Chapter 11

Paul took his hands off the steering wheel to rub his eyes; he was tired after ten hours of steady driving and the pills seemed to be wearing off. Maybe it's time for a short break, he thought to himself...take another couple of Benzedrines and relax for a few minutes.

He didn't really want to stop; he was afraid to start thinking about what he was doing. It had been very hard leaving Emily; several times he had almost stopped and gone back. Back to Emily? How could he do that when the thought of Cindy was still tearing him apart? It didn't seem to matter how many miles he put between them...he still wanted her.

He relaxed in the seat and listened to the big engine throbbing beneath him. He tried not to think of anything...just drive...just go. But he was too tired. It was getting hard to focus on the highway. He would have to stop.

The long straight road gleamed beneath the headlights of the car as Paul searched ahead for a place to stop. He wasn't too particular. He laughed as he remembered how Cindy would want to stop at every roadside diner...just to see what it was like.

He passed a couple of questionable places, then spotted a brightly lit truck stop.

He stopped, parked the car and went inside. The bright lights made him squint and he stood still for a moment until his eyes got used to the glare. The booths were all full, so he took a seat at the counter, next to a big, leather-jacketed truck driver.

"Just coffee," he said to the blonde waitress.

He wasn't really hungry; the pills took away his appetite. He took another couple of pills and downed them with a glass of water.

"Nice and warm tonight, huh?" said the man next to him.

"Yeah, sure is."

He hoped the man wouldn't pursue the conversation; he didn't feel like talking just now. To discourage him, Paul swung around on the stool and glanced idly around the diner. He looked at the crowd-the usual collection of truckers and tourists. But as he looked at the last booth, his attention rose...the girl sitting there. Her face was hidden but it was her hair! Long silky brown hair, like Cindy's.

As he watched the girl, her hair gleaming under the lights, Paul got a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew it couldn't be Cindy, but still he couldn't take his eyes off this girl. He remembered the time Cindy had played a practical joke on him; he had gotten mad and slapped her. He was sorry for it almost right away, but he hadn't apologized and she had gone home crying. He didn't see her for almost a week...and he had missed her.

And he missed her now; he half wished he was back in the city...in bed with her. Maybe things were different now. He tried to think if anything had really changed; but no, nothing had changed; all the old feelings were still there, both good and bad. He wanted her and he didn't want her and it still didn't make any sense. Maybe if he called her...He toyed with the idea for a moment as he watched the girl in the booth. But no, something was telling him that it wouldn't be a good idea; it wasn't time yet.

"Nice, huh?" the man next to him said. "Like to pick them up, but the company would fire me for sure. Not worth it, not even for a juicy little piece like that. Nice though, and so is her friend. You shoulda seen the dresses they're wearing; you can see almost up to their twats. Cute little bitches and I bet they got hot pants too...a lotta these young girls do; used to pick them up before the company put its foot down...."

Paul stared down at his cup of coffee. He wished the trucker would stop talking; it was only making him miss Cindy all the more. So, before he had a chance to go on, Paul engaged him in a desultory conversation about the trucking business.

While they talked Paul had another cup of coffee. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two girls get up to pay their bill. He wanted a last look at the girl with the long hair; she was young and very pretty. Both she and her friend were wearing sandals and beads. So they're hippies, he thought to himself.

Time to go, he decided. He said good-bye to the trucker and paid his bill. But before he went back outside, he went into the washroom to splash some cold water on his face. Drying his face and hands, he went back outside.

There standing by his car were the two girls. He took a deep breath and walked towards them. They didn't see him coming, and he was almost on top of them before the girl with the brown hair turned around quickly, a startled look on her face.

"Oh, is this your car?" she asked sweetly. "I hope you don't mind, we were just looking at it; it's a groovy car."

"Yeah, its mine, but I'm afraid I don't have time...." he began; but she didn't let him finish.

"My name is Karen; this is Molly," she said, turning to her companion, a full-bodied blonde.

They want a ride, he thought to himself. He wished it was some other time; they were both little dolls, and they had that look about them, that look that says: anything goes if we like you. But he just wasn't in the mood, not now, not with everything pressing down on his mind. He was about to tell them this, when Karen yawned, stretching her arms over her head, raising her high pointed breasts.

"Oh man, am I tired; we've been traveling a long ways...and...."

"O.K., hop in," he said.

As he walked around the car to get in, he suddenly wished he hadn't said it. But it would be nice to have some company, somebody to talk to, so maybe it would work out. As he slid into the low leather seat, he saw that one of the girls, Molly, was going to get in the back.

"Hey, we can all fit in front," he said.

"Groovy!" she answered. "I'd rather sit in front, anyway."

They settled themselves and Paul pulled out of the parking lot; his hand brushed against Karen's bare thigh as he shifted gears. He left his hand there, against her leg...more from curiosity than anything else. But she didn't move her leg.

As they got back on the highway, the two girls exchanged glances, then Karen said to Paul:

"You want some grass, man? We have lots, and it's kind of nice when you're driving."

"Yeah, great, I'd love some," he replied. "My name is Paul."

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Molly roll a cigarette; she lit it and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in as long as she could. Already he could smell the sweet aroma of the marihuana. Karen took a deep drag, then passed the joint to Paul. Both girls leaned back in the comfortable leather seats. Paul inhaled and almost immediately felt the relaxing effects of the pot. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, he thought.

"You two are hippies, huh?" He was feeling better and better.

"Yeah sure, I guess so," Molly answered in a dreamy voice. "You can call us anything you want...names don't matter."

"Yeah, right," said Karen. "What do people have to get all hung up on names for? It's a real drag. I mean I don't care what your name is, not really." She turned to look at Paul. "Let's see," she continued in mock seriousness, "we'll call you Mr. Flower. How's that?"

"Mr. Flower, huh? Yeah, that sounds pretty good. And I'll call you Miss Petal," he said to Karen. "And your friend there, she can be Miss Blossom."

"That's great," said Karen, taking another long drag on the joint before passing it once again to Paul.

"So, Miss Petal, where are you going?" he asked.

He was flying high now. All his cares and troubles seemed to disappear with the pot. He even slowed down. Ah yes, he thought to himself, this is better; it had been a long time since he had been this high; he could feel the familiar surge of energy through his body, especially in his legs and back. He knew he still had all his old problems...with Cindy...but now, right now, he was feeling too good to let it depress him. He put his hand on Karen's knee and she put her hand on top of his. Her skin felt so alive, as if he could feel her whole body through her knee. It was a nice feeling.

"Where am I going, Mr. Flower?" she said, her head resting far back on the seat, her eyes looking up, as if she was trying to see through the roof of the car, to the stars. "Where are we going, Miss Blossom?" She turned to Molly.

"I don't know, I forgot. Oh yes, now I remember, we aren't going anywhere, that's where we're going."

Paul moved his hand slowly up Karen's thigh...slowly, because he didn't want to hurry, because it felt too good to hurry. Her skin felt so smooth, almost slippery, but he could also feel all the tiny bumps, all the imperfections and even they felt good. He pressed his fingers gently into the yielding flesh of her inner thigh, and he could feel her pulse, the steady throb of life as it passed through her body.

But then something was wrong; something far back in his mind, some unpleasant thought or feeling was trying to break through. He wanted to say something; maybe the sound of his own voice would chase it away.

"Say, does somebody want to rub the back of my neck? It feels stiff as a board after so much driving."

"Sure, I'd love to," Karen answered cheerily.

She climbed over the seat and Paul caught a glimpse of her flashing white bottom as, in climbing, her short skirt slipped up over her hips. Suddenly he realized that he hadn't wanted her to rub his neck; Molly maybe, but not Karen; it had felt too good, having his hand on her leg. But...it didn't really matter, she would be back if he wanted her. Anyway, he soon forgot his disappointment as her supple fingers worked on his neck, driving away the stiffness in his muscles.

"Ah yes, that's great," he said, arching his neck to meet her hand. "Any time you need a job, Miss Petal, you can come and stay with me and be my neck rubber."

"Nope, that sounds like a drag; I don't want to do it if it's a job," Karen answered as she tumbled gracefully back into the front seat. "Nooooo, jobs are a drag, drag, drag." Both girls laughed and Paul joined them.

He put his hand again on her thigh; she parted her legs and he ran his fingers up her smooth skin until he felt the hair between her legs. But before he could continue, she leaned over on the seat and unzipped his fly; she put her warm hand around his cock and gently squeezed. Reaching further into his pants, she found his balls and cupped them. She bent over and ran her warm tongue the length of his penis, and then her warm, wet, smooth mouth closed around him and slowly...so slowly and gently...she sucked, making low pleasant sounds in the back of her throat. He came almost at once, the hot liquid spurting deep into her throat; he didn't want to hold it, even though it felt so good he wished it would go on forever. Even after he had come, she didn't stop her gentle suction...she wanted every drop of him, and she licked the few remaining drops from the tip of his prick. He looked over at Molly; she had raised Karen's skirt and was now dreamily stroking her soft white ass, now and then inserting a finger into her belly.

"Mmmmmmm, it's nice with grass, isn't it?" Karen said as she straightened up. "Let's stop for a minute and have another joint."

Paul pulled the car over to the side of the road; Karen lit the joint and they sat in silence and smoked. But there was still something pressing on his mind; and now the pot didn't help chase it away. Yes, now he knew it was Cindy; he wanted to call her; he didn't know why, but he felt he had to. And right away. As soon as they had finished, he gunned the car back to life and pulled out onto the highway, going faster than he had before. He was sure that after he called her and talked to her he would feel much better.

"Hey, what's the matter?" asked Molly. "Why are you in so much of a hurry? Want another joint?"

"No, not yet. I've got to make a phone call. Won't take a minute."

"O.K., " Molly answered. "Everybody's got to call somebody sometime, I guess. Hey, there's a phone."

Paul saw it too and he raced ahead, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. He skidded to a stop in front of the gas station, got out of the car and ran over to the phone booth.

As he dialed Cindy's number he felt the sweat break out on his forehead and on the palms of his hands. The number was ringing now...two, three, four...."Come on Cindy," he muttered under his breath...seven, eight, but still no answer. He let the phone ring for almost a full minute before placing it on the hook. He stood in the booth and looked absentmindedly out the window; then, pulling himself together, he stepped out into the warm night air.

Where could she be at this hour? Anyway, somebody should have been there...Linda, or Katie, unless she had already gone home. Yes, that was it, they had probably all gone down to the bus station to see Katie off; wasn't she going to leave today? But no, it was too late for that...so they must be someplace else. A little knot of apprehension began to form in the pit of his stomach. Cindy was all right, he was sure of it...but then where was she?

Maybe it was the pot that was making him worry...and worry for nothing, because there was nothing he could do...couldn't go back, not yet. Well, he could call later. Until then, he was determined not to let it eat away inside him.

"Hey, Mr. Flower, don't look so glum," Karen said in a cheerful voice.

She leaned over and kissed him, a long sweet kiss that ended with her tongue inside his mouth.

"Don't be glum, it's such a nice night," she said. "You can be sad some other time, sometime when it's not so nice, when it's raining or something." She passed him another joint.

He took a deep drag and then another. Yes, she was right, he thought, as the pot renewed its effect. He felt his sex rising as he remembered her warm mouth and how it had felt around his prick. Yeah, why be glum? His only wish was that she didn't remind him so much of Cindy.