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I
woke up at dawn, confused and stiff-necked and not entirely sure where
the hell I was. I'd never woken up in the middle of the woods before. I
felt like I'd fallen out of the back of a truck, rolled down a rocky
hill, and slept in a pile of dirt. Not a happy camper, I guess.
Brian was still wrapped around me in the sleeping bag, though, snoring
softly into my hair and drooling onto my cheek, and that made everything
seem a little less alien.
The fire had burnt down to a few crackling embers, and memories from
last night started coming back to me as I watched it die. I felt even
dumber, in the light of day. Everything seemed so unthreatening- birds
chirping, sun shining, pretty trees and squirrels. Why had I been so
terrified of this place?
Fucking Brian. Thinks he's so goddamn funny sometimes.
I was starting to sympathize with Michael for the first time. Growing up
with Brian must've been fucking nightmare. I'm sure he was even worse as
a teenager.
I really was filthy as hell, so I wriggled my way out of the sleeping
bag and out of Brian's grasp, and got some stuff together to head down
to the little stream we'd passed coming up here yesterday. Brian rolled
onto his stomach and started snoring louder, and I figured it'd be
better to just let him sleep. He's a cranky bastard if you wake him up
before he's ready.
So, let's get something clear here. I did not go down to the stupid
stream with any malicious intent. I just wanted to brush my goddamn
teeth and wash my goddamn face. Just for the record.
The stream turned out to be really pretty in the morning- much prettier
than I remembered- and luckily I'd brought my sketchbook, so once I'd
cleaned up I decided to sit and draw for a little while.
It was just like Brian had promised. Inspiration. I've never been
particularly inspired by nature before, unless you count naked men as
nature, so it was a pretty exciting moment of revelation for me. My hand
just started going, and it felt like some magic force was working
through me. That sounds retarded... but, let's just say I was finally
starting to get why Monet felt compelled to make, like, sixty paintings
of the same freaking flower. Anyway, I guess I lost track of time,
sitting there. I don't know how long I was drawing, but I suppose it
doesn't really matter. I didn't truly fuck up until I was done. Until I
heard Brian calling for me.
Yeah, I heard him, and I can't say that I was too distracted by my art
to respond, cause that's total bullshit. The truth is, some stupid,
vindictive, childish part of me was still angry about last night and
wanted to pay him back. I wanted to scare him, and when his voice
started getting frantic and raw, calling my name, I think I actually
smiled. Because I knew his fear, and it wasn't Psycho or Halloween or
that stupid movie with the amputated animated hand.
His fear is losing me, and I knew that, and yes, I am a giant prick
sometimes. Yes, I really am.
After about five minutes, which is, I'm pretty sure, as long as he'd let
me suffer; I started walking towards his voice. He was still at the
campsite, and I came up behind him, smiling. Fucking smiling. Until he
turned around.
I don't know if I could describe the look on his face in words. I might
be able to draw it, but I'm not sure I'd want to. He'd kill me, for one.
And for another...really not pleasant. I've never seen such raw fear. I
think it made my heart stop for a second. Then it turned to anger- the
difference in expression was subtle, but unmistakable- as soon as he
registered that I was standing there in front of him, probably with a
stupid smirk plastered onto my lips.
"Where the fuck have you been? Did you hear me calling you?"
His voice was terrifyingly harsh and cold. I had no idea what to say to
explain myself.
I knew what Brian would do, if he were me. He would laugh, and tease,
and blow it off as nothing, and then he would hug me until I got over
it. But I'm not Brian, and he doesn't react well to his own tactics
anyway.
Someday I will learn not to start jokes I can't finish.
"I-I was at the stream. I was...I-I had to pee and stuff," I
stammered.
He turned his back to me and started shoving things into his backpack.
"Pack up your shit," he said. "We're getting out of
here."
I packed my bag quickly and quietly, but when I was done he was already
stalking away from me, about ten huge paces ahead. I ran to catch up
with him, and found him muttering under his breath.
"Think you're so fucking cute..." And normally I would've
agreed, but I wasn't feeling particularly cute at that moment.
"I'm sorry," I said. Lame, but sincere.
"Yeah. I'm sure."
"No, really, I am!"
He didn't say anything, and I didn't know what else to say, so we made
our way silently back to the car.
"I really am sorry," I tried again when we got there.
"Just forget it and get in the car," he said, and tossed the
keys at me. "You're driving today."
Then he proceeded to climb into the passenger seat, curl onto his side,
and fall right back to sleep.
I wasn't entirely sure where I was supposed to drive *to*, but I did my
best. Dug through his maps, and followed the paths he'd drawn as closely
as possible, and tried not to make any noises or sudden movements.
It wasn't easy. I guess he wanted to take the scenic route, cause he had
us driving all over the place- down twisting, tangled rural roads, and
nowhere near the interstate. It was totally confusing, and I was tempted
to find my way back to I-80, but I figured he might actually wake up at
some point and be disappointed if we were on the highway.
Unfortunately, he slept, or pretended to sleep, for almost the entire
day. He didn't open his eyes until I pulled into a desolate, sketchy
looking diner, with a jerk of the steering wheel and a slam on the
brakes.
"Jesus fuck, what're you doing to my car?" he grumbled,
rubbing his face. And then, "Where the fuck are we?"
I told him we were at the Route 71 Greet and Eat, and that I was
starving, and he gave me an utterly disgusted look. I think he was
considering arguing about it, but then seemed to decide it wasn't worth
the effort of talking to me at all and stumbled out of the car, slamming
the door behind him.
"Whaddya know," he muttered to himself as we were walking in.
"Looks nothing like the Liberty Diner."
"Isn't that the point?" I asked. He just scowled.
When we sat down, he picked up his menu and stared at it blankly for so
long that I started to wonder if he'd slept too long and wound up with
some kind of brain damage. Eventually he turned it around and ran his
finger over what it said, like he was a teacher and I was his Special Ed
case.
"Toledo?" he asked. "What the fuck are we doing in
Toledo?"
I was kind of wondering that myself, actually, but it was his fucking
route.
"Isn't that where we're supposed to be?" I asked, even though
I knew it was. He was just looking for something else to be irritated
about, it seemed.
But then he dropped the menu, and rubbed his face, and looked genuinely
disoriented for a minute. Sometimes he's disoriented when he wakes up
from a long sleep, and it makes him angry- not to be on top of things-
so he acts like kind of a jackass for awhile. I thought maybe that was
all this was. Maybe he wasn't mad at me anymore.
"What the hell time is it?" he asked.
I told him it was dinner time- seven-thirty- and that seemed to send him
over the edge of despair for some reason. He groaned like I'd kicked him
in the gut, and slid out of the booth.
"Gotta piss," he said. "Order me a Reuben."
And then he was gone. For like, a million years. Once I didn't have him
to distract me, I started noticing lots of unpleasant things about my
surroundings. The place stank like grease and burning meat, and the
coffee tasted like dirty pennies. Everything looked like it had a thin
layer of filth over it, including the patrons, some of who were openly
staring at me in a very unfriendly fashion. Even the waitress gave
me weird looks when I ordered our food, and I wondered if we were the
first strangers these people had seen since the traveling freak show
came through town or something. I felt really uncomfortable, and wished
I'd brought in my sketchbook so I had something to do with my hands.
Something to look at besides the enormous, scary waitress and the mean,
ugly customers.
I decided to look at my bright red placemat instead, which was fairly
boring until I spilled some sugar on it accidentally. I added some
pepper and mustard, and suddenly it was a canvas. I drew the waitress
with my finger. She had this crazy salt and pepper colored 'fro, so it
actually worked out pretty cool, and it entertained me until Brian came
back from the longest piss break in history.
He had a newspaper with him, and when he sat back down he held it up
between us, blocking my view of him.
I was starting to wonder if this whole trip was a really huge mistake.
Maybe we were one of those couples that don't travel well together. Or
maybe Brian just didn't travel well at all. Maybe he was a giant baby
who'd never forgive me for making a joke of his one weakness. It was
getting really annoying, whatever it was.
"Look, it's the waitress," I whispered to him, and turned the
placemat towards him. It really did look like her, in a cartoony,
abstract sort of way.
"What?"
"I drew her with condiments, see? It's folk art."
He turned down one corner of the newspaper with his finger and peered at
the mat, then back up at me. I could see the corners of his mouth
twitching upwards, forcing a smile against his will, and I smiled back.
Then the paper snapped back up to cover his face, and he cleared his
throat. I sighed and slumped against my seat, dejected.
"Are you gonna ignore me for the rest of the trip, or just the rest
of the night?" I finally asked him. 'Cause if it was gonna be the
rest of the trip, I was seriously ready to go home.
He didn't answer me or put down the goddamn paper, but eventually I felt
his the toe of his boot tapping against the side of my sneaker under the
table. It was one of those weird, purely Brianesque gestures of
affection, and it was enough to set my mind at ease a little bit.
"There's a really interesting story in here," he said.
"About a jogger who found a dead body in the woods."
I kicked his shin and laughed, and he put down the paper and gave me a
quirky half-smile. He grabbed my foot between both of his, and soon we
were playing an elaborate game of footsie under the table, and grinning
at each other like total dorks. By the time the waitress brought us our
vaguely food-like substances, I felt like we were us again.
"Where do you think we'll stay tonight?" I asked, hoping he
wasn't planning another woodland adventure, but almost equally fearful
of our other options. I hadn't seen a remotely inhabitable hotel since
we'd left Pennsylvania.
"Dunno," he shrugged. "Why don't you pick a place."
"Well, all the places we've passed today have looked pretty
sketchy. Maybe we should just go to a truck stop."
"A truck stop." He raised one eyebrow at me, and I wasn't sure
if he thought I was serious or not. He looked more intrigued than
horrified, which was surprising.
"Yeah, don't they have places where the truckers sleep?"
"S'this some wild fantasy of yours I've never heard about?" he
asked, running his foot up the inside of my calf.
"I saw it in a movie," I told him. "Truck Fuck."
That finally got a laugh out of him, which was a huge relief after the
Day of Crankypants, and I smiled back at him.
"Truck Fuck it is," he said, snatching a french fry off my
plate.
"I was kidding!" I said quickly. "Those places are
disgusting! And real truckers don't look anything like the ones in the
movie."
He glanced around the diner, seeming to take in our surroundings for the
first time, and muttered, "That's for damn fucking sure."
I leaned across the table and whispered, "They're kinda scary,
actually," and he reached over and ruffled my hair.
"Aw, are the big ugly men frightening you, Sunshine?" he
asked, louder than he probably should have. "Maybe we oughtta
frighten them back, hmm?"
"I think we already are."
"Well then, let's go all the fucking way."
He grabbed onto the back of my head, and I'm a little ashamed to say
that I almost pulled away. It was stupid, I know, after everything we'd
just gone through back home, after everything I'd been through my whole
life trying to stand up for myself and my right to kiss whoever the fuck
I want, wherever the fuck I want, but shit, those people were scary.
This felt like the kind of situation that could lead very easily into a
lynching.
But, as usual, horniness won out over self-preservation. I really wanted
to be kissed.
I leaned into it, expecting a little peck, but as soon as our lips
touched he started moaning, sliding his tongue into my mouth. He wasn't
kidding when he said all the fucking way, and after a minute or two I
stopped caring if people were staring. After a minute or three, I forgot
there were people at all. There was just me and Brian, and that nearly
hysterical, giddy feeling that bubbles up in my throat sometimes when
he's kissing me. That frantic need for more.
Brian's kisses aren't like other people's kisses. Not like anyone I've
ever kissed, anyway. They're not just a random mashing of lips and
tongues and teeth, used simply as a precursor to sex. They're not
perfunctory or mechanical or meaningless. They say things. They talk to
me, in ways that he can't, and that's why I want them all to myself.
This kiss was telling me that he was proud to be here with me, even if
everyone in the place thought we were disgusting perverts.
When he finally pulled back, we were both panting and flushed, and he
was giving me that desperate to fuck look, and I probably would've done
it right there on the table if he'd asked me to. But he didn't. He just
pulled a twenty out of his wallet, slapped it on the table, and said,
"It's time to go."
I grabbed a handful of fries on the way out, and didn't look back.
When we got outside, he grabbed my shoulders and shoved me against the
side of the car. My sneakers slid in the gravel, and I probably would've
fallen if he hadn't been holding onto me so hard. He kissed me again,
and it was a different kind of kiss- harder and wetter. This kiss was
telling me that he needed his cock to be inside some part of my body.
Right away. We were both totally hard, and when he started thrusting
against me I felt almost dizzy from wanting him. From excitement. From
the knowledge that he was gonna fuck me right here in the parking lot,
and it was gonna be rough and hot, and all the fucking hicks in the
diner were probably still peering out the window at us.
Then he stopped. Pulled completely away and groaned, and for a minute I
thought maybe he'd come in his pants by accident. That would've been
really cool.
"S'matter?" I asked.
"Fucking cops," he grunted, and sure enough there was a patrol
car pulling into the parking lot. For a second I was scared someone in
the diner had called them to arrest us for indecency or something, but
they walked right by us and headed inside. Just hungry, I guess.
Brian walked around to the driver's side, and we both got into the car,
but he didn't turn it on. Just sat there staring at me in the
semi-darkness, breathing heavy.
"We should probably go," I said.
"Uh huh."
"Uh huh."
We had a staring contest for a few more seconds, and then simultaneously
lunged at each other. He started biting at my lips, sucking at my
tongue, and I reached down for his cock. Fuck the cops, I thought. Fuck
the cops and fuck the hicks and fuck the whole stupid world. I just
wanted him.
"S'kinda risky," he said, through clenched teeth, as I
unbuttoned his jeans.
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
I dropped my head into his lap, licked him up and down, and he made the
most amazing gaspy, whimpery sound. Brian makes the best noises. I think
about his noises more than anything, when I'm jerking off.
He grabbed onto a hunk of my hair, and I wrapped my lips around him and
slid down, taking him all the way in. His hips bucked off the seat, and
he laughed through a grunt, told me they were all watching us through
the window. I don't know if he was telling the truth, but it made me
fucking hot.
I started really going at it, the way that makes him craziest, and I
thought I might come just from listening to him, feeling his fingers in
my hair. But I wanted more.
"Mms'my boy," he groaned, looking down appreciatively as I
unbuttoned my jeans and started stroking myself. I knew he had to be
particularly pleased- he only calls me his boy when he's really fucking
excited, and nearly out of his head. "Jus' don' come on theeeughh...leather."
I didn't really know where else he expected me to do it since the whole
fucking interior of the car is leather, so I aimed for his leg when I
felt it starting. Which was like, almost immediately.
"Fuck...shit...what're you...ugh," he sputtered out, and I
giggled in my throat around his cock. That was enough to set him off,
and he shot into my mouth with two sharp cries.
"On my black fucking jeans," he complained, after I'd let him
taste himself on my tongue for a while.
"At least it's not the leather," I said, and he laughed and
pulled my head to his shoulder. He was panting still, and covered in a
thin sheen of sweat, and making no effort to really do anything about
the rapidly crusting stain on his thigh. "And now you have
something to remember me by. So no matter who you're with, I'll always
be there."
The look he gave me was utterly unreadable, but the fact that he gave me
a look at all told me that he remembered, and was glad that I did too.
Brian loves to be quoted.
"Until I wash my pants..." he said, and kissed the top of my
head. "Now let's get the fuck out of here before we wind up tied to
the back of somebody's Ford pickup."
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