI stayed broken an extra day or two. Pam followed Ted up the stairs to their respective rooms. Placing the kitchen knife on the dresser, Pam got out of her shorts and T-shirt, then removed her bra and panties. Normally used to sleeping naked, Pam thought better of the idea and re-donned shorts and shirt. Sliding beneath the crisp covers of the old bed Pam laid her head back on the pillow. What a day it had been, nini drama after mini drama. Pam giggled to herself over her accidental pun. But a unique day it had been. As the sheets warmed to her skin Pam's mind wandered, thinking about all the nights Ted had slept in this same bed. About the boy becoming a man between these walls. She found herself wondering what it would be like if he were here laying along side her, in this his own bed, huddling close on a cold night sharing each others warmth. Pam's hand slipped under the waistband of her shorts and absently caressed herself with the fantasy. Mid-fantasy she sat up as her mind insisted on changing topic: "Shit. The damn knife. I can't just leave it here in the bedroom. Who knows who will stay here next? Might be some young kid. Shit." Pam snuck the bedroom door open just a crack, thankful for no telltale sounds. The hallway was dark, and the door to Ted's room closed. "Good, I'll just run this damn thing back to the kitchen and all will be well" she thought. Pam tiptoed down the hall and carefully took the stairs, pausing and listening after any little squeak to make sure all was still well. "Could have been a pretty good cat burglar" she thought. Making it to the living room she relaxed, walking normally across the carpeted floor. Looks like mission accomplished. "Planning to kill yourself some Oreos?" came a voice from the dark. Pam let out an inadvertent yelp, freezing in fright until the words sunk in. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Or maybe I did. I don't know. I couldn't sleep so I came down here to think." Embarrassed, Pam started sputter "Oh, the knife, um, I..." "Don't worry." said Ted. "I saw it in the garage. Felt bad about scaring you, though it seems I'm starting to make a habit of it." "Why don't you sit down here on the sofa and we can "not sleep" together." The double entendre did not escape her. "I still have kitchen duty to attend to, but I'll be happy to take you up on your offer." said Pam. She returned the knife to the kitchen and returned. "What's keeping you up?" "To be honest, you." said Ted. Pam flushed and he continued "You got me thinking about Dad's invention. It bothers me that I can't see a way to uncork his gold mine and realize his dreams." The idea that had been waiting in the back of Pam's mind blossomed and this time it was Pam who did all the talking. She just happened to know a possibly soon-to-be unemployed advertising expert who just happened to have connections at Road and Track, Car and Driver, and a few others. Connections who owed more than a few favors for the advertising she'd placed. Throughout the night they strategized, planned, and plotted. A pot of coffee and the end of the Oreos later, it seemed easy. Reviews in major magazines. Seed money. Contracted production. A web presence. It all fell into place. Road to Nowhere They sat exhausted on the sofa after exploring the countless "what ifs" and "maybes". Ted turned to Pam. "You know when I said it was you who was keeping me up? I didn't tell the whole truth". Pam's expression answered the unasked question. Ted pulled her to him and they melted back in a deep embrace, lips and mouths entwined and seeking. There was no question in Pam's mind that she wanted this man, and wanted him now. Like the Camero had earlier, Ted went from purr to roar, and once again, Pam entrusted the driving to him. Ted broke the kiss only long enough to pull his top off in a single motion. Pam unwound her arms from his waist and held them high to allow Ted to repeat the unveiling, then back around him as his arms pulled her tight. She closed her eyes and breathed him deep in her nose, trying to capture the moment; the smell, the feel, the all of this man. His mouth insistent, his tongue tried to reach ever deeper, as if somehow they could merge in the act. Pam hardly noticed him kicking off his pajama bottoms, but there was no missing being lifted by one powerful arm as he removed her shorts with the urgency of passion. He laid her upon the sofa, his arms still wrapped around her. Pam could feel his hardness against her belly as his mouth began ravishing her neck. Her neck arched back at the touch. Insistent lips and tongue explored and then moved down her chest, onto her breast. Her nipples hardened at the attention of his tongue and teeth; nibbling but never biting. Pam held Ted's head as he suckled her breasts as if starving. Pam understood, as she too was starving for what was to come. Pam felt her wetness invaded by a welcome intruder as he slid two fingers into her, his thumb perched upon and caressing her clit. His fingers worked to understand every inch while Pam's hips rose to invite each delicious onslaught. Ted's mouth again began a journey across her body, down the underside of her breast, down her stomach, pausing to tickle and tease her navel, then down, down. Ted paused, and Pam realized it was now him taking in her smell, her aromas. The pause, the anticipation, seemed forever, until finally Ted's mouth engulfed her waiting pussy. His arm wrapped around holding her as if she weighed nothing. His fingers continued caressing and exploring, his lips and tongue relieving his thumb from duty. He sucked and licked her clit, sometimes barely hard enough to feel, with Pam pushing herself forward for more. He teased and he relished his tongue intent on knowing each and every lovely fold. Pam reached down and tugged the arm holding her. Ted understood and laid Pam on her side and swung his body around, presenting himself for her. Pam wrapped her fingers around Ted's swollen cock, enjoying the thickness and the warmth. His hips arched forward almost imperceptibly as began to lick and caress, then repeating, each time taking him deeper into her mouth. She loved the taste, the smell, the feel of his pulse against her tongue. With her hand she stroked him, pausing at the bottom of every stroke to caress and tease his balls with her fingers. The entwined couple was absorbed; the normal world no longer existed. The only thing that remained was the accepting and giving of a pleasure that continued to grow and block out all else. Their symmetric lovemaking deepened, quickened, and the urgency built to a fiery intensity. Ted again lifted Pam, this time laying her face to face beneath him. Pam closed her eyes to embrace the completeness of the moment. Ted's mouth reunited with hers, the taste of each other mingling. Ted entered her; the primal voice of ecstasy grumbled in their throats as the flesh realized that it had yearned. Ted's thrusting was slow and controlled. Pushing deep within her each stroke was accompanied by a forward grind of his pubis upon hers, rubbing her clit in the friction between. His pace and his force built. With each thrust Pam felt herself pressed back into the sofa. Her mind momentarily flickered recollection of a push into the car seat she had felt earlier that day, then returned to a reality that she could have only imagined. Ted's mouth never left hers, their energy continuing to build. His hand continued to explore, rolling her nipples between his fingers, or cupping her breast in the palm, sometimes caressing, sometime squeezing. Pam's hands rode upon Ted's back and bottom, pulling with each meeting of their bellies. Finally, their faces both glowing with the flush of sex, their pace slowed, became more distinct, lingering when pressed closest. Ted pushed harder and harder and Pam's clit felt it could grow no harder, the lovely convulsions of sex began in the pit of her stomach and grew till the fire could barely be controlled. Ted stopped, then again plunged to the bottom, this time with the undeniable sound of release. The sound alone was enough to free the fire, and Pam gave her reply. Their bodies rocked with the waves of release. Exhausted, mentally and physically, Ted and Pam fell into each others arms, nestled close. As Pam drifted toward sleep she knew that tomorrow was going to be different. A lot had changed in the course of twenty-four hours. A smile spread across her face. "Hell, I even got fucked in Fucking Nowhere" she thought, before drifting off to sleep in the arms of her lover. Road to Nowhere It was long ago, before the Internet had a name. I was headed north on the Pacific Coast Highway Route-101, on my way to see Oregon, Washington, and wonders beyond. As I was nearing the northern California border, a road sign caught my weary eye. "Junction East, Yreka 115 miles." I have been obsessed with wordplay and the quirks of language for as long as I can remember. When I read that town's distinctively spelt name something snapped inside my head like a plucked guitar string. I sat bolt upright behind the wheel. "Yreka!" I exclaimed to my less-than-amused travel hostage. "We must go there!" "What are you . . . nuts? That's 115 miles out of our way. And another 115 miles back. We'll be driving for four hours in total darkness before we make it to Portland, now. At least." She put the road map down to look over at me and examine my head for loose parts. "What the hell's in Yreka, anyway? I've never even heard of it." "You'll see." And off I went on a numbskull adventure to seek a business establishment I only suspected had to exist. "Why are we going to Yreka?" she asked for the one hundred and fifteenth time as we rolled into the city limits. "You'll see," I said with much bravado and hoping like hell my intuition was right. It almost always was. I had a gift. We'd been on the road for nine hours without a stop, and we were starving. I pulled into a Denny's as soon as we saw it, convinced that in the gravel-road town of Yreka it would be the closest thing to food we would find. Our waitress was slow, rude and ugly as a butt sore. I left her an abysmal tip, but that's another story. When the check finally came, I asked her, "Could you tell us how to get to the bakery in town?" Summoning a politeness only years of professional waitressing can perfect, she graced us with her answer. "Our dessert menu not good enough for you, city punk?" punching that final P so hard, it loosed spittle three days in the making from her nicotine-stained lips. "It's not that," I said, suppressing the urge to abandon civility in favor of a more simian response. "I need to find a bakery. A real bakery, here in town." The woman stuffed in a dress snorted, and then she wiped something off her hand with her armpit. "No bakery here, sonny. Nearest one I know's in Montague, eight miles out on Route Three. That's where we gits our pies from." She gestured at a showcase half filled with limp-looking pastries in dire need of a dusting. I made a face and she stomped off to her cave somewhere behind the kitchen service doors. "Can you tell me what this is all about now?" my travel mate inquired, batting her eyes in that special way that always says, "you idiot." She knew how I got when I was obsessed, especially when it was over something stupid like visiting the World's Largest Chicken Sculpture made out of real chicken bones or any other great quest of cultural moment. I did not answer. I still wanted it to be a surprise. A surprise I only hoped was real—had to be real—or the entire universe just wouldn't make sense. We left the diner and I spotted a telephone booth. Yeah, that's how old this story is. An actual, enclosed glass booth, complete with the Yellow Pages chained to a metal ledge beneath the phone's coin box. My spirits were buoyed the instant I saw it. I was walking briskly, not wanting to take my eyes off the booth as I approached. "Is there any film left in the camera?" I asked, extending an arm and waving in her general direction. "This is the first stop we've made since we bought film. Remember? What do you think—I leapt from my chair and snapped off thirty-six shots of a dump-water diner the moment you ran off to the men's room?" I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her. "Would it have killed you to just say yes?" I pushed myself into the booth, grabbed hold of the Yellow Pages, and scanned through the B's. Bakery, bakery, bakery . . . come on, dammit! "Shit." The old crone was right. There is no bakery in Yreka. I let the phone book fall out of my hands. It crashed hard against the glass wall with a loud thump. The dead weight of the tome swung on its chain like a man held freshly aloft by the neck on a gallows. And then I, too, assumed the posture of the dead and damned. "Now are you going to tell me WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT?!" She was glaring at me, sharpening knives with her eyes. Telling her what it was all about, now, was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. I was young and proud and searching for a dignified way of taking the secret to my grave. "Yreka Bakery," I mumbled to myself. "It had to be. It just had to . . . be." I looked at my watch and then off into space. The sun hung low in the sky. Tears were forming in the corners of my eyes. "And why does the Yreka Bakery just 'have to be?'" Her arms were folded tight across her chest. She cocked her head askance at me and slowly turned into stone. My shoulders slumped. I knew that look of hers. She would die out there in the dirt and be picked apart by buzzards before she'd ever let it go. Breathing a heavy sigh, I tore a page from the telephone book, a page near the back with lots of blank space. "Give me a pen," I said, holding out a hand as if waiting to be cuffed by an officer of the law. She unfroze herself to dig through her oversized purse. I knew she'd have a pen; she had everything in there. If I'd asked for a transmission clutch plate from a '67 Buick Skylark, I'd have been surprised if she failed to produce at least two. I took the pen from her hand and wrote "YREKABAKERY" in big capital letters, all as one word. "Read it backwards," I said. She did. And then she kicked my shin so hard, I felt it for almost a month. - The End -