The Road Strip – A Darcy Clay (Miss) Adventure

 

The Road Strip

A Darcy Clay (Miss) Adventure

by Fortran Wrench

 

Disclaimer: ‘The Holland Song’ is written by Kathy Korniloff. The writer does not quote it with permission from the rights holder. Yeah… I know… An actual disclaimer this time.

 

There’s something therapeutic about riding a large motorcycle.

Oh sure, my ghosts were still there. In fact, they felt so close they may as well have been woman shaped and sitting on the bitch seat right behind me. But for long stretches of highway that didn’t seem to matter so much.

I headed west, effortlessly thunder-swerving around slower moving traffic and really not thinking about much except the road ahead.

That was the real beauty of it; the not thinking. The noise, vibration, and sheer power between my legs meant that I didn’t see her face every moment. Didn’t see that angelic body, naked and defiant, as she tore my life down, reduced me to ash and then walked away.

Every second on that bike while it moved was a second I didn’t feel like the biggest heel in the universe – and when it stopped moving (if I absolutely had to take a break) I looked for other distractions.

Miko.

Even just writing her name now, after all this time, still makes my jaw clench and the muscles of my right forearm twitch. I have a line of scars there now, two rounds of skin grafts and the patch where I got burnt is all but invisible. But I know it’s there.

Anyway, I’m getting way ahead of myself as always. You don’t want to hear all that. You want good ole me. Hard drinkin’ woman strippin’ lady lickin’ Darcy Clay. So let’s get back to her, shall we?

When I left the city limits I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. The thought of chatting to people (let alone finding a pretty young thing to bounce with) made me feel cold inside.

I was in for a long ride to the border, a long ride across a foreign country and then a couple of days on a coastal freighter if I was going to get to Arulco with my motorcycle.

(Obviously you can’t bike there, although the thought of trying to ride a Triumph over the ocean with the power of my telekinesis was at least a little tempting. I decided against it seeing as my ability to swim was comparable to a fish that had been de-finned and filled with molten lead.)

So when I started my trip I was feeling a bit like a cold fish. But I’d warmed up considerably by the time Port Arturo rolled into view; and that was generally down to three women I met along the way (and one in particular). So rather than write endlessly about how much the events of the last few weeks had affected me, how ’bout I tell you about them instead?

 

Part One: The Mean Girl

 

Ever met a woman who you immediately knew was trouble? Just by looking at her?

I never knew her name (mercifully, I didn’t hang around long enough to learn it) but I think I’m gonna call her ‘Candy’ (it was either that or ‘Total and Utter Bitch-Slut’).

It was about noon on day two of my trip and I was looking for a place to pull over and grab a bite to eat out of the saddlebags.

When I rolled into the layby there were four pickups, all tail-gated out, and about twenty kids in various stages of inebriation.

A banner hung from one of the trucks that said ‘We Are The Crew’ and most of them seemed decked out in yellow and black. There was an awful sound coming from a set of speakers somewhere that I think was meant to be music – and some guys were bouncing up and down on the spot in a circle chanting ‘Aye-yay-aye… Columbus!’ in a manner that made my ears want to bleed.

I guess it was game day.

I saw her straight away. I couldn’t not see her. From the ground up she’d turn the head of a paralyzed blind man:

Petite heeled feet.

Slender legs that were curved and tanned.

The most gorgeous sweep of a butt – that had clearly been up a few thousand steps on the climber at the gym.

A stomach that was tanned, toned and flat, just like the rest of her (except for)…

Melons.

(Look I know that was crude but there’s really no other way to describe them. The shape, the look, everything. Now we ain’t talking monstrous sized torpedos or anything like that, just melons. Prize-winning ones.)

Soft shoulders with slender arms.

A face that was immaculately made up, and with lips and a nose that had clearly been paid for by daddy.

Straight, rich blonde hair that fell to her waist.

She was wearing a black band around her breasts that had the words ‘SCORE ME’ in yellow written on it.

Around her waist was a black stretch belt. Oh wait… No, it was a skirt.

Aaaand even though she was wearing a ‘skirt’ I could tell right away she had yellow panties on.

Go team.

I came to a stop and she swayed right past me. As she walked by I turned my head to watch her, taking off my helmet and sunnies; and pulling my bandana down.

She rounded on me, exclaiming:

“What the <expletive deleted> are you looking at dyke?”

Now I’ve been called worse things by better people, but I was still coming down off four hours on the road without a break. So my normally sharp wit deserted me for a moment, and she took  full advantage.

“Nothing to say? Wassa matter? You leave your tongue behind in your last girlfriend’s pussy?”

“Why don’t you peek down your panties and check for me?” I returned fire.

“Ooooooooooooooh.” went the group of chanting guys who were now paying attention.

By this time most of the crowd had started to take an interest in what was going on, I mean it’s not like my arrival was quiet. Or our voices.

“You wish, Justin Bieber.” she fired back.

“Oooooooooooooooh.” Even louder this time. Well, the bitch had home-field advantage.

I felt something stir in me, and it was ugly. What gave her the right to just open up on me like this? She didn’t know me.

I’d been put through the ringer, stared death in the face and lost the woman I loved. My ability to brush this insect aside and ignore her was gone. It was replaced by an overwhelming desire to flatten her into the ground.

Maybe the O’Hallorans of the world had the right idea. We are gods walking the earth and the masses are just insects to us. I should squinch this cow to a bloody pulp and leave her painted on the faces of her friends.

I took a deep breath. Shaking. I felt my eyes moisten.

Jesus Christ… Darcy… What is wrong with you?

“Aw look… I made the little muff muncher cry…”

My hands were shaking as I put my helmet and glasses back on. I masked up again.

I felt ashamed. For a split second I had wanted to do it. The realization of this was a black needle that slid into my heart right then and there. Candy didn’t realize how close she had come to an instant and violent death. I’d wanted to do it so bad.

Was I one of the bad guys?

My thumb twitched the go button and Bonnie roared back into life. Looks like I’d have to find another spot for lunch.

I duck walked the bike backward and around, pointing toward the highway again. Candy decided to fire a parting shot.

“Yeah run bitch. Go find some two-bit hooker to munch on.”

She was standing right behind me.

No way I was letting her claim victory here.

I revved the engine and telekinetically blasted every item of clothing clean off her body.

I watched in the wing mirror as her top went flying through the sky like a startled crow. It sailed up, up and away, caught by a genuine gust of breeze, never to be seen again.

Her skirt whisked away at the same instant, followed simultaneously by her bright yellow panties. The skirt leapt into the air and came down in the drainage ditch next to the road. The panties, both sides of the waistband torn, skidded across the ground and into a pothole that was filled with muddy water.

I looked over my shoulder.

She was standing stock still, eyes wide, mouth agape and I could tell her brain was trying to comprehend what had just happened. I informed her:

“I’ve seen better.”

“Ooooooooooooooooh” went the crowd.

‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek’ went the bitch.

One arm raced to her breasts but they were far too voluminous to hide with that petite hand. The other flew to her crotch (which I noticed was a bald, enticing little slit, between her bare legs).

Her friends were turning on her, firing wolf whistles, jeers and crude comments that were slamming into her nakedness as surely as if they’d been physical slaps. She screamed and ran for the nearest truck – only to discover that all the doors were shut, locked and nobody was in a hurry to produce a key. She was finding no help from the fans.

Score one for the away team.

Even over the noise of my motorcycle, the sound of her indignant shrieks could still be heard a good hundred yards away as I peeled off and hit the road again.

 

Part Two: My Not German Girlfriend

 

A couple of days later I came across a really fun chick named ‘Astrid Van Hoff’.

(I promised her later that if I ever wrote my memoirs I’d make sure to mention her awesome name.)

I was on the walkway outside my motel room (top level of a two-story roadside), leaning on the rail, sucking on a Marlboro while watching the sunset. It was a pleasantly warm evening, so my jacket was tossed on one half of the double bed in my room, along with my saddlebags.

Yeah. On top of everything else I was smoking again. Dammit.

The office was on the ground floor nearby and the first thing that drew me to her was the sound of her raised voice. It had an alto quality to it, dusky and sensual – and she had an accent I couldn’t quite place. I looked and there she was, framed by the open doors to reception.

The first thing I noticed visually was her skin tone. It was a brown that was so dark and rich it was pretty much jet black. She gleamed; she was sleekness carved out of solid ebony.

A lot of that skin was on display.

She wore the bare minimum for a warm evening – just enough to not get arrested. Khaki canvas shorts that were exactly that; short. A colorful tank top that clung to her form like saran wrap, and a wide orange band around her forehead that lifted her hair into a neat shape on the back and top of her head; it was a nest of ink-black dreadlocks.

She had on hiking boots and bobby socks, which gave me a great look at those powerful, Serena Williams legs. Her overall physique was exactly what you’d expect to see on a woman who was fit and enjoyed the outdoors – she had a pack on the ground next to her. I could tell at a glance it was a standard-issue Marine ILBE.

They were too far away for me to hear exactly what was being argued about. I was looking at Astrid’s lovely rear view so I could kind of read the lips of the receptionist. I’m pretty sure she said ‘Sorry. We’re full.’ at some point.

As I watched, she left reception (head slightly down) and went to the roadside before sitting on her pack and watching the traffic. It was getting dark.

Soon there was more light coming from the street lights and the hotel sign than from the sun. She stood up, hefted her pack, and tried to thumb a ride.

Oh God. Really?

Sure enough, it didn’t take long for a shark to start circling.

I watched as a black ’69 Dodge Charger drove up, slowed down, then drove off.

Five minutes later it rumbled past again, even slower. This time I caught a glimpse of the driver. An unkempt, narrow-eyed, shifty-looking shark alright.

It stopped just up the road and a thin, reedy arm waved to Astrid, who shouldered her pack and strode toward it.

Oh great. Looks like I’m involved now. There’s no way in hell this is going down.

At a pace between a run and a sprint I made my way down the stairs and toward them, biffing my smoke into a planter box. I got there just as she had her hand on the passenger door handle.

“Hey! Silence Of The Lambs! Get lost!”

My words were addressed to the driver and he whipped his head around to look at me. I walked around the car and went to the driver’s door out of sheer habit; I saw Astrid glance up, a curious look on her face.

“What’s your deal lady?” said Shark. I noticed, luckily for him, that both his hands were on the steering wheel.

“My deal is you look like trouble.”

I summoned my coercion powers – immediately my head started aching… Ok… This was new… I was doing something well within my capabilities, something I’d done thousands of times before. Yet suddenly I was throbbing from the inside… I had to put it out of my mind…

Focussed in… Found his edge…

Fear me… Fear me… You do not want to be here…

He glanced around nervously. I told him:

“Trouble that this young lady doesn’t need right now. Get going.”

My tone was chilled acid. Right then the coercion I was assaulting him with was similar to experiencing a mild panic attack.

A look of terror suddenly shrouded his face and he started the engine. Astrid, a little surprised, stepped back as the Dodge charged off to the sound of squealing tyres and the scent of smoking rubber. I stepped onto the sidewalk next to her.

“What’s going on?” she said in that unplaced accent of hers.

“Yeah sorry about that. But that guy was nothing but trouble.”

“That guy was my ride to the next town.”

“I saw you at reception. Motel’s full huh? Hey… I have a room. It’s a double bed, but you’re welcome to share it.”

She laughed.

“So you don’t want me getting in a car with a strange man. But instead you want me in bed with a strange woman?”

“Well.. It does seem dodgy now you put it like that…”

She thrust out her hand. Instinctively I shook it.

“Astrid Van Hoff. And you are?”

“Clay. Darcy Clay.”

She beamed at me. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well now we aren’t strangers. Lead the way.”

It wasn’t until we got back to my room that I realized we’d walked the entire distance holding hands.

It’s hard to describe my relationship with Astrid. Now (at the time of writing this) she’s gone from being a casual friend to a person I follow on social media and swap messages with from time to time.

It’s not like we hit it off and became instant lovers or any of that. She just had an easy-going way about her. She reminded me (not unpainfully) of Miko but with less drama and more nudity. Oh, we’ll get to that.

We fell into a quick and easy companionship for that evening. She needed a place to stay, I found I didn’t mind the company as much as I thought I would. After she registered at reception we went for a ride on my bike to see the city lights, chatting on the helmet coms as we rolled.

<Kzt> “I love your accent. Where are you from?”

<Kcht> “Can you guess?” Her voice was a sensual low purr, even through the microphone.

<Kzt> “If I had too… I’d say… Germany?”

<Kcht> “Wow. You’re close. I’m Dutch. From The Netherlands.” I felt her arms cinch around my waist a little more snuggly.

An hour later we returned with pizza and beer (she actually loved pineapple on her pizza, which won her some Darcy points) and we spent the evening just chilling out. We drank some Heineken, I listened while she talked, and we had at least three major stints on the balcony puffing grey smoke into the night sky like a pair of gossiping dragons.

“Where’d you get your pack?”

“Oh that? It was my girlfriend’s.”

“Is she a marine?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Your pack is marine corps standard issue. Where is she now?”

“It’s… How you say… ‘Complicated’.”

I nodded, then noticed she was looking at me closely in the half-light. She said:

“How’d you know that?”

“That’s… How you say… ‘Complicated’.”

I wasn’t making a joke on purpose (it was actually a sore spot for me) but she laughed anyway. Gotta love Dutch girls.

I think I will go to my grave not actually knowing why Astrid and I have never had sex. I know she wanted too that night. I think I did as well, at least on some level.

Back in our room we passed each other through the door to the shower, I was going out (wrapped in a towel) as she was going in. She walked past me and glided her hand over my bare shoulder in that way people do when they are really close to someone. It just seemed like something she did all the time.

I changed into my boring white underwear (white boi shorts and white sports bra) and slid under the sheets. The only light was creeping in from a street lamp through a tiny slit in the curtains or escaping from under the bathroom door.

I could hear her singing (She had a great voice, it was obvious even though it was muffled) accompanied by the sound of the water rushing. It was in Dutch (I guess) and it sounded wonderful.

I lay there.

Still.

Eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Feeling nothing.

…

The water stopped and a few minutes later she came out, haloed by the bright light of the bathroom as the door opened.

She stood in the doorway stark naked, toweling her hair dry and totally confident. I stared, surprised, the light making her look like a living, breathing shadow, glistening wetly with the fire of heaven.

She tossed the towel into the bathroom, turned off the light and closed the door, before gliding across the room and invading the sheets like a lazy nude cat.

I turned. Her face was inches from mine. She was beaming as she found my fingers with hers and entwined them.

I didn’t understand. What was wrong with me? She was sexy and fun and willing. She clearly knew her way ’round another woman. She was inches away, scented with lavender and promise.

Why wasn’t I kissing her? Why hadn’t I picked her up and tossed her onto the bed the second the water had stopped running? I should have dried her myself with kisses. The real Darcy would have been tongue deep in Astrid Van Hoff thirty seconds ago.

I pulled my hand away and turned my back to her. So I wouldn’t have to see the look of rejection on her face.

A moment later I felt her do the same.

That morning we said very little to each other at first. It was as if the life had gone out of our banter. I honestly believe it was nothing to do with her, and I don’t even think this was about Miko.

This was all me; and I had no idea what ‘This’ was. I just knew that the dark needle lodged in my chest felt more like a shard of glass now.

I got decked out ready to face the day. Boots and jeans, the only style of top I will ever wear (my white long-sleeved blouse) and my black vest. The good ‘ole N7 riding jacket. Oh, and my boring white underwear of course.

We checked out and cruised the strip on the motorcycle, slowly returning to normality. I think talking through the helmet mics actually made things easier. It just seemed a little less personal.

<Kzt> “Where you headed now?” I was kinda hoping it wasn’t in my direction when I asked this.

<Kcht> “Canada. There’s a week-long music festival in the middle of nowhere.”

<Kzt> “Sounds great. You wanna grab breakfast and I can drop you at the bus station?”

<Kcht> “Sounds great.”

I felt her arms hug my waist more firmly, as if she was thanking me. The shape of her breasts pressed into my back and I instinctively felt warm inside for a moment.

We had breakfast at a cafe and it was actually a nice way to start the day. She did most of the talking but I smiled and followed along. I wasn’t big on mornings after with women, they tended to lead to rather awkward goodbyes (and making promises I probably wouldn’t keep).

I guess because we hadn’t banged each other last night there was none of that, so I could actually enjoy myself.

I did promise her I would keep in contact though. She showed me her Instagram profile and WOW. Page after page of Astrid in nature. Naked in waterfalls, naked in hot pools, naked under trees and on mountain tops. Naked hiking. Naked skiing. She gave the impression of being someone who literally did not own clothes.

I was definitely going to keep in contact with this girl.

An hour later we rumbled to a stop and parked up in a bike zone, the bus station was a couple of hundred yards away and the streets seemed pretty quiet. On the opposite side of the road was a large construction site, already teaming with helmeted, hi-viz vest wearing workers.

We dismounted and she unlimbered the pack, placing it on the ground at her feet as I stowed the spare helmet in the pannier of the bike. With a well-practiced motion I slung my own helmet onto one of the handlebars.

Suddenly I felt her hug me. I returned it.

“I guess this is it.” she said.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“Hey what road are you taking? You’re going to Mexico right?”

“Port Arturo. Yeah. I was thinking of catching the 44 through Saint Louis and going Tulsa way.”

“Really? Well if you do and you get to Springfield feeling hungry? Turn off at the sign that says ‘Gina’s’. It’s a diner on the right-hand side of the road about a kilometer before. Can’t miss it. Food to die for. Tell her I said ‘hi’.”

“Ok. Will do… Um… What are you doing?”

Astrid was peeling off her tank top (which made her hair squish down and then spring back out like a spikey ball let go underwater). She stuffed it into her pack and was now topless.

“Darcy? I get it ok? I know we don’t know each other. I know it’s not personal. But that thing you carry with you? The one you don’t talk about? When you’re ready… It’s ok to set it down. You do that in your own time ok?”

She undid the snap of her shorts and slid them slowly down her athletic body. She was facing away from me as she did this and I watched as the rounded swell of her toned ass was revealed – she wasn’t wearing panties. Her hooked thumbs slid down her long, athletic legs and I found myself staring, stunned, looking at the sweet spot of Astrid that not even she could see, at least not without a mirror.

She stepped out of her shorts one foot at a time, hoping to clear her boots; an action which made her breasts dance playfully as she turned to face me, a huge grin on her face.

As casually as if she were in her own home, she stowed the shorts away, closed the pack and shouldered it to her now naked back. I realized I was staring and closed my mouth.

She saw this and laughed. Then said:

“Goodbye Darcy.”

I felt my breath catch just a little when she said that. They were the last words Miko had spoken to me.

I couldn’t manage more than:

“G-Goodbye Astrid.”

She turned and strolled away in the direction of the bus stop, hips swaying, arms swinging, singing the same song I’d heard her sing before in the shower. This time though she was singing it in English:

“Early morning

A soft light strokes your face

Your warm breath whispers

From a dreaming place

The shiny streets of Amsterdam

Embraced our native guise

Now I wrap your love around me

And I arise

A cup of coffee and I’m on my way

It’s a Nederlandse rainy day

My heart is open and it’s on display

In this watercolor land.”

From across the road came an almighty wolf whistle and a chorus of approving shouts. I saw men stop what they were doing and wander to the chain-link fence that ran down the length of the site, waving, whistling and with the biggest smiles on their faces. Helmeted heads turned toward Astrid from scaffolds and girders – it’s a damn miracle she didn’t cause an accident.

As I watched she waved, blew kisses to them and beamed (she just had a way of unashamedly lighting up and making people smile). She effortlessly bantered with dozens of cheering men as she strolled down the road and entered the glass doors of the station.

I can only imagine what the response to her inside was.

The show over I kitted back up and roared off.

Two miles down the road and I was still smiling to myself under my mask.

 

Part Three: A Woman I Love

 

Before I met Gina I didn’t know what it was to grow to love someone.

Oh I’d been in love for sure. But it was normally how one magnet would love another magnet. An explosive attraction that sticks us together. That’s what love is to me.

Was.

I rode all through the day (only stopping once) and the sun was beginning to set when I saw a billboard, lit up with the words:

 

GINA’s ROADSIDE DINER

Home Cookin’

Service with a Smile

400 yards on the right

 

In truth, I’d totally forgotten about Astrid’s advice until that flashed into view – it came at just the right time. I needed a place to rest, I needed a bite to eat and hey, it came recommended too.

Right on cue it started to rain.

Thanks God. Didn’t need any more prompting.

I pulled off at the next exit ramp and soon found myself at Gina’s: It was exactly as it said on the sign. A roadside diner that wouldn’t have looked out of place on one of those old timey posters with the classic cars and the short-skirted roller waitresses.

The building itself was shiny and curved. It had those huge rectangular windows and was splashed with rain-washed neon; pink and sky blue. Next to it was a garage; decked out with a pair of fuel bowsers, motor oil signage and the words ‘Paul’s Tow and Repair’. There were no other buildings close by (only trees) but there was a thin road between them which led to a trailer. A fairly large one at that – ringed with a white picket fence.

Had I accidentally ridden through a time portal and come out in the fifties?

I pulled up under the overhang at the side of the diner and switched off; relieved I wasn’t too wet. Getting off I stowed my riding gear and walked into the diner with my leather jacket casually slung over one shoulder.

And there she was.

Regardless of all the events that have happened since, I still remember to this day the first time I saw Gina Liselle Blakely-Rooker.

I saw her top half from side on, and as there were only two people in the diner already, and she was the only other woman, my eye naturally went to her.

She was behind the counter, forearms resting on it, and when I walked in she stroked her wavy red curls behind one ear and turned her head to look at me.

It’s strange. I’m not going to tell you it was love at first sight or anything like that. My mind was so messed up at that time in my life that I didn’t even know what love truly was.

But when we locked eyes I gasped. Just a little. For no reason I could discern, I suddenly felt like I was welcome here. Accepted.

Gina was the personification of ‘warmth’. Fierce green eyes on a soft, kind face. When she smiled (which was often) it was always lopsided. The left side of her mouth curled up but the right side stayed where it was. I learned it was from a surgery she’d had as a child that had damaged a nerve. I’ve known Gina for years now and not once have I heard her complain about it.

Or anything else for that matter.

She had a freshness to her face; although she was a couple of years older than me she actually looked quite a few years younger. She was clean living, didn’t drink or smoke, I guess that’s a lesson for me.

She wore a traditional orange and white trimmed waitress dress, complete with apron, sneakers and those cute little white hats. Instead of staying behind the counter she came out and greeted me, the tiredness suddenly gone from her face.

“Hi! Welcome to Gina’s. That’s me. What can I get for ya?”

I looked her up and down.

Gina was what I think of as a woman’s woman. She was soft and curved where a woman should be soft and curved. She was firm and rounded where a woman should be firm and rounded. She walked gracefully and upright, with relaxed confidence. Sorta like the actresses you see on TV.

Like Miko she had a smattering of freckle across her cheeks. I came to discover she also had them on her shoulders and just lightly above her full, soft breasts.

She was a redhead too. But not just ‘red’. We are talking rich, bright copper-colored curls. They came to her shoulders when she was off duty and had let her hair down.

Her skin had this amazing quality of almost glowing; in the warmth of the diner lights she seemed rosy. When we would lay together at night with only the moon and stars coming in through the window she turned a ghostly white.

My Gina. If I’d known in that instant what I have since come to know in my life, I would have immediately felt a whole lot better. But there was a long way to go before we reached that destination.

“I know it’s late, but anything you could make me would be great. I’m starving. Is that ok?” I felt like I should apologize for interrupting.

“Oh handsome. Take a seat, warm yourself up and I’ll take care of everything. You like porterhouse steak with mushroom sauce, salad ‘n fries?”

“Will you marry me?”

She laughed like music and took my free hand, saying:

“Well I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then. Porterhouse it is.”

She squeezed my hand before letting it go and making her way to the kitchen. I saw her moving around through the order window as I sat on a stool at the counter, three seats away from the other occupant of the diner.

He was a man of average height and wraith-like thinness. His tawny colored hair was long and past his shoulders and he had a gaunt, hooded look about his face.

But his eyes. They were bright and mischievous. He smiled so genuinely at me that I honestly thought he’d mistaken me for a friend he already knew. I came to know that it was just how he treated everyone.

He was dressed in dark clothes that would have fitted a normal sized person quite well. On him they seemed to hang like oversized curtains.

‘Paul Daglish.’ he said, sliding himself one stool closer toward me and offering his hand.

‘Darcy Clay.’ despite his frail appearance he had a pleasant grip. He wasn’t overpowering like so many people were when they shook your hand.

‘A pleasure to meet you Darcy. That’s a fine ride you came in on. Bonnieville right?’

I nodded. ‘An eighty-three’.

He gave out a low whistle.

‘End of an era that one.’

I immediately awarded Paul some Darcy points. I didn’t know then just how huge a score he’d rack up in the short time we would be friends. It was more than most people get in their whole lives.

We chatted for a bit (mostly about bikes) while Gina bustled in the kitchen; producing scents that smelled fantastic, and singing that sounded pretty damn average. Without being asked Paul went around the counter and liberated two bottles of ice cold Sprite. We popped them, clinked them together and drank.

If I wasn’t as lesbian as the locker room of a college women’s softball team, I would have kissed Paul then and there. Damn that was good.

Gina reemerged with heaven in steak form on a plate and I started devouring. Seeing that my bottle was empty she cleared it and produced another for me, all without asking.

‘Gina, I’m gonna head for home.’ Paul rose off his stool.

‘Ok my love. Drive safe now.’ She reached across the counter and they hugged. I glanced over and saw her mouth the words:

‘When’s your scan?’ into his ear. Her hair masked his reply and as they separated I felt guilty; like I was eavesdropping on something I had no right too.

‘Take care of yourself now Darcy. Was damn nice to meet you. You’re in good hands.’ He gave a raffish smile and cloaked himself in a rain cape before heading to the door closest to the garage. With a cheerful ‘Bye my lovelies’ he was gone.

And then we were alone together.

Gina came ’round the counter and sat on the stool next to me. If a stranger invaded my personal space like that I’d normally be wary of them. For some reason she seemed to have the opposite effect. I told her:

“Astrid says ‘Hi’ by the way.”

Her face lit up.

“You met Astrid? How is that little brat doin’?” It seemed odd to me that Gina would describe Astrid as a ‘little brat’.

“She’s good. She’s good.”

“She still walkin’ ’round naked?”

I nodded and actually felt myself blush a little. Gina grinned.

“Damn girl’s gonna catch her death o’ cold.”

We chatted for a bit, light-hearted stuff mostly. An hour flew by and I was making her laugh with tales of some of the weirder cases I’d worked (nothing involving Specials of course). Sometimes we’d chat about more serious things though:

“Paul… Is he…”

“Ex-husband.” Other people say that word with just a hint of venom. Again, Gina was the complete opposite. She went on:

“But there’s nothing bad between us or anything. We married right out of high school, started up the diner and the garage, but it was short-lived. Don’t worry. He’s gone from being a husband who drove me nuts, to the best friend I could hope for.”

She punctuated that last sentence with her trademark smile and lilting laughter – before going to the door and turning the sign over to ‘CLOSED’. A flick of a switch halved the lighting and she cleared my plate. I noticed that I couldn’t see her expression as she asked:

“How about you Darcy? Do you have a special someone?”

“No. Not right now.”

That’s really all there was to it.

We relocated to a table by a window, sharing a jug of orange juice with a cup each. We talked and (unlike with Astrid) I found it was a fifty-fifty split on the chatter.

Suddenly I realized it was late. Really late. We’d been talking for hours in the closed diner and it had felt like minutes. It was still raining and this place didn’t have accommodation, so I was not looking forward to the next part of my journey (which according to my map, was a ride through the rain to a 24-hour motel just up ahead).

“Is that the time? I’d better get going.” I went to stand up but then sat back down when she reached over and took my hand.

“Darcy <insert my middle name> Clay. You are not riding off in this rain. Where’re you planning on going?” (Yes. By now I had told her my middle name. No. I am not telling YOU.)

“There’s a motel up the road. I think it’s twenty-four hour.”

“That place is a rat hole that even the rats don’t bother with. No. You’re staying at my place tonight. It’s not much, but it’s a roof an’ it’s warm and dry.”

“Gina. No. I can’t do that.” It just felt wrong to impose on her like this.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“There’s no changing your mind?”

“There’s no changing my mind.”

She pondered this for a moment. Then said (very seriously):

“Darcy? Do you play poker?”

 

Part Four: Playing For Keeps

 

In case you’re wondering, I am not the best poker player in the world.

When Gina cleared the table, sat down and started sliding cards at me, I had to get her to explain twice what “Five card draw, jacks or better, jokers wild.” actually meant.

Poker is a game invented by frat boys to get drunk coeds out of their clothes. I preferred telekinesis for that task.

“So what are we playing for?” I inquired. I guess this was better than the rain outside, although I still needed to get going.

She dropped a large handful of quarters onto the table from the pocket in her apron.

“Only what’s on the table. But it’ll cost ya.”

She slid five of the coins to me and slid my leather jacket back to her. I raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, I see where this is going. Gina, you dark horse you.”

She took off her white hat and shook her hair loose – It cascaded to her shoulders like a waterfall on fire. My jacket was on the table next to the window ledge and she tossed her hat onto it, beginning a pile of clothes that we would start building up very soon. Then she lined up her five quarters.

“If you get me naked then hey, you’re free to ride off in this rain to wherever you want. But if I win? Well there’s a warm bed or a couch if you’d prefer. No strings. But you’re staying the night. Deal?”

I looked into her eyes, they were shining at me. For some reason I felt my heart leap just a little.

“Deal. Did you try this trick with Astrid?”

“I was going too, but she was already naked and passed out on my bed.”

That made me laugh.

Then it was game on.

At the start (as I told you a couple of chapters ago) I was wearing boots and socks, blue jeans and a wide belt, my customary white long-sleeved blouse and leather vest. Oh and the white underwear of course. My jacket, as I mentioned, was already discarded.

The cards were sliding as we back and forthed for a bit, just feeling each other out. Then she hit me with three of a kind to beat my pair of queens and I needed more coins.

My fingers went to the buttons of my vest and I was aware that they were trembling slightly; I couldn’t figure out why though. I worked the shiny black buttons, one after the other – the pale whiteness of my shirt underneath spilling into view, silk like. I looked up as I shrugged the vest from my shoulders and tossed it aside, trying to appear casual.

Even that simple little act had made my breath quicken. Gina’s eyes met mine again as she slid five more quarters to me; for a moment our fingers touched and I nearly gasped.

What was this? Was she a Special of some kind? Was I being coerced or controlled in some way? I checked and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Only my heart racing.

As the game continued and we bantered away at each other I noticed something about her. She was kind when she joked. She prefered self-deprecating humor more than that joshing around insulting that other women enjoyed.

Even though I was well used to that locker-room style talk, I appreciated her even more for that. It actually endeared her to me.

I beat her next three of a kind with a flush (much to my suprise).

I was, perhaps, a bit forceful when I slammed the cards down, and thought for a minute she was upset with me. Then she winked and I knew she was only feigning her disappointment.

She reached behind her back and undid the apron strings. Because she was sitting down she had to lean forward and her soft, subtle movements seemed incredibly sensual in the shrouded light of the diner. I heard the faint rustling of her dress, her breath, the satisfied sigh as she relaxed back, no longer shackled by this symbol of her daily grind. She lazily threw the apron onto the pile and smiled at me, saying:

“That’s so much better.”

I thought so too.

It didn’t take her long to win the next two hands and I was in need of more coins again.

Shuffling on my seat I unbuckled my belt and pulled it free with a soft whipping sound, before tossing it onto the pile with a dull metallic clunk. It lay there like a coiled snake.

I won big on the next hand and cleaned her out. As my pile of coins was now over twenty I had to cut it down by ten. This meant an instant forfeit for Gina, who lost both her sneakers and her cute little socks.

She placed them on the pile and turned sideways, stretching her legs out and wriggling her toes.

“Shoulda done that a while ago.” she said, obviously luxuriating in the sensation of having bare feet.

“Hold that thought.” I told her.

I left my seat and went to her, kneeling on the floor with both legs folded under me. I gently took one of her feet in my hands and massaged it, my touch was firm yet gentle. She gasped.

“Wow hun. You’re great with those hands.”

I didn’t bother commenting on that. It would only get me into trouble.

I spent a couple of minutes on each foot; gentle, loving, languid movements covering every inch of them. I’d done this for so many women over so many years. It was right in the Darcy Clay Toolbox Of Casual Seduction.

But for some reason on that night it just felt a little different. I was still unsure why.

I hopped back onto my seat and the game resumed. She won the next two hands (but they were both close). Sadly for me I had bet big to call her and again I needed cash from the Bank Of Humiliation.

As we were sitting down I decided my jeans were next. I unsnapped then, slid the zip down (it felt like a far louder noise than it really was) and then wriggled my way out of them in a very unsexy fashion; still sitting down. It was an effort to peel them off over my boots but I managed, before adding them to the pile on the table. Gina commented:

“They look really good on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course they look even better on the table.”

I groaned as she laughed. I’d walked right into that one.

I felt a little naughty, a little excited as I sat there, feeling the coolness of being bare on the skin of my legs. I remembered what it was like being a teen. Having a girl in my room, jeans tossed on the floor, fumbling with each other and hoping my dad didn’t finish his watch early (he never did) and come home.

I used to hate the sound of those treaded boots on the gravel path leading to our door. I still don’t like that sound to this day.

Through no great skill I scraped together three hands in a row, and even though Gina folded on two of them I just had enough winnings to force her to strip again.

She stood up, walked ’round the table to stand next to me, and turning her back said the words:

“Would you be a dear and get my zip?”

My hand trembled just a little as I reached for it. The clasp was under her hair so she swished it to the side and out of the way, holding it with one soft hand.

Slowly I unzipped her. She couldn’t see me smile as I watched her unveiled before me.

The faint band of freckle on her shoulders…

Pale bra strap…

Soft smooth skin on her back…

The top of her panties, white like mine…

With a whispered rustle the dress fell to the floor and I nearly cried out.

Wow.

She was stunning. To me, then and there, this woman was softly curved desire.

She bent low (very deliberately no doubt) and picked up her dress. It was all I could do to not reach out and touch her right then and there.

Almost timidly she sat back down and placed the dress on the clothes pile.

I was sneaking glances at her (I’m sure she noticed) as she dealt the next hand, taking in the sight of her weighted breasts as they rested on the table, confined by her bra and not really hidden behind her cards. I was able to see exactly where her skin was freckled.

I also noticed that I was breathing a little quicker and bantering less, I think she was too.

One hand of overconfidence later and I lost to a king of diamonds high card. Really? Can’t I just use some telekinesis to get rid of that bra?

Much to her complete amazement (and mine too, I still have no idea why I did what I did) I slid my boi panties off and dropped them unashamedly on the pile.

She looked at me. Eyes wide.

I shrugged and started dealing (hey, my shirt was long enough that it acted as a mini dress) and even though she couldn’t see my ‘naked’ butt sitting on the seat I could sure feel it.

We back and forthed a bit more and it was getting intense now. By this time we had a good read on each other and the bets were becoming far more strategic. Coins slid across the table with no clear advantage until I got supremely lucky and landed a straight flush, queen high off a two card draw.

I could not believe it. Neither could she.

“I want to do this right.” she said, rising and coming over to my side of the table.

“What do you mean?”

Without a word she turned and I knew. I reached for the clasp of her bra with two trembling hands and still managed to effortlessly unhook it. I felt the tension immediately release, saw the straps go lose, her hands catch it…

She turned to face me, her expression so calm but her eyes on mine, shimmering; almost with their own light.

I literally felt my breath being taken away.

She slowly lowered her hands, giving me the bra which I weakly took from her. She was standing so close now, her femininity displayed, soft and tempting and glorious.

Maybe I started falling for her then and there… I don’t know. All I do know is I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The richness of her skin, the heaviness of her sensuality and how it seemed to wrap me in it, even without touch. Gina was the woman the masters would paint. The serving girl preserved and made immortal.

With an unashamed half-smile she slid back to her seat and I was able to breathe out again. Her full, heavy breasts were each resting on the table as she leaned slightly forward, and I had to suppress the urge to reach out and stroke them; to take each small button nipple in my fingers.

I realized I still had the bra in my hands so I placed it carefully on the pile.

Gina watched me as I dealt the next hand, pleasantly chatting away as if sitting in her diner wearing just her panties was the most natural thing in the world. I wondered if she’d always been like this or if it was a confidence that she’d picked up off someone else.

She snuck ahead on the next hand, then put together a big win out of nowhere. Her pot had gone above twenty coins so I had to forfeit while she put ten back into the bank.

“Oh now come on, that’s cheating.” I thought I heard some honest indignation in her voice.

There was nothing she could do as I pulled my arms into my shirt, unlimbered, twisted and unhooked my bra, and then snaked my arms back down the sleeves. I tossed her the last of my underwear.

“I believe the unified rules of strip poker, as sanctioned by the National Association Of Public Nudity In Sport, make allowances for such a move.” I finished my statement by poking my tongue out, prompting her to mock-growl at me and toss my bra onto the pile.

Suddenly we were flashed with a bright yellow light, causing us both to flinch and duck down a little.

A car had driven past.

Slowly, and laughing nervously, we sat back up and resumed the game. I had one eye warily on the window now in case of passing traffic.

Maybe it was the rain drumming on the glass, the warmth of the diner or just the company, but I was feeling the calmest I had in over a week. Thoughts of Miko weren’t the constant companion they had been when I was off the road. It was like nothing bad existed outside of this quiet little place.

She managed to string together a couple of wins in a row before I pulled one back. In the next hand I went all in, convinced that three kings was a winner. The low clubs flush she produced told me it wasn’t.

Heart pounding away in my chest I undid my top button, spilling the tiny ‘V’ of my privacy into her view. I had to pause, take a breath and stop my hands from shaking as another button released… And another…

There was a silence between us; it was as tangible as the weight of the stare she fixed me with.

My blouse became a curtain on opening night, parting slowly, showing her my shadows and secrets. I heard her gasp.

Trying (and failing) to look casual I slipped the blouse onto the pile.

A deep breath and my eyes met hers.

“Darcy… You’re… You’re…” her voice trailed off.

I had no idea what she was going to say next.

“Naked?” I offered.

“Beautiful.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Nobody had ever said that to me in my whole life. I found that I was blushing.

“So I guess I win?” Her eyes lit up.

I grinned and said:

“Not quite.”

I clattered my feet on the floor and she laughed. She’d forgotten I still had my boots on.

I dealt the next hand and it didn’t look good. Gina, however, discarded only one card and then sat there looking like she was trying not to smile. Which could mean just about anything.

I discarded one card and looked at my hand.

Four little diamonds. One was an ace.

I drew.

Ace of spades.

Rats. Not the flush I was after but at least it was something. It wouldn’t be enough to beat her if she had picked up anything useful. Or if she already had two pair or four of a kind.

Oh well. What’s the worst that could happen?

I could ride off and turn my back on her. Some instinct inside me wanted to do that so badly. Would one night with Darcy Clay be enough to really hurt this woman? I was as tired of running as I was of hurting people, but I couldn’t see any other way.

Or if she won I could stay. Maybe take a chance she wouldn’t grow to despise me. I saw Miko in front of me again.

That scent.

The shadow on her face.

Her last words to me.

‘Goodbye Darcy.’

…

I decided.

“Ok. I’m all in.”

“Same.”

We slid our coin plies to the middle of the table and I flicked my cards over. Two shiney aces peered up at her. She sighed… Sadly I thought.

… And flipped over a pair of queens.

She calmly stood up and walked to the middle of the floor.

So did I. We were close.

Her hands were trembling as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties; sliding them, slowly, down the soft skin of her legs.

In the half-light I saw a rich, dark red triangle of silken fur. She looked like an element of nature. If a woman was sprung from mother earth, showered in rain and walking naked with the grass between her toes then she’d look just like Gina.

Sensual.

Natural.

Alive.

She handed me her panties. Our hands met and I made sure I didn’t let her go this time. I tossed them onto the pile.

“Guess you won.” Her lips were so close. Was that a touch of sadness in her voice? Uncertainty?

“Guess so.”

“I suppose you’ll be heading off now. Unless you’ve changed your mind.” It wasn’t a question.

I lifted one hand and stroked the side of her cheek. Her eyes closed and she melted toward my touch, her breath a fluttering sigh that escaped her lips.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

We kissed.

 

Epilogue

 

There’s something therapeutic about starting a journey. If I am honest with you? My actual journey, the one where I would arrive at the place I needed to be? Started from that kiss.

The rest of the night was a happy, laughing, joyous blur. We ran naked in the rain to her trailer, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls and hoping nobody was in the trees watching us.

We tumbled through the door and attacked each other with fluffy towels to get dry. The drying then turning erotic as the towels were discarded and we couldn’t keep our hands or lips off each other.

We lay together on her bed in a silvered light, each discovering a new companion in the wonderful way that humans do.

Those bright green eyes of hers seemed like the only color in my life as we meshed together. Her gasps the only sound. Her soft skin the only thing I could feel.

I’m not sure when it happened, but I noticed suddenly that the awful feeling of tightness in my chest had gone. I reached for her, felt her take me in her arms and I could not stop crying. It was a relief that felt as if it were a lifetime in coming.

There’s also something therapeutic about having a friend who never questions. Only accepts. She held me until I stopped shaking and never asked why.

I knew then I could be friends with this woman. Maybe I should give her a chance.

I fell asleep nestled in the softness of her embrace: Fully expecting her to be gone in the morning.

I woke when the sun warmed my face; and found out that we hadn’t moved. I saw the golden glow of the light as it danced on her tangled mass of copper coiled hair. I lay there, perfectly still, not wanting to wake her and spoil that image.

From the nearby garage came the sound of a roller door clattering open. She stirred and sat up, yawning. I smiled as the sheets fell away from her chest.

“Morning handsome.” she leaned down and kissed me and I tasted myself vaguely on her lips. I didn’t mind that.

“Um… Aren’t our clothes still in the diner?”

“You relax. I’ll take care of that.”

I watched as she padded out of the trailer carrying her keys and wearing just a rain cape. Through the window I saw her chatting with Paul. They laughed about something and I watched as she disappeared into the back door of the diner, to emerge minutes later with a huge bundle of clothing.

With no awkwardness whatsoever we did all the things an actual couple would do in that confined space. The casually wandering around naked, the showering together, the light (yet intimate) glancing touches on each other and the stolen kisses.

I was alone in the trailer (she’d gone to get breakfast ready) and lacing up my boots when I saw the photo.

Two people; both I recognized. Astrid and Gina naked and holding each other under a waterfall. It was framed and I picked it up and looked at it closely. For some reason it made me smile.

We had a leisurely home-cooked breakfast together in the diner as the sun began its daily climb outside. Then the short-order cook arrived, followed by some customers, and she got to work.

I was ready to go soon after and she looked busy, so I waved to her and made my way out to my bike, a little sad I hadn’t managed more time with her.

I’d just thrown my leg over when she came out.

“Darcy <Insert my middle name – no, still not telling you what it is.> Clay. You weren’t thinkin’ of leaving without saying goodbye were you?”

“Sorry. You just looked like you had work to do.”

She half sat on Bonnie’s gas tank and put her arms around me. We shared a kiss that I was really reluctant to leave.

“You never gave me the bill.” I said to her, our foreheads still touching.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I thought you might say that. So I left something in your tip jar. It’s not much, but it should cover it.”

“Darcy! You didn’t need to do that!”

“Yes, I did.”

We kissed again.

I found it easy to promise to keep in touch. I gave her my number and she tucked one of her business cards into the inner pocket of my jacket. This time ’round I knew I’d be calling. It’s not like we lived close by, I was just interested in not losing contact with her.

With one long, last kiss she went back inside and I kitted up. As I thumbed the start button I noticed through the window that she had just discovered the hundred dollar bill I had left in her jar. I rode off, smiling to myself as she raced outside waving it angrily in her hand and shouting at me to take it back.

Several hundred miles (and more than a few miss-adventures) later I was cresting the hill above Port Arturo, Mexico, ready to hop a boat to Arulco and start my vacation properly

It was time for a change.