Route 66 Coda

I gradually realized that I was waking up. And I wasn't dreaming. I was in a hotel bed, naked, and Aurora was naked beside me. Finally.

Last night, after seafood tacos and a stroll on Venice Beach with the Pacific Ocean rolling up our bare ankles, I had taken her back to our shared room and put my arms around her and said, "I want to make love to you." Finally.

And she had said, "I thought you'd never ask."

Or maybe she said, "It's about fucking time." Everything started happening fast after that.

Aurora had been awake for a few minutes. She was half-sitting, half-reclining against the headboard. Her smallish-but-full breasts, which sat so high on her magnificent chest, were sliding slightly to her sides. Her sleep-tossled hair covered one eye.

She had my laptop open on her lap.

"G'morning, lover," she greeted me.

"Good morning."

"So, I read your story," she told me. It wasn't a surprise. I had told her she could, given her the password. I had just planned to be there, to watch her eyes, while she did.

"It's hot. But it makes me sound like a slut."

"Oh," I said, unhappy to hear her say that. "I didn't mean... that is, I meant for the whole sex scene to all be in my -- in the narrator's imagination."

She looked at me skeptically.

"I left clues," I protested. "It's the only time the point of view changes. Otherwise there's only one narrator. And you ask... she asks me if I've written another one of my stories." I pouted.

"Too subtle?" I asked her.

"Maybe you should put those sections from Carl's point of view in italics."

"Good idea."

"And I don't know if the whole '1964' thing works. It's obviously not actually time travel, so what's it's purpose?"

"I don't know," I said. "It was real. It's what we actually played with all week."

She shrugged, as if she didn't care if I changed it or not.

Then she closed the computer and set it aside, and turned onto her side to face me.

"But really, I'm flattered."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Am I really 'the most beautiful tall woman' you've ever met?"

"Yes," I confirmed. At the moment, that sentence really didn't even need the word "tall."

"Does my ass really make the world go 'round?"

I laughed. Oh, yeah, I had forgotten that line.

"Has this really been the trip of your lifetime?"

"It has," I said, "Thanks to you."

She paused.

"You really think anybody's ever going to believe a 50-something management consultant got a 28-year-old, six foot tall stripper to go on vacation with him, just as friends?"

"No, that's pretty unbelievable," I agreed.

"Yeah, I think I'd go more with the time travel angle."

We both laughed. Then she said, "Well, truth is, I've done crazier things."

We had one more day. Tomorrow I would fly home, and she would spend another week out here by herself. That was the deal. I got company for my road trip, she got her own vacation out of it. Last night, though, had been more of a mutual "two consenting adults" thing, to my infinite gratification.

I stared into her eyes -- light brown, hazel, flecked with gray, I couldn't tell, I was mesmerized.

I had to stop myself from blurting out, "I love you."

So I said, "This really has been the best week of my life."

"Hmmm."

She swung one of her endless legs across me and climbed up on my lap, the sheet still draped across her stately shoulders, her nipple jewelry catching a flash of morning light. Then she whispered into my ear: "Oh, one other thing about your story...

"Carl's cock curves to the left, not to the right."

***

Aurora finished reading and put down her phone. She was sitting beside me in the club, sitting sideways in her chair, her legs draped across my lap. She had been reading ever since her last set, ignoring the other customers around the room.

"So," she said, "The hero gets the girl in the end. For a change."

I laughed. She had read some of my other stories.

"Was I any good?"

"You have to ask?"

"Were

you

any good?"

I laughed again. "I rocked your world, baby."

She smirked. But then she waved her phone and said, "I like it. It's, um, different."

"I wanted to include as much of our actual interactions as I could," I told her, referring of course to our frequent conversations here in the club, the only place I ever saw her. "For

realism

," I added with a wink.

"Well, anyway, you're right, I'm flattered."

"I'm glad."

"I mean, lots of guys tell me I'm hot. I know my height is a fetish, and..." she touched my nose with a fingertip, "... and you've got it, too. But I liked the way you portrayed me as smart."

"Well, you are," I assured her.

"You just like the fact that I've seen all your favorite movies."

"Well, that's true," I admitted, again.

"It is fun to talk about," she acknowledged. "I mean, for me, they're classwork. For you, they were your real life."

I considered that. "So... I'm kind of like 'field research' for you?"

She just smiled and tossled my hair. "You're incorrigible," she taunted. "I did notice that you spent a lot more time writing about Carl enjoying me, than you did about yourself."

"Well, that's kind of my thing, in my stories," I admitted. "It's all about tease and denial."

"In your

stories,

right."

She drained her Red Bull.

"So, if we really did go somewhere together," she asked, "Would you rather take me to bed, or have me cuckold you?"

I was suddenly aware of the pounding of my own heart, "I think," I rasped, treading carefully, "It would be your choice."

"Good answer," she said, and then she leaned in and brushed her lips against my ear. "Anyway, it was sweet, and sexy. Made me a little wet...

"And you know what that means..."

She stood up.

"...'means you need to get over to the ATM and get cashed up," she told me, surveying the room. "You're going to be paying for a lot of guys to get lap dances today."