Six Miles On I 95

[Author's Note: This story is written using the narrative technique termed 'stream of consciousness.' The stream of consciousness technique is one of the defining features of twentieth century literature, though it seems rarely used in online erotica. In this approach, the narrator describes not just the character's actions and speech, but broadcasts the varying mental images, thoughts, feelings, and fragments that the character experiences without regard to narrative sequence or logical order.]

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(tap) . . . (tap) . . (tap)(Tap) . (tap) . . .

Nathan taps his wedding ring against the steering wheel in time to the music on the CD player. Bono crooning with Sinatra. I have got you . . under my skin . . .. Sign ahead. Washington D.C. . . . 66. Hour plus to go. Traffic's picking up. He reaches and picks up the Styrofoam coffee cup. Getting cold. It's always bitter at gas stations. Worse when it cools. Not much left. Would be nice to have more.

He stares ahead through the windshield. Sign passing by. Man on horse. Rugged. Marlboro. Dark asphalt. Glad I never smoked. Saved a bundle. Didn't they ban advertising? Cigarette smell. Hate it. Sitting on a sofa kissing. What was her name? Sharon. Smoked too much. Could taste it when kissing her. Big pink nipples. Moaning. Ohhhh, yesssssss. Oooo. Didn't do her enough. She was fun.

He takes his hand and rubs it over his face. His eyes look into the mirror. The tops of Janie's and Julie's heads. The front of a mini-van. Headphones over blonde hair. The girls always have the headphones. Dueling headphones. Probably one of those boy groups. Don't they know they just copy each other? I have said to myself this affair . . never gonna go so well . . .. The Monkees were a copy. Old T.V. First color set we had. Sitting at home on a Saturday morning. Davy Jones on the tube. Was about 8 then. Hardly a care. Now Joyce and the girls. Damn mortgage. College soon.. Always working. Got the title and the office now. Vice-president. Leather chair. Sitting back: looking at her: Rachel. What to say to her on Monday?

He sips his coffee. He sets it down into the cupholder inside the Lexus SUV. Sitting in office. Woman walks by. The new hire. Young. Guessing about 27. Heard she will report to Bob. Lingers outside. Get up. Go introduce yourself. Nice outfit. Sharp. The young ones always have a sense of style. Black hair to down shoulders. Dark blue suit. Blouse. Trying not to look down. Eyes locking. Pretty she is. Hand extended. "I'm Rachel Conners. We met at lunch during my interview." Had seen her bio. Wharton grad. Interned with IBM. Great tits.

He looks out ahead. Rachel sticking her head in the door. Questions about the offshore project. Comes in. Has papers I needed. Hard not to notice her body. The smile. The hair. Always so damn perfect. Turns to go. Looks back. "Is there anything else you need, Mr. Roberts?" The tone. Imagining? "Is there anything else you NEED, Mr. Roberts?" Thinking of her blouse off. Wanting to see some new tit. What's she like in bed? In bed. Joyce beneath, legs open. Undoing Rachel's blouse. Keeping it hard. Now her panties. Open her legs. Better. Almost ready to come. Now! Opening eyes and seeing Joyce. Funny feeling.

"Gail called this morning when you were out getting gas," Joyce says to him, momentarily putting her book aside. Gail's cackling laugh. Got drunk and kissed her on New Year's Eve. Never told. Good sport about it. Kissing Joyce in bed: thinking about Gail. Does she wonder what I think about?

"She wants to know if we'll come for steaks next weekend." At their house last summer. No: spring. How long since promotion? Was right after basketball tourney. Game on the T.V. Michigan State. Who'd they beat? Cleaves. Good point guard. Trying to watch after dinner. Joyce getting pissed. At the table: endless chatter. Gail and Joyce: landscaping. Need to order those stones. Like the darker color better; should talk to Joyce. Dinner. Gail's roast. Good wine. Lots of wine. Tom's a bit of a sap at times: OK couple.

That's fine," he says, after a slight pause. He picks up the cup. He peers into the near emptiness through the plastic pull-back opening. Tom and Gail. Happy couple. Good kids. Model family. Portrait in the bedroom of Joyce and the girls. Doting dad beside them. Shit. Cheating dad. Is there anything else you NEED, Mr. Roberts? He takes a deep breath and rubs his left palm across the top of his pants leg.

"I won't have as much work this week, so the weekend should be clear," he adds. Shitty week it was. Off-shore acquisition to close. Goddamn regulations. Murderous stress. Rachel in office. Jacket off. Leaning over desk. Pouring over the latest financial summaries. Good head for numbers. Wondering what her lips are like, wrapped around. No time: had to focus. Final approval would come the next day. High fives and whoops in the office. Relief. Stock went up. Talking the market over drinks during the party at Murphy's. Toasts. Rachel looking over her glass. Eyes. Need. Hunger. The prize catch. That feeling. Knew it before. Kimberly.

Standing in a bar in D.C. Looking at Kimberly. Kimberly. Na-Ayth'n. Always three syllables. Texas. Na-ayth'n. Monogrammed sweater. Kappa something. Blonde hair. Still wonder if her pubic hair was blonde too. Terrible years. Grad school. Going with Jason to the party. Always had women around him. Hey, guy, share the wealth. Saw her. The chance to talk. Having lunch. Excited: finally moving into the big leagues. Old boyfriend at home. Figured. Talking. It was so fun to talk. Those eyes. I guess the conversation is always good when you're dazzled. Summer internship. D.C. Wanted New York but an offer's an offer. Summer in D.C. Hot as hell there when walking around. Talking to Kimberly. Undergrad library. Hints the boyfirend is history. You can come visit if you'd like. Really, Nathan? Na-ayth'n. Yes. Finally the chance. Weekend wasn't right. Started good. Her wide eyes. Pizza and beer in Georgetown. Flirting? Seemed like it. Sunday. Shit. Pissy day. Laying it on the line. Pause. Dead. Knew it then. The damn pause. Sinking. Having you show me around D.C. is like having a big brother; I guess that's how I think of you. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking waste of time.

(tap) . . . (tap) . . . (tap) . . (tap) . . .

He looks out at the stretch of pavement running at him. Cars running: jockeying for position. Dark line of road. Narrow line. Thin black strip of Rachel's pubic hair running down to her pussy. Pointing the way. Highway to heaven. Stupid show. Liked him in Bonanza better. Marlboro men. It would have been tough living then. Few women. I wonder where they went to jack off. Hand on dick; Rachel's hand. Rachel in bed. In bed with Rachel. Shouldn't be here. Walking out of Murphy's together. Would you like to see my apartment? Knew better. Too many drinks. Shit. Is there anything you NEED? Lips pressing into Rachel. Perfume. God that was nice. Joyce rarely wears perfume. Allergies. Face lingering, the sweet smell of her skin rising up. Scented. Fingers beginning to caress. Should go. Need to go. I bet I can get her blouse off. Maybe just one look; her tits. Must be firm. . Just hold them a second; then go. No big deal.

. . I'd sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near. . .

He looks over at her, Joyce's hand holding her book. Nails trimmed back Never was big on manicuring. That's good. It's a waste of time mostly. Joyce is practical. Too much gardening to bother. Hands. Holding hands. Holding Rachel's hand. Perfectly painted nails. Hand sliding to cock. Red fingernails shining, moving. Up. Down. Damn yes. Eyes looking up. Holding. Teasing. Touching. Slowly up and down. That's it. Hair dangling down as she leans over. Breath on cock. Opening. Take the bait, baby, take the bait. What if Joyce pages me? That's it, suck my dick. Rachel. Mouth over my cock. Did it really feel different from Joyce? Fuck. Can't think of one without the other. Fucked up.

. . Don't you know you fool, you never can win . . . Use your mentality . . . wake up to reality . . . Holding up Rachel's legs, pushing them apart. God yes. Skin of her labia so dark. Smooth. Folds. Face close. Yes. Licking. Muskier than Joyce. Are dark haired women muskier? Trying to remember. Always wanted to eat a redhead. Though some redheads have dark pubes. Hard to tell from their head. They don't tan well. Would love to see Rachel in the summer. Killer lines I bet. Dark areolae. Nips could be longer. Sucking them. Wet with my saliva. Slower than normal. Fun to enjoy the foreplay. Foreplay was always more fun when dating. Feeling their resistance fade: melting, bodies squirming. Nathan that feels sooooo nice. Joyce doesn't complain. Kids. Tired. Time-pressure. Gets ready pretty quick. I guess I'm lucky.

. . Cause I've got (tap) you (tap) . . (tap) under my (tap) skin . . (tap) . . (tap) . . (tap)

Sitting up: hand on her thighs. Watching cock go into her. 27. Sixteen years less; not bad. How her lips fold and press, then stretch back as I move out. Junior assistant. Legs open. She's spreading for you. Legs ways open. Incredible view down the front of her body, to her pussy, down to her ass. Want to play with her there; nah, later. Tits point up so nicely. Jiggle as she fucks. Liked that. Nice bed she has. Fuck her. Fucking her. Cock all the way in, then out. Rachel. Rachel's pussy. Looks so good. Rachel holding her legs parts. Feet pointed up. Pussy making noise. Wet. You turn her on. She wants it. Fuck her more. He shifts his hips in the car seat, pulling his pants near his zipper to adjust the tension.

Offshore acquisition. Should give product diversity and added cash. Beat the Japanese to the punch. Closing the deal. Trump and those assholes. Trophy wives. They got caught. He looks over at Joyce. If Rachel is cool, things ought to be OK. Last thing I need is her getting obsessive over this. It was just a fuck.

I can still smell her damn perfume. Coming out of my pores. Mama's lasagna. Could feel the garlic for days. Damn car is too small. Put on cologne. Hope it's not too strong. Women can sense these things, right? In Rachel's shower. Washing it off. Fuck. Even her soap smelled like her. Have to remember to get the suit and shirt from the dry cleaners. Will she notice it missing? Different cleaners. Should be OK. He reaches and turns up the dial on the climate control system.

He looks again in the mirror. Should talk more to the girls about school. Need to talk to them more. Not around enough. Need to get home earlier. School. Sitting at his desk behind Mary Snotty McGuire. First to answer. Always the first. Hand shooting up ahead. Girls in uniforms. George Washington and Abe staring down from the wall. Crucifix above Sister's head. What was her name? Sister Cornelia. Who picked that out? Lots of them had odd names. Desks lined up in rows. Memorizing. Thou shalt. Thou shall not. Thou shall not commit adultery. Fuck. Sitting with Jimmy Flanagan. Talking girls. Clueless. Sneaking pictures out of Playboy from the drug store. If you bent up the staples in the middle, pretty damn easy to remove the centerfold without tearing it. Never got caught. Except for the guard at the sports store. Couple of damn golf balls. Big deal. Saw him coming. Put them down before he nabbed me. Called parents anyway. Asshole. Not good to get caught. Hope Rachel doesn't get weird on me. Will be cool. Just have to deal with it right.

What to say to the girls? You should wait. Sex should be reserved for marriage. Make it special. Shit. Hypocrite.

He looks over at Joyce, at the ring on her finger holding the book. Great wedding. Fun. Love. Lust. Wanted her so. Never dreamt I would ever. Idiot.

He lifts the now empty cup to his mouth. Kenny G's soprano sax. He bites on the Styrofoam. Green sign ahead. Hope traffic stays light. Parking there is a pain. Shopping. The girls and Joyce in the city. You know I don't like going there alone. OK, fine. Shopping. Perfectly attired mannequins in the window. Rachel. Christmas decorations all up. Office party in two weeks. Rachel and Joyce together. Jesus. How are you, Mrs. Roberts? Knowing. Has the upper hand. Maybe I can figure out how to skip it. Would that work? Nah. Absence would be noted. Too many questions. Damn. Will she bring a date? Better if she does. Will keep her occupied. Stay out of her way. She's probably screwing someone else. Lucky bastard.

Where is she this morning? Dashing out of her place at 8:00 last night. See you Monday. Crap. Felt stupid leaving like that. Clothes. Perfume. Lucky for the clothes that I left at the gym. Now my whole locker smells like her. Mad dash to gym to get clothes to take to cleaners. Joyce: gotta get gas; need gas. Dashing to find a dry cleaners. Put her out of mind for a day. Monday. Office. Rachel. Rachel bent over desk, skirt up. Is this what you need, Mr. Roberts?

Can read the sign now. Washington . . . 60. What to say to her on Monday. Fuck.

(tap) . (tap). (tap) . (tap) . . . .