Alister Bell


Jim put his hand on Delia’s knee just as they drove past the “NEVADA 25 miles” sign.

“Stop it,” she said.

“Why?” he asked. “We are almost there. Besides, what I want isn’t illegal in California.”

“What I want, is. Are. You know what I mean. And slow down. I really, really don’t want us to get pulled over today.”

Jim let up on the gas a bit. “Here. 65, exactly. I can’t wait, hon. I wish I could floor it.”

Delia smiled at him. “Me, too. That’s why I don’t want to start, not yet.” Her smile widened into an evil grin. “’Cause I know you, and I know me…”

“I can hold it if I try…”

“You can hold it any time. Look, it’s the weekend, we are almost there, and I know exactly what I want and how I want it, and – “ she slapped his knee for emphasis “– timing –” slap “–is–” slap “–everything!” She squeezed his knee. “So hold your horses!” She giggled. “Or… whatever.”

The drove in silence for a bit. “I can control myself, you know,” Jim muttered. “Look, 65 on the dot, didn’t budge. “ He caressed her thigh, pushing the dress up. “Look, can you see it? That’s the 20 miles to Nevada sign. Practically there.” He caressed her thigh in circles, ending further up each time. “Aha – just as I thought! No underwear, and – shoot, you are hotter than I am!”

She did not answer for a time. Jim took that as a yes. Certainly felt like a yes, where his right hand was at. His left was on the wheel, his eyes on the road and the speedometer. And, occasionally, on Delia. Hers were on him, mostly. Her hands were, too, shortly.

“So you think you can control yourself, huh?” Her voice was lower, out of breath, her cadence catching and starting as the syllables came like pops from a popcorn popper. “I’ll make it… difficult. I mean hard. I mean hard AND difficult…”

Jim felt the buzz of his zipper going down, then her hands tugging, then her mouth. It took some concentration to curl only the left toe, and not the one pushing the gas pedal, and even more to move only his right hand in the welling wetness and keep his left steady on the steering wheel. He checked his speed again as they passed a speed trap; 65, right on. They could not search a car in California if it obeyed traffic rules, unless they observed illegal activity in it; and, seatbelts being securely fastened, what they were doing was legal in California.

Concentrating on driving was a great way to control himself, Jim thought. Delia had no such trouble and, as they passed the 10 mile marker, shuddered into another orgasm. Third, Jim thought. Third. This gave him an idea. He let go of the wheel for a second and downshifted with his left hand. Delia had to arch her back to let the lever move back an inch, but as the engine revved higher and the drivetrain began to vibrate, her shudder, too, rose in pitch.

“Oh, Jim,” she moaned around a mouthful of Jim, or possibly “God, Jim,” all he was sure of is that it was two syllables with a labial at the end, and with 10 miles to go he hoped to hell she would not say “floccinaucinihilipilification”, or even “Los Alamos”, as he wasn’t sure how many vowels he could handle before exploding.

The sight of another California Highway Patrol car parked on the median brought him back to reality. The cop followed them with his radar gun, probably wondering why a car doing exactly the speed limit was making so much noise. Jim thought that was one boring job. Unless the cop had a partner. A female partner. A pretty brunette female partner who, out of sight for now, was doing for the cop exactly –

Jim abandoned that line of thought in a hurry. There were still five miles to go. Numbers were good distractions, always had been. Speed, 65. RPM, 2900, high because of that downshift to D-3. Temperature, in the green. Gas, ¾ tank, plenty to get there and come back. Radio on 101.1, volume turned down to nothing. Delia. Delia was still there. Jim noticed that he was no longer moving his right hand, but Delia did not seem to mind. The occasional small shudders she gave were most pleasant for Jim but did not threaten the fragile status quo. Soon, he thought. And if he remembered correctly…

In the distance, the hot asphalt made a quivering mirror, the large “WELCOME TO NEVADA” sign visible as a hazy rectangle over a rippled reflection. Jim signaled a lane change and merged into the right lane. He allowed the car to drift closer to the shoulder until…

He timed it perfectly. His right wheels hit the rumble strip just as the sign became clearly visible. The car shook just as his fingers renewed their caress, and Delia responded wildly, shuddering to near-convulsions, moaning and gasping into his penis, and as his orgasm exploded first behind his eyes, the road disappearing into a flash before his semen, too, exploded into her mouth.

His vision cleared. The road was still there, in front of the car, the rumble fading as he corrected to the left, the dashes flowing smoothly past his fender. Delia raised her head, licking her lips, smiling. Her smile widened when she saw WELCOME TO NEVADA loom large in front of them. She pushed the lighter. Jim upshifted; the noise dropped, it felt like silence after the roar of overrevved motor, and in the silence Delia kissed his ear, whispering, “I love you, Jim.” He heard her purse zipper open, then its contents rustle as she searched inside. Then a crackle of cellophane. The lighter popped; Jim smelled cigarette smoke just as the back of the sign appeared in his rear view mirror, and heard Delia’s deep, slow sigh.

“Welcome to Nevada,” he said. Delia giggled, spilling smoke from her nostrils.

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