by P X Duke
I was putting in twelve-hour days on the job, but finally a four-day stretch of R&R came up. All I wanted to do on day one was relax and catch some rays. I took my blanket and strolled out to the back yard to unroll it on the cool green grass.
Ten minutes later I felt a shadow over me and opened my eyes. Sandy was standing off to one side. I eased myself onto one elbow and looked slowly up for the length of those long legs that I had first noticed on my climb upstairs. As my eyes traveled up to meet hers they passed over the shadow of long, dark nipples protruding through her sheer white shirt.
Would you like some lemonade?" she asked. "I just made some."
"Would I ever," I said, all the while still giving her the once over.
"I'll be right back," she said, and she stepped around me to go inside.
When I opened my eyes there she was, sitting in her chair by my feet and staring down at me. She had changed into cutoffs and a bikini top, and had put on just a shadow of lipstick.
"You must have dozed off. I didn't want to wake you up. I figured you needed your rest after all those late nights you've been putting in. Would you like that lemonade now?" she asked.
"That'd be real nice."
I watched her pour out two glasses and bend to hand me one. I took a long, cool drink. "You sure do make fine lemonade, lady. What's the secret?"
She laughed and moved closer to me.
"The hotter the day, the sweeter the lemonade." She put her hand on my thigh. "It's too hot out here. Why don't we go inside?"
She stood up and held out her hand. I never say no. I took it and followed Sandy into the house and up the stairs. Finally I got the look at the rest of her that I wanted and wasn't disappointed.
Her breasts were firm, with nipples that were long and hard when they were erect. By the look and feel of what I was getting, they were almost always hard. When she took me in her mouth and rubbed my balls with them, I knew I had a woman who knew how to please a man. When I started coming she never stopped milking until I was completely drained, and she never gave up a drop. A bit later when she climbed onto me, her breasts bobbed and weaved, keeping time until she finished. She looked down as she climbed off, watching the hard length of me coming out of her, covered in her wetness.
She crawled down between my legs, rubbing her nipples against the length of me. When she finally took me in her mouth there was no holding her back. She knew how to work me, holding just the head in her mouth, tugging at it with her teeth, then her lips. Her hand held my balls against her hard nipples and I could feel them scraping against me, first one, then the other.
Just as there was no holding her back, I couldn’t hold back. Sandy was too persistent. She sucked, greedy, noisy, and I finally gave up and let her have it all. She milked the last drop out of me, licked her lips and came up for air to rest her head on my thigh. I grabbed her hair and pulled her up. When I kissed her I could taste both of us.
By early morning I figured that I'd go back to my own bed. Reluctantly Sandy agreed, but not before fastening her lips to me and making one last pass up and down the length of me.
"I'll see to this at the next opportunity," she grinned, and she bounced out the door and down the hall. I heard the shower running.
I didn’t join her.
Sunup comes early to a man who's spent the night with only a glass of cold lemonade in his stomach and a warm woman by his side to feed his appetites. I wanted to get out and throw a leg over my ride before anyone else in the house was aware. I needed to be alone with my thoughts, and I wanted the wind and the early morning smells to drive the cobwebs out of my head.
Sandy was still in the shower when my ride started first kick, and I gently wicked the throttle and eased the clutch to start down the driveway. No sense complicating my life by pissing anyone off, I figured.
As each stop light turned green I ripped through the gears on my escape, exhaust roaring, impatient to be out on the road. Finally there it was, that asphalt ribbon stretching out before me like a woman's long, lean legs. The rising sun at my back painted the grass and trees a dark green, while the western sky was being teased by the early-morning light.
Beneath me my long shadow rode between the lines like a man rides a woman. Wind howled in my ears, and the only sound in answer was the rich throaty purr of exhaust pipes roaring in defiance. I threw my feet over the highway pegs and leaned back from the handlebars with a grin on my face.
The sun was barely over the horizon when I pulled into the driveway the next morning. There wasn't a whisper of a breeze. It was going to be another scorcher of a day. Breakfast hadn't been much more than a roadside piss and I was hoping that Sandy's fridge would at least have a little more in it than that. I leaned the hog over on its kickstand, got off and opened the door. My wind-weary eyes weren't prepared for what I saw next.
There was Sandy, wearing only an apron. "Kiss the cook" was written on it in felt pen.
"What would you like for breakfast, Frank?" she asked.
"Whatever you're serving up," I said, and I smiled a shit-eating grin.
Does life get better than this?
Road Rules
Never eat at a place called Mom's.
Never ride close to a cage that advertises the driver's name as Sixpack.
Never pull into an isolated, unlit rest stop after dark.
Never walk into a bar where the half-tons in the parking lot have rifle racks mounted in the window–especially if there are rifles hanging off the racks.
If the dancer says she needs a ride home, be generous, but watch your back on the way to the door.
Watch your back in a parking lot.
If you pick up a hitchhiker named Angel on an interstate on-ramp near Deming, beware that she doesn't talk you into taking her to a non-existent music festival on a back road off of Highway 666.
If it feels like it's time to leave, go with your instinct. It's usually right.
When you wake up and find yourself alive and riding on the wrong side of the yellow line, stop and take a break to live a little longer.
And finally, when you wake up and find yourself alive and riding on the wrong side of the yellow line for the second time, stop and take a break. You'll definitely live longer.
Truckstop Fuck Stop
Snow. Ice. Rain. Fog.
Chicago. Atlanta. Birmingham. Pecos. Los Angeles.
I met her at a truck stop in Ontario. She was from the northeast. I was living in southern California.
She wasn’t your usual highway habitué, in that she drove a truck. A semi. A tractor-trailer.
Seventy-nine tons of metal rolling on rubber through a never-ending litany of towns, cities and truck stops. Along multi-lane expressways. Down interstate highways. Over two-lane blacktop.
Across a table from one other we shared stories of riding and of driving and of the road. Stories of characters met. Of people seen. Things heard.
Stories of loneliness.
Then it was time to go. We both had to get back on the road.
"I’ll call," she said, "the next time I get to California."
She called one time, and I rode out to meet her.
She called again, and I rode back to love her.
She doesn’t call any more.
More by P X Duke
If you enjoyed these short stories, you can read more about Frank Ross and his adventures on the road. Dreams Die Fast is available for download.
Frank Ross is heading home after spending a long winter on the Baja. When his motorcycle breaks down, he gets trapped in a small, isolated town 70 miles north of the border on the west side of the Salton Sea. A woman takes pity on Frank and invites him into her home, but her motives aren't entirely on the up-and-up. Secrets are revealed, dreams die and Frank has to get out of town and back on the road in a hurry.
Dreams Die Fast
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About the author
My gypsy spirit has taken me to some strange places
in the world, but now I’m content to limit my adventures to riding a motorcycle and whatever I might encounter when I’m on the road. Consequently, I’ve worked in bike shops doing odd jobs from planning and putting on rides, taking care of computer networking and security, and to picking up and delivering motorcycles in the El Lay basin, among other things.
Pretty boring stuff, isn’t it?
I’ve ridden over a lot of North America at one time or another from Canada to Mexico, and from Atlantic to Pacific. By far my favorite ride is up and down the length of the Baja Peninsula, where the people are friendly, the sun always shines and it’s warm in the winter.
I’ve visited Sturgis countless times, but that got old in the ’80s. If you want to capture the Sturgis of old, attend during the week before the actual rally, when the RUBs and newbies aren’t there. More and more vendors are setting up for that pre-event week.
Of everything that I have experienced in my all-too-brief life, Africa is perhaps the greatest enigma. It's a beautiful continent, rich in people, nature and resources, yet poor in all of those things too.
Yes, I know. There are some missing years in there. But what the hell, a little mystery is good for the soul, wouldn't you say?
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From the same author on Feedbooks
Dreams Die Fast (2010) Frank Ross spent the winter on the Baja riding his motorcycle under sunshine and blue skies. Now it’s spring and he’s headed home, but bad luck encountered in a casino parking lot means that he’s stuck waiting for parts in a small, isolated town on the west side of the Salton Sea just 70 miles north of the Mexican border. With nothing to do but kill time, Frank accepts an invitation for a home-cooked meal. Before he knows it, he's knee-deep in cartel drugs with a woman itching to pull the trigger on the gun she has pointed at his back.
* * *
Midnight At The Oasis (2011) Frank Ross is headed down Mexico way, but first he has to escape from the high desert and the clutches of a sweet-talking, nimble little thing that has spun her web and led Frank down the road to good intentions gone bad. Following a trial by fire, Frank manages to get back on the road, but not before narrowly escaping a damsel in much distress when he refuses to take her along for the ride.
* * *
Two Good Eyes (2011) Frank usually treats his female riding partners pretty good, but when his latest gets t-boned by a left-turner, he has to dig deep within to care for her while she recovers in ICU. This title has been expanded and re-published as "One More Time".
* * *
Dead Man's Hand (2011) One man's intricate ring becomes another's folly in this short strange tale of a dead man who was unable to rest in peace.
* * *
One More Time (2011) Frank Ross is back on the road, this time with a sweet little riding partner he hooks up with in a bike shop in the desert. After getting acquainted during a ride to Big Bear, they stop off for a visit at Frank’s place in Cherry Valley. The asphalt perfume they both picked up on the ride gets washed away during an impromptu shower. Breakfast follows. Later, when Frank learns that his new riding partner was t-boned by a left-turning cage, he decides to forgo his devil-may-care attitude and hunker down for a bit to care for his seriously injured riding partner and show her that he has a heart.
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Food for the mind
