Wednesday, June 25, 2014


Dave  and his girlfriend, Jess are driving from Ithaca to San Francisco so Dave can marry his primary, Danielle, before she gives birth to their child, and to be there for the birth, which is scheduled for a few weeks later. 

Jess is making an "independent film" about the journey with her iPhone, driving Dave crazy with her narration. 

At the end of the first leg of their journey, they stop outside of Springfield, Illinois to rest for the night.


The motel room was barely sanitary; actual comfort was out of the question. But I could not have cared less. 15 hours of driving had left me cramped and bent and bleary-eyed. I sprawled on the entirely inadequate queen mattress, all notions of showering or even getting undressed vetoed by the aching of my back.

Jess, 17 and indestructible, hopped onto the bed beside me and regarded me with a mixture of amusement and pity. She stroked my hair and kissed me gently on the forehead.

"Poor baby," she cooed, "850 miles in one day. That's a lot of driving."

"I can't believe I've gotta do two and a half more days of this. I'll be crippled before we get to Denver."

Over my protests, Jess grabbed me and pulled me up into a sitting position. She sat behind me and kneaded my shoulders. "Wow, you're like a rock," she observed. "We've got to do something to relieve all that tension." She giggled and reached down to pull my shirt off.

Jesus, she'd just spent 15 hours in a cramped in a car herself, but she was ready to go at it. How was that possible? Had she no mercy?

Why, I chided myself, are you complaining?Your 17 year old girlfriend is a nymphomaniac. There are three and a half billion men on the planet who would kill to be you. Suck it up.

Fair enough. I didn't know how I'd survive this encounter without serious injury, but I was damned if I was going to let that stop me.

It is a good day to die.

With considerable effort, I turned to face Jess, who in the time it took me to achieve the maneuver, had completely undressed.

She was adorable; a bit slim for my tastes, if the truth be known, but not skinny. Her features were delicate, her body slight, but when she tackled me and held my hips tight between her thighs, pressing down on my shoulders with both hands, I was completely overpowered.

I liked that.

Tonight, it hurt like hell, and not in a good way, but I endured.

In my condition, I didn't have much to contribute to the proceedings. But Jess didn't really need any assistance; she was a force of nature. I lay back and let her do whatever she wanted with me. And when she was done, she slid off me, propped herself up on her elbow facing me, and asked, "so how are those sore muscles now?"

"Even worse," I said. "But now I don't care."

We lolled in afterglow for an indeterminate time. I gazed at Jess happily, my mind a pleasant blank. Jess, on the other hand, looked like the cat who ate the canary, even moreso than usual. She reached over to the bedside table and did something with her iPhone, which was propped up against the lamp.

Something registered with me, something I couldn't quite parse.

"Uh, Jess, what did you just do?"

Her expression flashed between self-satisfaction and guilt. "Oh, nothing. You know, just...the phone..."

I looked over to the side table, where her phone was still propped up.

With the camera facing us, at just the right angle to...

"Holy shit, Jess, did you just record us?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no."




"Delete it, Jess."

"No," she protested, "I need it for my movie."

Aw, hell, no.

"No! No way is that going in the movie."

"Oh, not all of it, just a little bit. You know, cue the romantic music and fade to black as you're licking my..."

"Jess, no! Absolutely not."

"But it's artistically valid. It establishes the passion of our relationship."


"Besides, it was Danielle's idea."

This wasn't fair. I was beyond exhausted; the room was spinning around me, and now I had to deal with the fact that my girlfriend and my fiancee had conspired to have me star in a porn flick. When did I lose complete control of my life?

"Seriously? Danielle suggested it?"

Jess smiled innocently at me and nodded. "Yeah. When I told her I was making the movie, she said to make sure it was at least a hard R. She misses you David. Not to mention that she hasn't gotten laid in 8 months. She needs something like this."

I turned this idea around in my head. No good, I was running on fumes. "I don't know; it makes me really uncomfortable."

"Why. She watched you and Maya do it plenty of times. How is this different."

OK, I could answer that one. "Because she was there. She was an active participant. This is a recording. It's not the same thing."

Jess gave me the look. Her eyes widened and became misty, her lower lip stuck out just a little. Full Metal Waif. "It'll make her happy," she said.

Dammit, I will not crumble before the Full Metal Waif. 

Then it came to me: "You know what I think would make her really happy?"


"A command performance, live and in person."

The waif look crumbled into a confusion of emotions. She blushed. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing happened.

Now who's freaking who out, I gloated to myself. I wasn't proud of myself, but she had it coming.

Besides, as an idea, it wasn't half bad...

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