Nobody Rides For Free
Day in and day out, conversation in prison revolves primarily around three subjects: how lousy the food is, what you should order from the canteen, and how terribly unfair it is that you are there. There is always someone to blame for your situation. It was your man's fault. That cop had it in for you. The judge was unfair. That's what you tell the other women in the light of day. But at night, lying in your bunk, you know the truth. You know who put you there.
I was a good student all through school. A very good student, maybe too good. I was the kid who always had the assignment done first, who aced the test with ease, who had already read the book before it was assigned. There is a shadow to being the exceptionally bright child, however. I was also the kid who was bored with school, who was restless in class, who craved stimulation.
My father was a long haul trucker. One day, when I was four years old, his haul was so long that he never came back. My mother, left on her own with two small children, struggled to keep food on the table and had no time to date or to meet anyone. With her overburdened and no adult men in my life, I grew up undisciplined and ignorant of boundaries.
In a small town fifteen miles from the nearest movie theater, thirty miles from the nearest shopping mall, there were only a few means by which I could appease my restlessness. By the time I graduated from high school, I was well acquainted with liquor, with marijuana and with men.
But even so, lots of girls experiment with getting drunk, with smoking pot and with enjoying the attention of older men, and they don't end up locked away. Every step I took towards the cell door was one I took on my own volition.
When I was ten we lived next door to a horse farm for a couple of years. I would help feed and groom the horses, and in return, the owners taught me to ride. I imagined living on a horse farm of my own someday, with a wonderful man and even more wonderful animals. I decided that I wanted to be a large animal veterinarian. That would require a very expensive education. My mother had remarried when I was In high school, and my stepfather, Ron, was agreeable with covering part of my college costs, if I would work to pay the rest. He was a building contractor and made good money, so, as a surly teenager, I resented that he would not pay the full freight. It did not occur to me to appreciate that, out of his love for my mother, he was willing to be so generous to another man's child, let alone one who met his every gesture of kindness with hostility.
The agreement we eventually reached was that I would wait one year before attending college, and spend that year working in the office at a landscaping company with which he often did business. I agreed to the deal when he threw in a used car. Despite the fact that I had already demonstrated my poor judgment regarding men on more than one occasion, it does not seem to have occurred to anyone that perhaps spending my days around hard working male landscapers might not be wise.
The one who caught my eye was Jesse. He was in his mid twenties, blue eyed, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. At the end of their shifts, the work crews would turn in their job invoices at my desk, and I would wait each day for Jesse to drop off his crew's papers, especially on hot days when he might come in with his shirt off and his muscular body glistening with sweat. He was quick to take notice of my interest and after a couple weeks of flirting, he asked me for a date.
For all his self assurance at work, he was charmingly awkward on that first date. We went to the movies, and had pizza afterwards. When he drove me home we kissed for a few minutes in the car outside my house. I felt a little bit rejected when he made no attempt to take things further. But when he walked me to the door, he kissed me deeply and asked me if I would go out with him again and I eagerly told him that I would.
A friend of his was throwing a party the next Friday night, and I looked forward to it with excitement, which grew each time I saw him during the week. My thoughts alternated between what might happen between us and what I should wear. I was sure as to what I hoped might happen, and I decided to influence things my way with my shortest cutoffs and my tightest tank top.
Friday arrived at last, and shortly after supper a battered, muddy pickup truck bounced up the driveway. Jesse got out of the passenger side and walked towards the house. I met him on the porch and was pleasantly surprised when he scooped me into his arms and gave me a big kiss. We walked to the truck with our arms around each other's waists. Jesse's friend and crew mate Mark was behind the wheel. I climbed up on the bench seat and said hello to him as I slid into the girlfriend seat. He greeted me with a smile and an obvious looking over. Jesse got in beside me and immediately marked his territory by running his hand up and down my bare thigh.
We drove for about ten minutes, then turned down a winding dirt road until we arrived at a dilapidated farm house. We turned in the driveway and drove around behind the house. There were a couple dozen people milling around in the yard. There was a pond nearby and several people were splashing in the water.
We parked and got out of the truck. Jesse took my hand, as Mark wandered off to join the crowd. There was loud hip hop music coming from the barn. It was cool and dark inside, and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust as we stepped into the shade. By the time I could see again, Jesse had poured two red cups of beer from a keg that sat in a barrel of ice by the door. Mildewed bales of hay and a few rusty pieces of farm equipment were piled against the walls, but the center of the big barn had been cleared for use as a dance floor.
We strolled around, sipping our beers. I recognized a few people who had been a year or two ahead of me in school, but there was no one I knew well. Jesse seemed to know everyone. As he chatted with his friends I felt proud to be with him. He was a different person in this setting. There was nothing awkward about him now. He kept his arm around my waist as he led me through the growing crowd. I felt like he was showing me off. It made me feel sexy.
The sun went down, and ropes of Japanese lanterns were lit as the party heated up. Many more people had arrived and the barn was crowded with dancers. Jesse and I danced to a few songs, but soon we were overheated and soaked with sweat, so we ducked out into the cooler night air. We each gulped down a cup of beer, then went down to the pond and playfully splashed cold water on each other. He took me in his arms and we kissed. After a moment he broke away and fumbled in his pocket. He took out a little brown pill bottle, screwed off the cap and shook two triangular pink pills into the palm of his hand.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Ecstasy. Have you ever tried it?"
I had heard about it, but had never tried it, nor did I know anyone who had. I shook my head. "What does it do?"
"It makes you feel better than you have ever felt."
He popped one of the pills into his mouth, and held the other out to me. I hesitated for a minute, then opened my mouth and let him drop it on my tongue. When I had swallowed it, he took me in his arms again.
We kissed a while longer, oblivious to the partygoers around us.
"I don't feel anything," I told him after a few minutes had passed.
"It takes a little time," he said. "Come with me."
He led me behind the barn. There was a pick up truck camper parked there in the tall weeds. It looked like it had been there a long time. On the camper door was a bumper sticker that read, "Gas Grass Or Ass. Nobody Rides For Free". Jesse opened the door and helped me up the steps. He climbed in behind me and, once inside, took me in his arms as we both fell into the camper's sleeping compartment. The air was close and musty, but I did not care. His lips found mine, and his hand slipped inside the waist of my shorts.
I began to feel lightheaded as we fumbled out of our clothes. Jesse bent down, his face between my thighs, and shifted his position, rolling me on top of him. I kissed the tip of his cock, then wrapped my lips around it, and that's when something strange happened. As I sucked his cock, it seemed to grow larger and larger in my mouth, and yet, my mouth seemed to expand with it. At the same time. the sensations of his lips and tongue on me grew more intense. I had the distinct feeling that one wave of pleasure was circulating through us like an electrical current making a circuit, and then, that we were ourselves rotating with it.
Jesse rolled me on to my back and knelt between my legs. When he entered me I felt as if I had been launched forward. He lowered himself against me and we wrapped our arms around each other. With every thrust he made into me I felt a sense of accelerated motion, a feeling of being propelled by his force. I imagined, and then believed, that we were soaring into the air. I held on to him as tightly as I could, afraid that if I let go, I would fall to earth. Again and again, his powerful surges send me flying forward. We merged into a singular object, a comet, a shooting star streaking across the night sky. I could feel my heart pounding and hear my blood roaring in my ears. I had a sense of total awareness of every part of my body, but more than anything, of the sensations of his cock moving inside me. Every time I thought I had reached a peak, another burst of pleasure would course through me. Finally, Jesse released the last of his energy and came with a long, gasping shudder. I struggled to catch my breath as we descended and the clouds became once again a musty camper mattress.
We lay there, holding each other, gasping and laughing. Every few minutes, I felt a tingling aftershock of pleasure as we kissed and stroked each other. I had never experienced anything like what I felt that night with Jesse, but I knew I wanted it again and again.
We were together all that summer and into the fall. Jesse was strong and handsome and a caring, passionate lover, but I craved the extra element I experienced that first night. Ecstasy, however was hard to come by. When none could be found, we fucked on Adderall. We fucked on Oxycontin. We fucked on mescaline. The sex was always good , but nothing else lifted us to the heights we reached with Ecstasy.
The problem came between the nights of sex. Jesse seemed to handle the morning letdown reasonably well, but I became listless and weary, and needed a boost to start my day. I entered into the age old cycle that has snared so many, taking one drug to offset the side effects of another. There was usually someone Jesse knew who could get us some amphetamines or some black market Sudafed. Some times, there was nothing, and I began missing work on days when there was no little booster to help me get out of bed in the morning.
It would be easy to point a finger at Jesse and blame him for getting me involved with drugs, but I wanted every single pill. His usage worsened because I was there with him, and I rewarded him with my body for keeping me supplied. We pushed each other to places neither of us would have gone alone.
It all came to a head on a chilly night in October. We had been visiting friends and took some mescaline. Jesse thought he was okay to drive home, but it had been raining and the pavement was slick with wet leaves. When we came around a curve in the road too fast, he lost control of the car. We skidded sideways, smashing into a row of mailboxes and ending up in the ditch. Jesse tried to drive out, but the wheels spun uselessly on the soggy grass. Lights came on several nearby houses.
I slipped into the driver's seat, while Jesse tried to push the car out of the ditch. We heard voices, and the sound of approaching sirens.
