Disclaimer: I don't own any of the movies or characters from the "Cabin Fever" franchise. All "Cabin Fever" movies and their characters belong to their respective owners. I don't make any money from the writing of this story.
No sex in this chapter.
Comments/Kudos are appreciated.
*****
It was messed up. Even after 5 days on the open road, with nothing to do but burn through his CD collection and think, Paul was still at war with himself. When he started out, he just assumed that one way or another he would have settled on a course of action by now. But reality wasn't that simple. He'd passed countless intersections since he started out and he continued to barrel onwards without deviating. But his straight course belied the anxious knot in his stomach.
Ostensibly, Paul was driving cross-country to spend a few weeks crashing in San Franciso at his old friend Ricky's place. But what nobody knew about was the major detour he planned to take along the way; the major detour that was his real motivation for making this trip.
The past few months had been difficult and strange for Paul. Settling back into the college routine for his final semester came surprisingly natural to him. But it couldn't lessen the pain of losing his beloved Karen and Paul became withdrawn, spending a lot of time lost in his own head. All too often, this would happen during lectures and study sessions and Paul's grades suffered because of it. He had still graduated comfortably, though.
One thing that had surprised Paul during his first days back at college was that Marcy hadn't returned. At first he was relieved as he had no idea how he was supposed to face her after that wild night of no-strings sex they'd had the night after Karen's funeral. How on Earth were they supposed to act casual around one another with a history like that?
But Paul's sense of relief quickly dissipated, and was replaced by feelings that were far stronger and extremely frustrating.
He began to think about her; in intermittent flashes at first, but then constantly. In every thought he had about her, Marcy was nude, or close to it. One of his favorite staples was the image of her large tits swinging like fleshy pendulums right in front of him, as Marcy pinned him down and bucked upon him wildly, milking his erogenous shaft with her tight, slick snatch. Another was the hypnotic memory of the taste of one of her nipples in his mouth, while the left side of his face sank into the warm, yielding splendor of her other breast.
Though some memories were a lot stronger than others, there was scarcely a snippet of their brief erotic history that Paul hadn't reflected upon in detail during his final semester. Virtually every night ended with Paul jerking off to the memory of oggling Marcy's naked body, if not the memory of fucking her. And on nights when he was too damn tense to get to sleep that easily, he would jerk off over her again, and then again, if necessary.
Campus was filled with a ton of cute and hot girls, many of whom were notoriously easy. But Paul felt little impetus to chase after any of them. Marcy had gotten stuck in his head like an earwig.
At times when he lamented his sordid little affair with her, he began to understand why the church associated casual sex with the devil, hellfire and the like. Sometimes it felt like he was actually being possessed by a demon. Ever since Marcy had taken his virginity it seemed as if she had also taken over his entire life. He felt like a prisoner. He felt like *her* prisoner. His fixation annoyed and often upset him, yet he could not escape his persistent sensual thoughts about her. Nor could he resist indulging those thoughts to the point of climax, when they occurred.
Eventually, and against all logic, that maddening obsession drove Paul to seek Marcy out. Her dropping out of college should have been a fortuitous blessing. It was best that they never see one another again and that the shameful affair they began while Karen layed dying become nothing more than ancient history. But Paul simply couldn't help himself; he *needed* to find her.
Rumors of Marcy's whereabouts abounded between the vacuous "friends" she had left behind on campus. Some seemed to believe that she was touring Europe, trying to clear her head after her traumatic brush with death and break-up with Jeff. Others believed that she was living back close to her family in New Mexico.
But a few days before graduation Paul got the first lead that he actually considered somewhat reliable. With a little financial incentive, Paul was able to convince a guy in the college's admin office to give him the new mailing address the college had on record for Marcy. It was a P.O. box in a town called Calloway in Oregon.
Even as he was handing over good money for the information, Paul had no idea what he was going to do with it. For some reason, he believed that simply knowing where she was could give him some measure of satisfaction; that the knowledge would somehow loosen Marcy's hold over him. But having a place to focus his fixation upon only made it stronger. All too soon he found himself having absurd ideas that both frightened and excited him. Calloway was calling to him. By the time he had graduated he had invented an excuse to travel across the country so that this new desire could be satiated.
And now he was here.
As he passed the "Welcome To Calloway" sign, his heart pounded so anxiously it felt like he was driving with a flat tyre. Paul had no plan for what he'd do when he finally found Marcy. He truly wondered if he'd be able to pluck up the courage to do anything more than simply watch her from a distance. But even if he could, what then? A polite greeting, inquiring about how she had been - those were a given. But Paul wasn't really concerned for Marcy's welfare, nor had he driven 2500 miles to catch up with an old acquaintance. The sleazy truth was that the only reason Paul was there was because he wanted to fuck her again.
It seemed like an impossible wish. He highly doubted that she'd be so delighted to see him again that she'd throw herself at him as she'd done before. Paul was well aware that Marcy had never felt especially attracted to him; she had only taken him as a lover previously because he was convenient.
He had an idea that he could talk her into catching up with him at a bar and that, with a few drinks under their belts, they might make a "drunken mistake." But Paul was under no delusions; he knew that even his best chance of sleeping with Marcy again was a long shot. He could only hope that simply seeing her in the flesh again, being able to admire her awesome body, even fully clothed, would grant him some measure of release.
But he was getting ahead of himself. He still didn't know precisely where in Calloway Marcy could be found. The college only had a P.O. box for her, not a residential address. Judging by the size of the dot that marked Calloway on the map, it looked to be a relatively small town, so Paul hoped that would make her easier to track down.
The main street was easy enough to find. Soon enough, Paul had discovered what appeared to be the town's main parking lot. It was only half-full, so he had no trouble finding a space for his second-hand Chevy.
The bright mid-afternoon sun shone down upon Paul as he got out of his car. He figured that seeing as how he knew she had a P.O. box, the logical place to start his search was the post office.
As he strolled down the street, meandering around the many other pedestrians on the sidewalk, Paul drank in the classic Americana atmosphere of the town and people. It actually began to strike him as suspicious. Paul's impression of Marcy was that she was a vivacious spirit, who relished excitement and glamor. This place was too quiet - too suburban. It didn't feel like the kind of place Marcy would live.
With some direction from a helpful local, Paul soon found the post office. There were only a couple of customers inside, neither of whom were at the counter. The employees, a balding, meek-looking man and a old lady with glasses who looked like she'd been sitting back there for her entire working life, were both free.
