The Drive

It was a long drive. I knew that setting out, but I didn’t mind. Bryan was at the end of it. After months of teasing, talking, fantasies, love letters, and long-distance kisses, I would finally be next to him again. We could stop sketching out song ideas through the crappy sound of video chat and start making real music. We would make love and make our album. Two days of driving was nothing compared to the anticipation I’d already endured.

I started out early, coffee in my cup holder and an energetic playlist cued up. The highway was empty, and I was soon out of city limits. I sang and sipped and enjoyed the spring sunshine. After an hour I turned off the music and started making up my own songs. I get silly when I’m by myself too long. Every tune turned into a dorky love song about Bryan. I thought about recording them on my phone, or at least jotting down lyrics, but I felt too light-hearted to put any work into song-writing.

“I’m going to kiss and kiss and kiss you,” I sang, “Until your lips turn blue-oo-oo-oo-oo. I’m going to hug and lug and bug you--’till you do everything I want to do-oo-oo-oo-oo--” I deepened my voice for a bluesy, sultry sound- “Everything I want you to do to me.”

Yes indeed. Everything I wanted him to do. I thought about arriving at his house. It was the same fantasy I’d been indulging every night at bedtime, adding details, repeating over and over the imagined sensation of my arms around him, his skin against my lips. Despite having both hands on the wheel, my nipples pushed up hard against my tee shirt and my panties chafed against my thighs.

I was in the slow lane doing 65. Traffic was light, and no one had passed me in quite a while. What the hell. I pulled up my skirt and let my fingertips play over my panties. Bryan on the doorstep, bathed in afternoon sunlight. As we embrace our arms brush: the first touch of skin against skin. If I weren’t so overwhelmed with need to be closer I’d stop right there and savor the sensation. But there’d be time for that later.

My pussy tingled at the thought of our embrace. I planned to be wearing a thin summer dress--too thin, maybe, for the weather, but it would let me feel every nuance of his body against mine. Blue jeans. He’d be wearing blue jeans. I imagined the hard button against my pelvic bone. God I wanted him.

It took control, at this point in my fantasizing, not to skip ahead. It was so tempting to fast forward to us naked in the bedroom (or half-dressed in the hallway, or pushing clothes aside on the lawn) and his cock inside me, pounding into me, while I clung to him and screamed his name, orgasming over and over. It was all too easy to miss out on the irreplaceable pleasure of greetings, the last, melting, tortuously wonderful moments of waiting. But no. I had 8 more hours of driving today and another 5 tomorrow. I would drag out every second of our imagined meeting. I would make those minutes take an hour.

So I said to myself as my fingers crept inside my panties, already slick. I kept my eyes on the road but there wasn’t much out there. Sunlight, rocks, trees, highway. A truck in the middle distance. I let my fingers glide and rest, glide and rest. Bryan’s waistband against my pelvis. Bryan’s hands on my lower back, pulling me in close. Sweet golder shivers coursed through my body. I wanted more.

I lifted my hips and awkwardly attempted to steer with my knee while pulling my panties out from under myself. My right foot came down heavy on the accelerator and my knee swerved the car into the left lane. I grabbed the wheel and pulled right, cursing. The tires hit the raised pavement edge with an alarming noise but I didn’t fishtail. I straightened out again, going 50 instead of 85 while I caught my breath. My panties were halfway down my thighs but for the moment I had both hands on the wheel.

There was an 18 wheeler in rear view mirror, coming up fast. Their air horn blasted at me. A warning? Or had I broken something in my erratic swerve? I listened for a flat tire. No. Everything was fine. The horn must have been an acknowledgement of my idiocy, mocking or punitive. Not that the driver could know the reason. The truck pulled next to me and slowed a little. There was a man in the passenger seat, looking down at me and grinning. He looked left and must have said something to the driver, because they slowed a little more to match my speed. I realized from his leer he was looking at my lap, where my skirt was still lifted and my damp panties twisted around my legs. I hit the brakes to get behind them. He yelled something I couldn’t make out and gave me a thumbs up in the rear view mirror as the truck sped away.

Flexi, I read off the back of their container. How’s My Driving. I sighed and put the music back on.

About an hour later it was time for a pit stop. I pulled into the far end of the lot, hoping to pull up my panties with less drama than I’d experienced pulling them down. There was a pretty view of trees and grass at that end of the rest area. I rearranged my clothes without event, noting the cold of damp underwear against my skin. I still had that ache.

As I walked into the rest area building, a truck pulled past me heading out. I wouldn’t have recognized it but the man in the passenger seat waved and winked. He was young, younger than my stereotype of “truck driver”, and the blue of his eyes was visible even from our distance. I felt my cheeks flush. “God damn, can’t a girl catch a break?” I muttered, and headed to the bathrooms.

If I’d known then what kind of a break I was about to catch, I wouldn’t have bothered to pull my panties back up again in the bathroom stall. I would have balled them up and stuffed them in a trash bin and let myself drip. They were only going to be in my way from then on.

...to be continued...