Barbie

“You know, I could go for sleeping in an actual bed tonight,” I tell him as we pull up into a roadside restaurant, and I’m not just being cute saying it. After we left the lake, we rode for the whole night, then stopped for breakfast and rode some more. The sun is already setting. It was easier for me, I could sleep leaning against him, but I don’t think he slept at all, not even during those few times we stopped and he found a bench or some such to rest on.

“Like at that place across the street,” I say and point at the drab looking motel. “It looks comfy.”

But then again, pretty much any place looks comfy to me right about now, after spending more than twenty-four hours straight on the back of a bike. I have no idea how he does it.

He looks at the motel then frowns at me. “That place looks like a dump.”

I can’t really argue with that, so I just wrap my arm under his and lead him towards the restaurant. After a day and a night of holding onto him, it just feels natural to keep holding him, and he hardly even flinches as I do it. It must feel natural for him too.

We’re in the middle of nowhere. The only signs of civilization for a bunch of miles it took us to get here, and for a bunch of miles onwards down this road, are this wood and metal sheathing burger joint, the shady looking motel across the street, and a gas station that looks like it was new around the time they invented the first car. I’m so tired and my whole body is vibrating with the rumblings of his bike even now that my feet are on solid ground.

“I want to lie down in a bed tonight,” I say as he holds the door of the burger joint open for me.

I know what his first thought was when I said that, his desire shot through me like a bolt of lightning, but something much darker rode with it. But thankfully he stays silent as he follows me inside.

Somehow the interior is flooded with light. It’s about half full of mostly guys, and they’re all eating, so maybe this place isn’t quite as far away from civilization as I thought it was.

“You’re pretty used to taking long rides, aren’t you?” I ask once we’re sitting and he still hasn’t said yes or no to my request. He must be tired too, but he doesn’t really look it.

He shrugs, and picks up the menu, so I do the same. But all it says on mine is “burgers” and “beer”. Seems like a waste of paper to print that shit out, but what do I know about running a restaurant?

I point that out to him and he chuckles, which is much better than the silence he’s been meeting me with, but still not alright. Our conversations since we left the lake have been getting better and longer, but they’re still pretty few and far between. I’m so tired and achy from the ride it’s kinda pissing me off that he still won’t talk to me much. This is gonna be one boring ride to the coast if we’re neither talking, nor kissing, nor having sex.

“I guess I’ll have a burger and a beer,” I tell the waitress when she comes over. She looks half asleep and doesn’t react to the mocking edge in my voice.

He gets the same—what else?—then rolls his shoulders once she leaves, wincing in the process.

“Yeah, I guess we might as well get some real rest,” he finally says. “My shoulder is killing me. Though I’m not a fan of these shitty roadside motels. I’m too old for it.”

“And too rich,” I add kinda too excitedly, but I’m so happy he’s talking. And on his own too.

He just frowns at me questioningly. “Well, I counted the money in the wallet you gave me, didn’t I? And that was already plenty. I figured there’s gotta be more if you just handed it to me and let me walk off.”

He grins, but it’s not exactly a mirthful expression. It’s too tight to be that.

“Yeah, I have more money than I know what to do with lately,” he says and leaves it at that.

“I wish I had more money than I could spend,” I say wistfully, although what I’m really curious about is where he got it. “I’d get myself a nice wardrobe and change my outfit every couple of hours. And my nails would always be done, and my hair would always be perfect…”

I keep rambling on, listing things I’d like to have, not even paying attention to what I’m saying. He seems to be listening, but when I get to the part where I ask how he got so lucky to get all that money, his previously slack expression grows hard like a brick wall in the second it takes me to say it.

He shrugs and points at my plate of food. “Eat, Barbie. Or your food’s gonna get cold.”

It’s his way of telling me to shut up now, and I get that perfectly well. At least he’s not mean about it like some of my exes would get when I talked too much. So there’s still that.

I don’t feel like talking anymore anyway. I’m sick of just listening to the sound of my own voice, which is pretty shrill by this point anyway, since, damn it, how do I get this guy to say more than two sentences at a time to me? How do I get him to kiss me again? He watches me like he wants to when he doesn’t think I notice, but otherwise, he’s been as cold as, well, ice, towards me since we left that first motel we stayed at.

Maybe we can change all that at this new one we’re staying in tonight.

* * *

“I need a shower,” I say as soon as we’re inside the motel room, which looks a lot cleaner than I imagined it would be. It kinda smells clean too. Like bleach, but clean.

“Yeah, me too,” he says dumping the saddle bags he took off his bike on the floor next to the door.

“You’re welcome to join me,” I say and smile at him invitingly over my shoulder as I head for the bathroom.

But he shakes his head and turns away, which is disappointing to say the least. And frustrating as hell.

I don’t get a much warmer reaction when I come out after my shower, wrapped in the smallest towel I could find that still covered most of me, and with my hair dripping wet.

He brushes past me as he enters the bathroom and he didn’t have to get so close, there was plenty of room. That gives me hope. But he did pass me, so it could just be a false hope.

“Try not to jump on me when I come out, OK?” he says grinning at me through the almost closed bathroom door, raising my hope sky high again.

“Don’t walk around naked, if you don’t want me to want it,” I counter, which makes him grin wider.

“That’s something guys say to women, Barbie, not the other way around,” he says to which I just shrug, since he’s perfectly right. But I smile too, because I meant it.

He closes the door, before I come up with any more clever lines. But I guess it’s a start, and we always gotta start somewhere. I should know. I’ve been through plenty of starts. False ones, sure, and that’s what this one very well might be. But a start is always better than an ending.

I removed the bandage from my wrist before I took my shower, since it was almost black from the road dust and because I need both hands to carry out my plan for tonight. The swelling’s gone down, and it’s loosening up nicely, there’s almost no pain left when I move it around.

He comes out wearing just a towel around his waist, before I even decide what to wear to bed. I didn’t get anything to sleep in when I went shopping, figuring I’d be doing all the sleeping naked anyway. Not how it turned out, but maybe I can still turn it around.

He’s squinting at me like he’d like my towel to fall just as much as I’d like his to do the same. He’s a fine looking man, head to toe, and I’d love to have those bulky, strong arms of his wrapped around me. I’ve done a lot of daydreaming about it, while I kept mine wrapped around him on the way here.

“If you’re shoulder’s still bothering you, I can massage it out for you,” I offer. “I’m pretty good at that kinda thing.”

He could say something mean to that, could mention that I must’ve had a lot of practice at that for sure, but he’s still just grinning and squinting at me like he’s waiting for my towel to fall.

“Yeah, sure, why the hell not?” he finally says. “It’s the right one, and it’s fucking burning.”

“Lie down then,” I say and smile at him while I fish the lotion from my plastic bag of stuff.

He eyes the bottle and then me, a touch of that meanness I expected long before now coloring his eyes. “You’re prepared.”

He leaves it at that, and I sigh in relief before telling him again to lie down. This time he does, on his stomach on top of the covers, only pulling out one of the pillows to get comfortable.

A massage isn’t all I have in mind, but I figure his hard-on, which was already tenting up that towel before he laid down, will get painful soon enough, and then he’ll turn around on his own.

I drop my towel, since it keeps slipping off anyway and there’s no need for me to go through the bother of adjusting it every two seconds, given that he’s got his head buried in the pillow. I better make this fast, or he’ll go to sleep on me.

I straddle his hips, and he groans a complaint quite unnecessarily, since I’m sure I weigh nothing to him and besides, I’m not putting my full weight on his back. Maybe he’s just groaning because my clit is touching his skin. Hell, I even moaned a little. For such a cold guy, his skin is nice and warm, and I like that in a man.

His back is just one muscle atop another, all braided together in an intricate pattern I can’t wait to unravel. He doesn’t have a lot of tattoos, I expected his back to be covered with some, but there’s not a single one here, and the ones on his chest and arms are few and far between too. I wonder why that is. He’s gotta be in his thirties. I’d expect a guy like him to be covered in tattoos by this ripe age. Maybe he doesn’t like needles. But he doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of guy who’s afraid of anything. Except himself. He seems to be afraid of himself.

“I’m waiting,” he mutters, snapping me out of my mesmiration with his back.

“Yes, yes,” I say and dump a good heap of the lotion onto my palm.

He inhales sharply when the cool liquid comes into contact with his burning skin, but it soon turns to groans of pleasure as I get to work.

I have long, deft fingers that are pretty strong too. Soon enough I get lost in finding the knots in his muscles, coaxing them out, and unraveling them slowly. I wish all the knots keeping us apart would be this easy to unravel. But I lose that train of thought too, as only the feel of his tight muscles fills my mind. They’re hard yet pliant under my fingers. I’ve been daydreaming about touching him for two days and now I finally get to, and that’s all that matters.

There’s a large scar running from the top of his right shoulder down past his shoulder blade. It looks surgical and it looks old, but I assume the injury that made the cut necessary is the cause of his pain. He’s got other scars too, along his ribs and near his spine, but they’re smaller.

I left his shoulders and neck for last. His groans of satisfaction get louder once I finally settle on his shoulder. It’s full of knots, harder than the rest of his muscles were.

“You had surgery here, didn’t you?”

He just groans a yes, and doesn’t take the bait to start talking. That’s perfectly fine though. My burning need for him to talk to me is not as hot now that I’m touching him. Which is something I could do for hours and not get tired of it at all. My wrist isn’t aching at all despite how hard I’m pressing down on his back.

“You’re really good at this,” he says, after I was pretty sure he’d already fallen asleep.

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “And I know what you’re thinking too. You’re thinking I’m so good at it because I’ve done it many times before, to many different guys. But I’ll have you know, I never liked touching a guy as much as I like touching you.”

“And I bet you said that to every single one of them,” he says and laughs, but not meanly and that’s a start.

“If I did say it to anyone else, and I don’t remember doing it, then I was lying,” I say and that’s God’s truth.

He doesn’t say anything to do that and I guess that’s better than some mean comeback. But I’ve also touched every inch of his back several times over, and I want to explore other parts of him now.

“I can see why this shoulder is killing you,” I say, finding yet another knotted part in it. “That must’ve been quite a fall.”

I figure he got it in a bike accident.

“It was a kick and a fall, actually,” he says after I already didn’t expect him to speak. “But I still won that fight even with my right arm useless for the last round of it.”

“You’ve been in a lot of fights, haven’t you?” I ask. I pretty much figured that out on my own by now. His nose has been broken a few times, and he’s got scars on his face, which could only be there from fists.

“Yeah, a lot of fights and then some,” he mutters. “But I won every last one of them in the end.”

The way he says it sounds like he’s talking to himself not me, and it’s eerie, it’s surreal and gives me the shivers. And that’s not how I want this evening to play out.

I give his shoulder another good squeeze and then let go, sliding off him. “Turn around now, let me give some attention to the front of you too.”

He chuckles, and I’m sure he’s gonna say something else clever then go to sleep, but he surprises me by flipping around, the towel around his waist falling open on it’s own. He must’ve heard my actual suggestion between the lines, since it’s been my experience that guys hear “blow job” even when it wasn’t actually hinted at.

I grin at him, struggling to keep my eyes locked on his, and away from his raging boner. He grins back, so I lean down and kiss him, but that electric connection of ours I’ve been longing to feel again for two days only lasts a split second. He pulls away and stops me from going for a second try with his hands firm on my shoulders.

“I don’t wanna start anything I can’t finish,” he says, and I know he’s not just talking about my failure to make him come the other night. But tonight, I’d like to keep it real simple between us.

“How about we not worry about finishing before we even start?” I say and grin at him.

He narrows his eyes, but he understood me perfectly well. And I think that gleam in his eyes means I’ve finally managed to drag him onto my page of how this adventure of ours should be unfolding.

“Alright, Barbie, let’s do it your way,” he says, and this time he doesn’t stop me from kissing him.

He kisses me back, his fingers getting tangled in my wet hair as he strokes my head, his tongue and his lips making sparks of pleasure radiate all through me like waterfalls of electric starlight, filling me with joy and hope and desire. I’m a simple girl and I don’t know much, but I know he and I were meant to kiss each other. Because I’ve never been kissed this good before.

And tonight, I will make him come.

So despite wishing this kiss would go on forever, I pull away from his lips and trail a string of soft licks and kisses across his chest and the hard bumps and valleys of his stomach, and even across the scratches my nails left when he gave me more than I could take. I ignore those as I kiss my way down to his dick, the taste of which I kinda missed. Actually, really missed.

He’s all tense now, his muscles coiled and taut, and I can feel that more than see it. He radiates power and strength, and I can understand how it could be that he won every fight. But he doesn’t have to fight now. I’m about to make him feel amazingly good.

He sighs hoarsely as my lips envelop the head of his cock, and I moan too, because I’ve hungered for this for a very long time. I’m not even sure what it is, but, somehow, he fills something inside me that’s longed to be filled for so long I didn’t even know it was missing, until I got my first taste of it. That’s how everything between us has been—just exactly right from the get go. Everything he did for me and to me, showed me what I’ve been missing, what I’ve forgotten I missed.

I always liked giving head, but this goes beyond mere liking. I take more and more of him, let him glide down my throat, moan as the tender skin of his dick slides back out, my tongue rough compared to his softness, but perfect too, just right. He bucks into my mouth a few times, his hand a fist in my hair, but then he relaxes, as I ignore all that and continue at my own pace, in my own well practiced way. Soon, the fight leaves his body, making it soft and malleable, mine to control and please.

He’s close, I can feel it as his balls tighten and his cock grows even larger in my mouth. I want this to last a little longer though. I’ll never get enough of the taste of him, and I certainly haven’t had enough yet tonight.

So I slow it down like I know how to do very well, suck on his balls for awhile, then just on his soft head, lock eyes with him as I lick the pulsing vein that sends a volley of tickles from my lips to my chest. His eyes aren’t cold and hard anymore, and I see deep into them, see the guy I know he is, and not the guy who’s trying so hard to keep me at a distance.

Finally I take mercy on him, because I know he wants to come, I know he needs to, and I know he’s about to have the orgasm of his life. I am that good at giving head.

I speed up my licks and my bobs, play with his balls the way I played with his back before, only gentler. Before long his whole body grows incredibly tight and extremely taut again. I just keep going, moaning as I do, enjoying this as much as he is. He comes with a long hoarse groan that sounds like fabric tearing, and fills my mouth with his semen, with so much of it, I have no hope of swallowing all of it, but I do my best. Because he tastes fantastic, right to the end, through and through. I don’t even have to breathe, just this is enough.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he says as I look up at him.

His eyes are two very narrow slits and there’s no meanness behind his words that I can see. It’s just a simple thank you.

“Come here,” he adds, and makes room for me beside him on the bed.

But then he falls asleep before he’s even done wrapping his arm around me.

That’s OK though, that’s just fine. So I just pull the covers over us both and turn off the light before getting real close to him and resting my head on his chest. Now this is what I call a start.