The Forever Girl Ch 03

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance by any character or situation to any actual person or event is purely coincidental. All characters presented in this narrative are over the age of 18.

Chapter Three

It was a fitful night, sleep captured in swatches of maybe an hour or 90 minutes at a time as the brutal cold and the intermittent noise of pissed-off motorists outside intruded mercilessly on our efforts to remain warm and conserve body heat while stretching our precious, limited fuel supply for the duration -- however long that might be.

You'd think that by 1 a.m., drivers of cars that had been stranded and immobilized on the frozen stretch of interstate for what had already been eight or more hours might have figured out that yelling and honking horns was the height of futility, but ...

Then again, there were Good Samaritans, people offering to share what they had and help out those who were in worse shape. One man stuck in the queue a hundred yards or so ahead of us was checking on cars to see if anyone had run out of fuel or had old people or young children and needed to take shelter in the warmth of his RV, replete with propane burners. A trucker some distance ahead who was hauling a load of bread offered to share some of his cargo with those with nothing to eat.

It was the best of humanity and the basest of it at the same time.

Around 12:30, I had awakened with a raging need to piss. That Lisa was asleep lying against me applying added pressure to my bladder didn't help. I jostled her awake and told her I needed to avail myself to the same arrangement she had used earlier in the night to create a patch of yellow ice just outside the Expedition's passenger-side door.

Given our anatomical differences and my considerably lower regard for modesty, I told Lisa she could remain in the relative warmth of the cabin while I used the two doors absent the blanket to form an impromptu urinal stall in the great outdoors and loose a steaming stream toward the shoulder of the road without dropping my trousers.

The temperature reading on the dash said 14 degrees. And when I opened the driver's side door to walk over the crunchy frozen-slush surface, the cold took my breath away. I stood behind the passenger side front door and in front of the right rear door facing away from Lisa, unzipped, fought through two layers of undergarments to find my spigot and let fly. The groan of relief at my long-overdue micturition is something Lisa didn't find endearing.

"Gross," she said. "Are you urinating or climaxing?"

"I could always turn around and show you," I retorted.

"Hard pass," she said.

I zipped up -- much to the relief of my shrinking member -- and hustled back to the other side of the truck.

"We should rethink how we're arranging ourselves," I told Lisa. The steering wheel was interfering with the ability of both of us to recline and your ability to stretch out, I told her. We might be more comfortable in the back seat where we could cover ourselves more thoroughly and efficiently and better share warmth when the engine was off by spooning. She saw the logic in it, and we shifted from the front to the back. As soon as we closed and locked the doors, I started the engine again with the keyless fob and let the cabin warm up. We used the occasion for a midnight snack of ham-biscuits, Tostitos and Diet Coke, As the warmth permeated the interior of the SUV, the event felt more like a cross between a picnic and a pajama party -- the two of us seated facing one another with the food laid out on a paper sack in the seat between us. We listened to WTOP's continuing live coverage of the event and news that Virginia State Police and VDOT crews were hampered in reaching disabled or wrecked vehicles by the worsening road conditions and the sheer volume of vehicles clogging the road and its ramps. The upshot: no relief in sight and the National Guard had not been activated.

The news wasn't received gladly, but at least by now we had a sense of confidence that we had a plan for coping until whenever help did arrive.

Tiring of the discouraging news, we switched over to the vehicle's Bluetooth controls and turned on Lisa's Spotify shuffle, heavy on old blues music which I found strangely enjoyable, considering my predilection for country. I expected Lisa, now wide awake with the caffein from a Diet Coke in her belly, to resume her chatterbox role from the daylong drive, but she was remarkably sedate, perhaps a little bit resigned.

"You ever been in love, Jake?" she asked. The question threw me. I shrugged.

"Oh ... I was engaged once a couple of years ago. Was that love? I don't know. Probably not because we didn't go through with it and I'm honestly glad now that we didn't. It became clear to the both of us that we weren't right for each other," I said pensively. "Why do you ask."

"Just curious, I guess," she said. "I keep trying to figure out what this is between Peter and me. There are days when I can see us together and days like ...

this

. I can't say it's love. I can't make my heart believe it is."

"Then it probably isn't," I said. "So you suspect he's seeing someone else?"

"I don't know for sure, but it feels like it. The other night at the Peach Bowl, he kept checking his phone and wandering off somewhere to either talk of text. I asked him who he was talking to and he said it was work. I suppose that's possible, but at nine o'clock on New Year's Eve?" she said, shaking her head. "And when he was sitting there beside me, it's like his mind was a billion miles away."

"Well, he's an Ivy Leaguer, so they don't take their football seriously," I mused. She replied with a

Hmmph

.

"We've been dating for almost two years now. There are times when he'd go dark and I'd hardly see him for a month or more. I know he works for a defense contractor and that he sometimes has crazy hours and has to keep a lot of what he does secret, but ...," she said, shaking her head. "Something's off."

"You going to confront him? Sounds like time for a frank face-to-face," I said.

"What was it like when you broke it off with your fiancé? How'd you know? How did it happen?" she said.

I explained that Marla and I had dated since our junior year at UNC and moved to D.C. together. I started to sense that our interests were diverging in the months after graduation so we took a vacation together to the Caymans and I gave her a ring, thinking that would cement things together. We just increasingly moved in different directions, only with a piece of jewelry worth a few thousand dollars on her left hand. I told Lisa about how one day, Marla and I just looked at each other and it felt like we were looking at strangers, so we just knew. Fortunately, we'd never locked down a date or started a gift registry or purchased real estate or a pet together, so there wasn't much to untangle. She gave me back my ring and I moved out of the apartment to Old Town Alexandria. But maybe the fact that we never did set a date spoke volumes by itself. There was no real anger or acrimony; it was like a battery losing its charge. We remain on relatively good terms. She's dating some guy she works with at the Department of Education.

Lisa took it all in and just nodded. Didn't say a word.

"Think I better turn the engine off now. Been going for the better part of a half hour," I said. So I double clicked the fob and the the V-6 fell still. In the second row of seats of the SUV, we arranged ourselves so that my back was against the backrest and Lisa, facing the front, had her back against my front, our legs crooked in the "spooned" position. Over us, I positioned our two heavy coats and atop that, the camp blanket, completely hiding us and sealing in our collective warmth. Lisa snuggled her bottom hard against my hips and pulled my right arm from its position between us and cinched it firmly around her lower chest, just under her breasts. Made all the sense in the world and was certainly more efficient from the standpoint of keeping ourselves warm, but now I would have to struggle not to do something untoward with my sister's roommate like grow a conspicuous boner against her bubble butt or, in my sleep, allow my hands to roam over her tits.

Turns out, it was Lisa who turned randy in her sleep.

As usual, she had dozed off with relative ease, snuggled warmly against me and under our coverings in the back seat of the SUV. I was drifting in and out of sleep for the most part. It was in that sort of twilight state of semiconsciousness that I heard her whimpering something unintelligible.

Then she moaned deeply as her hips began to twitch and her thighs began scissoring. She pulled my arm directly over her tits and her hip contractions quickened, yet her respiration barely changed.

"Issue," she seemed to be saying. "Issue."

I could feel her hardened nipples, even under her sweatshirt and her yoga top, and now her hips began jerking arrhythmically, then a sustained moan as her hand found her crotch. Now she was mumbling, "Emmy ... Emmy."

Then, just as quickly as it began, in a span of probably no more than 30 seconds, her sound-asleep orgasm had passed, and her regular slumber resumed uninterrupted. And there I was, the faint and delicious smell of her moist femininity within the warmth beneath the camp blanket and a raging erection of my own now painfully trapped inside my jeans and two layers of undies and pressed so close to Lisa's ass. It was a conundrum that threatened to keep me awake for hours if not the rest of the night but, considering the range of crises this night presented hundreds if not thousands of shivering people involuntarily bivouacked in freezing cars overnight on this stretch of Interstate highway, what a sweet dilemma to have.

I moved my hand and forearm off her breasts, lest Lisa wake and think that I had groped her in her sleep. How much would she remember, I wondered, when she did awaken?

I continued drifting into and out of sleep, slightly rearranging myself to relieve kinks, sore muscles and limbs that had fallen asleep. Gradually, I vanquished the penile rebellion in my pants fomented by Lisa's worked-up yoni mere centimeters and several layers of garments away. My dick had begun to ache from being that hard that long. Normally, I'd have taken care of a boner that persistent one way or another, but that wasn't in the cards in the moment.

Around 3 a.m., when sheer fatigue if not temperatures of 12 degrees Fahrenheit put a stop to most of the occasional commotion outside, I was fishing around on the car seat in front of Lisa for the key fob to restart the engine and warm the cabin again when Lisa stirred.

"Oh, shit, we're still here. So it wasn't just a nightmare," she said drowsily. "What are you doing? A reach-around?"

Don't tempt me

, I thought to myself. "No, I can't find the fob. I need to crank the engine and warm us up again. It's all of a dozen degrees outside," I said.

"I think I found it because something's poking me in the ribs," she said, thrusting her hand under her sweatshirt and retrieving the elongated black plastic device. "I think it must have fallen out of your hand while we were asleep."

Most likely,

I mused to myself

, I dropped them when you pulled my hand over your tits during your wet dream, missy.

I suppose she had no waking recollection of her dream orgasm. Pity.

I clicked it three times and the engine ignited again. Over the driver's seat, I could see that we now had about a third of a tank. At this pace, we might stretch things out into the following night, provided bright sunshine provided some natural warming during the day if we weren't extricated from this mess.

"I think I gotta pee again," Lisa said. "I don't think you need to hold the blanket in place this time. I'll be fine," she said before the heater had really kicked in. She shivered once she sat up, pulled off the coverings and saw her breath in the chill of the cabin. She shrieked when she opened the passenger side rear door and stepped outside, opened the shotgun seat door, then positioned herself between the two opened doors and squatted against the running board before I heard a gushing sound against the frozen glaze covering the blacktop.

By the time she shut the front door, leaped into the back door and slammed it shut behind her, Lisa's teeth were chattering, and she was shivering violently. "T-turn onto your b-back," she stammered. I did as she asked and Lisa pulled herself, belly-to-belly, onto me to absorb my warmth quickly and directly. "C-cover ... c-cover us up," she said, her body still shivering.

I rearranged our coats and then draped the camp blanket over them before drawing my arms around her waist. Reflexively, I began rubbing my palms up and down her back the way moms do their children to warm them when they come in from playing in the snow. Her forearms were pressed against my ribcage on both sides and her face was buried beside my neck as her body slowly shook off the chill.

"That's ridiculous, Jake," she muttered. "I've never been that cold in my whole life, and I'm from

Pennsylvania

. I don't know how I'd warm up if it weren't for your hot body, and I mean that in the literal sense, as in actual warmth."

I continued working my hands a few minutes longer along her back from her shoulder blades to the swell of her ass to warm her, aware that they were underneath her sweatshirt but not caring because it was the most efficient way of warming her. The engine and the Expedition's heater were doing their job of pushing the in-cabin temperature up to a toasty 75 degrees, making our cloaks and the blanket expendable, at least for the moment. When I finally stopped my hands and clasped them together around her waist, Lisa lifted her head, pulled her hands from beneath my chest and propped her elbows on my chest, staring down at me with an impish smirk on her face.

"Don't tell me you didn't get an eyeful when I was back here changing earlier," she said. I started to protest only to have her put her index finger on my lips: "Uh uh uuuh. No no. I saw your eyes in the rearview ...

Boy Scout

.

Busted. Resistance was futile.

"And right after that, when you pulled on those long, insulated bottoms, don't think I didn't see that sausage you were smuggling in your underwear either. Don't you know that the interior of a window is just like a mirror when it's dark outside and you've got the car running and all the instrument lights going," she said, amused but not incensed. "Like I said, you guys

suck

at lying."

"Well," I shrugged. "At least now you understand why I wouldn't date Pete Davidson. And, in my defense, you're just ...

gorgeous

, Lees."

Her finger was still on my chin from where she had shushed me, and her eyes examined mine. Then she lowered her face and kissed me -- a chaste, almost sisterly peck except that it lasted a beat or two too long.

"You're sweet, Jake. Thank you," she said and smiled.

I moved my left hand off her back and traced the elegant curve of her cheek and neck with it, then brushed a strand of her black hair behind her right ear.

In a response straight from the heart, I pressed my lips gently, firmly onto hers. She returned my kiss reservedly at first, but her restraint crumbled when my tongue sought hers. Lisa's fingers lost themselves in my hair, straining to pull our mouths tighter together.

Because my knees had to bend upward to make room for the passenger side door to shut behind her after her arctic-blast restroom break, she had sandwiched my right leg between hers and her right leg between mine. We had locked them together for the sake of sheer warmth a short while earlier, but now it was a positioning with far greater meaning and opportunity.

We melted into each other. Over long, uncounted minutes of kissing and caressing, Lisa's hips began to roll, gently rubbing her mound into the juncture of my hip and my leg, but steadily gaining force and tempo. When our kiss broke momentarily, she sat up just enough to shed her Pitt sweatshirt in the Expedition cabin that suddenly seemed almost like a greenhouse. As she discarded it, the contours of her nipples became clear in the clingy stretch-knit material of her yoga top.

My hands now extended to her bottom, each palming the perfect orbs of her ass cheeks, exhorting her through her PJ bottoms and yoga pants as our hips began to undulate together, both seeking increased pressure against our tingling privates. Our tongues resumed their lustful dance.

A recurring low moan, not unlike the one I heard in her dream earlier, grew from deep within her as her exertions quickened and my penis telescoped to full turgidity. She redirected one of my hands off her backside to beneath her yoga top and her firm tits with taut nipples that crowned her puffy, slightly stippled areolae.

With her breasts now getting the attention they needed, her hand delved back down her abdomen, untying the drawstring to her flannel PJs and dipping her hand beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and into her womanhood. With that, her moans grew louder as her breathing quickened. I could feel her rolling her fingertips at the front of her cleft.

"Getting close," she said. "Close."

Her mouth found my neck and began licking and nibbling on it as I kneaded her jiggling tits with one hand and found the bare skin of her ass beneath her yoga pants with my other, pushing my fingers as far as I could toward her damp, flowering femininity.

She took the hand she was threading through my hair and ran it down to the unbearable swell now conspicuous beneath my jeans. She ran her hand over it, assessing its girth and length, and then insinuated her fingers beneath my belt and the blue denim to the erection straining beneath my thermal long-johns and my tighty whities. She nudged, re-orienting it toward my navel rather than my left pants pocket.

"There," she grunted, removing her hand from my jeans. Then she shed her pajama bottoms and scooted herself slightly forward so that the damp, conspicuous camel toe in her yoga pants was aligned to straddle my painfully hard, hair-triggered cock. She sat up slightly and spread her legs widely enough to provide maximum contact with her yearning, covered crotch, sliding her hips powerfully, her tempo increasing steadily. She pulled up her yoga top so that both of her breasts were now fully exposed to both my hands and my mouth. She pulled my lips to her right nipple while my hand found her left.

Her moans turned into wailing cries. "Right there ... right there ... right there, oh yes ... yes ..."

Now her movements took on a random, jerking quality, her cadence irregular, her rhythm ruled by her own primal needs. Her breathing turned ragged as her hips seized and locked and she ground her crotch into me with all her might. She gave off a throaty wail as her orgasm took hold.

"Ah ... ah ... ah ... ah," she offered in sharp, irregular bursts, almost gasps, with each shudder that tore through her rigid body. I briefly loosened my kiss on her nipples to watch her moment of ecstasy. Her back arched forward, the muscles of her trim abdomen stood out as they flexed in her passion. The fabric covering her cleft appeared to be plastered against the folds underneath.

Long moments later when her climax loosened its grip on her, she exhaled, and her body grew limp. Now breathing deeply, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the dashboard instruments, she lowered her bare chest against the right side of my torso, her eyelids closed and her breathing heavy, still making up for the oxygen deficit she incurred when pleasure locked her muscles and even limited her breathing to short gasps.

The engine was still humming, and the interior was steamy now, the windows mercifully all fogged and opaque, concealing our erotic pursuits from outside eyes.