Once upon a time, there was a group of bloggers who heeded the weekly whims of a wonderful red-headed woman who’d call the tune we’d all dance to. That was Microfantasy Monday and she is the Sweltering Celt. I fell off the wagon a bit ago, and then the prompts stopped coming, no doubt due to the pressures and demands of life. Totally understandable, I’ve been having a bit of trouble finding blogging time myself. But I realized last night that I missed those weekly challenges. They were fun and stimulating and allowed me to engage in some creative writing without having the burden of coming up with the initial seed idea first.
This morning, I mentioned a bit of this to Roxy and she very generously offered to come up with a prompt, and she gave me:
The sun was down but I could feel the heat of the day still coming up from the asphalt through the thin soles of my Chucks. Carnival sounds reached out from the near distance and we were bathed in the intermittent glow of a blinking fluorescent light stationed a couple of rows away. I’d planned to drop the tail gate and invite her to get off her feet, but she’d wanted none of that.
“There’s no time to for niceties, Buddy, he’ll be out here soon and I need you to fuck me now.”
She was like that most of the time, to be honest. When we saw each other, she might greet me with a friendly enough nod, or maybe a “Hey, Buddy” and then slide into the booth with him and his cronies. I’d go back to the kitchen with my bin of dirty dishes and unfinished late night meals and simmer over the way she used me. I wasn’t good enough to be her steady, but I was good enough for a quick fuck in the alley behind the cafe when she was horny. He was a good looking, big, strong guy, former captain of the football team, high school big shot and all that, but he didn’t get her off. Sometimes I would stare at the back of his head and wonder how he’d react if he realized how much I knew about him. And if he knew how well I knew his girlfriend, well.. that’d be cause for a beating, no doubt.
But did I know her, really? I knew the way her pussy felt when she clamped down on my hand at the moment of orgasm. I knew how her mouth tasted: cigarettes and mint gum. I knew the huskiness of her voice when she wanted me to fuck her hard and rough and fast, banging her head against the wall, slamming her hips down against a wooden bench in the park, or pushing her face down against the seat of my truck while I stood outside and fucked her from behind.
That’s what she wanted now. The quick dirty fuck. Her sweet, creamy white ass exposed to the fields beyond the parking lot, my hand buried in her cunt like a hunting dog down a fox hole. I fucked her like it was the last time, like there was no tomorrow, like the last fuck before the world ended.
Because it was the last time.
She didn’t know that, of course. I bet it never occurred to her that I’d grow tired of being at her beck and call, dropping whatever I was doing at a moment’s notice just because she was too horny to sleep, or study, or think, or breathe. It’s fair to ask why it took me so long and I think it’s the same way you can keep smoking long after you know how bad it is for you. It’s a habit, it’s what you know, it’s easy and your friends expect to see you with that smoke hanging off your lips. She expected me to be there, to offer a ‘helping hand’ as she’d say, and for a long time I had been. Even if it chapped my ass to see her strutting around on the arm of that Neanderthal, I didn’t have the guts to ask for more. Or maybe — and this is the realization that had been growing steadily — maybe I knew all along she wasn’t worth that kind of effort.
Easier to leave. Leave this stupid, fucking, dead-end town. Leave this dead-end job. Leave behind the backwards, backwoods mental deficiencies of everyone who lived here and treated me like dirt. I’d finally made my peace with the fact that she was never gonna leave him for me. Hot sex under a street light wasn’t enough to keep me here. I’d already packed my gear, and cashed my last paycheck.
I have to say, I enjoyed fucking her that night. The swirl of noise from the carnival sounded like a John Water’s movie soundtrack. Forever more, the smell of popcorn, cotton candy and the acrid odor of cooling asphalt will take me back to that moment: her face pressed against the rough fabric of my seat cover, her shorts around her ankles, the wet sounds of my fist in her pussy, her harsh panting breaths lengthening into the growling moan that meant she was about to come. I finished her off and pulled out. She groaned and struggled to get her breath. Sometimes she’d offer to return the favor, but I knew it wouldn’t happen tonight, not with him and his friends so close by. And, really, I was OK with that, I could get myself off.
“Damn, Buddy, that was so good” She leaned against me, pressing me against the door frame, momentarily soft and yielding and affectionate. I pulled her in tight, got a handful of hair and pulled her lips to mine. The kiss was deep, my tongue gave no quarter, briefly, she was all mine. She gave in to me, sighing against my mouth and for a moment, indecision hovered in my mind. Damn, I thought, I’m gonna miss this.
And I suppose I will, but there’s plenty I won’t miss, and that’s what I focused on as I drove out of town that night. It would have been easy to stay, to stay on as her fuck buddy, her occasional sex toy, but I needed more out of life. The occasional fuck, no matter how good, would never make up for the way she didn’t see me most of the time. It wasn’t enough to keep me in a town where most people didn’t see me and, when they did, it was usually with a sneer or a look of pity.
I rolled the window, sticking my elbow into the warm night air. The radio was cranked up and I pressed down on the accelerator, pushing my old truck as hard as she could go. The road was empty for the time being and I needed to put some quick distance between me and my past. The moon was full, shining benevolently down on the miles of asphalt ahead of me and the growing number behind, and as I thought about my destination, my heart rate went up and currents of adrenaline and anticipation ran through my body. The longer I drove, the more sure I was about my decision. I grinned as one of my favorite Garth Brooks songs came on.
Ain’t going down ’til the sun comes up
Ain’t givin’ in ’til I get enough
Going ’round the world in a pickup truck
Ain’t going down ’til the sun comes up
I sang out loud to the moon as my truck drove me toward the rest of my life.
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