Whips and Chanis

by Celeste Fall

  Wrapped in fluffy white hotel robes, the two ate a hearty breakfast. Then Jamie asked her what she wanted to do with the day.

  “Don’t you have a class?” Tracie asked him.

  “I am officially at your disposal,” Jamie answered.

  “Then I know exactly how I want to spend my day,” Tracie announced. “What time do we have to be out of here?”

  “Not for hours,” Jamie replied. “I just put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ Sign sign on the door.”

  “Then, you can proceed any time,” Tracie said.

  “You’re lucky I am at my sexual prime and can meet your needs,” Jamie pointed out.

  “Yes, I am,” Tracie agreed, reaching for him.

  Chapter Four: Love at First SightWhatever It Takes

  When people talked about being “swept off their feet” and “love at first sight,” practical Tracie Rutherford scoffed outright. For her, there was no poetry and candlelight and violin music. She’d devoted her entire miserable life to escaping the abject poverty of her situation.

  Her life had been one struggle after another. The fifth child of seven, she saw what it meant to wear hand hand-me me-downs that had been patched over patches. She knew what it felt like to endure hanger hunger pangs because fried bread was all that was available for breakfast, and her lunch consisted of apples from the tree behind their three-bedroom cabin and leftover breakfast bread—if such a thing existed. Her parents worked from dawn to dusk to scrabble crops from the poor, sandy soil that surrounded their house. By the time they paid the rent on the property, there was precious little to buy flour, sugar, and seeds for the next crop.

  As a child, Tracie didn’t feel resentful. None of the other kids in the one-room school the Rutherford kids attended had anything either. But Tracie had one thing the others did not have: The strikingly beautiful little girl had a burning desire to escape the poverty in which she’d grown up. As she watched her older sisters and brothers marry and sink into the same hopeless existence her parents lived, she vowed that she’d make something of herself. She’d get out of Skunk’s Hollow and never look back.

  Besides being beautiful, Tracie Rutherford had smarts. She was book smart and she was street smart. She avoided the boys of Skunk’s Hollow and the surrounding communities like the plague. Though they sniffed around her like dogs in heat, Tracie was not about to jeopardize her escape plan by lying with any of them. Sex with those boys could end in only one thing: a life of hard work, starvation, and popping out a kid every year until mercifully, menopause took care of that or her reproductive system just collapsed. She’d seen what happened to her mother and the other neighbor ladies: dull-eyed, toothless creatures who looked twenty years older than their actual age. Tracie was not about to fall into that trap.

  So Tracie developed a reputation for being uppity, a cock tease, someone who thought she was better than everybody else. This only intensified the male interest in getting into her pants. Tracie’s high school years at nearby Alabaster High were marked by scuffles in the stairwells, where her classmates tried to grope her, and skirmishes behind closed classroom doors, where the randy PE teacher attempted to cop a feel, under the guise of helping her explore her sexuality.

  Exhausted by fending off these unwanted advances, Tracie sought the help of her guidance counselor, a world-weary sixty-year-old named Miss Amanda Aimes. Her meeting with Amanda Miss Aimes was the luckiest thing that happened to the sixteen sixteen-year year-old. It was no accident that the red-haired, green-eyed woman had chosen guidance. Herself a product of the dirt-farm existence in lower Alabama, Amanda Aimes had used her academic ability to escape the cycle of misery she saw in her community. Having endured the snide comments, sexual assaults, and physical abuse of her family and neighbors, Amanda had been befriended by her high school guidance teacher.

  Lydia Percy took Amanda under her wing. She helped her apply for scholarships and assisted her with settling in at Emory, where she got a teaching degree. Although Amanda had vowed never to return to southern Alabama, when the guidance position came up at Alabaster, Amanda took it as a sign that she should “pay it forward.” To that end, she had been helping people like Tracie escape their past for thirty years now.

  When Tracie secured a full scholarship to the University of Georgia, just outside Atlanta, she was the happiest girl in the world. She loved the fact that this flagship college touting itself as the birthplace of higher education was not in a big city. She vowed she’d make Amanda Miss Aimes proud of her. With money given to her by the guidance staff, she bought a one-way bus ticket to Athens, Georgia.

  Tracie—who’d hardly ever been outside Alabaster and Skunk’s Hollow—fell immediately in love with this university town an hour northeast of Atlanta. With a population of over a hundred thousand, this sixth sixth-largest Georgia city had the feel of a large town. The University of Georgia was literally a town within a town. Tracie also liked the sense of history of the campus.

  Its first buildings had actually been made from logs. Lots around the campus were sold in the early 1800s to raise money to build more university buildings. When the first class graduated in 1804, the town of Athens had only three homes, three stores, and a few other buildings on Front Street. This street was later renamed Broad Street. Franklin College, completed in 1806, was the University of Georgia's first permanent structure. This brick building—named in honor of Ben Franklin, —was still standing and called Old College. As she walked through the campus grounds, Tracie felt like she belonged here, that she was a part of an American heritage.

  She silently blessed Miss Aimes for giving her this opportunity. And she made a pledge that she would do her best to make this precious gift pay off. Tracie studied campus maps eagerly, familiarizing herself with the bookstore, her dorm building, and the buildings where her classes would be held. She took the self-guided campus tour, made a trip to the UGA Visitors’ Center, and checked the UGA Master Calendar to see what events were happening on campus each day. She was grateful that Miss Aimes had suggested she arrive a week earlier than registration so she had a feel for her surroundings before the crowds started to descend.

  When the first day of classes rolled around, Tracie was armed with textbooks, a tablet, and UGA sweatshirts. As she headed across campus with her UGA backpack slung over her shoulder, she felt like a college student.

  “Let the adventure begin,” she cried, throwing her arms into the sultry, southern, subtropical air.

  She had no idea what adventures awaited her.

  Chapter Five: Cocktails at Eight

  Somehow, it had never occurred to Tracie that Jamie’s family was wealthy. Sure, they’d bought him a car for graduation. He had money for fine dining, concerts, and sporting events. But he’d explained that his summers were spent working at his dad’s company and that’s why he had more disposable income than his friends. Otherwise, Jamie dressed and acted like all the other guys at college.

  She donned the boring outfit Avril had left for her to wear to her meeting with Lottie Chambers and finished the last touches on her makeup. In preparation for this important outing, Tracie recalled her first meeting with Jamie’s parents.

  When he pulled up in the driveway of what Tracie could only call a mansion, a valet opened the door of Jamie’s blue sports car. There were at least a dozen high-end luxury cars and limousines parked in the huge circular stone driveway.

  Tracie’s heart dropped. So much for a low-key dinner with his parents, she thought in dismay. What have I gotten myself into?

  In an instant, Tracie understood why Jamie had taken her shopping for a cocktail dress and matching shoes. “We can slip in this door and get changed first,” Jamie announced.

  Speechless, Tracie followed him. “Don’t worry,” Jamie said, straightening his tie. “They’ll love you.”

  As they descended the stairs, a statuesque brunette broke away from the group and eyed Tracie’s figure-clinging iridescent blue gown with a steely gaze. “You must be Tracie,” s
he said, extending a clawlike manicured hand. “I’m Marilyn Spellman.” Without missing a beat, she kissed her son and said, “Jamie, get the girl a drink and introduce her to our friends.” Then, she was gone.

  “You must be the little trollop that’s got Marilyn’s knickers in a knot,” boomed a loud, raspy voice. “I’m Lottie Chambers and I am amused to meet you! Anyone who causes Marilyn’s panties to bunch is an instant friend of mine.”

  Tracie watched as the large woman, clad in purple suede and matching hand-tooled cowboy boots, grasped Jamie in a bear hug. “Sugar, you’ve been away from us far too long,” she crooned.

  “Lottie, you look marvelous,” said Jamie. “Are those new boots?” he asked, inspecting Lottie’s silver-heeled leather boots with the silver spurs and toe caps.

  Lottie did a little boot-scooting boogie, admiring her footwear as she did so. “Finest boots made in New Mexico,” she confirmed. “That’s where all the rich Texans go.”

  Lottie is surprisingly light on her feet for such a substantial woman who’d never see seventy again, Tracie thought. But what a strange guest to have been included on the Spellmans’ cocktail party guest list. She knew there was an interesting story there. She’d ask Jamie later. Who was she to judge others?

  An elegant woman in a couture gown and dazzling jewelry approached. “Now, Lottie,” she chided. “Don’t be monopolizing the attention of my favorite grandson. Hello, sweet thing,” she said, kissing Jamie.

  “I’m your only grandson, Grandma,” Jamie said, giving the woman a hug, “Tracie, please say hello to my grandmother, Audra Spellman.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Spellman,” Tracie said, curtsying.

  “Oh, Jamie,” Audra said, “she is a delight.” Turning her attention to Tracie, she said, “Call me Audra, dear.”

  “Your dress is stunning Mrs.—Audra,” murmured Tracie.

  “And Lottie’s boots?” asked Audra with a twinkle in her eye. “What do you think of them?”

  “They are truly… astounding,” Tracie remarked.

  With a delighted laugh, Audra slapped her grandson on the back. “She’ll do just fine, son,” Audra pronounced. “Just don’t let your mother destroy her.”

  Audra’s caution had been accurate. It was hate at first sight, Tracie remembered. There was nothing she could do to please Marilyn Spellman. She wasn’t from the right family. She didn’t come from money, and she didn’t speak correctly or dress appropriately or even play the right games. Tracie had the distinct impression that Marilyn Spellman had Jamie’s bride all lined up and that Tracie’s presence was inconvenient and unfortunate.

  Tracie surveyed herself in the mirror. When did I become a Marilyn Spellman clone? she wondered as she examined her perfect hair, styled at Marilyn’s salon, and her prim business suit, created by Marilyn’s favorite designer. Even her purse and shoes came from Marilyn’s favorite shop.

  In trying to please my husband, have I sold my soul? she mused.

  She took a quick look at the rose tattoo that peeked timidly from her bra. When she’d admired Jamie’s tattooed chest and buttocks, he insisted she needed to consider body art too. She was squeamish about pain, but she’d agreed to get one just to please Jamie.

  What else am I going to have to do to keep my handsome husband? she thought.

  She was soon to have an answer to that question.

  Chapter Six: Easy Rider

  A loud roaring noise, like a jet landing, brought Tracie from the back of the house where she was gardening. In their driveway, a huge motorcycle idled with a leather-clad person astride. When the visor of the helmet flipped up, she realized it was Jamie. He looked lethal, cradling that machine between his legs.

  “Hop on!” he invited with a flourish.

  “Are you kidding?” she asked. “I’m in my gardening clothes. I can’t go for a ride looking like this,” she said, eyeing her short, ripped denim shorts and her skimpy bikini top.

  “I’d be the envy of the neighborhood if you did,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I was sort of hoping you’d break out that leather bustier and those thigh-high boots for your first ride on your new machine.”

  “My machine?” Tracie asked.

  “Well, I figured if you ever got tired of the machine between my legs, there’d be another one to take its place.”

  “I’ll go and change into something sensible for risking my life on the open road,” Tracie commented drily. “Whose bike is this anyhow?”

  “It’s yours,” he replied. “If you like it, we’ll get a pair of them and tour the country. This isn’t just a bike,” he added. “It’s a Yamaha Star Venture touring bike. It comes with an all-new hybrid steel frame with an aluminum sub-frame. The 113-cubic-foot air-cooled V-twin engine is tuned with twin counter balancers. It’s engineered to provide a smooth, comfortable ride on any road surface.”

  When Tracie rolled her eyes, Jamie laughed and said, “Okay. It’s a guy thing.”

  “I was just going to say it’s a killer red, and I love the seatback backrest behind the second rider.”

  “So are you ready?” Jamie asked.

  “Okay,” Tracie said, taking a deep breath. “But don’t get your heart set on twin bikes. I think I’d like to tour the country from the safety of the back seat, clutching you for dear life.”

  “You are such a sweet talker,” Jamie said, hugging her. “Now, let’s go,” he said, giving her behind a playful smack. “Daylight is wasting.”

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Not nearly as enticing as you would wearing that bustier. But a lot safer … I guess. Ready for the open road?” Jamie asked when Tracie had reappeared wearing jeans, boots, and a leather jacket.

  Jamie leaped onto the bike like he’d been doing it for years. Tracie climbed aboard more gingerly. Then she slid ahead until her crotch was nestled against Jamie’s taut butt and wrapped her arms around his lean waist.

  “I’m beginning to see the appeal of this thing,” she said through the microphone on her helmet. She gave her hips another wiggle and hugged him closer. Jamie’s penis immediately hardened.

  With a flourish of dust and stones, they were off. The bike did indeed ride smoother than Tracie had expected.

  Before long, they had entered the freeway, and Jamie opened up the throttle. Over his shoulder, Tracie could see that they were going nearly a hundred miles an hour.

  “If you ever hope to get me back onto this bike, you’ll slow down,” she warned.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Jamie asked.

  They were whistling by cars and trucks so fast the vehicles seemed to blur. Tracie got to experience the Doppler Effect effect up close. Tracie felt like nothing lay between her and the road. It was at the same time a frightening and exhilarating feeling.

  After an hour, Jamie pulled the bike onto a scenic overlook. The road seemed to drop away into a deep gully. At the bottom, sheep and cattle grazed, oblivious to the traffic above them. Jamie put the bike on its kickstand, and together, they raced to the shade of a live oak tree.

  “I must confess,” Tracie said, “all that throbbing between my legs is a huge turn turn-on. I think I may have come in my pants.”

  “Well, we need to check that out,” Jamie said as he undressed her. “I can’t have you frustrated. It would spoil your ride.”

  In no time, they had stripped each other. The fresh air and the pounding of the engine had been exquisite foreplay. They fell on each other and had instant, rough sex.

  Spent, they talked about Jamie’s motorcycle dreams. “I’ve always wanted to travel the Million Dollar Highway,” he admitted.

  “Why do they call it that?” Tracie asked. “Is it because it cost a million dollars?”

  “Closer than you think,” Jamie agreed. “The stretch of road got its name from the high cost of construction. Builders had to literally cut the road through the treacherous Red Mountain Pass between Ouray and Silverton. The time to complete it was significant.”

&nb
sp; “Is that the only reason?” Tracie asked.

  “Well, another story goes that Million Dollar Highway comes from the gold and silver deposits that still lie buried beneath the highway,” Jamie added.

  “So, if we decided to do this trip, where would be start?”

  Jamie pulled out his phone and located a map showing the route. “One of my buddies did this last year,” he told Tracie.

  They both bent over the phone. “He started at Durango first thing in the morning, just as the sun was rising. He aimed his BMW R1100RT north toward Silverton. Since he’d been riding over a lot of flat land to get there, he had to shift his thinking from flat, straight desert and prairie roads as he crossed into Colorado. He was now on extremely twisty mountain road. He said it was easy to get distracted by the beautiful alpine scenery.”

  “That sounds nice,” Tracie said. “I could get used to steep, winding roads,” she crooned, blowing in Jamie’s ear.