by Stahl, Shey
We were outside Phoenix looking for a hotel when searched my bag on the floor for gum.
“Yuck, get rid of that gum.” Dylan gagged when he could apparently smell the gum. “I mean it, get rid of it.”
“Why?” I must have given him the “What the fuck?” look because he nearly laughed.
I laughed at his face and that’s when he made a face shaking his head at the sudden wave of nausea and grabbed his stomach when my breath moved his direction. “I once got so fucked up on Fireball that I puked for twelve hours straight. I haven’t touched that shit since.”
“So why the connection with cinnamon gum?” I pointed to a sign on the side of the freeway for a Holiday Inn. Dylan immediately shot across three lanes of traffic to the exit on the right.
“It smells the same.” He looked at me again. “I will never kiss you again if you don’t spit that shit out right now.”
Immediately I rolled down the window and spit that gum out.
He said nothing but smirked, slightly and the though the light was dim, it was noticeable.
“What else don’t you like?” I asked about the time we made our way into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn.
“Lemons.” He answered turning the car off and gathering his phone, iPod, and wallet on the dash. “I hate them and cardboard. I don’t like cardboard.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, again, another shrug, as he opened the door to get out. He looked over his shoulder at me. “Just don’t. What about you?”
“I don’t like socks.” I said catching up with him as we walked through the dark parking lot toward the office. “Actually, I don’t like anything on my feet at all.”
Dylan looked down and noticed my bare feet as I held my flip-flops in my hand. “I’ve noticed.”
When we finished getting the room, and after a long day in the car, sleep was easy. This time we managed to get two beds, which I found comforting. Not that I didn’t want to sleep next to Dylan, because there was that, but I was afraid of what “sleeping me” would do to him.
After smoking a cigarette, Dylan made his way to his bed near the sliding glass door and was asleep before I had the chance to ask any more questions.
Though I was tired, sleep hung over me as I thought about what I was doing. I gave up everything I knew and now here I was lying in a hotel room some two thousand miles from home.
Rolling over, I tucked my left arm under the pillow and stared at Dylan’s back again until I could sleep.
The following morning we got up early intending on making it to Oklahoma City that night.
“You know what every road trip needs?” Dylan asked as we passed through Holbrook, a landscape that offered nothing but tumbleweed and the occasional dead animal alongside the road.
I laughed handing him his water bottle that had slide toward me when he jerked the steering wheel to avoid yet another dead animal. “A portable shower and a tent?”
“Both good ideas but I was thinking more for entertainment.”
“What?” I gave him a curious smile.
“A CB radio.”
The idea seemed good to me so we stopped at a sporting goods store Dylan noticed off the highway and purchased a tent, sleeping bags, a cooler, a lantern, flares, the CB radio, flashlights and some first aid supplies.
After putting all the supplies in the trunk, Dylan hooked up the radio.
For one hundred miles, we switched from station to station looking for something entertaining. That’s when we settled on channel two.
There were these crazy lunatics on the station, Chaz and Reeper.
Dylan was thoroughly entertained by them. I’d never seen him laugh that much. He went on to tell me that if we were going to travel, we needed to hear shit like this.
“Breaker breaker, one ninety…” the radio cracked before we heard, “Shit man, we’re talking about a female that weighs two-ninety-five and solid as a fucking rock.”
“Damn, that’s a huge bitch.” Reeper said.
“She’s next to me son, watch your fucking mouth.”
“Where ya at, I wanna see her?”
“You just wanna wrap your ball sack on her lot lizard chin.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth?”
Every station was like this but Reeper and Chaz were by far the most descriptive.
“Damn, this is turning me on,” I said sarcastically fanning myself.
“Fuck…” Dylan groaned shifting in weight more toward the door, right hand draped over the steering wheel. “What a bunch of raunchy motherfuckers.”
Strolling through the stations, the next station was the same but Dylan made me turn it back to Chaz and Reeper. I think he was beginning to get attached to them. “She’s the fuckin’ whore of B-city.”
“One of her nipples faced south,” Chaz cackled in a really creeper manner, “the other north.”
This went on for probably another hundred miles and I was beginning to wonder about Dylan when he wouldn’t turn the station from those two creepo’s.
Along the highway near Amarillo, we stopped for food and it happened to be a truck stop. Dylan joked that he wanted to find this Chaz guy and see what he looked like. Naturally, he strolled the parking lot once looking for anyone he thought might resemble him. I hated to inform him that this Chaz, his trucker hero, was probably not here but I didn’t want to squash his dreams.
After trolling the parking lot once, Dylan gave up and we sat across a row of about fifteen log trucks.
We were in the middle of discussing that movie Joy Ride when a trashy woman wearing red peep toe high heels, fish net stockings, a leopard skinned mini skirt and what appeared to be a gold bra, no shirt. Dylan eyed her appearance, a little taken back by her forwardness of approaching his car and gave her a small smile, his weight shifted slightly toward me.
“Hey baby doll, come stick your shifter in my tranny.”
Dylan whipped his head around. “What the fuck?” he mouthed with panic-stricken eyes setting his milkshake on the dash.
My eyes were just as wide. I’d never seen anything like this before.
The lot lizard, as the radio had called these type of girls, wasn’t taking no as an answer.
“I’ll suck your dick sweetie,” she said, eyes scanning the two of us, moving closer trying to hang inside the window, her whorish hand rubbing Dylan’s shoulder.
Dylan looked at me, his eyes pinched together as if he didn’t hear her correctly. Then he laughed once, briefly looking her direction, and then mine. “Is she fucking serious?”
“I’m sure she is if you’re willing,” I said through my own laughs.
The woman looked to me and winked popping her gum. “I’ll lick your pussy too.”
“Roll your fucking window up Dylan!” I shouted frantically trying to get my hands on the knob for the window on my side.
“Oh so it’s suddenly an emergency now?” he said between nervous laughs.
At least he rolled up the window.
She must have sat outside his car for about five minutes before she got the hint and moved on.
That chick went from car to car, then truck to truck, trolling her lot-lizard ass all over the place.
“You throw that CB radio away.” I said to him when we stopped to find a hotel in Amarillo. After the chick at the truck stop, he didn’t hesitate and dumped it.
We later found out from a group of guys at a gas station that the truck stop we were at was a well-known area for prostitution. Honestly though, they should put that shit on maps to save people the trouble. A lot less murders and rapes would take place if there was a map that said, “Hey, stay away from here for your own safety.”
After we settled into another hotel for the night, Dylan wanted to get something to eat, so we did and then decided it was time for a little entertainment, aside from CB radios.
“There’s a bar over there, let’s go there,” Dylan said, gesturing to a bar across the street from the steak house we were eating
at.
“Are you sure we can get it?”
Dylan shrugged once we were crossing the street. “We’ll see.”
He stepped into the street, I hesitated and Dylan looked back at me and lifted his hand for me to take it.
Maybe it was something about being in the south but when we walked in, they never asked for ID, hell, they hardly even acknowledged us.
Up until now, I had never been inside of a bar yet Dylan appeared comfortable. It didn’t surprise me one bit, this was his thing.
Glasses knocked together, conversations blended and bodies swayed to the beats of rock music. I was surprised how crowded the place was for a Tuesday night.
When we got to the bar, Dylan ordered us two beers and a shot. Again, they never asked for ID and handed over the liquor. Taking that time to look around, nobody paid any attention and acted as if we belonged. Green, yellow, red and orange neon beer signs scattered the wall. The bar itself was glass and underneath it was framed photos of patrons that sat here night after night.
“You wanna dance?” Handing me a beer and pushing a shot my direction, Dylan tipped his head to the dance floor near the stage noticing the way it held my attention.
I’ve danced before at school dances but this was completely different. It reminded me of something you would have seen on Dirty Dancing. This wasn’t a high school dance that’s for sure.
His hand found the sliver of skin between where my tank top met my jean shorts, his finger ran along the band stopping near my belly button. The touch made me squirm and want to dance like these people.
I would have agreed to anything if it meant his hands would be on me, and my hips, I was down for it. Since our kiss in the lake, he hadn’t touched me. Part of me wondered if he regretted it but the other part didn’t care. I wasn’t going to act like one of those girls that constantly debated the guy’s feelings or lack thereof. That’d never been me and I wasn’t about to start with that shit.
Dylan tossed a shot back, handed me one and I did the same. The fire burned and before I knew it, Dylan’s mouth was adding to it. Maybe he was feeling what I was feeling. The hum, the burn to touch him again was something I couldn’t stop thinking about. I could stop myself from overanalyzing his feeling yes, but I couldn’t stop that desire.
Frantically, I twisted in his arms wanting the contact, needing that contact. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking but it took all I could do not to attack him completely and wrap my body around his.
His tongue was soft and hesitant but his touch was firm as he walked me backwards to the dance floor. “Dance with me,” he said against my lips and then laughed when the song changed. “I haven’t heard this in years.”
“Dylan, I can’t dance like that.” I said turning in his arms to face the dance floor and referring to the girls moving with ease against the guys. They moved so naturally I was jealous.
“You were a cheerleader,” he said as if this should have come naturally to me. “I saw you shake your ass every Friday night. You know how to move.” Dylan looked at the couple next to us, grinding against each other. “Don’t worry, I can dance like that and I plan on showing you.” He pushed his hips into my ass and I could tell he was just as turned on as I was. He groaned, the sound barely audible over the thump of the base pulsating through our bodies.
Turning me around, his eyes stayed low between our bodies. With his right leg between my legs and one hand around my waist, his other hand held his beer loose against his side.
Then he moved.
And I forgot about not being able to dance like this.
As it turns out, I could dance like that when Dylan was my partner. His breath on my neck was distracting but his movements and his fingers digging into my hips were far more distracting.
At some point, between the movements and the beat of the music, I got into it and Dylan noticed.
Pressing forward, his mouth kissed along my jaw until he found my neck and the spot right below my ear. “You are so fucking sexy right now,” he moaned pressing forward more to show me how sexy he thought I was. “I can’t help but want you right now, in front of everyone.”
Cool, so he did feel the same way. I wanted to say take me but I didn’t.
The beat playing mixed with another song I recognized as Ying Yang Twins but didn’t know the name of the song. It didn't matter either way, Dylan didn’t let go of me and we danced our dirty dancing hearts out. My legs burned so bad they were trembling but I couldn’t remember the last time I had that much fun.
Dylan knew how to move too. His touches, his hips, all of it had me panting against him and wishing he would take me in front of everyone like he wanted.
We took a break from dancing to get another beer and I pushed my way to the bathroom. I made friends with a girl in line that was there with her boyfriend.
I lost Dylan for a few minutes and began to worry that maybe I had actually lost him.
Two songs later, I found him glossy eyed and flushed cheeks. He said he was doing shots at the bar. By then his shirt was off by then and I had no complaints.
Sweating, panting words, touches that lingered longer than necessary and hips that found a comfortable rhythm, we danced. There was something relaxing about dancing to me, especially like this. I have always enjoyed dancing since I was little, part of the reason that I was a cheerleader. You don’t have to try you just move, feel the music, and react. If only everything was that simple but right now, here, that’s exactly what I was doing.
Dylan’s eyes remained down often, watching my hips move against his, the friction of our jeans rubbing together felt so good, and I knew he felt it too.
We stayed like that when Dylan drew back, gasping. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Why?”
“Because if you keep moving like this,” he gestured south to my hips that were still moving against him. “I’m going to bend you over the nearest table.
“Then do it,” I moaned hitching my leg up his hip wrapping my arms around his neck, sliding over his shoulders with the sweat.
“Don’t fuck with me,” Dylan whispered against my skin, his throaty tone rumbled in his chest.
“At this point, Dylan,” my eyes slowly closed and then found his lips, “I don’t think I would object.”
Bringing his beer that was in his left hand to his mouth, he smiled into the neck. He took a drink before letting it hang to the side of him, I was still moving against him. “Let’s go then.”
The dance floor was extremely crowded and any time I moved, I was rubbing against another guy. So this time when I pushed back from Dylan, the guy behind me wrapped his hands around my hips and drew me into him grinding against me. I laughed trying to play it off but Dylan thought otherwise.
“Get your hands off her,” Dylan seethed calmly pushing against the guy that kept dancing against me.
The guy didn’t listen. “We’re just dancin’ man, calm down.” He yelled over the music at Dylan. I looked over my shoulder at the guy wondering if he even stood a chance against Dylan.
He didn’t.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Dylan growled stepping forward.
“What are you going to do to stop me?” The guy in the red hat spit back at him, his grasp on my hips tightened. “We’re dancing’ man, relax. I’m not looking to bone her,” he smiled. “Though she’s fucking hot,”
Yeah, that’s going to help.
“I think you should stop while you’re ahead buddy.” I urged trying to shove the guy back and diffuse Dylan a little. I could already see the storm brewing in his eyes and the grasp he had on my wrist was the warning.
The security guards got wind of the shoving and stepped in thankfully. “Time to go guys,” he said placing a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and red hat guy.
“Next time don’t do that.” Dylan said as we stumbled across the street and headed back to our hotel. The street lights and passing cars swayed with each step and I had to use Dylan to walk.
“I wasn’t looking for trouble, Dylan.” I pointed out. “I was dancing, with you.”
He sniffed giving me a slight nod, his head down as we walked to the door, his hand securely around my wrist.
Though I had never been a drinker until a few days ago, it was then that I realized that when I drank, I got brave and said what I wanted to. “Jesus, don’t act like this. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
Frustration was evident when he kicked the door shut with his foot, tossed his wet shirt on the floor of the bathroom and then slammed the door to the bathroom.
Confused, I sat on the bed and stared out the sliding glass door to another balcony. Every room we’ve had recently had a balcony. Every hotel we had looked and felt the same.
Trying to count the bars on the railing, I heard the door to the bathroom open and the sounds of Dylan behind me. Then he stood in front of me at the edge of the king sized bed with the creepy red comforter that kept attracting my drunk stare.
Glossy eyed, my eyes traveled up from his waist, to his stomach, and then his eyes. Ice blue gazed back, apologetic, compassionate.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kneeling down, brushing his nose along my jaw. He closed his eyes, shaking his head with a smirk. “It’s hard not to be jealous when I haven’t had you and so many guys are lining up for the opportunity.”
He seemed sorry but I wasn’t upset about anything that happened. It was definitely the alcohol relaxing me. Do you ever have those times when thoughts pass through your head like memories, drifting, but nothing sticks?
That was me when I drank.
“I think I need some fresh air,” I said standing, wobbling, swaying and then stumbling.
I think Dylan was afraid I would fall off the edge so he followed.
As the swaying and spinning began to ease, my thoughts were more focused on what I felt in the bar. Smiling at the memory of his skin against mine, I looked up at Dylan to find him looking over the edge of the balcony at the pool below. “Wanna check out the hot tub?” he asked.
