Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wanderlust part 45 "I dig it"
Not feeling very much better today, folks. But a touch so...I'll take it! After the kidlets are off to school, I'm crawling back to bed.
Here we are on part 45. A hair away from 60,000 words. How did that happen? :)
by Sommer Marsden
Johnny grabbed a leaflet the moment we entered the shelter of the rest stop. “In the year 2009, Miss Aurelia Blake, Iowa harvested 13.4 millions acres of corn, produced 2.43 bushels and had crops of corn valuing 7.77 billion dollars.”
“Seven-seven-seven. An angelic number for more miracles coming your way,” I said without thinking.
“Nothing. My friend Bren. She’s into all that woo-wooo spiritual stuff.”
“7.77 billion dollars,” he reminded me.
“I whistled. Thank you, Mr. Wizard.”
Johnny waved the flyer at me. “That’s science. This is agriculture. So yes, I’d say this is a corn place.”
I shivered. “A cold corn place.”
“It is November. Almost Thanksgiving. And an average temp of 46.6 degrees,” he said. grinning.
Wow. How the fuck had that happened? My first Thanksgiving not sitting primly and stiffly around my father’s gigantic table. Not hob-knobbing and bullshitting with people I barely knew and did not care about. I hadn’t had a good fucking Thanksgiving since my mother passed. And every year, Jackson promised me it would get better. And every year it sucked. And for the last few years, I’d gone ahead and gotten plastered. Why should the punch be the only thing spiked, I figured.
I thought that sharing a bucket of chicken and a bottle of wine with Johnny in a rundown hotel room would kick the shit out of all the more recent Thanksgivings. That I would have fun. Now that was a fucking miracle. “Wow,” I said out loud.
“Temperature or holiday wow?” he asked, putting the rest stop flyer in his back pocket.
“Yes,” I said. And then, “They need new fliers. It’s 2011.”
“Are you kidding me? In this economy?” he snorted.
“They have all that corn money!”
He grabbed me by the front of my shirt, yanked me in and kissed me. The kiss turned hotter and hotter until I wanted to plant my hands on the brick wall and let him take me right then and there. With my palms scraping the brick façade and the Iowa wind blowing against us as we did it. Instead I said, “Soda?”
We perused the shiny bright bank of vending machines and settled on two cold Cokes a bag of Munchos, a bag of pretzels and a package of chocolate candies. I shoved the loot in my purse as we hurriedly used the facilities. No heat in these joints, so peeing was precarious. I met him back by the bank of information handouts. The cold air licked my exposed skin as we hurried back to the Chevy. It was very late.
“Sounds good. I’m beat.”
We climbed in and he touched my hair. I felt it tug, heard it crunch a tiny bit. I grinned. “Yep, still there.”
“You dig that?”
“I dig it.”
“Why?” His voice was serious, but he was smiling at me. I was tickling his funny bone.
“Hmm,” I said, cocking my eyes to the roof. “Firstly, I don’t do that for a lot of guys.”
Now his eyebrows went high and if he’d had a hairline, they’d be in danger of kissing it. “That so?”
“It is so,” I admitted. “To me—and don’t laugh—“
“It is more intimate than fucking. Sucking cock is decidedly more up close and personal, in my humble opinion, than having sex.”
“When you say cock, mine gets hard,” he said but nodded. “Go on.”
“So, I can literally count on one hand how many guys I’ve done that for.” I looked at him as I twisted my hair up in a knot and dug a small clip out of my bag with my free hand. I clipped it up, a few stiff tendrils falling around my cheeks. Which I liked. Or dug if you were Johnny. “And I don’t need all my fingers to do that count.”
Not possible but the eyebrows went up again and I had to chuckle. He touched my leg. “Well, I feel honor—“
I held up my hand. “Please, don’t finish that sentence. I didn’t do it as a favor to you, Johnny. I did it because I wanted to. I needed to. Badly. And because I do it so little, I do like that secret little evidence on me. In my hair. Like a mark.”
“Hard,” he said again, putting my hand in his lap over his erection for a moment so I snickered and blushed and snatched my hand back like a school girl.
He flipped the radio on and I clapped wildly when I heard the song.
I’m going back to Cali, Cali, Cali. I’m going back to Cali, Hmm, I don’t think so…
“I take it that you like Ladies Love Cool James?” He turned out into the flashing firefly parade of headlights coming our way. We followed the leader in a long line of demon-red tail lights, crimson lights winking as far as my eye could see. Traffic was sparse but definitely present. No rest for the weary it seemed. There should be a cluster of hotels soon.
“I do. I love him. I love the song. Pretty fucking apropos, no?”
He nodded. “Pretty good.”
“And how he licks his lips…” I sighed.
Johnny rolled his eyes as if this was not the first time he’d heard a woman wax poetic about LL Cool J’s lip licking. Then Johnny turned to me and did it. A slow drag of his plump tongue over his full lips. And my pussy went wet.
“That was pretty good,” I breathed.
“Stay tuned, Snowflake.”
He turned his face back to the road and we were silent for a time, letting the funky beat of the song play out and then out of the blue he turned to me and said. “Have you ever been in love, Aurelia? For real?”
I stared at him, my heart feeling too small. Like it might fall all the way through my body to my feet.
“What do you mean?”
How fucking stupid of a question was that?
“Like your palms sweat and your upper lip feels tingly and your stomach churns so much you can’t tell if it’s good or bad. You’re more concerned for him at times than yourself. You think about him, dream about him, want to touch him randomly. Just to touch him. Like…if he hurts you, you can still forgive him, even if you wouldn’t forgive anyone else in the world. Like there’s not enough air when he’s not around. And sometimes when he is.”
He rattled it all off and my mouth got dryer and dryer and dryer. I thought of Jackson and my affection for him, but how easy it was for me to hurt him repeatedly to give myself solace. The other boyfriends who I promptly turned from when things got too sticky, too intense or they seemed to feel too much for me. Even the one guy—Chad— I was sure I had loved once upon a time at the beginning of college who I simply dumped one day and had never looked back.
He’d told me he loved me. I’d broken up with him and had never taken another of his calls. Woulnd't come to the door when he visited.
Johnny was waiting. I could feel him watching me as I remembered giving up the pain about Fallon--just letting it go. Chalking it up to his pain being expressed. His fear guiding him. I thought about hurting for him when he’d told me about his son. His loss. His rage at himself. I thought about all of it and how when he touched me it was like a fine mesh of electricity settling over my skin— an invisible net. Or how when he looked at me a certain way I wanted to open my mouth and say things I swore I never would.
Or how there never seemed to be enough god damned air when he was around. And even less when he wasn’t. I shook my head, bit my lip and echoed LL, “Nah. I don’t think so.”