"Road Trip"
 m

"Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away..." That's probably how I should
begin this story. But let's just say the Beach Boys hadn't yet been replaced
by the Beatles and I never gave a second thought to the year-old draft card
in my wallet. I was a freshman at the University of Texas and, like most
out-of-town students in Austin, I didn't have a car. Those few who did
either were very good at saving money in high school, or came from
better-off families, or were older to begin with, and they never lacked for
people wanting to be their friends. The rest of us hitched rides or hoofed
it around town. (You could still walk across most of Austin in those days,
and bicycles were still socially restricted to junior high and below.) Going
home for the holidays, your parents would pick you up. Otherwise, the
cheapest way to travel any distance was good ol' Continental Trailways.
Shortly before spring break of that first year, a business friend of my
brother (who was nearly ten years older than me) was looking for someone
reliable to drive his Lincoln Continental Mark II from San Antonio to
Jacksonville, Florida, for delivery to a cousin or somebody. The car was a
baby-blue beauty, an immaculate, leather-upholstered land yacht, probably
worth $8,000 or more. My brother knew I always needed funds and he vouched
for me as an excellent driver (which I actually was). The upshot was that
his friend offered me $100 to shepherd his Lincoln to Florida -- plus
another $100 for gas and expenses and a return bus ticket. I hadn't been to
Florida since a family vacation when I was nine. How could I lose? I grabbed
the job.
The Friday afternoon that classes let out for break, I hitched a ride to San
Antonio with a guy from my dorm; the normally ninety-minute trip took two
hours because of the exodus of students headed for Padre Island and Port
Aransas, but we got there. I spent the night on my brother's sofa-bed and
early Saturday morning I was shaking hands with the owner of the car.
My brother had already warned me of the ground rules: No "ride- alongs" or
other passengers, no greasy food in the car, no drinks that might endanger
all that leather, no speeding tickets, no night-driving, no side trips, and
I should lock the car every single time I got out from behind the wheel.
Well, $100 was a nice chunk of change in the early '60s and none of the
owner's conditions seemed unreasonable, not with that car, not for that kind
of money. By Noon, I was on the road, headed east on US-90.

At my first pit stop, an ice house in a little town halfway to Houston, I
bought a pair of mirror shades in an attempt to look cool. The Lincoln drove
like a dream. I could steer with one finger and I had to watch the
speedometer carefully, the engine was so huge. No cruise control in those
days, of course -- no air conditioning, either -- and the mattress-like
suspension, customized four-speaker radio, and tinted side and rear windows
meant I had to work to keep my mind on my driving.
The best part was the other cars I passed, especially those driven by kids
my own age. A casual wave and a superior smile negated their envious looks.
A big blue Lincoln is a great car for improving your morale and increasing
your ego.
I had hoped to completely through Louisiana before quitting for the day, but
the weekend traffic in Houston killed that idea. I had just reached Liberty
and was wondering if I could make it to the Louisiana line before full dark,
when I saw the girl with the suitcase in her hand getting out of an old
pickup ahead.
The truck was turning off onto a side road and the girl waved to the driver
and then looked hopefully back up the highway in my direction. I was less
than a thousand feet away and already slowing as quickly as I could without
making the tires squeal.
She was about my age, blonde ponytail and bangs, black jeans, baggy red
sweatshirt, and what looked like Miss Hushpuppies. Very straight- looking,
probably a safe pickup. I thought about the "no riders" rule and decided it
couldn't possibly apply in a situation like this. I mean, the girl was
obviously in need of assistance.
She watched the big Continental crunch onto the gravel shoulder and flashed
me a bright smile, obviously delighted that she wouldn't have to wait for
another ride. She also appraised the car as I came to halt beside her and
lowered the electric window.
"Need a lift?" (A pointless formality, but expected.)
"Yup, I sure do; how far are you going?" I was instantly in love with that
twangy soprano.
"All the way to Florida." I attempted a nonchalant smile. "How far are *you*
going?"
"I dunno yet -- maybe Florida...." She grinned. Beautiful teeth. I popped
the door lock on the passenger side as she hurried around the front of the
car, hips twitching interestingly.
She tossed her rather beat-up suitcase in the back seat and the ponytail
bobbed as she hopped in the front, glancing around as she slammed the door.
"Nice car. Yours or your father's?" My head swiveled around at that, but I
decided the twinkle in her eye meant it was a friendly joke and not a
smart-ass crack.
To get even, I replied "Neither. I just sorta 'acquired' it." From the
corner of my eye as I pulled back onto the highway, I saw the twinkle
falter. She was probably wondering if I was a car thief. "The owner's paying
me to get it to Florida for him," I added with a small smile and a glance
through the shades. Gotcha.
She laughed. "Touche! My name's Paula, by the way."
That was too much! I cackled as I began singing in an upper register: "Hey,
hey, Paula, I've been waiting for you..."
"If you're gonna make fun of me, man, you can just let me out right here!"
she snapped. "I like my name!"
I waved a hand placatingly as I continued to laugh. "No, no, you don't
understand! The next line is *yours* -- no lie!"
After a few seconds' hesitation, she said "Hey, hey,... Paul? You're
kidding."
"Nope." I dug my wallet out of the door pocket and flipped it open to the
plastic window with my Texas Operator's License. "See?" I said, passing it
to her. "Paul Flowers." I was grinning like a maniac. "Listen, I'm sorry,
really. It just hit me funny. The first person I run into on this trip who's
worth meeting, and we're already in a song together!"
And I began the first verse again, which had been recorded up in Fort Worth
not all that many years before. Then Paula put her head back on the seat and
sang: "Hey, hey, Paul, no one else will ever do..."
I was dumbfounded: Her singing voice was beautiful! Strong and clear, an
alto bell made of crystal. I took off the shades and stared at her with my
mouth hanging open before jerking my attention back to the road. She
accepted my reaction as a compliment and we plowed into the rest of it more
or less in harmony: "True love means planning a life for two, being together
the whole day through,..."
We managed to finish the verse and the refrain, Paula leading and gaining
strength with me following humbly in her wake. I managed not to falter but I
admit to being a bit intimidated by her obvious talent.
As we finished the last "Muh-hy loooovvvve...." I braced my knees against
the wheel for a moment so I could applaud. She gave me a little bow from the
waist.
"I'm sure everyone asks you this," I said as I regained the wheel, "but why
in the world aren't you in a recording studio somewhere? You have a
*fantastic* voice!"
"Thank you -- and I wish I was. I love to sing; that's why I left..." She
paused, realizing she was saying more than she meant to, but then continued.
"I, uh, left home a couple days ago. My father said I had to keep working at
that damned waitress job, now that I'm out of high school -- 'not waste time
and money' trying to get myself discovered." She looked at me mournfully.
"But do you have any idea how much it costs to cut a demo? Even to get a
good agent's attention, you have to have a demo. Or you have to know someone
with enough clout and connections to get you an audition,... and I don't
know anyone like that." She explained the whole thing matter-of-factly, as
if repeating something she'd said a hundred times before, and probably had.
Hmmmm. "You know," I began hesitantly, "I play piano in a pretty fair little
rock 'n' roll band at school. We've been doing frat parties when they can't
afford a big-name group, stuff like that. Craig, our lead guitar, is the
closest thing we have to a vocalist. He's okay, I guess, but he doesn't have
enough volume even to carry to the middle of a dance floor."
"This band have a name?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Well, that kinda keeps changing," I laughed. "At the moment, we're the
'Colorado River Band'. We just do this for fun, you understand, 'cause we
like to play together,... but we really are pretty good. And I do a *great*
version of 'Great Balls of Fire', but none of us can *sing* it worth a
damn."
"And you're suggesting what? That I go to Austin with you and be the girl
singer with your band? At fraternity parties?" She didn't sound very
impressed.
"No, that isn't quite what I had in mind. Joe, our drummer, actually does
get some session work at the independent studios, the small ones, in Austin
and Dallas and Fort Worth. He knows some people. I bet he could find us a
place that would give us a couple hours of recording time cheap or free...."
I glanced at Paula; she seemed to be listening more attentively.
"See, we've never even *considered* doing a recording. Joe's the only one in
the group who has professional aspirations. But with that gorgeous voice of
yours fronting us, it would be worth doing! In fact, it would be an honor to
be your backup. Then, of course, when you're rich and famous, we get free
lifetime concert tickets."
She laughed and nodded. "Okay, Paul, I'll think about it. I really will. But
I won't quit my day job."
"Fair enough," I replied. "What day job?"
"Whatever I can find," she said ruefully.

It was after 8:00 by the time we got to Lake Charles and it dawned on me
that I had a problem. If I just dropped Paula off in town and then went
looking for a cheap motel, I'd almost certainly never see her again, and I
didn't want that to happen. Maybe she had misunderstood.
"Um, you realize, don't you, that I'm not planning to drive all night? The
owner doesn't want me driving at night, in case I fall asleep or something,
so I have expense money for a motel. What-- uh,... how do you want to do
this?" I'd never asked a girl to stay in my motel room before.
"If I had the money for a motel room, I wouldn't be hitching, would I?" she
said a bit sharply. "You wouldn't mind me riding with you tomorrow, would
you?"
"Well, no, of course not -- I'd love to have your company. But what about--"

"Look for a place where I can sneak into your room."
That sounded too good to be true. "Uh, how do you know you can trust me?"
"I don't have to." She looked me straight in the eye and suddenly raised her
hand from her lap. There was a click and an open switchblade appeared in her
hand. A very steady hand. I decided to believe she was capable of using it
if necessary.
"Okay,..." I replied. "You made your point."
She smiled and the knife disappeared, probably up the sleeve of her
sweatshirt.

I passed up the first couple of places because of the trucks parked outside;
I didn't want to be awakened by semis coming and going in the middle of the
night. The third place was older and smaller, only eight units, all in one
row with the office at the end nearest the highway. The VACANCY sign was
still on, so I pulled in and parked well away from the lights. Paula was
crouched down low on the floor of the car.
I went in and told the manager, who looked about ninety years old, that I
was ferrying a car and it had been a long day's drive. He gave me the room
at the far end of the row, back away from the noise and lights of passing
traffic.
When I moved the car down and parked in front of the unit, I cautioned my
passenger to wait until I had the room door open before she made her move.
The look I got made me feel a bit dumb for saying something so obvious. I
got my suitcase out of the trunk and hers off the back seat, then opened the
front door on the passenger side and let it remain open while I tried the
key to the room. I set the bags down on the double bed and when I turned
around Paula had already scuttled inside. While I went back out and locked
up the car, she headed for the bathroom. But I was thinking about that
double bed.
When the toilet flushed and she came out of the bathroom a minute later,
looking more comfortable, I avoided the topic that was foremost in my mind
by turning to the second topic, which was food.
"Looks like there's a hamburger place open right across the road," I said.
"I'm gonna walk over and bring back something for supper. What would you
like?"
"I'd love a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke," she said with a grin. "I'm
starving!" Then, as I turned toward the door, she said "Wait a minute,..."
and rummaged in her jeans pocket, finally pulling out a moist, wadded-up
dollar bill. "I don't expect you to pay for everything, man. You were
getting a room anyway, but this is different, and I do have a *little*
money." She held out the dollar and I took it and thanked her. That was
another subject I hadn't brought up yet and I was pleased she intended to be
as self-sufficient as she was able to afford. I had to make my expense funds
last. I also didn't want her thinking she owed me anything; I wasn't *that*
cheesy, not even at eighteen.
When I got back with two sacks that smelled of hot grease, I found Paula had
shucked her shoes, socks, and jeans, and was standing in front of the wall
mirror in just her oversized sweatshirt, combing out her hair.
Removing the ponytail made her seem older, perhaps older than me. Certainly
more experienced about the world, I was beginning to think. But my attention
was drawn by those slender, tanned legs below the hem of her red sweatshirt.
I was becoming short of breath and only the fact that my own jeans were a
little too tight kept my sudden erection from becoming obvious.
She turned with a smile and inhaled the french-fry aroma as she tried
unsuccessfully to tug her shirt a little lower. I set the sacks on the
dresser and she grabbed one and carried it to the bed, sitting crosslegged
in the middle as she unwrapped her cheeseburger. I was uncomfortably aware
of the crotch of her white panties peeking out from beneath the red shirt.
She seemed oblivious to her display, though, or too hungry to care.
I sat around on the other side of the bed to eat my own cheeseburger; Paula
was too much of a distraction for my digestion. And I still hadn't mentioned
the bed, nor had she. I finally decided to act as if I were alone in the
room, because I certainly wasn't going to pay for the bed and then sleep on
the floor.
I went into the bathroom to take a leak and brush my teeth and discovered a
damp bra draped over the shower rod. I sneaked a peek at the size tag on its
back strap: 34B. Her figure hadn't been much in evidence under that baggy
sweatshirt ... and now that I knew she'd taken off her bra, my briefs began
to bulge again.
It was only about 11:00 but I wanted to get an early start in the morning,
before the traffic built up. I came out of the bathroom prepared to switch
off the lights -- but Paula had beaten me to it. She was already under the
covers on the far half of the bed, curled up on her side. When I climbed in
on my side, she murmured "G'night," and I responded. Then I simply lay there
and waited to see what, if anything, would happen. But I was more tired than
I had realized and before long I was asleep.
What woke me about 4:30 in the morning was blonde hair tickling my nose.
During the night, Paula seemed to have migrated from her pillow to mine and
was cuddled up beside me. She was still asleep, breathing softly, and I
thought idly how nice it was to wake up like this. I turned my head to look
at her and was struck by how pretty she was, relaxed with her eyes closed,
and not on the defensive.
What I *wanted* to do was slip my arm under her shoulders, hold her close to
me, and kiss her awake. But I figured being awakened like that was likely to
lose me her company -- and, for all I knew, she still had that damn knife up
her sleeve.
My slight movement apparently got the attention of her ever-vigilant
subconscious, however, and she took a deep breath and yawned as her eyes
fluttered open.
"'Morning," I said softly. She smiled back sleepily and stretched her arms
over her head. And when she had finished stretching, one arm lay curled
around the top of my head and the other had snaked across my bare chest.
"Thanks for not doing anything," she murmured. "I was a little worried I
might have to fight you off last night," she continued quietly, "but you
turned out to be a gentleman, I guess." I didn't tell her it had mostly been
nervousness and tiredness.
"It wasn't easy," I admitted. "And it's even harder this morning, with you
looking the way you look."
She gave me a dreamy look and scooted up closer. Her nose nuzzled my ear and
her warm exhalation against my neck gave me goosebumps. I acted on my
inclination and let one arm burrow beneath her body. She raised up just a
little to accommodate it, which was reassuring.
I turned on my side to face her and stroked her downy cheek with my free
hand. She pulled me into an embrace and touched my lips with her outthrust
tongue. I sucked it in, played with it a little, then pushed my own tongue
into her waiting mouth.
Meanwhile, my free hand had reached the lower edge of her sweatshirt and
crept beneath it. I allowed my fingertips to glide up her spine and she
shivered. When I tried to bring my hand around to the front, though, to get
at those hidden tits, it was blocked by a sudden downward movement of her
elbow.
Our lips parted and she gazed at me -- somewhat regretfully, I thought.
"Let's just neck, okay? I want to kiss you a *lot* more, but no further than
that -- not right now...." She touched her nose to mine to lessen my
disappointment.
At the age of eighteen, I'd had sex with half a dozen girls. Usually, it was
in the back seat of a car (uncomfortable, and you might get caught), once in
a park (grass stains, and you might get caught), and twice on a certain
girl's sofa while her parents were upstairs asleep (mandatory silence, and
you *really* might get caught). Now, for the first time in my life, I'd
actually *slept* with a girl, in an actual bed -- and about all I was going
to get out of it was sleep. Well, with any luck, we'd be together a couple
more days; who could tell what might happen?
"Okay," I agreed quietly. "I can live with that...." I withdrew my hand and
smoothed her shirt back down, then wrapped both arms around her and squeezed
while my mouth attacked hers. She hugged me back, arms around my shoulders.
Her knees pushed lightly against mine but her thighs stayed closed.
But she made up for it by running her long tongue all around the inside of
my mouth and then practically washing my face like a cat. By the time we
climbed out of bed an hour later, I almost didn't need a shower, but I took
one anyway.
The bathroom door had no lock and didn't want to stay latched, either, so I
had to play the gentleman again while Paula took her turn in the shower. It
was very tough. I didn't even prowl among the used underwear in her
suitcase.

That second day on the road was quite different. I was used to the car by
now, and I was becoming used to Paula. Breakfast in Lafayette consisted of
two dozen doughnuts from the Spudnut and a quart of hot chicory coffee,
which was about as nourishing as my road diet ever got in those days. We
taped together some sheets of newspaper into an ad hoc seat cover, to keep
from worrying about the leather.
Just the other side of Mobile, we made a *tiny* detour down to Orange Beach
(I know -- another rule broken), where we played in the modest surf like
ten-year-olds and had a great time wasting half the afternoon. Few
activities on a warm spring day are more invigorating than playing tag with
a barefoot pretty girl up and down a stretch of white Gulf sand.
Even more fun was when Paula let me catch her occasionally and wrestle her
into the low dunes at the back of the beach. I was careful to keep the
sexual content of our romp at a manageable level and Paula laughed and
shrieked delightfully when I tossed her over my shoulder and waded shin-deep
into the water, threatening to pitch her in. I didn't though. I lowered her
slowly to her feet and we let ourselves sink in the wet sand up to our
ankles while we shared a long, slow, deep kiss. I don't think I would have
noticed a tidal wave just then.
We did a lot of casual, easygoing kissing that day, both in and out of the
car, and by evening we were so relaxed around each other, it was like a
cross-country trip at twenty miles an hour. I found myself completely
captured by Paula's quick wit and willingness to engage in verbal play. She
definitely was *not* the "lil' ol' me" type.
I also played the radio a lot, turning the volume low on the Top Twenty and
begging my talented passenger to sing the melody line. I'm sure she got a
little tired of that, but she apparently decided it was a cheap price to pay
for a ride to Florida. Besides, I was in love with that beautiful voice and
I'm also sure she recognized that my adoration was sincere.
I had an ulterior motive for spending hours at the beach, though. Leaving
Lake Charles as early as we had, I could have pushed hard and made
Jacksonville late that evening,... which might be the last I would see of
Paula. One night together just wasn't enough. She undoubtedly figured out my
strategy quickly enough, but she went along with it. As it was, we squeaked
through Pensacola and began looking for a motel on the other side.

This time the manager was a suspicious old cracker who kept eyeing the
Lincoln and studying my out-of-state driver's license as though she expected
me to break down and confess on the spot. It was the detached "tourist
cabin" sort of place popular in the '30s and '40s, with a carport beside
each unit. They faced the wrong way, so Paula had to climb over the hump and
under the steering wheel to make her exit on the driver's side, out of sight
of the office.
We'd already eaten out a light meal at a Sonic out near the Fair Grounds, so
I didn't have to go out for food this evening -- which meant Paula had no
time to herself in the cabin while I was gone. I was carefully polite but I
also had no intention of missing an opportunity that might be promoted to
intimacy. When my traveling companion went off immediately to the bathroom
with hairbrush in hand, I was right behind her, fishing out my pocket comb:
Together, we had enough Alabama Gulf sand in our hair to start our own
beach.
Since I was (of course) paying for the room, Paula offered to let me go
first in the shower this time. But I declined and sat on the side of the bed
watching as she plumped down in the cabin's only chair and emptied the sand
out of her jeans cuffs. As she peeled off her socks, I thought about her
legs on display the previous night,... and how cute her ponytail was, and
her sweet smile in bed that morning and the ferocious way she had kissed me
then, and the soft giggles she had hidden in my ear and the gentle kisses we
had exchanged in the dunes at the beach.
And tomorrow, around lunchtime, I'd be delivering the car while Paula went
off to wherever to seek her fortune. I didn't kid myself that I was in love
or anything so serious, but I was going to miss her company in a very big
way. I was also honest enough to recognize my unsatisfied horniness for what
it was. I wasn't looking forward to that solitary bus trip back to Texas.
"Paul,... what's the matter?" Her quiet voice snapped me back. She was
sitting there with a bare foot across her knee, wiggling her toes and
searching my face with an expression of genuine concern. I was embarrassed
at being caught mooning over her, but I discovered I couldn't lie to her
face. I sighed and shrugged.
"I was thinking that I probably won't ever see you again after tomorrow.
Less than two days and two nights, and I guess I'm going to miss you, Paula.
Hell, I'm going to miss you a lot! Just feeling a little sorry for myself,
is all." I put on a not-very-successful brave smile. She looked at me
another few seconds and then got up and sat again close beside me. She
squeezed my hand and leaned against my shoulder.
"I'm touched, Paul, I really am. You're a nice guy and I've sure enjoyed the
trip with you. I even like to sing for you,... just for you," she added, and
leaned closer to kiss me lightly on the cheek. That was supposed to make me
feel better, but it didn't. It only made me more acutely aware of our
impending separation. But I kissed her back and nodded. Her gaze lingered on
me for a moment longer. Then she got up from the bed.
"Well, I'm going to go take my shower." And she stepped into the bathroom
and unzipped her jeans even as she pushed the door closed. I just sat where
I was, listening to the shower curtain rustle and the old faucets being
turned, and the shower head spitting. Damn.
After about five minutes, though, I heard her voice from the bathroom:
"Mumble mumble, Paul?"
I got up and cracked the bathroom door. As the steam clouds drifted out, I
said "What? I'm here but I didn't understand what you said...."
"I said 'Would you come in here, Paul'?"
I understood *that* well enough and stepped into the bathroom. The humidity
was already 100% and I could barely make out her figure through the cloudy
old plastic shower curtain.
"Uh, yeah? What's the problem?" Her shadow stopped moving and then her wet,
shiny face appeared around the end of the curtain.
"What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" she asked with a
mock-stern expression. "I invited you to join me, man. You can scrub my back
and I'll scrub yours." She disappeared behind the curtain again. "Jeez, you
can even leave your clothes on if you want," she laughed. I set a new record
for getting naked from a standing start.

It was the best shower of my life to that point. There's something innately
romantic and sexy about encountering a wet, gleaming body through a fog of
hot steam. Paula was cute, pretty, whatever -- but in the shower she became
sultry and alluring.
She handed me a wash cloth and a miniature bar of soap and said with a grin,
"Why don't you lather me up...?" So I made the soap travel up and down her
arms and her thighs, across her shoulders and back, and then all over a
truly delicious pair of tits. They were the perfect size to cup in my hands
and they were firm and responsive to my touch. When my palms covered her
breasts and I pinched her nipples a little, Paula leaned into me and put her
head back so I could nibble on her throat.
That also pushed my enthusiastic cock against her groin and she reached down
without hesitation and squeezed. My mind was pounding along, trying to
figure a way to screw this gorgeous girl while standing on the slick
porcelain. Or should I wait until we were in bed? But Paula felt the
trembling in my hands; she put her own hands firmly on my waist and looked
me in the eye, up close.
"Paul, I'm sorry -- but we need to agree on something, like we did this
morning...." She kissed me quickly, lightly. "I trust you or I wouldn't have
invited you in here. I know you won't try to push me into something. The
thing is--" She paused and took a deep breath. "--I don't want to fuck. It's
not you, man -- it's *anybody*. This is really nice, in here with you, and
it's really sexy, and you *know* you're making me horny as hell!" She
stopped to kiss me again. "And I really do like you, Paul. But can we keep
this to just mouths and hands? Please?"
The pleading in her voice was obvious and I knew if I didn't agree -- and
stick to it -- she'd push me out of the tub right now. Well, what I had now
was a major improvement over that morning's lingering frustration.
I cleared my throat. "Question: Can we do whatever we *want* with 'mouths
and hands'?" I raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips judiciously. If my
hands hadn't been still engaged in massaging her breasts, I would have
folded my arms for dramatic effect.
"Idiot." She leered and kissed me again. "Of course we can. I was just
thinking of all the interesting things we *could* do...." She squeezed my
cock again and pulled upward on it -- a marvelous sensation. And she was
right: There were *lots* of things one could do with just mouths and hands.
I temporarily abandoned Paula's breasts and slid my hands around and down to
stroke and squeeze than lovely little ass. I planted myself and lifted her
up on the balls of her feet so I could bend a little and wrap me tongue
around her nipple. She moaned softly and her fingers sifted through my hair.

"Mmmmm... I love that... Use your teeth there -- just a little!" She inhaled
sharply as I tugged at her nipple with my incisors and let it bounce back;
she tried to wrap my head up completely in her arms. After a few minutes,
just as I was beginning to develop a crick in my back, Paula said, a little
shakily, "Oh -- Paul,... Ahhhh -- that's enough... You keep this up and I'm
gonna come too quick...!" Her fingers tickled my ears. "Besides, it's my
turn, lover." The intimate pet name sounded very nice indeed.
Her water-slick body moved down mine and she settled into a hunker,
steadying herself with one hand behind my knee and taking control of my cock
with the other. And it was my turn to wind my fingers through her hair as
she rubbed the head of my cock against her nipples and grinned up at me
playfully. Then she guided it up her breastbone, her throat, under the curve
of her chin, to the edge of her lower lip,... and stopped.
The old cracker in the office was going to find me in the bathtub in the
morning, I thought -- dead of a lust attack and a terminal erection. I
clutched at her head and choked out, "Christ! Don't stop!"
Paula's throaty laugh caused a small breeze in my pubic hair and made my
kneecaps tingle. She did a quick hawklike swoop and engulfed my penis. A
stab of pleasure punctured my chest as her tongue prodded the tip and her
fingers teased my testicles. I was, very suddenly, so completely aroused I
would cheerfully have humped that Lincoln out in the carport. I desperately
repeated the rules to myself, under my breath -- "Hands and mouths, hands
and mouths!"
Looking down at the top of her head, at the drops of water refracting her
damp blonde mop, I was struck again by how much I was going to miss Paula.
Not fair, I complained silently. It's just not fair. Why do you always meet
fantastic girls under the most impossible circumstances? I knew I'd never
meet anyone to rival Paula in Freshman English: That just wasn't the way the
world worked.
My gonads weren't worrying about the future, though. They were tightly
focused on the nerve endings in my straining cock. As Paula continued to
suck and squeeze, I could visualize my climax rising, like the mercury in a
thermometer in July. Whether it was the tensing of my groin muscles or the
inarticulate sound I made, she timed it perfectly. She let my cock *POP*
from between her lips and tucked it again under her chin just as my
long-postponed orgasm exploded.
I reflexively pressed her face against my stomach as I trembled through my
climax; she quickly turned her head so she wouldn't smother and snuggled her
cheek against me instead. She didn't say anything but I had the distinct
feeling she felt flattered by my rapid eruption. I wasn't thinking too
clearly just then, but I was vaguely surprised. I couldn't imagine any guy
*not* being overcome by such an excitingly sexy girl.
As I caught my breath, I got my hands under her arms and lifted her back to
her feet. My semen ran in rivulets from her throat down over her "perfect
handful" breasts and it smeared across my chest as I hugged her and kissed
her with more passion than I had ever felt for anyone. She squeezed me in
her arms just as tightly, and it seemed again that there was something
besides passion in her movements.
"What am I gonna do without you?" I asked a bit hoarsely.
She held my face in her hands and gave me a serious look. "You're going to
do just fine without me, Paul, and you know it."
I didn't feel like being reasonable or realistic and I shook my head.
"Civilization as we know it will end two seconds after I have to say goodbye
to you, Paula," I said softly, and smiled as I smoothed her drenched hair.
She put her hands lightly on my chest and looked down at them. I thought she
was blushing but we were both pretty red-faced already, from exertion. It
made her even more desirable and I lifted her chin and kissed her again,
more gently this time. She seemed to flow into it. Maybe we really were in
love, at least for a minute or two.
Then our lips parted and our hands got busy again. Paula had given me my
climax and I had to do at least as much for her. I lathered up one hand
again and cupped her pubic mound, sliding over the silky blonde thatch and
letting my fingertips rest at the very top of her cleft. Then my middle
finger moved slowly downward and Paula held onto my arm and humped forward a
little. My finger changed course slightly, to detour around the ridge of her
clitoris, and she made a small "ummff..." sound of frustration and teased my
arm with her nails.
My finger slid in farther, awash in the moistness of her, until all three
joints were hidden. She was hanging on my shoulder, cheek against my arm,
thighs on either side of my knee -- a hot, clinging presence that I
relished.
A second finger stealthily joined the first and when I played scissors with
them her hips squirmed. I dragged my fingers slowly upward between her labia
until I had her clit cornered. Then I began gently caressing, stroking, and
tweaking the hard little bud. Her anticipation had made her especially
sensitive and her twitches and tiny jerks meant I was getting to her.
I gradually increased the pace and Paula moaned in the back of her throat
and let her eyelids flutter shut. She was practically trying to climb my leg
and both her hands were clutching and moving about restlessly. My cock was
becoming erect again, brushing against her smooth upper thigh. I suspected I
would be able to maneuver her body around while she was in the throes of
masturbation and ease my cock in next to my busy fingers -- but she had
played fair within the limits she had set, and for me to do otherwise would
be cheating.
After a short time, my fingers were moving in and out, up and down so
rapidly my hand was becoming stiff. Paula's grip on my arm had cut off most
of the circulation and her forehead was pressed hard against the corner of
my shoulder. She whimpered loudly, nearly sobbing, and her whole body was
shaking. She was poised nearly on tiptoes, knees rattling together, her
crotch thrusting against my hand, then retreating, then returning.
My other hand, which had been steadying her waist, had slipped down to
stroke and squeeze her ass again. We were also beginning to run low on hot
water -- though Paula was generating so much heat herself, I doubt she
noticed. My cock, having worked itself to a high pitch from the friction of
her thigh, jerked and sent a modest quantity of semen dribbling down her
leg.
If we kept this up much longer, one of us was going to faint. Maybe both. I
made a two-finger fist and shoved it up into her cunt several times, a
little more roughly than I had intended. Her whimper became a squeak and she
went rigid for a few seconds -- and then boneless. I had to quickly wrap my
arms around her to keep her from falling.
I held her up until she began to recover and get her feet under her; even
then she was shaky. Finally, she draped her sweaty arms over my shoulders
and stared at me with gleaming eyes. As her arms tightened around my neck,
drawing our faces and overheated bodies closer together, she said, "Paul,
you'll never know how much I *wanted* to fuck you ... and I don't know if I
could have made myself stop if we'd started." She smiled so brilliantly, my
pupils contracted. "I guess this is one time the guy had more self-control
than the girl. Thank you...." And she kissed me very sincerely indeed. My
animal self was bitching at me for not taking advantage of her; could she
have blamed me, after all? But my Jiminy Cricket side was pleased that I had
maintained Paula's high opinion of me.
She stepped under the shower and shivered as the chilly spray splashed off
her head and shoulders. I laughed at her tortured expression and she grinned
and swatted at me.
"Don't forget your chin, lover; it's a little sticky..."
"Oh, I can fix that," she laughed and yanked me under the shockingly cold
water with her. I *whooshed* and then hugged her again as she said "*You*
put it there, *you* wash it off!"
So I splashed water across her throat and breasts and enjoyed the smoothness
of her surfaces as I cleaned up the results of our limited love-making. Then
I did a couple turns under the shower head and rinsed the accumulated sweat
off myself. There was no point in trying to soap up in cold water.
Half an hour later, we were under the covers, both of us still naked, which
I took as an additional sign of her trust. We were still a little chilly,
even in northern Florida in April, and we snuggled happily against each
other. It was a little early for bedtime, but the drive and our exertions in
the shower had taken their toll, and we dosed off soon after.
I awoke once in the night for a call of nature and found Paula's leg draped
over my own and her head resting comfortably on my chest. I would never have
moved except for internal pressure.
When I finished and came back to bed, she was about ten percent awake --
just enough for her hand to be searching restlessly across the pillow for
me. I slipped back under the covers and slid my arm under her head again.
She smacked her lips in satisfaction and grunted sleepily as she scooted up
against me. I lay there a little while just looking at her face, her tousled
hair, the curve of her arm. I stroked her fingers very, very lightly and she
squeezed a fistful of the sheet.
I knew we'd have to part tomorrow and I knew it couldn't be helped, and I
felt very sad. And I fell asleep with that thought in my mind and waded
through a fragmentary dream in which I was riding the bus (or was I driving
it?); we stopped out on the highway in East Texas to pick up a rider -- who,
of course, was Paula, but she didn't recognize me. I awoke just before
sunrise blinking back tears.

We both tried to act businesslike as we got ready to leave; it seemed
easiest not to even mention what the day held for us. I had seen a big
drive-through carwash -- big enough to handle trucks, with vacuum hoses and
everything -- and I wanted to stop and tidy up the Continental before
delivering it to its new owner.
We got there early enough that we didn't have to wait and I went through the
vehicle, hood ornament to tailpipe, vacuuming and brushing the floor, wiping
down the upholstery and the dashboard, running a borrowed chamois over the
exterior chrome. I wanted that car to look new when I relinquished it.
Paula helped out willingly until we were almost finished and then laughed
and said she had to make a pit stop herself. I wondered if she was planning
to disappear on me, but I spotted her bag standing on the hardtop by the
rear wheel. And then she was back and there was no further reason for delay.

The address I was headed for was out near Jacksonville Beach, beyond the end
of Atlantic Boulevard somewhere (no surprise there; anyone who could afford
this car could afford a beach house), and Paula watched for street names as
I watched the growing rush hour traffic.
We located the turnoff but as I flipped on the blinker and slowed down,
Paula grabbed my arm. "The beach is only a couple blocks on, Paul. We're
still pretty early. I want to see the ocean with you, just once -- please."
I glanced at her; prolonging the farewell wasn't go to do either of us any
good. But I stepped on the accelerator again and three minutes later we were
parked at the end of a short, unpaved road overlooking a broad, not terribly
clean stretch of sand. I suspected the quality of the beach improved
whenever a hurricane came through.
We got out and walked slowly down to the water's edge, and then strolled a
little way to the south; someone was running a dog off in the distance to
the north, but it was too early for many people this far out. Paula's arm
was linked through mine and neither of us said anything for a few minutes.
Finally, her arm squeezed mine and we stopped.
"I have to tell you why," she said. "I owe you that, I think." I didn't have
to ask 'why what'.
"Paul, you're only the third guy I've been naked with. The first time was on
my sixteenth birthday and it doesn't really count. Neither of us knew what
we were doing and we blew it; we never really had sex." Why was she telling
me this? I hadn't thought she *was* a virgin.
"Then, starting a little while after that, there was a guy I went steady
with for six months. I lost my virginity because I was in love with him -- I
guess. I don't know, now. He was a couple years older than me and he had a
lot more experience, and I suppose I was 'dazzled' or something. But one
night I was over at his place and we got kind of drunk and he shoved me down
on his bed, and--" She paused and took a deep breath, and looked down at the
sand.
"He wouldn't stop when I begged him to. We'd had sex before, several times,
and I don't know whether it was my fault or if he raped me or what. He
didn't hit me or anything. But he wouldn't stop. And when I sat and cried
afterward, he just told me to shut up, that he was entitled to it because I
loved him. I didn't see him any more after that."
I lifted her chin and she looked at me reluctantly with tear- sparkled eyes.
I put my arms around her and just held her for a couple minutes; I couldn't
think of anything to say and I almost felt like crying with her.
"Then, for nearly a year, I hardly even dated -- and I didn't make out with
the guy when I did go on dates. I kept to myself and they stopped asking me
out. And then you picked me up on the highway, just by accident."
She peered at me earnestly and touched my face. "And you were so nice to be
with, I was able to relax. You didn't try to pull anything -- even though I
knew you wanted to do it with me. I'm not blind, you know." She smiled and I
smiled back.
"I wanted to do it, too. I wanted to have sex with you, Paul. But it still
scared me and I had to come back to it a little at a time. But now we're
*out* of time," she added. "Almost."
She dug down in her front pocket and pulled out her closed hand. "While you
were finishing up the car this morning, I snuck into the men's room there;
they had one of those machines." She held out her open palm: Two circular
red foil packages with "SHEIK" printed on them. "Two for fifty cents. We can
use at least one of them."
My brain was cranking up like a dragster as I glanced around. There was no
cover, no dunes of any significance, not here. She tugged at the front of my
shirt and put her lips next to my ear. "I want to screw in the Lincoln," she
whispered. "And I want to do it right now."

The car wasn't really hidden from view but it wasn't that obvious, either. I
wondered what Paula would have done if we'd had to park in a lot full of
picnicking families. Maybe she didn't care. We were both strangers here and
we'd be leaving shortly, anyway. Suddenly, it just didn't matter. This was a
farewell I hadn't expected and I wasn't going to spoil it by worrying about
the location.
We slid into the back seat and locked the doors. With the tinted windows,
maybe no one would even notice that the car was inhabited.
Paula had her sweatshirt pushed up and her bra unhooked before I could even
unlatch my belt. And by the time I had my jeans and my shorts pushed down,
she'd already stripped herself naked below the waist.
The leather creaked as she got up on her knees and climbed across my lap. My
cock was already coming to attention and she shot me a wicked look as she
took it in hand and brushed the tip of it across her moist cunt. She eased
it into herself just the smallest bit -- just enough to let me feel the real
her and to complete my erection in a hurry.
I ripped open the foil and started to roll the prophylactic down over my
cock, but she pushed my hands away and did it herself, never breaking eye
contact as she smoothed it into place. Then she lowered herself onto me,
nibbling at her lower lip as she sank down. She flexed her internal muscles
and little jolts of electricity spread through me as I slouched down on the
seat.
My hands rested on her hips to guide her movements, but that wasn't
necessary. She wanted this as much as I did and she held her shirt up out of
the way and leaned over so I could get my mouth around her tits. I cupped
her ass in my hands and massaged her vibrant flesh as we moved. Then her
hands were clutching my shoulders, fingers digging in, as she moved in all
directions to make maximum contact.
It didn't last more than ten minutes, which was as long as I could hold out
without coming. Under the circumstances, I don't know whether she had an
orgasm or not, but she undeniably enjoyed the experience. I held her ass in
a tight grip and raised her up and jammed her down until I felt as though I
would explode. And when I came, gasping, she squatted down as tightly as she
could, cramming as much of me as possible into herself.
She was breathing loudly through her mouth and her ponytail had come
unbound, which made her shining hair form an incandescent halo about her
face. She was absolutely beautiful.
When it was over, she hugged me tightly around the neck and we simply sat
there, my cock slowly withdrawing by itself, and tried to remain one body
for a little while longer.

Twenty or thirty minutes later, we turned into the circular drive of a
large, palm-shaded house and I parked carefully and set the brake. Paula got
our two suitcases out of the trunk while I went and rang the bell.
The guy who answered and came out to look at the car was pleasant enough; a
somewhat younger-looking version of the previous owner. I introduced Paula
as my sister, along to keep me company, and he walked around the Lincoln and
nodded his approval at its condition. When, at my request, he climbed in to
check on the leather interior, he sniffed the air and seemed a bit puzzled.
Paula grinned and nudged me.
We went inside so he could write out a receipt of delivery and pick up his
wallet and keys: He was going to drive us back into town to the Continental
Trailways station. Paula and I even drank a couple of big glasses of Florida
orange juice while we waited in his kitchen.
Since Paula was my "sister" for a little while, I didn't think I should hold
her hand in the front seat on the way back into Jacksonville -- but she kept
finding subtle ways of touching my leg, moving her foot against mine, and
generally holding my attention.
The new owner of the Lincoln dropped us off in front of the bus station and
shook my hand,... which came away with a folded twenty in it. I hadn't
really expected a tip, but he smiled and said "You did a good job, kid," so
I was happy to accept it.
We went in and checked the schedule on the wall. The next bus to Houston was
leaving in about two and a half hours, but I noted that the New York bus was
pulling out in less than an hour. Paula had said something vague about being
dropped out on US-1, but I had shushed her. Now she was obviously wondering
how she would get back to the highway to wait for a ride.
I told her firmly to sit down and keep an eye on the bags while I got my
ticket. When I came back and handed her a New York ticket as well, she got
all flustered and tried to protest. It had taken most of my profit from the
trip after paying for my own ticket, but I didn't care about that. I sat
beside her and held her hand and tried to explain it to her.
"Paula, I want you to be someplace where you can find work while you get
your singing career organized. The only way I'm going to be satisfied is
when I hear you on the radio in a year or two. You can't waste talent like
that; I just won't allow it." Then I slipped my hand down between us where
no one could see and tucked the twenty dollar tip in her front pocket, along
with a slip of paper with my Austin address. Her mouth opened but I put my
other finger to her lips.
"You're going to need that more than I will," I insisted. "I'm just going
back to school, to play piano at frat parties and get my degree. You're
going out into the real world, and you'll have to learn not to turn down
opportunities." I tapped her pocket. "That's an opportunity."
She sat there looking at me with an expression I'll remember all my life.
Her mouth trembled and the tears welled out and trickled unheeded down her
cheeks. Then she put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me into a
kiss that made the entire bus station disappear.

And that's the end of the story. I put Paula on the bus and she grabbed a
window seat so we could gaze at each other as the driver pulled out. And
then she was gone. I went back inside and sat and moped for another hour and
a half until my own bus left. As I had expected, it was a long, lonely trip
back to Texas.
About two weeks after I returned to class, I received a postcard from Paula
-- a photo of the Empire State Building -- telling me she'd made it safely
to New York, had found a job in a record store, of all places, and was
staying temporarily at the YWCA. She was beginning to make the rounds of
agencies and hoped to find the right connection soon.
There was no return address on the card -- and it dawned on me, very
belatedly, that I had never even discovered her last name. Jesus. I thought
of her all the time, but only as "Paula."
I kept on playing piano, just for entertainment, and I got my degree. I
never heard Paula's voice on the radio, at least not on the pop stations I
listened to.

I started graduate school as a Teaching Assistant and met a girl who worked
in the departmental office; we began seeing each other and were married
seven months later. We found a small apartment surrounded by other
impoverished students and we were very happy (and we still are).
That fall, I happened to be watching our little black-and-white TV while
grading excruciatingly bad freshman papers, when I suddenly recognized the
voice singing the jingle for a commercial: It was Paula's lovely alto. It
only ran for maybe thirty seconds during the sales pitch, but it was her.
I borrowed a tape recorder and hooked it up next to the TV, and I sat and
watched stupid shows on the same station for an entire weekend, which
alarmed my poor wife a bit. My finger was poised over the RECORD button at
every commercial break and finally I was successful. The jingle ran again
and I managed to get the whole thing.
Thereafter, I heard her voice singing background on several other
commercials for assorted major products. She hadn't made the big time, but
she was singing and probably making a good living at it, even if no one knew
her name but me.
I still have that fuzzy old tape. My wife wisely ignores it, and the kids
probably think I'm crazy, but I take it out of its box once in a while and
listen to it.
And I remember the Lincoln and making love on the leather upholstery,
overlooking the beach outside of Jacksonville, Florida.