It wasnât my month. Hell, it wasnât my year. Still worse, those who should have been supportive and helpful appeared to be destroying me. Looking back at that dark, stormy period, given hindsight and the perspective time provides I can say there was no evil intent. Instead, I suffered careless mistakes, miscommunications, and bad decisions â a string of horrible luck. It resembled the plight of someone who had offended a leprechaun.
For instance, donât substitute sand for soap in the dishwasher. It will cost you a new dishwasher and new dishes. I also learned golf clubs donât survive under the tires of a mini-van. One of the kids took the clubs from the garage, left them behind the van and I drove over them. Did your folks ever tell you to turn off the water? It is especially true for the bathtub. Someone left the faucet running in the upstairs tub. It overflowed ruining the floor, the downstairs ceiling, and the downstairs carpet. In these events, thankfully, no one was hurt. The only result was property destruction. Some items had sentimental value. However, given enough money and inconvenience, they were replaceable.
One incident, the proverbial straw that broke the camelâs back, involved bodily injury, specifically, my body. My wife, Teri, asked me to do her a favor. She found several antique furniture pieces she wanted to purchase. After handling all the transaction details, she asked me to pick-up the furniture with my truck.
The person who sold her the pieces lived in a rural area about eighty miles from our home. BFC â Bum Fuck Countryside â would probably be a better description. When I thought I was in the right general area, there were still one to two miles between properties. Due to some other things she asked me to do around the house, I got a late start. The roads were dirt and thanks to a week of wet weather and some underlying clay, quite slippery. It gets dark early in our part of the country, so adding the low clouds and spitting rain, it was pitch dark by five oâclock. Teri gave me a sheet with everything I needed to know â the peopleâs name, their address, phone number, and directions. These werenât your typical directions. For example, the directions included âturn left after crossing the bridge where you will see ducks swimming in the waterâ and âgo past the pig barn with the orange tractor in frontâ. I kid you not. There were no street names. Not that it would have helped; BFC locals havenât heard of road signs. The directions also lacked distances between the quaint landmarks and would have been as helpful written in Greek.
The rain turned into sleet leaving an opaque film on the windshield making it more difficult to see. The roads were a mess but at least they werenât busy. I hadnât seen a car in forty-five minutes. Most of the properties had bright sodium vapor lights, same basic idea as streetlights, but the distance between properties negated any illumination help they might have provided. It was gloomier than a bomb shelter. I knew I was lost. Three times, I turned around in driveways and three times the truck almost bogged in the mud. I stopped and called Teri, but there was no answer at home or on her cell. OK, now Iâm pissed. No one answered at the furniture place either.
I decided to forge on for ten more minutes before turning around. After all, I am a man. I will not stoop to ask strangers for directions. About five minutes later, a dog or coyote crossed the road right in front of me. Worse, yet it was on a curve. Between the curve, sleet and clay, the truck agonizingly skidded off the road like the surface was ice, not mud, and my stomach hovered in my chest for what seemed like hours but in reality was only a second or two.
One hard jerk to the right and I sat at a forty-five degree angle toward the passenger side and the nose of the truck pointed slightly downward too. The shoulder belt, tight against my chest, held me in place. Right before the truck stopped, I felt an ugly crunch directly under my feet. After anchoring my feet on the floor, I unfastened the seatbelt and put my shoulder into opening the door. I heaved on the heavy pick-up door fighting gravity to open it. After reaching for the MagLite that lived in my truck, it fell into my fingers and I clicked it on. It worked! A child could easily have left it on and drained the batteries. Something finally had gone right. I jumped from the truck while the wind and cold sleet found something warm and dry to penetrate â first the truck and then me. On the first step, the muddy road attempted to steal the boots off my feet. Each step required I extract my new and now unrecognizable boots from the sucking muck; a great sucking sound accompanied each extraction. They felt like more anvils than mud-covered boots. Actually, wearing boots was the second best thing that went right in the last two minutes. The suction would have ripped any other footwear from my feet.
After slipping and sliding my way to the front of the truck, I saw the left tire was barely on the road while the right rested halfway down a steep rock embankment. I could see from the alignment of the front wheels that something was seriously wrong with the axle. It was no longer a straight line.
I stepped off the road and rested my left foot on a large flat rock about a foot below the road. Just as I bent at the waist to look under the truck my mud covered boot slipped off the rock. A couple of nasty things followed in rapid succession. When my foot slipped, I was completely off-balance. My momentum moved forward and down. I didnât fall far. The grill of the truck stopped my face at the same time the bumper split my left collarbone. A blinding light exploded in my head and everything afterwards happened on instinct. The truck stopped my forward motion, but I was still falling. I reached to the ground with my right hand to ease my fall to the ground. I must have reached awkwardly. In sympathy with my truck axle, my right wrist crunched. It gave way at once and I lay still facedown on the muddy road.
I lay there for a few minutes. When I felt ready to move, I struggled to rise since neither arm really worked. I had to roll over onto my back to start. I could go on and on about losing the flashlight, the agony of getting my cell phone from my wet jeans pocket with a numb left arm and a useless right hand. Teri didnât answer her phone and neither did my destination. I was so far out in BFC they didnât have 911, not that I could tell anyone my location. However, I can give an extended description of walking two miles in one direction, before I turned around; and four miles in another, before I finally came to a farmhouse.
The final tally: fractured right wrist, broken left collarbone, badly bruised eye socket, concussion and pneumonia from wandering around for three hours in the cold rain. My truck got off easy â only a broken front-axle.
Before departing for the set of
Deliverance
, I asked multiple times if Teri was sure about the information. As it turned out, there were two turns missing from the directions. I told her multiple times to make sure her cell phone was charged, on, with her and ready receive a call if I had trouble. In fact, I went further and said, âHon, Iâm sure everything is going to work this afternoon, but if it doesnât you will owe me big time. I mean really big time.â
After rolling her eyes and asking what could go wrong, she put her arms around my neck pressed her pelvis into mine, âAnything you say dear. Iâm quite confident this will be a piece of cake. I really appreciate you taking half of your weekend to do this for me. If it doesnât go smoothly, Iâll do whatever you ask.â
âIâll hold you to that,â I responded.
I spent two days recovering in the hospital, but it took only thirty pain-wracked seconds while waiting for medication to decide what I wanted. I spent the rest of the time planning. For the past couple of years Iâve been obsessed, about filming Teri and I having sex. I have tried everything to get her to go along. I told her, âIâll make sure there are no faces or unflattering angles.â âWeâll watch it once and burn it.â âYou like to watch us together in the mirror. The camera is only a mirror with a recorder, etc.â
Nothing convinced her. Next, I tried a couple of solo filming projects for her. When she was out of town, I filmed myself masturbating. At the same time, I spoke to the camera telling Teri what Iâd like to do to her. I received many rewards following my outstanding amateur performances, but I did not achieve my ultimate objective. I want her, or her and me together on TV.
I love watching women, especially mine. The way I touch her. How it looks when I touch her. What she looks like when I touch her. What she looks like when she touches herself. What she looks like when she watches herself in a mirror. Iâm much less interested in what I look like, but I think sheâd be interested. How does my expression change when I enter her? What do her tits look like as touch them or mash them. I have as many unanswered questions as I have fantastic visions.
Maybe itâs because Iâm blind without my contacts and can never see anything in bed. I feel the female shape is the ultimate work of art. I donât need to be with them but my eyes constantly caress their curves. Professional dancers often evoke the graceful, sensual, erotic images, but they canât replicate the pure sexual pleasure in their sounds or facial expressions. You need to remove the clothes to see the muscles, skin, color and sweat. Our minds envision scenes and create the finest paintings and sculptures featuring nudes. I was looking for the same but with skin on skin, my cock slurping through her juicy pussy and my thighs slapping hers.
About the same time as my accident, I received an extra large bonus at work. My company is in a popular field. Being a salesman for a product with more demand than supply led to a hefty commission. We took care of some things around the house with the windfall and funded a good portion of the kidsâ college fund.
At the same time, I began researching video production companies that delivered a professional quality amateur video. Ultimately, a friendâs recommendation led me to Rainee and Charleneâs business, Couples United. They gave me an exhaustive run through of their operation and it had everything I wanted. Their company brought features to video production I didnât know existed. Not to mention, I felt comfortable around them after about an hour. Comfort is important if you expect to be as exposed as Teri and I.
I set the filming appointment and scheduled an early dinner at a romantic Mediterranean restaurant for the same night. I told Teri the good news about the dinner. I also gave her the bad news the day of reckoning would come and she should prepare. With attitude, she said, âBring it on. I made a deal, and Iâll live with it. You know the limits though.â