by T. S. Hill
I was still on edge when Lori and I slid into a cushioned booth, two blocks up the street, at a twenty-four-hour waffle and pancake diner. The food was great, but the first coffee that I had coursing in my veins in three days, was even better. I drank so much of it, that Lori teased me, that I would be pissing coffee all the way back to New Orleans.
We stuffed ourselves and chatted with the waitress. When she asked where we were from, Lori answered Galveston. That was smart. After we left the restaurant, I told her so. She replied to me, that to do otherwise, would have been stupid, and that she wasn’t stupid. I agreed, and told her that I was extremely glad to find that to be true. She asked me why I hadn’t figured that out before now, and I just let the question hang in the air, and hopefully die. I wasn’t holding the winning hand.
We left the truck in the rear parking lot of the diner and walked next door to the small strip mall that had a grocery, pharmacy, liquor store, and dollar store. We browsed around the grocery store pushing a buggy together, picking up snack food, pop, and peal cans of stuff we could eat on the go. Lori commented that it was fun.
When we were back at the truck and stowing our purchases behind the truck seat, she commented to me, “That was nice. We were almost like a regular couple in there, weren’t we Cowboy?”, she asked me, sounding optimistic that I would confirm her comment.
“We can be as regular a couple as you want to be Lori.”, I had answered her.
“Not while we have unfinished business we can’t.”, she lamented.
“That’s just part of the process. It’s called getting there.”, I offered back.
Then she asked me, “Cowboy, are you going to still want me around, after all of this shit is over?” “Is that your second question?”, I asked.
She looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Yes! Truth time, Cowboy.”
“Truth?”, I asked.
“Truth!”, she answered flatly.
“That’s the easiest question for me to answer that you could ask.”, I commented.
“Then answer the question.”, she replied, again flatly.
“Yes! Yes, Lori!”, I answered, “A thousand times yes! Yes, until you get tired of hearing it.”
“She smiled at me sheepishly, and said, “I don’t think I ever will.”
“Then yes!”, I shot back, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Tired of hearing yes yet?”, I asked.
“No!”, she shouted back at me.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”, I shouted at her, until she threw her arms around my neck and planted a passionate kiss on my lips. After the kiss, I asked her, “Might I say, not just yes, but hell yes?” She planted her mouth on mine again. We were like that, and holding each other, there in the parking lot, when one of the diner employees came out of the back door, and lighting a cigarette, gave us a “get a room” look. We laughed and climbed back into the truck. She sat next to me and held my arm for the two blocks back to the Hotel.
Back at the hotel, I read every license plate in the parking lots, and once again, backed the truck in, beside the employee parking, in the rear lot. As is my habit, I removed the tag before going inside. Safely back in the room without incident, I took Lori by the hand and had her sit on the bed edge.
“Lori, since we’ve got the room paid for through tonight, and our camo seems to be working pretty good thus far, how would you feel about staying another night and leaving out, tomorrow morning, just before daylight?”
“Wasn’t it you Cowboy, that told me that the longer you stay in one place, the more likely you are to be found?”, she asked.
“Yeah it was.”, I answered, looking down, “guess I was thinking with my pecker head, instead of my real head.”
“On the other hand,”, she started, “you know they say that the definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing and expecting different results.”
“Do you mean that laying low with camo, has so far paid off,”, I offered, “and therefore maybe we should expect the same results and keep doing that?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying Cowboy.”, she answered, “All I know is, I need to catch my breath. And laying up here, sharing that bed with you for the next fourteen or so hours, is something that I could happily do.”
“But, if you think we should hit the road right away, I can come along with you happily for that ride. I don’t know if I’m kinda like you, thinking with my pussy-cunt, or my real head. It’s real hard to tell the difference today.” She giggled when she had finished.
“I know what you mean Lori.”, I replied, laughing with her. “Lori, why do you call your vagina, a pussy-cunt, instead of just a pussy?”
“Is that question number two for you Cowboy?”, she raised an eyebrow and asked.
“No.”, I answered simply.
“Oh, that’s okay Cowboy!”, she remarked and giggled again, “I don’t mind telling you that, without charging a question for it. It’s just for my benefit really, but it can be yours too. It’s a mind thing really. The word “pussy”, has such a soft sound, and connotation, to it, like a polite code word. It’s not clinical like vagina, you know? But it’s just so fucking polite.”
“But, cunt, on the other hand, sounds like a slap in the face! It sounds like whore house language! It’s rough, crude, and bawdry, and a bit demeaning. When you hear someone refer to a woman as a cunt, do you think they’re being respectful and polite? Hell no! But you know what Cowboy, sex shouldn’t be overly crude, or overly polite. Either extreme ruins it.
Sex shouldn’t be fucked up like that. It should land squarely someplace in between. Pussy-cunt is my happy place in between. Does that make sense Cowboy?” I laughed, and she scowled at me.
“No. Don’t misunderstand my laugh Lori.”, I quickly replied, “That makes perfect sense! You make perfect sense! It’s just that nobody else in the whole world, makes perfect sense, like you do. And you make me happy! Very happy!”
“Aw Cowboy!”, she replied. “You trying for another gold star?”, then she giggled and dropped her dress to the floor. “Cowboy, you didn’t say a thing about what you thought of my fresh dress!”, she teased at me. I started stammering, but she cut me off. “Don’t worry about it Cowboy.”, she continued, “Men don’t stand a chance when it comes to balancing the appropriate number of complimentary comments for a woman.”
“Once again, Lori,”, I said, “you make perfect sense! Perfect sense!” I sat down, and started peeling my boots and clothes off, and before I could get out of the side chair, she was posed on the bed, propped up on her side, nude, striking a classic pose.
“There’s another one of those views that will be burned into my mind forever.”, I told her, and gave her a wolf whistle. She grinned at me, winked, pursed her lips, and cut her eyes at me in a sultry and seductive way. And, that’s how we came to stay a second night at the hotel.
“Where to next Cowboy?”, she questioned me, breaking her pose and climbing to the head of the bed. She fluffed and stacked two of the king-sized pillows, and sat up, with her back to the headboard, cushioned by the pillows. I took that as a cue, that she wanted to talk some more, and so I pulled the chair up to the bedside, and sat back down, crossing my legs and propping my feet on the bed mattress.
After making myself comfy, I began, “We take I-40 briefly, to Oklahoma City, then I-35 south to Dallas. From there, we disappear into the countryside, and it will be nothing but back roads and goat paths, until we emerge in New Orleans.”
“You figure we’re safer out in the sticks?”, she asked.
“Definitely.”, I replied, “And, I think I know what your next question is. Why Oklahoma City and Dallas?”
“Yep!”, she chirped. “I’ve got a contact in Oklahoma City that I have to make a pick up from. In Dallas, I left some evidence stored in a locker. I also have to retrieve that before we go back to New Orleans.”
“Both of these Milinni stuff?”, she asked.
“Yep!”, I pitched back at her, “That’s the only thing th
at makes the risk of exposure worthwhile.” She nodded her head.
“So, Cowboy,”, she resumed, “have you got a tape measure in one of those emergency, survival, bags?”
“Tape measure? No.”, I hesitantly replied, “I don’t think so. What do you need to measure?”
“Your dick.”, she matter-of-factly responded. I laughed. I’m serious Cowboy!”, she stressed, “I want to know your dimensions.”
“Why?”, I questioned.
“I think your dick is awesome!”, she countered, “I just want to know everything about it.”
“We’re not going to measure my cock.”, I answered her, chuckling.
“Why not Cowboy?”, she plead, “I’d let you measure my pussy-cunt if you wanted to.”
“I don’t need to measure your pussy-cunt.”, I told her. “It fits my cock perfectly, and you can’t get any better than that. Damn! Now you’ve got me saying pussy-cunt!”
“Aw, Cowboy,”, she drawled, grinning, “You’re trying to make up for not noticing my dress, aren’t you?” I laughed again.
“Why are you so interested in the details of my dick? I mean cock! Oh, for fuck’s sake! Why are you so interested in my cock details?”, I finally got out.
“It’s a nice dick!”, she popped back at me.
“At the end of the day, it’s just a cock.”, I pronounced.
“Actually Cowboy, you can tell a lot about a man, based on the various qualities of his dick.”
“I find that hard to believe.”, I quipped.
“No, it’s true! I got interested in genealogy because of what a strange make up I am. In researching physical attributes that get passed on from various races and genetic groups, I found that just like every other body part, a man’s dick can also reflect his genetic heritage.”
“Give me an example.”, I challenged.
“Well, you know the old wives’ tale about black men.”, she started. But I cut her off,
“But that’s not all true. There are tiny pricked black guys as well as those with giant peckers, just like white guys. Maybe the average is larger, I wouldn’t know. But there is no consistent rule of thumb that a black cock is going to be bigger than a white one.”
“I was going to say so, a little more politely than you put it, but you didn’t let me finish.”, she said frowning.
“I apologize.”, I replied, waiving my hand, “Please go on.”
“Thank you!”, she answered curtly, “Now. It has been proven that Asian dicks are smaller than other races ‘, and that East Indian dicks are skinner in girth than other dicks. Now, Native American dicks? This is where it gets interesting. You don’t see any Native American dicks that are undersized. None of’em! You don’t see any Native American tiny dicks, like you do some Caucasian dicks, Negroid dicks, East Indian dicks, and especially stubby little Asian dicks.
All Native American dicks are a good, averaged size, or larger. No tiny dicks! No skinny dicks either like East Indians. Nope. All real nice dicks! Another thing is, you can tell when a white guy with dark skin is part Native American, or just some other darker race, because if he has a significant amount of Native American heritage, his dick and nut sack will have darker skin than the other parts of his body. My sources say, that’s because the dick carries more Native American characteristics than the rest of the body, except maybe the brain.”
“Lori,”, I interrupted, “what are your sources”.
“Oh, various things.”, she said.
“Are you sure that you didn’t pick this up from some of that porn overload, that you used to indulge?”, I asked.
“I don’t think so!”, she said. “But, I’m not so sure.”, she mumbled, her voice trailing off. “Well hell, Cowboy!”, she said confidently, “All the dicks I saw in porn pretty much proved the theory out, but I could swear that I read all that on a genealogy site late one night.
Anyway Cowboy, with your dark skin, straight black hair, and brown eyes, I figured you might be of some Native American heritage. Then, I saw your magnificent dick, and I knew you were!”
“From my cock?”, I questioned.
“Sure, you’ve got a dick and nut sack that’s darker than the rest of your skin. And, you know yourself, that there’s nothing puny about it!”
“And this is why you want to measure my cock?”, I inquired.
“Well, yeah. That, and the fact that I’m just crazy about you, and crazy about your dick too, if you didn’t notice.”, she said. “So, I just want to know everything about it.” She paused a few seconds and then continued, “Yep Cowboy, that’s probably a nice Cherokee or Choctaw dick you got there! Somewhere, you have ancestors that you should be grateful to. If you’re not, that’s okay. I’m grateful enough to them to make up for it!” Then she giggled.
“Lori,”, I slowly asked, “If I let you measure my cock, can we never have another conversation about ethnic cock differences?” She actually had to think before answering me.
Then finally, “Sure Cowboy!”
“Then Lori,”, I drawled back at her, “when we go out to get some dinner this evening, we’ll stop at that drug store, or the dollar store, and try to find a sewing tape measure, and I’ll let you measure my cock.”
“Oh, goody!”, she said clapping her hands together.
“Soft, or hard, or what?”, I asked her.
“Both?”, she asked.
“Oh, okay!”, I gave in.
“Oh goody! she said again. I laughed.
“What’s so funny? she asked.
“It just humors me that you say “Oh goody!” when something suddenly makes you happy, I explained, “It’s another of your favorite words, I guess.”
“Like my fucking adjective and sometimes adverb?”, she asked, laughing.
I laughed again, and then told her, “Actually, since we met, I started using those two words together in my mind a good bit.”
“Really?”, she sounded surprised.
“Yes!”, I replied. Then looking serious I continued, “When I sense that we are about to share an interlude, I think, oh goody! I’m gonna be fucking Lori!” I didn’t know how she might take that, but I decided to go with it, and it paid off. Lori burst out laughing in a loud robust laugh, then she laughed even harder, and that turned to giggling, with a couple of tears running down her cheeks. I chuckled along with her, but laughed mostly, because of my joy at seeing her so happy.
As her laugher subsided, she collected herself, wiping her tears of laughter away. At length, she looked at me in a very serious manner, sliding down into the bed and holding her arms out to me, said in a sultry tone, “Hey, Cowboy?” Then with her arms still extended towards me, and speaking in her most seductive voice said, “Say it out loud this time!”
I jumped out of the chair, and with as deep, and as sexy, tone as I could portray, said, “Ohhh, Goody! I’m gonna be fucking Lori!”
She grinned real big, and I climbed into her arms. We kissed deeply, and as had become usual for us, after one thing leading to another, we had a nice, long, fuck. Only this time, it was just a plain, old fashioned, vanilla, missionary position, fuck. I’m not knocking the missionary, because it was a damned nice fuck, and I think when we had finished, something in our relationship had shifted.
Somehow, we were closer now, and not only did we both know it, we also sensed that we would become even closer. It was just a sense that I had, but it turned out to be dead on the bull’s eye.
After our late afternoon “interlude”, we rested a bit, still in each other’s arms, and then we both had showers. After showering, I traced out a beard outline on my face, with a razor, and decided to leave the stubby beard that had grown out over the last few days. Lori said that she loved the look, and so, I was totally sold on keeping it. We put on fresh clothes that we had brought from the trunk, and looking every bit the part of a farm couple gone to town, we left the hotel again.
I again went through the same hallway and parking lot check, only this time, with a little more p
aranoia. For one thing, there were more people around now, plus we had been there a while. And yes, I do actually believe that the longer you stay in one place, the more likely you are to be found.
We decided that there was no more risk in walking, than in driving the truck, and given the city setting, possibly less, and so we walked. We did have to go a little further distance to find a different place, because not frequenting the same place twice, is also a resulting rule of my paranoia philosophy, of not getting found when you don’t want to be.
We had a lovely dinner in a small, intimate Italian restaurant. Then, we strolled back lazily, sometimes hand in hand and sometimes arm in arm. After a while we had grown quiet, and I said to Lori, “Say, in our discussion this afternoon, you didn’t say anything about Italian guy’s cocks.”
“Oh,”, she started in, “Italians are Mediterranean! Mediterranean dicks are a whole different matter from all other dicks, even Native American dicks. Do you really want to hear about Italian, Mediterranean dicks?” “No!”, I answered, “I was just poking at you, Lori. I thought I might have a little fun with you about the cock characteristics, but I’m not seeing where I can make it work now. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be Cowboy. I love it when you poke at me! Both kinds!” Then she giggled.
“I get it.”, I said. “No really, I actually do like when you poke at me, both ways, joking, and in the sack.
“And I like poking at you both ways. Oddly, about equally.”, I said.
“You like joking at me as good as sex with me?”, she asked curiously.
“No!”, I said adamantly, “I misspoke!” She almost choked, laughing.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”, she said, looking up at me winking.
When we got back to the little strip mall, both the drug store and the dollar store were closed. “Aw, shit!”, Lori pouted, “Now, I’ll never get to measure your fucking dick!”
“Lori, I promise.”, I said seriously, “Tomorrow, I will stop at the first place that might even have a tape measure and get you one. Two if you want! But please, no more cock genealogy!” She giggled and laughed all the way back to our room.
