Loading...“Turn here.”
I look at her with suspicion. There were three choices before me at this moment. Continue down the road and eventually make our way back to I-49’s endless stretch. Turn right and creep our way through the sleeping country of Natchitoches parish.
Or — as she just asked me — venture left onto a dirt road that I was certain had been clipped from a horror film and placed here to test college students who procrastinated during midterms.
“What? Don’t trust me?” Her hand slips from the passenger side and over my right thigh.
“Are we talking about your sense of direction or the direction you hand is going?”
“Which one would you trust more?” she says with a sly smile.
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud causing her to pull her hand up quickly. There was a line of defensiveness in everything we both said and did with each other. It was a charge of not knowing and a deeper charge of knowing too much that led to the two of us driving at back roads at 1am on a weeknight.
***********
I was very private about my affairs with women. I wasn’t exactly “in the closet” but I didn’t hook-up with women around my college town. To date, anything involving a woman and myself revolved around meeting in a club or bar 200 miles away in New Orleans. The Crescent City provided something my small college town couldn’t – anonymity. On such nights, you would find the tension of lingering glances across dance floors and scan the bar for the briefest hint of an interested momentary “friend.” With a few strategically placed bumps and a series of slides across the dance floor, I would use the dance floor as a jigsaw puzzle, working my way through the maze of thump-a thump-a’s to find where I best fit for the weekend. Each woman would become something of a game and each glance a new house rule to play against. Once someone’s eyes would transfix on me for longer than two minutes, I would find myself issuing a “pardon me” as I walk past the object of my lust for the evening, resting my hand across her hip bone and reading her reaction. If she smiled and said it was alright, I’d linger a moment longer. With some the moment was never necessary. Their eyes invited me to stay while the music gave them reason to push into my soft embrace and invite me to merge into their curves more intimately than before. Eventually the evening would finish with a slight buzz of a cocktail and riding a full high of lust as we’d make our way to her place. Saying goodbye was rarely an issue since much of my appeal was the “out-of-towner” introduction made earlier in the evening. Occasionally leaving my number and rarely including my last name, I would find myself back on the road by sunrise, working the concrete beneath my tires as I returned to pursue a “higher” education. After two years, my routine was familiar and comfortable (while my car was in desperate need of a tune up).
Her life was quite different. I was running full throttle into my fifth year of attempting to decide what the hell I wanted to do with my life. She, however, walking into her third year. While I skidded down the path of a Bachelor of Arts degree she was nose deep in science texts. Neurology was starting to consume her current semester. Our passions were polar opposite sides of the spectrum but we were both nerds in our own right. It was her intelligence that caused me to slow from a run to a brisk walk and pay more attention to the woman in front of me. We were both enrolled in the college honor’s campus and by definition this also translated the two of us being chronic procrastinators. I had come to learn that at an academic level, procrastination leads to finding distractions on a much larger circle. For both of us, it meant being involved in a countless number of campus extra-curricular activities. Our social circles where wide spread and full of hundreds of mutual acquaintances. Yet, we never seemed to really speak to each other.
She had dated around and recently ended it with a grade school chum of mine. It didn’t work out, much to his sadness. My younger brother had turned his head to meet her gaze to find that she didn’t return the same glances. Many people found it hard not to notice her. Well, I should say everyone noticed her except me. Had it not been for a guest lecturer one evening and sitting behind her, who’s to say if I ever would have.
Rumors had been around campus for some time that I may enjoy the company of women. However, much of the time they were simply rumors. Since breaking of the relationship and near engagement with my boyfriend of three years, I had kept my personal life highly private. Rumors were easy to start due to my silence. I have and will always be somewhat of a tomboy. Soft in voice and manners and feminine in my own ways, I enjoy jeans, polos and a comfortable pair of shoes, avoiding heels and dresses (even when the occasion called for it). While not stocky, I have the thighs of a soccer player and the calves of a working girl. All of my past boyfriends had been attracted to me because I could hold my own and they like “strong” women. Most of my weekend adventures enjoyed me because I rode the fine line of “gay” and “straight,” which would allow beer goggles to let my evening of release to see whatever it is she wanted to see.
She teetered on princess. Well, if you didn’t know her you might think that. Her soft brown eyes against the glow of her Latina tone were thrown against a laugh that turned ears and begged you to mingle with seductive lips and fever-laced touches. If you didn’t pay any attention, first glances would highlight incredibly feminine woman. She liked it that way. Physically, to many, she was beautiful. This usually kept her date and inquiry card quite full. If you took time you’d learn that the feminine would make you biased to your assumptions of what she was like outside of your periphery. You wouldn’t know that she hunted with her father or liked fast cars and cheap beer. Your mind would make you think she was vastly different.
She had made out with women before. We discussed this, ironically, before kissing ourselves for the first time. Past the drunken games of “pass the ice,” a few spin-the-bottle evenings and the occasional curiosity, she had yet to experience a woman full-on. How the conversation began and how we ended up here at these crossroad (literally) is still quite a blur. A brief conversation in the halls of Morrison led to coffee which in turn led to a barista politely asking us to leave thirty minutes after close. A conversation of five minutes had been over two hours and the evening found us both driving to our own residence. The cliché of two women just “hitting it off” was slowly becoming a reality. Later that evening we found ourselves in each other’s company again to share a kiss that would grace the pages of a teen romance novel or end up on a CW sweeps week episode.
The flirting and slowly getting to know each other had consumed my last week. It was a pace I wasn’t familiar with. In all honesty, it was a pace that made me more nervous and anxious than comfortable.
Desperate to return to something familiar, I had made plans with a former “buddy” for a quick visit over the weekend. I thought a trip to Shreveport to “get things out of my system” would be what I needed in order to continue this charade of “getting to know you.” A good fuck would be enough to calm me and give this – “thing,” more time. The trip was cut short by a phone call from her the morning of asking if we could grab a drink. This translated to a night spent on Cane River to talk about everything and nothing.
My standards were being destroyed as I willingly succumbed to each request she had.
**********
“I wasn’t asking you to move it,” I said peering at her through the darkness of my car.
“Turn left.” She had some authority in her voice. “I’ve been here before. Turn left.”
I ease off the break and allow the car to slowly move forward, pulling ourselves off of the paved road and onto the earth worn path. We drove in silence. Cautiously I continue a few miles forward before returning my foot to the break and bringing the car to a full stop. The small city had disappeared long ago in the mirror and we had officially entered farming country. As the windows of the car rolled downward, I listen intently for the sound of banjos in the background.
“Get out of the car.”
I stared at her a moment. For the first time in our conversations the statement felt more like an order. I unbuckled my belt and pulled myself out of the small coupe cautiously closing the door behind me. I heard her door close behind me as I waited to see if she would supply further instruction.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, walking around and placing her arms around my waist from behind. “You don’t see stars like this in many places.”
She was right. It was breathtaking. If I would have allowed myself to be the romantic at this moment I would have easily turned and kissed her softly, beneath a sky of a thousand flickering lights. If I were in a romantic mood I would have played music from the car while we laughed about previous exploits and teased each other with our hips dancing to the music. But I wasn’t in a romantic state of mind. I was tired of the endless conversations. I was exhausted by our late evening conversations and early morning calls of daily thought. I was horny. And I was tired of being respectful to the beautiful woman who was only inches from any part of my body at this moment.
“I come out here any time I need to think or just need time for myself,” she said softly as her hands slowly lifted my black polo and brushed the soft skin above my jeans. “It’s as if I get to run away to a different world where no one knows me and I’m not expected to keep any kind of behavior,” she says, as she moves her thumb behind my belt and pushes the leather strap forward.
I grab her hand, freezing her in place. What did she think she was doing? After a week of being a well-behaved and considerate woman, I was now being expected to follow her lead as we ventured into a territory I was vastly more familiar with. I would not have it. She would not have me.
Interlocking our fingers, I pull her hand from my belt and turn around facing her. Even in the dimmest of light I could see her eyes look at me in a way I hadn’t yet been invited to experience. I step towards her, pushing her back into the car. She backs into the hood with a soft thud as I push myself into her. The silence of the land is met by the screaming of my body and the pleading of hers.
“Some silence is overrated,” I say bringing my lips to find hers.
She leans into me for the kiss, finding my lips parted briefly as I lean in and bite her lower lip. Slowly pulling away I returned my eyes to hers. The devious smile across my face invites her to play along. Even in the pale light, I can see her bite her lower lip and trace my body with her eyes. This may all be new because of the gender before her, but the lust is familiar to any person who has stood in front of her before.
Holding my waist, she pushes herself further onto the hood of the small blue two-door. The distance lasts but a second as she pulls me into her, forcing our lips to meet in unison. Until this moment our kisses had been polite, kind and without pressure. Now they scream with desire, need and unmeasured lust. Our tongues dart to and fro in search for air, familiarity and something to satisfy the hunger between the two of us.
Again her hands stretch and reach for my shirt again, trying to pull it from my torso. A “no” escapes my lips as I pulled her towards me enough to grab a hold of her shirt. Quickly finding the bottom of her familiar cotton material, I pull her shirt over her head and throw it to the side of the car. Before she can argue my lips have returned to hers. My hands survey her body roaming from naval up to neck and back down again. She leans her head back in simple bliss, allowing my kisses to trail from her lips to the ear and down her neck. As my hands graze the back of her silk bra, I feel her body tighten. We may be in the middle of nowhere but we are still somewhere public. A sly smile meets her eyes causing her to relax and bite my neck, indicating permission to continue. My hands fall onto her waist pulling her into me harder. Her firm breasts are pushing against the few layers of clothing that separate us. Next time there must be fewer clothes, I think to myself.
With one arm reached around her back pulling her into me, the other works to unbutton the top button of her jeans and slowly slide down the zipper. In the sound of silence a moan escapes between the two of us. We pull away and I blush into the dark Fall sky when it is realized that the sound came from my lips. Before returning to my polite actions of days past, she grabs my forearm and presses my hand against the space between her curves. I can feel a familiar and inviting wetness through the denim as I look up to meet her eyes. I feel her legs spread further apart beneath my thigh which is now resting between her and rubbing her wetness from the exterior of the blue cotton. My lips return to her collar bone, biting her tender skin as one of my hands disappears beneath the lace trim of her cotton panties.
She lifts my head to meet her gaze again.
“It’s ok,” she whispers.
“I don’t need permission,” I reply.
“No. But you don’t need to be polite either,” she responds. “Don’t treat me I’m something you can break.”
Without hesitation my hand slides further into her pants, finding the inviting area. This time the moan escapes her lips as my fingers familiarize themselves. I could stay lost in these folds and new curves forever but her body begs me to search further and deeper.
I slide one solitary finger into her as her back arches to the invited intruder. Slowly bringing my finger to a hook I pull back out, feeling the muscles of her tight body attempt to keep me in for a moment longer. As she releases, I plunge back into her with force and need.
“More,” she says pulling at my arm.
A second finger explores her as I pull her bra over her breast and take her nipple into my mouth. I have now become lost in the soft skin that has consumed my dreams and thoughts for the last week. All the respect and “taking it slow,” for her sake has been discarded and all I want now is to feel her body climax against me and to make her descend to complete exhaustion from our current actions.
In moments a third enters her, ravishing the wet folds beneath her jeans. Her hips pump into me in rhythm as we dance against the hood of the car. She is tugging at my hair which has now fallen from its pony tail and is quickly becoming a distraction to our kissing. My thigh pushes into her with each pump while I attempt to brace myself with the other arm against the car. She is fucking me harder than I can push into her. Her entire body screams with delight as I let my own body move in a steady rhythm of pleasure against her. I can feel her walls starting to tighten as curve my fingers again for a slow pull forward. The screams of “yes” and “harder” fill the silent air with a volume that could possibly be heard miles away on campus. With another few strokes she convulses beneath me.
My thigh starts to shake as I find myself thrusting into her harder bringing myself to a much needed climax. I collapse on top of her. Exhausted. Wet. Spent. And deeply turned on. After a few moments of heavy breathing I remove my hand and brush the hair from our faces searching her eyes. She looks up at me softly and pulls me in for a kiss. We sit their quietly allowing the other to catch their breath.
“…wow.”
“So, am I warrant a ‘wow’?” she asks laughing beneath my weight.
“You took a lot more out of me than I would have given you credit for.”
“You didn’t think I could wear you out.”
“I didn’t say you wore me out,” I stammer breathing heavy. “People don’t ‘wear me out.’”
“Oh, is that so? Are you done pretending that you are in charge?”
“Wha-” I respond.
” –Are you done with this charade that you have to be in charge? Is it out of your system now?” She pulls herself to her feet as I stay lying against the hood of the car. Within moment I feel her reach my waist from behind. Before I can react she has taken my belt once again in her hands and begins to remove it.
“Now — we can do this two ways. You can just let me do what I want to do — or you can fight me and I’ll still do what I want to do.”
I feel the air hit my legs as my pants fall beneath the car.
To Be Continued…