dontravis.com blog post #531
I trust everyone survived the New Year’s celebrations. As usual, a quiet night for me. Well, except for the exploding fireworks and occasional gunshot fired into the air. Albuquerque’s notorious for that.
At any rate, let’s get back to poor Widget Jackson. He’s literally panting after a handsome, popular jock named Roger. In the first part of the story, we saw Widge manage to get on Rog’s radar when he fixed his hero’s stalled car. Wonder what happens next?
I saw Roger around town a couple of times after that Sunday, and he always waved and tossed me a greeting… usually using my name. He worked in his dad’s hardware store over the summer, and I gave 40 hours to a local service station, so our paths didn’t cross too often. But then came the magic Sunday afternoon following my “saving him,” as he put it. I was parked at the city park, backed into a semi-screen of foliage, as was my wont, when a car pulled up beside me. To my astonishment, it was Roger’s Impala.
He got out and walked over to my driver’s side open window. “Hi, Widge, what ’cha doing?”
I held up the book I’d been reading. At that moment, I wasn’t capable of intelligent speech. Roger the Awesome had sought me out and was talking to me. “Reading,” I managed to say.
Hey, guy, I…. Well, I was thinking about you rescuing me last week. Remember when I offered to pay you?”
My head bobbed of its own volition. “Uh-huh.”
“There was something about the way you said, ‘I don’t want your money, Roger.’”
“W-what do you mean?”
“I dunno,” he said, a slight smile adorning his fantastic lips. “Just something unsaid. Like, I don’t want your money, but there’s something else you can give me.”
I swallowed hard. I’m sure people across the field on the baseball diamond could hear it. “Uh,” was my skillful riposte.
He leaned his arms on my lowered window frame and peered at me, so close I thought sure I’d swoon. “Look, Widge. I’m not trying to be insulting or demeaning or anything. But I’ve heard things… just rumors, you understand. You don’t have to say a word, but I’m going to stand up straight, maybe lean against the car. And if you see something you want… well, it’s yours, guy.”
Certain my ears were hearing what they wanted to hear, not what was being said, I just gaped at him. And then, he did it. Leaned against the car, his denim-covered groin an inch from my nose.
Well, he was right, I didn’t say a word, but my hands acted independently of the rest of me, feeling everything they could reach. After a minute of feeling him through his clothing, I woke up to the fact that his trousers had an elastic waistband. Immediately, I yanked them down, afraid at any minute, he’d jerk back and tell me the joke was on me.
But he didn’t. Instead, he rose to the occasion. I feasted my eyes… and a feast it was. Like everything else about Roger, his equipment was made with exquisite care. My hands had a ball… two of them, in fact. Oh wow! He was firm where he ought to be firm, soft where he needed to be soft, throbbing where he needed to throb, and his bush was soft and silky. Afraid any minute he’d change his mind, I felt and tasted and manipulated in a frenzy. And then, as I feared, he withdrew, covering himself as he did so. I’d been suckered.
He leaned back in the window. “Felt good, Widge. But this is not the place. Your place available?”
Halfway hopeful again, I shook my head. “Uh-uh, my folks are home.”
“Same here. Look, you know the old, abandoned cabin on the back road to Willtown?”
“The one just across the river?”
“Yeah. Just across the river from that peculiar bend before the bridge.”
“Where the old bridge washed away a few years back, and they build the new one?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll meet you there, okay?”
“Meet me? We can go together. Your car or mine?”
“I’m going on to Willtown to visit my grandmother when we’re finished, so I’ll take the old road.” His smile was almost a leer. “But I’m not in any hurry. We’ll each go in our own car.”
“You ready now?” I asked. I’m sure I was panting.
He flashed a grin that melted every bone I had… except for one. And he noticed that one. His grin got bigger. “You follow me.”
I nodded and started the Rambler before he even got back in the Impala. I contained myself until he backed out and headed down the road. Then I followed.
I didn’t keep right on his tail, but I was pretty close as he flew down the highway, testing the speed limit. But when he turned onto the old road, it was so bumpy we had to slow. I fretted and grumbled fiercely, sure that I was going to lose it even before we reached our rendezvous. Wow! I liked the sound of that… Rog and Widge’s rendezvous. I got so excited, images of his groin pressed in my face back at the park, his essence revealed to me, began to play before my eyes. Luscious. That was the only word for it.
I got to imagining that view so much, I hit a rough spot in the road so hard the old Rambler let out a squall. Better pay more attention. But it was useless, that vision was so fascinating, so promising, so enthralling, I had to keep shaking my head to clear it away.
I didn’t even know I’d missed the bridge at that kink in the road until the Rambler began falling. I hit the water and rode the waves for a minute before the old car headed downstream with the current and quickly sank.
Oh, crap! You guys will have to write your own ending to the story. Did Widge drown in his Rambler an unfulfilled man… when he was sooo close? Or did Roger the Hero, strip off his shirt (baring that manly chest) and dive into the river to save Widge? If so, can you picture them in that abandoned canyon, shivering and naked, drying one another off… leading to something wonderful? Or did Widget get out of the car on his own but is too panicked to continue with his much-anticipated assignation? As I say, you write the ending and let me know what it is.
Until next week.
Stay safe and stay strong.
Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!
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See you next Thursday.
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