Clark Schpiell Productions Save the Net
( privacy policy )
Danine, Part 7
by joseph   April 28, 2005

I can't get the door of the truck open. The parking lot's just about empty, except for Calvin's car and a couple of others. An overweight Indian guy plops into his car next to me. "Fucking something, huh?" he says.

"Sure is," I say, and he starts his car and takes off. I put my foot against the truck and pull. The door comes open and throws me backwards. I tumble a little and fall over, catching myself on my hand, which cuts against the gravel. I get up, blow some dust off my palm and look at the tiny pink streaks on my hand.

"You okay to drive, cowboy?" she asks me, and I turn and see her coming up behind the truck. She's got jeans on now, and regular shoes. She looks three inches shorter, but doesn't walk with that stiff, leaning-forward shuffle that she does in heels.

"I've driven worse," I say.

"I don't think that makes it any better. You look like you're gonna be sick," she says.

"Doubt it. Just haven't been getting much sleep lately, that's all. I'm fine."

She's got a duffel bag with her, and she's wearing a baggy sweatshirt that says University of Houston on it. Her hair is tied back with one of those scrunchy velvet things. She takes out a cigarette and looks at me; I reach into my pocket and pull out my lighter before I even know what I'm doing, like an instinct. I light it. "Good, 'cause I was wondering if you could maybe give me a ride to my hotel. Everyone else is dawdling, and I really need a shower, you know?"

"Sure. You want to get in?"

"I guess that'd be a start, yeah. Thanks," she says, and goes around to the passenger. I get in the cab, reach over and open the door.

"It only opens from the inside," I say.

"You mind if I smoke in here?" she says.

I laugh at that, and throw some trash from the front seat onto the floor. She jumps up and puts her duffel bag on her lap, stretches back in the seat and rubs at her legs.

"Goddamn, I hate that place sometimes."

"You come up here very often?"

"Been here a couple of times. It's as nice as anyplace, I guess." I pull out of the parking lot and at first, it's like I can hardly drive at all, but I roll down the window and breath deep and that sobers me up. "How old are you, Frank?"

"Almost thirty. Be thirty in seven months. Why?"

"No reason."

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Twenty-one. I'll be twenty-two in August. August 24. Too bad I won't be around, otherwise you could take me out, huh?" she says, rolling the window down and tossing the cigarette outside. I look in the rearview mirror and see it shatter into orange sparks on the road. "You married?"


"I kind of figured."


She laughs. "No."

We don't say much else the next few minutes. It doesn't take long to get to Lucy's Motel, a little dive that not many people went to now that there was the new Super 8 two miles west of town. Lucy's Motel's a little out of the way and can be hard to find, especially for tourists just coming through on the High Line, either heading out to Glacier Park or heading home. My old man was at Lucy's when he wasn't at home, which ran in cycles of about three or four months. He would sit outside his room and smoke cigarettes and drink a quart bottle of malt liquor, then when it got dark he'd go inside and watch the late-night talk shows on TV until he'd fall asleep. Now I hear he's somewhere in New Mexico, followed the road construction work down there, probably doing about the same thing.

Her room is 12, a couple doors down from Dad's. I pull up in front and she reaches into her pocket for the key. The hotel looks deserted. There's a couple of cars parked here and there, but all the lights are off, and weeds have grown up over most of the parking lot. "Home sweet home, huh?" I say.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks for the lift. Hey, you want to come in for a bit? I'm always really up after I get off work, and I can't stand just sitting there with the TV. But you're maybe tired."

I shake my head. "No, that would be great, yeah. Thanks."

"No, thank you. Really, there's never anything on this late, I just sit up and wait to fall asleep. The other girls, they never want to do anything. Party-poopers, you know" she says as she opens the door.

"I know the feeling." She steps down, reaches back in to grab her duffel and slams the door, walking up toward the door as I shut off the engine and get out of the truck.

There's mosquitoes everywhere, and we're both slapping at them as she fidgets with the door, and then she waves me in while it's still dark inside so that the bugs don't come swarming in. I step inside, and she closes the door. It's completely dark inside, and I feel the cotton of her sweatshirt pressed against my arm, and I listen to her breathing.

I hear a click, and the lights come on. She smiles and steps away from me. "I gotta take a shower, is that okay, you don't mind?"

"I didn't have any plans," I say.

"I'm not keeping you away from your wife?" she asks, walking over to the bathroom and flipping on the light.

"No . . . no, not really," I say. "It's fine."

"Okay, then, I'll be out in a bit." She steps inside and closes the door. It's humid in the room, and I turn on the air conditioner just to take some of the moisture out of the air. I turn on the TV and sit down on the bed. It sags when I sit on it, and lets out a slow creak.

The hotel doesn't have cable, and I flip through the stations getting nothing by static, so I turn it off. I hear the water turn off, and I hear her step out onto the floor. When she reappears, her hair's wet. She's wearing the same sweatshirt, and it covers down to the middle of her thighs. Below that, the water gleams off her bare legs. She reaches down and wipes at each with a towel.

"Did you go to University of Houston?" I ask.

"No. My sister's there now," she says. She turns around and looks in the mirror, lifts the towel and starts drying her hair. The sweatshirt raises a few inches, and I can see the line where her ass meets her leg. She absently reaches down and readjusts where the shirt falls on her shoulders, and covers it up. She turns around to look at me. "You don't say a whole lot, do you?"

"I do most of the time. I don't really know what to say to you," I say.

"Why's that?"

"Because you're just . . . very different from anyone I've ever known. I'm not sure what I can say that would interest you very much."

"That's sweet, I think," she says. She throws the towel into the bathroom and walks over to the bed and sits down next to me. "I actually find most everyone interesting. Most of all, you."

I keep thinking that I should get up, that I should leave. I don't know why I'm here, know that she couldn't want what I think. She couldn't want what I do. Maybe I'm being robbed, I think, and she's going to take my wallet. But I could just call Davidson, I think, and threaten to raise a stink. Besides, there's nothing in it, anyway. If that's what she's after, she's welcome to it. "I'm not really all that interesting. Really. You could talk."

"I know," she says. She lifts her hand and rests it on my shoulder, then giggles and lets her head drop onto her arm, and I can feel the weight, feel her start to lean into me. "But I just do not feel like talking. So we're stuck, huh?" Her fingers are stroking my neck, up and down. I don't say anything. She scoots herself closer to me, and then places her palm on my neck and runs her hand down toward my shoulder. Her hand slips beneath the collar of my shirt, and she reaches out and tickles my chest hair. "Hairy," she says.

"Not too much," I say.

She shakes her head. "No." She unbuttons the next button on my shirt and reaches in, lets her fingers brush across my nipple, then she moves her hand back up toward my neck. She scoots closer again and moves her legs apart, setting one behind me and the other arched over my lap. I reach out and run my hand along her leg real lightly. She jumps a little at first. "That tickles," she says, and I run my hand down her thigh. Her breath gets light as I move toward her crotch, and she closes her eyes and leans back a little, taking her hand off my chest. She leans back and sets her hands behind her on either side and lets her head fall back. Her hair almost touches the bed.

I turn my hand and move it up her shirt and place it on her stomach. The sweatshirt lifts up, and I can see her cunt, completely shaved. Her lips hang a little outside, and below that there's nothing but a tiny pinkish-brown crevice in her skin. The top of my hand brushes the rounded underside of her breasts, and she sucks in her breath and arches her back a little, moving herself closer to me. I cup her breast in my hand, and she squeezes her legs around me. I put my hand on her belly, reach my thumb down and touch her clit; she lets out a noise then, and I do, too, I think. I move my thumb in little circles, and she starts swaying her hips slowly towards me.

I turn my hand around and feel her slit with my finger. It's wet, and I push. I enter her, but the angle is awkward, and I can only get my finger in up to the second knuckle. I lean back a little, and shift to one side, which I need to do anyway because of my cock bent at an odd angle inside my jeans. She loosens her legs to let me move, and I push further and slide all the way in. My finger is hot, and that spreads all over me. The air-conditioner's still going, but I can't feel it; there are goosebumps rising on the fronts of her legs.

She starts swaying back and forth, and my finger slides in and out as she moves. She raises up a little on her arms and starts pushing down toward my hand with more and more force. I put two fingers in her, and she lifts her ass off the bed and starts sliding up and down on my hand. She isn't making any noise now; neither of us are. I'm suddenly aware of how quiet it is in the room, with nothing except the drone of the air conditioner fan. I work on sliding out of my boots while I'm sitting; I get one off when she falls back on the bed, and my fingers slide out of her. She arches her back and pulls her sweatshirt off over her head. Lying on her back, her breasts spill some to each side.

She gets up, reaches over and turns the fan off. "That's cold," she says, then she looks down at my feet, sits down on the floor and pulls off my other boot. She looks up at me and smiles, reaches up toward my crotch and rubs my cock through the denim. She gets up on her knees and unbuttons and unzips my pants. She puts her hands on my belt loop. "Come on, now." I lift myself up and push my jeans and underwear down to my feet, where she pulls them off and drops them to the floor. She gets back up, leaning in close to me, and one of her breasts brushes against my cock. She reaches down and grabs it in her hand and squeezes a little, playfully. She looks up at me and smiles, then puts her right leg up on the bed and pushes me down by the shoulders.

She climbs up on top of me and sets herself down slowly. I moan as I start to enter her. She reaches down with her hand and adjusts her lips, then swivels her hips back and forth as she lowers herself, until her thighs are touching my pelvis. She reaches out and puts her hands on my shoulders, and I grab onto her hips. She moans a little. "Yeah, hold onto my hips, grab my hips," she says.

She sets her hands on the bed on either side of me and lowers herself close to me, so that I can feel the tips of her breasts brush against my chest as she moves up and down on top of me. She closes her eyes and turns her head, and her hair falls into my face. I can smell her shampoo, something fruity, and there's something else, like almonds, that comes off from her body.

There's no sound in the room. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and when I cup and lift one of her breasts she shudders a bit, but otherwise she doesn't make a sound the whole time. I don't last long, and when I come she feels the first spasm and lets out a sharp breath, then as the others follow, she exhales slowly and settles herself down onto my chest. Her hair spills all over my face, and I stare up at the light coming through it. There are cracks all over the ceiling. I can feel her breathing. I run my hand along the small of her back and up her spine, up to between her shoulder blades.

I feel something in my finger that feels like I've been stabbed with a pin. A sharp pain goes through my hand, and I jump a little and pull my hand back from her. She opens her eyes and pushes herself up. I can feel myself starting to go limp inside of her.

"You okay?" she asks.

I nod. The pain is already gone, mostly. I look at my finger: two small pinholes, about a half-inch apart, each one oozing a thin trickle of blood. I hold it up to show her, but that's when we hear it, the sound of a key turning in the lock. She starts and jumps up off of me, reaching for her sweatshirt. I sit up and reach down for my pants, and I get them in my hands and around my ankles when the door swings open. I see Calvin's face, pale and backlit from a pair of headlights. Only now do I hear the sound of his car idling.

Jump To: PREVIOUS :: NEXT :: Danine Home

email this page to a friend

buy we and gwb notes from the first four years today

home :: archive :: links :: about :: contact :: store


Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

all original content ©Clark Schpiell Productions, ©David Nett, ©Christopher Nett, ©Christopher Martinsen, ©Jeremy Groce, ©Jason Groce, ©Chad Schnaible, ©Rick Robinson, ©Eli Chartkoff, ©Thorin Alexander, ©Craig Bridger, ©Michelle Magoffin, or ©Jeanette Scherrer.
all non-original content ©original authors.