Warning - If you're looking for willing cuckolds, consensual swinging, wife-sharing or a lot of detailed sex scenes, you're wasting your time with this story. Like with my other stories.
Thanks to SexyGeek for editing help. Any errors still present are probably mine because I've fumbled around with it afterwards.
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Boring. The highway is just so mind-blowingly boring. The miles stretch endlessly on my trip to Florida. Boring. It's still early in the morning and I'm already bored to death. The day doesn't look promising at all. I could entertain myself by annoying one of my friends with a long phone call. But as I rarely drive long distances and the X5 is quite new, I haven't yet bothered to purchase a snap-in charger for my phone. And I've forgotten to bring the USB charging cable. So I have no way to recharge my phone's dead battery. Without my phone I can't even access my music collection. Which makes everything even more boring. To the right I see a boring small Louisiana town. On my left side, a boring dark sedan is overtaking me. My boring tank is still half full. No reason to stop and interrupt my misery of total boredom. Why in god's name haven't I taken the plane? In hindsight, this idea to finally run in the new car was ridiculous.
On my right I admire a small group of cows. One is brown, all the others are black. Truly amazing. At least amazing enough to make them the main visual attraction around here. In my mind's eye I see locals gathering around this spectacle every day, watching the cows in awe. On my left I see... the nozzle of a gun pointed at my head. Instinctively I immediately fully slam the brakes. I barely realize that my side window shatters. I look to my right and see a highway exit through the other shattered side window.
Still fully on the brakes, I yank the car into the exit. I barely miss it. The pedal is on the metal again even while I'm still plowing through a stretch of grass before reaching tarmac again. I look into my rear mirror quickly. Nobody to be seen, just an empty and innocent looking highway exit. I realize that I'm surprisingly calm. Shouldn't I be more upset? Would shaking like a leaf be more appropriate? At least a tinge of panic maybe? Hell, I've never been in this situation and I just don't know how I'm expected to react. Surviving is quite high on my list though, that much is clear.
Who might want to kill me? I think I'm the classical nice guy. I've never fucked someone else's wife - at least not as far as I know. My criminal career is limited to a stolen apple at the age of eight. And I somehow doubt that Mr. Thompson - the fruit dealer - has finally found out and is upset enough for such drastic measures. Is this maybe just a coincidence and no one will follow me? Some kind of spontaneous Louisiana greeting ritual? Oh, shit, no such luck, I see a dark sedan speeding down the exit behind me.
Of course, I press everything out of my car that it's got. Which is a lot, as I had impulsively opted for the bigger kind of engine-thing. I have no idea about such stuff and hadn't really understood the difference at the time. Eight cylinders somehow sounded better than six, so that's what I had bought. All I know is that my car feels seriously fast right now. But surprisingly, my pursuers manage to keep up. Suddenly a shot smashes the front window. Shit. Of course, I duck my head, hating me while I do it. Because it's silly, it's too late anyway.
My still quite un-shot right rear view mirror tells me two things, both of which add to an already shitty day. First, there is a large lump of bird-shit on the mirror frame. Damn, this car is almost brand new. But I at least thank the obviously quite big bird for omitting to target my now non-existent windshield. Second - there's a guy leaning out of the side window of that damn sedan, pointing a gun in my general direction. I'm not sure if he's aware that he looks absolutely ridiculous, like in a cheap 60s gangster movie. I'm a little disappointed that he's left out some kind of Humphrey Bogart hat. If I'm about to be shot, it should happen with style.
I see a small humpy country lane to the right and decide to use every advantage I might have against them. I have an SUV and they don't. So I turn onto it, braking late and hard. And I immediately accelerate down this small track, almost pushing the pedal through the floor. I don't even know where exactly I am. Probably somewhere in Louisiana still.
Driving at more than 100 mph down a small, holey track is a challenge and I have my hands full with keeping the car on it. I hope that the massive dust plume I'm producing might help me. My location is painfully obvious this way, but I don't envy them for racing down this stretch of dirt at this speed in a dust plume. It's difficult enough without it.
Suddenly the steering jerks and the tire pressure warning goes off. Shit, they've probably hit a tire with a round. The car remains surprisingly stable but I decide I have to leave it nonetheless. I haven't managed to shake them with four good tires, so I certainly won't manage to do it with three. I slam the brakes, get out of the car and run. I just run. There are some trees around me, but not enough to really hide me. I don't look back. I barely look where I'm running. I just run like hell.
The bark of a tree on me right explodes into a cloud of splinters but I don't care in the least. I run for my very life. I don't even know how many of them are chasing me. One or two, maybe? Two, probably. That's what they always show in the movies. No, the cops come in twos. The killers are always alone. Does it matter? No. But a surprisingly lot of stuff goes through my mind during these supposedly last seconds of a life I've thoroughly enjoyed so far. Well, it's been good. That's the phrase that probably describes everything best. Always stick to the classics if in doubt. And it's sad that this good life has to come to such a sudden end at the ripe age of 29.
The thing is - oops, I have to watch this root - I've kind of won the big lottery of life. Although it might not look like that today. Caution, mud puddle, jump over it. I'm quite good looking. I personally don't think so as I generally don't appreciate the looks of men, including myself. But the part of the female population that fancies me has assured me so. And I don't care much about the opinion of the other part.
A fork in the path. Okay, the left one. Why not? I don't know where I am anyway. It's not important where I run to. It's important to keep doing it. And I do this whole running thing more out of habit to prolong my life as much as possible than out of hope that it might save me somehow. The battery of my mobile phone is dead. The number of cops in sight is - wait, I have to count - zero. Which, by coincidence, matches the total number of people in sight. I'm unarmed, not trained in any kind of martial arts, I've never been near a marine, a green beret, a navy SEAL or anything like it. I'm more some kind of peaceful, non-confrontational guy. Oops, I better run on that grass, the path seems dangerously muddy and slippery. So, I'm toast. I'm chased by a professional killer. And I'm just an unarmed, unskilled guy spoiled by a sheltered life. My only fight was with Timmy Burns at the age of eleven. And I've lost it. So they would probably kill me even if they went out of ammunition.
Spoiled? Definitely. Rich from the moment I had joined humanity. Heir of old money. Intelligent enough to finish an ivy league college without ever having the intention to actually work as a lawyer. Living a life of luxury, busy with meaningless stuff, never contributing anything to humankind. Apart from just being there. Blocking resources that would have better been invested in more ambitioned people. That's what it boils down to, old guy. You're just superfluous. No kids, no responsibility for anything. You're a money-losing business for humanity. I've never seen this, somehow. I was just too busy being me. Driving around in fancy cars, chasing pretty women, living in nice houses, traveling. But now, running down a muddy path somewhere in the South, it seems quite obvious. It strongly looks like mankind will manage to survive without my presence. No one will give a shit, to be more precise. The insight is quite disillusioning. And it seems a little late to change my life now.
But one thing might be to my advantage. I've always been good at sports and I've been running a lot. I think I've maintained a good pace so far. I can't hear anybody behind me any more and even the shots have stopped. Okay, I'll take the left path again. So I might have been able to put a little distance between me and the killer. Or the group of killers. As far as I know, there might be as many as twenty guys chasing me. I have to chuckle as I envision a group of black-clad guys with sunglasses stumbling down this damn path. But seriously, not more than five self-respecting killers would have entered that shitty sedan.
It is at least consoling that I won't die as clueless as I have lived. By now I have a strong idea who might want to see me dead and why. Being in this somewhat inconvenient situation is partly my own fault.
The path leads me around a bend and suddenly I'm in some kind of clearing. It looks like a trailer park. About fifteen trailers seem to be scattered across the clearing in what looks like a totally random pattern. Not two of them seem to be aligned parallel to each other. The positions are equally haphazard. They look like some toys, dropped here by an enormous child. Everything seems to be silent, not a single human being is in sight. Most of the trailers sport some weird decoration. Chains of lights, colored lamps, everything that might give the place a gaudy and cheap look is present. In it's own tastelessness, the place is very consistent.
Well, I can't be picky, can I? I rush to the nearest one of the luxurious residences, omitting the one with the "Jesus loves you" sticker, which seems somehow inappropriate, given the circumstances. I frantically pound on the door of my chosen potential refuge.
"I'm off service. You see, my light is off," I am informed by a bored female voice from inside. My God, what is this, some kind of forest brothel? I'm running for my dear life here. But I'm glad that someone is home and is willing to at least talk to me. Even if it is through a closed door.
"Please open up! It's important. It's a matter of life or death. You have to help me!"
The door is opened surprisingly quickly and I'm being pulled inside. It's quite dark in here and as soon as my eyes have gotten accustomed to the surroundings, I perceive a blond women in front of me. Her face is not pretty. It's spectacularly beautiful. She has the sharply chiseled features of a classical beauty. What is she doing here? This seems wrong. I have no idea why, but somehow I feel that someone as beautiful as her should not live in an old trailer in a remote wood in the South, working as a prostitute. This is not how things should be, according to Josh's rules of life.
She's about a head smaller than me and looks at me expectantly with her fists in her waist. Her make-up is exaggerated and tasteless, but maybe this is what's in demand around here. Given some attention to her styling and clothes, she would be a raving beauty. I hardly notice that the trailer seems to be packed with books, which surprises my a little.
"So?"
