by D. J. Wilson
Obediently she nodded; obediently she complied, as my tempo increased to match the sensations pulsating through her body. “Now, baby, now! More!” she pleaded.
Wrapping my lips expertly around her most sensitive spot, I pulled her into my mouth with such force that Candis’ legs began to quiver while her fingers clawed into the sheets trying to hold back the O that was well on its way. Bucking, pressing, pushing and pulling my face into her as deep as our anatomical features would allow, Candi exploded, releasing rolling waves of pleasure brought forth by my newly refined LTO’s. Her sweat beaming from her brow, her legs quivering involuntarily, her breathing labored but deep, I was totally enthralled in this glorious moment of hers. Mission accomplished. Breathe, D! Breathe.
“Baby, thank you! Thank you!” she panted. “Now it’s your turn … just let me glow a minute more.”
“Thank you, Princess, for the offer, but I left it all on the bed. This morning was all about you. I am content, totally spent and my cup runneth over in you.”
After some quiet snuggling beneath the sheets, I gave her my plans for this morning. “I’ve got to run to FedEx this morning, before we leave. Gather up whatever clothes you want me to send back, and I’ll take them with me.”
“How many packages this time?” Candi asked, with some trepidation in her voice.
“Enough,” I replied abruptly, as I headed for the shower alone. I wasn’t up for another interrogation this morning. I finished cleaning myself up, and grabbed my things to go.
Candi looked up at me as I entered the room. “D? Just where did you come up with the names for all these people?”
“Would you believe me if I said the Internet?”
“It’s not easy to choke that one down, but go on. Why are you being so vague?”
“Because what I’m doing is bigger than the two of us. For now, the less you know the better.”
“Plausible deniability?”
“I guess so, Candice. At least for now,” I replied, walking out the door. As I pulled the door shut, I caught Candi out of the corner of my eye. A crafty and inquisitive glare was coming from her eyes like burning embers. I must say, I like the burning lust in her eyes a heck of a lot better than that piercing glare of hers.
I tuned out the emotion floating inside me and focused on my job at hand. Three down, three to go, I thought. If I had just kept Candi out of this entire operation, I wouldn’t be feeling so lousy right now.
We all do things we’re not proud of throughout the course of our lives, and we justify these actions to ourselves when we can’t or won’t face the truth. The truth is, what I’m doing is legally wrong, but the justification lies in the morality of it all. I believe my actions to be the lesser of two evils. Frankly, a judge and jury would both have trouble finding a way to wrap their head around this one. Right and wrong are bucking heads at every turn. Candi and I are also butting heads lately, too. I feel the overwhelming need to end this part of my hot mess very, very soon.
All this butting heads is making me sore.
Chapter 17
Fate, I suppose comes to mind, but I do have quite a few sleepless nights, wondering if I chose the right people to be re-compensated. What if I was grossly misled? All that I’ve really had to go on was their initial financial portfolios they provided when they signed on with this crook. Their current history was minimal in my evaluation. What if many were not so forthcoming with the truth? All I can say is that I’ve done the best with what I have to work with. And, I’ve asked each of these fortunate few to use what they need to heal and give the rest away. How many will do that, I have no clue. But that’s the best I can do, period.
Gio, Mile and Candi were standing in the lobby carrying on a very spirited conversation in Italian when I returned. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt whatever it is you’re discussing, but we need to get on the road.”
“We go saddle store?” asked Mile.
“The first stop,” I replied.
I packed our bags and helped Mile strap down hers, while Gio and Candi continued their discussion outside. I was getting quite perturbed with all their incessant chatting. I enjoy conversation like the next guy, but their talks are too frequent and lengthy to suit me. This isn’t just a joy ride for me.
“Guys, you can talk all day if you want, but it’s best we do it on the road. Candi, you are welcome to ride with Gio. Gio, you won’t mind, will you?”
That last statement must have made a point, because their conversation abruptly halted, with Candi making her way to me. Grasping my arm and pulling me out of earshot, Candi huffed, “That was totally uncalled for.”
“Not from where I’m standing, it’s not, seems like every time the two of you get together, you have some sort of personal agenda, which since I do not speak Italian, I'm not privy to. I do, however, read facial expressions and for someone we’ve 'JUST MET,' you seem all too familiar. Care to fill me in?”
Just as Candi was about to answer, Mile appeared, grabbing my arm and pulling me back toward the bikes. “We go now.”
It was the second or third time that a long-sought answer from Candi was abruptly interrupted. Timing is everything, I thought, and with it brings nothing.
I stewed on that conversation, as Candi hopped on my bike. I guess she would not be riding with Gio after all. We drove down north Main Street and found a parking spot right in front of the store. I backed in rear wheel to curb, with Gio and Mile following suit.
“Good job, D,” complimented Gio, “you take us good places and find us good park places, too.”
“Thank you, I guess.” My demeanor still was not chipper.
We wandered through the store and museum with Candi saying little. Gio and Mile bought over $500 worth of souvenirs, which King’s graciously agreed to ship back to Milan.
“We like,” smiled Mile, “You like?”
“I do very much, but I’m in no mood to shop right now.” I looked directly at Candi and showed my discontent, “maybe later.”
After an eternity of shopping, in a man’s eyes, we loaded up, fueled up and headed west on Highway 14 out of Sheridan toward the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway, hoping to at least ride a portion of Beartooth Highway and be in Cooke City, MT, before nightfall. Breathtaking, stunning, exhilarating — just a few of the words used to describe the Beartooth Mountains and Byway, according to Frommer’s Travel Guide. Voted number one in Highways across the U.S, this road is a must-see for sightseers. Since this will be my fourth trip following this route, I’ve found it can be 80 degrees and sunny in Sheridan, then drop to the 30’s and be snowing by the time we reach the Beartooth pass, almost 11,000 feet in elevation.
My last trip across the Beartooth was in the M3. You can see the winding road before you, miles in advance after you cross the pass. With no cars in sight, I managed to push the envelope to the limit, hitting 140 mph on the descent, without ever experiencing one degree of fade in the sweeping lazy S curves. Corvettes fade, Z’s fade, Mercedes fade, but this sweet ride stuck to the pavement like super glue.
Gio, with his camera rolling was lost in his own world, filming non-stop across the St. Joseph Byway to the Beartooth. With a tap on my shoulder, I knew it was break time for Candi … and me, too, for that matter.
We pulled into a gas station and mini-market combination with Gio and Mile following my lead.
“We need to fuel up, grab a snack and break out the cold weather gear,” I informed the group before they all headed off in different directions. Gio, now laughing at me, asked why we would need coats.
“Snow,” I announced, a universal word, which, by now seemed sufficient.
Just as Gio pulled off his riding coat, I caught a glimpse of an ivory pistol grip sticking out of his belt. Stunned, I walked up to him and patted the concealed weapon he was carrying in a hide-away holster and said, “Seriously?”
“Bears,” was his lone-word answer, to evidently mimic my previous one-word reply.
For the moment, his answer, just a
s my previous one, would suffice … but only for the moment.
Candi and Mile returned from doing whatever girls do together during their bathroom time, when I motioned for Candi to follow me back into the store. “What kind of snacks would you like, baby?” I asked within hearing range of our two companions. Before Candi could answer, we’d already stepped in the door, and I jerked her aside.
“Just who in the hell is Gio? And why is he carrying a gun?”
Speechless, Candi stammered and stuttered trying to string words together to make a sentence; words which I probably did not want to hear.
“His family gives him that right,” she finally blurted out.
“My family does not give me that right,” I said, “but my state government does.” I reached into my wallet and pulled out my concealed weapon permit to show her. “Just because he’s from Italy doesn’t give him that right here.” But even as I completed my sentence, I was starting to get the picture already. Guns and Italians mix well in certain circles.
“The Mafia?”
“Yes … and keep your voice down, okay?”
“Oh good, we’re riding with the mafia,” I exclaimed in exasperation. “That’s just what I need. No wonder his ass keeps asking me about Texas. We’re screwed, let me rephrase that, I’m screwed. Just how long have you known this?”
“From the beginning,” she said sheepishly.
“Joy! Pure joy …” I was almost growling my words at this point. “And when were you going to tell me?”
“Remember, I said it was a long story.”
“I do, and I also remember how evasive you were when I asked you what was so important about his last name.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you then, and I’m not sure I know how to tell you now.”
“When we get to Cooke City, we’re going to make the time to practice our long awaited storytelling skills together. Mine for yours and yours for mine, but this time without naked, sex-induced lust to influence our conversation.”
“We have lived out your fantasies, D,” said Candi defiantly.
She steamed for a bit, but changed her tone as I stared her down. “It takes two.”
“Agreed,” she huffed. She realized that I wasn’t going to fall for her poor-little-girl routine. Woo-hoo wins enough arguments in my corner, but not this one.
“Candi, back to Gio, if he has a gun, he has a reason to carry it. Do you know if I am that reason? Tell me now and don’t blow smoke up my butt. Gio, from now on, is my PROBLEM!”
Gio, dragging Mile along walked into the store and into our conversation just as his name came up in the heat of anger.
“Big problem?”
“Yes, we have a problem,” I replied, while looking at Candi, who immediately turned ghastly pale. The best way to diffuse a bad situation, when a man is involved is to bring sex into it. I’ve learned by experience if you can make a man stop thinking with his big brain and focus on his small one, the small one, usually wins. “We’re arguing,” I continued, “about your constant filming and its effect on our sex life on the bike.”
”You say I problem, but you say SEX, you miss SEX? You make joke, yes, D?”
“I do, but not about this. Follow me,” I directed, walking immediately outside toward the bikes. Opening my trunk bag, I pulled out my riding coat and said to Candi, “here hold this.” Then, hoping to show Gio, that I too, carry a weapon, I removed my 45 cal. Glock and pushed it into his hands. “Here hold this.” Then I found the BOA and handed it to a now blushing Mile, “Hold this.” With my mind quickly making this story up as I go, I could not help but think of the universal use of show and tell, conveyed across cultures, using very few, if any words.
Sex, guns and toys are truly universal in any language.
With everyone now thoroughly confused, I began. “Candi and I have a game that we like to play on the bike. Acting out the motions, I explained that the BOA is for her and both her hands are for me, while we cruise down the back roads. But, as long as you’re filming,” I said, sticking my finger into Gio’s chest repeatedly, “and driving back and forth between us, we are not comfortable doing this. Especially when it could wind up on You Tube, in a heartbeat,” my demeaning glare now focused on Gio.
Looking at Candi, suddenly wearing the most dumbfounded look on her face, I said, “Repeat what I just said, in Italian. I’m not sure Gio understood half of it.” She readily complied.
A broad smile cracked across Gio’s leathery face. “Ah, D,” slapping me on the shoulder, “you want me stay behind?”
“Or in front, it doesn’t matter,” I answered. “Just not back and forth the whole time with your camera filming every frigging thing.”
Wrapping his arm around me, Gio whispered a question, “You teach me and Mile?”
“My pleasure, Gio,” I confided, thoroughly relieved to know that Italian men are no different from American men when sex can be had by them or someone else, in their midst. Retrieving my Glock from his other hand, I playfully announced, “Welcome to my world, Giovanni.”
Woo-hoo continues to slay and sway male judgments, including those with “Family” ties, I mused, enjoying my own attempt at impromptu comic relief.
“Candi,” I announced, “it’s show time,” knowing that my quickly generated story would be met with her utmost resistance, especially during daylight hours. “Let’s change,” I said throwing her the red thong and rain jacket from my bag, while I found my matching hammock.
“You’re serious, D, strike that, I can see it in your eyes. Lest I remind you, it's daylight; he’s family. Look around, will you. There are people everywhere. Damn you,” muttered a very irate Candi under her breath.
“I am as serious as a heart attack. Gio is currently thinking with his dick. With sex on his mind, he’s expecting a show. I suggest we give it to him.”
Returning from the restrooms without our jeans, we found the Italians ready to go, grinning from ear to ear. “You lead, we’ll follow,” I said to Gio, with a sudden disappointed look in his eyes. “You can’t see anything from the front or the back, I assured him. Come on, just drive, will you?”
Trying to figure the lengths I would go on a far too curvy road had to be one for the ages. At what speed do you set the throttle lock and still be able to maintain control through some of the lazy S curves and occasional switchbacks.
Candi leaned forward, clamping down with both hands on my shoulders, “We don’t have to do this, D, we can just pretend.”
“We could …we can … but we won’t.” I was suddenly indignant. “Candice, I expect you to do your part while I do mine.”
“But it’s … it’s daytime, D. Everybody that passes us will see what going on between us.”
“They might see something, Candi, but not much. Besides, even if they do, they won’t believe it.”
Forty miles per hour was my best guesstimate for a safe speed as Candi began to reluctantly recreate our late night Iowa cornfield highway adventure. Starting slowly, she kissed and nibbled each ear, before attacking my neck with a vengeance. Once again, wrapping me with both hands, she pushed me to the edge. Hesitating at first, to lock the throttle, my main objective was to keep us upright and on the road, before I concentrated on my co rider. Settling down into a slow rhythmic drive, I realized I could alternate hands as the road conditions warranted and still adequately service the girl who has entrusted me with her care.
Riding through each curve seemed to heighten Candi’s excitement, while not tightening her pucker string like they did mine. Just as I asked how she was doing, brake lights from the Italians appeared, along with a multitude of others, as I realized we had just run into a typical road construction day on the Beartooth.
Yippee, here I am in full tilt with Candi on the verge of another Big O and we’re about to come to a complete stop in a line of one lane traffic.
“Stay here,” I yelled to Gio, as I made an immediate U turn and headed back the way we came.
“Okay, ba
by!” I yelled over the engines roar, “It’s now or never.” Over the next 5 terror filled miles, we squirmed, rocked, tossed and twirled our way to a simultaneous release, set off by this one wicked curve that I went into, too hot and too fast. The sudden rush of adrenaline created by the fear of our imminent demise while catapulting over a 5000-foot bluff, took us jointly over the top. With our legs wobbling, our hearts palpitating, our throats the driest of dry, I had to pull over and stop on the side of the road, just to catch my breath.
“I can't believe you made me do this, but thank you non the less,” breathed Candi.
“Thank you,” I replied. “It’s time we redress our 'hot' mess and ride, baby, ride.”
“Cute,” said Candi, “now I have a poet to contend with,” while offering me a hug, a smile and a kiss while managing to unzip her chaps and wrestle her skinny jeans back on.
Within 10 minutes, we had made it back to the construction zone with no bikes or cars in sight.
The young, disheveled guy in the orange vest, directing traffic, motioned us on, saying “your friends said you would be coming through balls to the wall, so I’ve held back the oncoming traffic just for you.”
Just what did he mean by that? I contemplated, as I throttled down to catch up, while wondering what Gio had told him to cause him to wait. I bet it had something to do with sex.
Woo-hoo strikes again.
Waiting in a scenic view pull off were Mile and Gio, lips locked and loaded in a tight embrace. Sheepishly, Gio asked how it was and before I could answer, Candi replied in my stead, “Awesome, just awesome.”
“Mile is happy,” smiled Gio, “you teach me?”
“Sadly no,” I solemnly replied, “especially not on this road. I almost got us killed earlier.”
“But she is how you say ready?” Gio insisted, “I make sure while we wait for you.”
Sex is not safe when left in the hands of the 'horny.' I relented. Looking around I spied a stone wall roughly 50' off the roadway. Motioning for Gio and Mile to move in that direction, “I have an idea, hopefully, a safe one at that. Go over to the edge and sit on the granite retaining wall facing away. Hang on while I retrieve the accelerator.” Looking in my side bag, I scrounged up my small bottle of mouthwash.