I Only Pick Up Hitchhikers In My Dreams
Maybe it’s the fact that my daughter keeps forcing me to watch that show Bates Motel – I don’t know – but I keep having these strange and very vivid dreams. When I wake up, I swear they actually happened. With regard to the one I had the other night, I count that as a REALLY good thing.
I dreamt that I was driving down this long, straight road – you know the kind you’d see in a Clint Eastwood movie or something, with eagles circling overhead, tumble weeds blowing around, dust squalls coming out of nowhere, and not a soul in sight, save for the suspiciously good-looking but slightly scruffy man standing alone, his thumb out, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his Ray-Bans low on his nose, his wife beater showing off his sexy tan, his torn jeans perfectly hugging his lithe but muscular form.
When he saw me, he smiled like the devil.
I had to stop – he needed my help. As it turned out, his motorcycle had broken down miles back. Sure, I was alone – a frustrated housewife traveling to see my sister (I don’t have a sister, BTW), from San Bernardino to Phoenix – but I figured what the hell, murder only happens in the movies.
And God, it was hot. HE was hot. I couldn’t leave poor Dierks/Kenny/Luke/Hoigt/Jaxx/Kent/Chance/Wyatt/Jack (take your pick on the name) out in there the sweltering sun. His not-quite-perfect-but-that’s-what-made-him-so-perfect face might’ve been negatively affected. I couldn’t have that.
“Hey, handsome. Need a ride?” I said. I don’t usually talk that way, but that day, I did. He didn’t speak, just nodded and got in. “Where are you headed?” I asked.
“Wherever you’re goin’.” He leaned back in his seat, and inhaled deeply.
That was his answer, and I took it. I wanted to add that we should stop at the nearest motel, but I thought that might be too presumptuous. Can I help it that I’ve only had sex with one man – bless his awesome, fatherly, hard-working heart – for the last twenty-five years, and that this might’ve been my second round of love at first sight, albeit a “more dangerous and possibly crazy” version? Whatever – sometimes, you have to take chances in life, or you are not really living, right?
Anyway, about an hour later – our visceral relationship devoid of much conversation, but a moistness between my legs that could NOT be denied – we arrived at the edge of a small town. “I’m getting thirsty,” he said, a slight accent adding another “holy shit, is he for real?” dimension to his already deep and melodic voice.
“Whatever you want. I’ll do WHATEVER you want,” I answered, and that was the damn truth. As luck would have it, five miles ahead, I saw a sign – Second Home Motel and Cafe. “Perfect,” I purred, pulling into the parking lot.
Disengaging the ignition, I turned in my seat. “Let’s do this…” I whispered enthusiastically.
Dierks/Kenny/Luke/Hoigt/Jaxx/Kent/Chance/Wyatt/Jack or whatever put his hand on my knee. It was like a jolt of lightning blazing through my body. “Let’s get that drink,” he said, squeezing my leg hard – a little TOO hard. If that was any indication of his true nature – and I was absolutely positive that it was – I could hardly wait to get to know him better, in every naked, sweaty, hard-as-a-rock sense of the word…
Sadly, dear readers, that is where my dream ended. As disappointingly short as it was, it’s kept me on cloud nine for three days now.
That’s how life goes though. You take the good with the bad, but you sure as hell get proficient at reliving those heart-stoppingly, sexy dreams for as long as is humanly possible.
Clean Sheets Magazine Some of the best literary erotica on the web. I’ve been lucky enough to have a few short stories published there.