Shawn was a man whose life was a convoluted mess. After his time in the service he'd gotten mixed up with a syndicate connected murder for hire operation. He remembered thinking, hell he'd been rewarded for killing people while in the army, why not just keep doing the same thing for money after he got out. At first the money was good, and the thrills were indescribable, but it got cold fast. Some people were so piteous. It took a cold blooded personality to want to perpetually do the sort of things he was expected to do. He tried making a clean break, but found out fast one didn't just walk away from that kind of set up.
He managed to cut back on his personal operations, and even found an honest alternative working with international aid groups indirectly through the United Nations. However, he was still a paid murderer, and could never completely make the separation. He realized later his last assignment had been thrust upon him by fellow agents who had an interest in his removal. Maybe they thought he'd balk at killing Susan Slattery? They turned out to be correct. For reasons he still couldn't explain her assassination turned out to be one hurdle too many.
He'd broken ranks. That was something one didn't do and live, but Susan was someone special. He didn't know where things were going. He'd wanted to guarantee her safety, and perhaps his own. It was a perilous set of circumstances. He considered, though he had finally extricated her, his future was still occluded. He realized even some low level moron hoping to ingratiate himself with higher ups could easily turn his life into a nightmare.
Shawn drove the car as Susan lay curled beside him. He glanced down at her. He wondered if she was asleep, "Susan, you awake?
Susan sighed, "I guess so, why sort of."
"Just wondered," He heard another quiet sigh and asked, "You hungry?"
Susan sat up and wiped her right eye with her right hand, 'What time is it?"
Shawn checked the clock on the dashboard, "It's a little after 2:00 a.m."
Susan leaned her head against his arm and held it with her right hand, "Maybe a little breakfast."
He kissed the top of her head, "A Denny's might be open."
She took her right hand and dropped it to his lap. She traced the line of his zipper, and thought she found where his penis was. She pressed her head a little harder against his arm. She wondered why she touched him down there it was so out of character, "I like Bob Evans."
Shawn liked the idea that she was touching him where she was, "Denny's gives out unlimited pancakes."
Susan was feeling Shawn's penis. He was getting an erection. All she had to do was touch him and he got hard. It was neat to do. Susan had heard men often gave their things names. She thought that's what she would do if she were a man. She couldn't imagine walking around all her life just calling it a dick or a penis, "What do you call this thing?"
Shawn was taken by surprise, "Call what?"
"Don't be coy. You know what I mean." She couldn't believe she was asking him this.
"Why does my." He didn't want to call it a penis, "My thing as you call it have to have a name?"
Susan thought she was being smart. She kept tickling his thingy, "It does have a name doesn't it?"
Shawn was feeling a little silly and a tad defensive about the direction of the conversation. He wanted to get something to eat, "You want to go to Denny's?"
"First tell me what you call your thingy."
Shawn wanted to stop the penis talk, "My thingy doesn't have a name."
Susan had him and she knew it, "Yes it does. What's it's name?"
Shawn was willing to do almost anything to get off the subject. He felt self conscious talking about it with her. With any other woman he didn't think it would matter, but with her it did. "If I told you, would you stop the badgering?"
"Maybe." was all she said.
"Hermie."
"Hermie?"
"Hermie."
"How did it get a name like Hermie?"
Shawn had shared a childhood secret he'd almost completely forgotten. He hoped she wouldn't use it make fun of him, "When I was real little at one of the foster homes the people were very German. Herman is a German name. I was a little boy so the lady called my little boy thing 'Little Hermie'. Is that good enough for you?"
Susan decided to lay her head in his lap. She puffed at the lump in his pants, "So that's 'Little Hermie'. As far as secrets went that was the first real childhood secret he'd ever agreed to share. She could tell by the tone of his voice the admission probably opened doors he'd rather leave closed. She decided she wouldn't make fun of him. "Bob Evans has better fried eggs."
Shawn felt his pants tighten and readjusted the way he was sitting. What with the admission about the name his 'thing' had been given he was feeling a little discomfited. He was glad she went back to the food, "Denny's has better omelets."
Susan kept rubbing his pants.
'Hermie' she thought. She took her fingers and unzipped his trousers so she could get a better feel, "Who has the better sausage gravy?"
Shawn took his left hand, reached beside the seat, and pressed the lever that moved the seat further back. "OK, I'll try to find a Bob Evans," He was having trouble concentrating on his driving.