The Mother Road

  “How is this going to work? Do we sit here like this?”

  I hold in a giggle as he sits cross legged, knees at eye level, clearly not flexible at all, despite the yoga he claims to do every morning.

  “We lay down facing the screen and use the pillows to prop our heads up. Have you never watched a movie before?”

  “You don’t always have to be a smart ass. You can hurt people’s feelings, you know?” His sentiment is light, but for some reason, I feel like he’s not kidding.

  “Hey, did I insult you back there about not wanting you to watch the movie up here with me?”

  “Please, I’m not a girl.”

  Not looking at me, he adjusts his pillow, tosses the food in the very front of his pillow and lays down on his stomach. His back muscles ripple under his movements, his butt is tight and tapered, and it’s taking everything inside of me not to rip his pants down and bite his ass.

  That’s a weird comment, I know. I’m not an ass eater or anything like that. The anus is not something I dabble in, I’m sure to some people, taking a dip in the black hole can be pleasing to them, but I keep my distance. It just seems like I don’t want to stick my mouth near something that excretes broken down sloppy joe meat and corn.

  But, if I had to bite the cheek of a butt, like it was a bun fresh out of the oven, I would flick it, lick it, and bite the hell out of it!

  “Are you going to lay down or just stare at my ass all night?”

  I tear my eyes away from him and huff. “I wasn’t staring at your ass, I was…” What was I doing? I just love it when my mind goes blank in times like this, doesn’t make me look like an idiot at all. “Umm…why are you wearing Abercrombie sweatpants?”

  Good one.

  Nonchalantly, he shrugs. “Some girl gave them to me.”

  Huh, some girl. As if that answer means nothing. I know I shouldn’t technically care, but WHO THE HELL is this girl?

  I grit my teeth and try not to let the inner beast in me spring free. “Some girl, huh? That’s…nice.”

  I flop on my stomach and clutch my pillow to my chest. Next to me, Porter chuckles and drapes a blanket over us.

  “Chill out, Brutus. Savannah got them for me as a birthday gift. I don’t care for fancy brand name things, but hell, they’re comfortable.”

  Stupid Savannah! I should have known. She’s a Hollister whore and dabbles in the Abercrombie whenever she gets the chance.

  “Whatever, I don’t care.” I don’t even believe me.

  “You’re so stubborn, you know that?” Porter wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side…his warm, firm side.

  The movie is of no interest to me right now, not with Porter pressing himself against my hip and staring down at me with those dark brown eyes. Wanting to see more of him, I grab the brim of his hat and rotate it to the back of his head, so he’s wearing it backwards. His eyes sparkle under the flashing of the movie screen and I withhold the satisfied sigh that wants to pass over me.

  “I’m not stubborn.”

  “Is that right?” he lowers his head as I twist my body so my back is on the roof and Porter is hovering over me. “I’m going to challenge that comment. You’re most definitely the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I play with his hat again and ask, “Why do you always wear this hat? Ever since I can remember, you’ve had it. It fits you better now than when you were young.”

  He gives me a pensive look. “You don’t remember who gave me this hat?”

  I shake my head. “No, who gave it to you?”

  Looking up to the sky temporarily, he says, “Your mom. She gave it to me the day after I introduced myself to your family. She told me she saw it in the store and thought I would need a hat while playing outside with Paul. It was big at the time, but I grew into it.”

  Tears form in my eyes from his sentiment. He bites his lip as he stares down at me, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me like I so desperately want him to. I know there are people around us and my dad and Paul are right below us, but I want nothing more than to get lost in Porter.

  His hold keeps me warm, his smile makes every nerve ending in my body tingle, and the way he observes me has my stomach tied in knots, wondering, just wondering if he will fulfill my every fantasy.

  Gently, Porter pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, which was blown by the light night breeze. In the background, the heavy action flick plays, but all I can focus on is the man holding on to me.

  “You smell like strawberries. It makes me want to cuddle your ass all day.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that,” I answer honestly.

  He licks his lips and I think this is it, he’s going to kiss me, but he never moves forward; he stays where he is, torturing me.

  “What’s your hesitation?” I ask, not understanding why we’re not making out.

  Having Porter’s tongue down my throat seems like a really good idea, now if only he would jump on board.

  Not answering me, he strokes his thumb against my bottom lip. I want to suck his thumb into my mouth, I want to do nasty things to that phalange. Treat it like it’s my submissive, tie it up, stroke it, lick it, and nibble on it until he can’t take the thumb torture anymore.

  “Remember when I used to come over for dinner on Friday nights? You would make Sloppy Joes, enough to feed an army.”

  “I do,” I respond, confused by his reminiscing.

  “I walked in on you making Sloppy Joes once. You had the music blaring and you were twirling in one of your dad’s shirts, wooden spoon in hand, and hair piled on top of your head. You were wearing a pair of pajama pants that had giant rubber duckies on them.”

  I cringe from the horrendous fashion statement I was making at the time.

  Lovingly, Porter eases the furrow in my brow with his hand. “I watched you for at least five minutes, fascinated with the way you had not a care in the world. If you saw me, I’m sure you would have kept dancing. You were so free back then, the world was at your feet. You were just starting to find yourself. I was envious of you.”

  “Because I was dancing with a wooden spoon?”

  “No,” he laughs. “Because you could do anything you wanted.”

  “You could too,” I answer. “You didn’t have to stay in Jamestown.”

  He shakes his head no while he looks out at the screen, torment in his eyes. “No, I couldn’t leave. My dad, even though he was an alcoholic, needed me. I couldn’t just leave him, and it’s not like I had the best grades ever to go to college either. I didn’t have options like you did. I learned how to farm, and I stuck with that.”

  “You could have joined the Army with Paul.”

  “No, I had to take care of my dad.”

  “But why? He was a dick to you all your life. Why would you need to take care of him?”

  “Because he was sick, Marley.” Porter’s voice raises and I immediately regret bringing up the topic. “No matter what he did to me growing up, I just couldn’t leave him to die alone.”

  Porter pulls away, cups the pillow under his chest, and rests his chin on his arms as he studies the screen in front of him. The light bounces off his features and I wonder how I can get back the moment we just lost, the one where he was looking into my eyes, as if I was the cure to all his problems.

  Porter was right when he called me stubborn. Having to apologize and admit that I messed up is hard, harder for me more than anyone because I’ve spent my entire life with Paul, the know it all. I’ve researched and studied things just so I could say I was right in front of him. Declaring I’m wrong has never been an easy feat for me. Right now, with Porter, it’s just as hard.

  I swallow hard and touch his back, gently rubbing circles with my fingers across his shoulder blade. “I’m sorry, Porter. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I’m just lucky to have loving parents; I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not be treated fairly by your own. I guess I would be bit
ter if I was in your situation, bitter toward my dad, that is.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” His voice is gruff, no longer loving or carefree.

  I don’t know how to approach him right now, he’s closed off, clearly not wanting to talk anymore. A ball tightens in my throat as I realize I ruined the night for us. Instead of trying to talk to him some more, I grab my pillow and rest on it as well, trying to pay attention to the movie, but it’s no use. I am completely distracted by the conversation I just shared with Porter. I’m running every mistake over in my head, trying to think about how I could have handled it differently, wishing I handled it differently.

  Watching Arnold Schwarzenegger rip a little punk’s heart out just isn’t as enjoyable as I thought it would be, and I know it’s because I can feel the tension that has risen between me and Porter.

  I want to cry; the temptation is real, but I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t cry over men, especially ones that I grew up with. Actually, that’s a lie, I cried for days after Porter humiliated me. But that was the only time, any other man I’ve come in contact with has never emotionally devastated me like Porter. Honestly, none have even come close, even when they broke up with me. It was just another relationship down the drain; with Porter, it was different. I always wanted to make him happy.

  Oh God, I can feel my throat start to clog up, my eyes begin to burn. This is not happening. I’m not crying over this stupid conversation we had. I wish I could blame this on a red dot special, but it’s not even close to that time of the month for me.

  Food! Food will prevent me from crying. People can’t cry and eat at the same time. Even though my stomach is tied in knots, I’m going to force feed myself so I don’t cry. It’s the only way.

  Reaching in front of us, I grab the popcorn, rip open the bag, and start shoveling handfuls of Smartfood into my mouth. I’m double fisting it, scoop after scoop I’m stuffing my mouth, praying I don’t choke as kernels fly all around me. Porter looks over at me as I cram more popcorn in my mouth. He raises an eyebrow from my chipmunk cheeks full of popcorn. His brown eyes scorch me under his glare, suffice it to say, the popcorn packing idea has failed and my eyes water up.

  Noticing the waterworks starting to flare, Porter turns on his side so his arm is holding him up and he says, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  With a mouth full of popcorn, I answer him. “I sworry. I bibn’t meant ta hwrt you.” A sob racks my body, causing me to blow out a puff of air, projecting the popcorn in my mouth straight past my lips and on to Porter’s face.

  I clasp my hands over my face in mortification as I watch half chewed up popcorn flakes drip off of Porter’s face while kernels hang from his beard.

  I swallow quickly and grab a napkin to clean him off.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” I quickly wipe his face, humiliated, wanting to punt myself off the RV and into the movie screen.

  He lays there stunned for a second before he starts laughing. His bellow of a laugh is contagious, and soon, I find myself joining in, enjoying the way his laugh ignites a spark in my body.

  As we clean off the kernels, we continue to chuckle until our blanket is free of half chewed up popcorn. Porter lifts my chin and forces me to make eye contact. “No need to be sorry, Marbles. It’s just a sensitive topic for me. Do I wish I could have done something else in my life? Yes, but it wasn’t in the cards for me. At least I have your family in my life that I can rely on.”

  “I’m still sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He rubs his thumb across my tear-streaked face. “Don’t cry over things like me, Marley. I’m not worth your tears.”

  I’m taken aback. He’s not worth my tears? Doesn’t he get it? He’s the only one worth my tears, the only one I’ve ever cared about. How can he not see that?

  “Porter, you’re the only one worth crying over.”

  His eyes soften and his hand cups my face. Just like I wanted when we first came up on the roof, Porter pulls me in close and presses his lips against mine. With his strong hands, he grabs my body and maneuvers it so he’s on top of me, straddling my face with his arms. His fingers run through my hair while his lips work mine. His beard rubs against my soft skin, but I welcome the rough burn; I crave it.

  Needing to touch him, I find the hem of his shirt and pull it up slightly so I can touch his skin. He startles from my cold fingers, but quickly goes back to kissing me once he’s become accustomed to my touch. His tongue runs across my lips, asking for entrance. Giving him what he wants, I open my mouth and his lips collides deeper with mine, our tongues dancing together, heat warming both of our bodies.

  Through his sweatpants, I can feel his arousal, his need for me. I never thought I would be in a position like this with Porter, but I am and it has me breaking into a million pieces, melting into his soul and becoming one.

  When Porter’s lips are on mine, his hands delicately stroking my face and hair, I feel like I’m breathing for the very first time, experiencing the thrill of oxygen. My chest expands with each kiss, my lungs burn with need, wanting more. I never want to let him go.

  My hands wander down to his waistline where they collide with his boxer briefs. Feeling frisky, I fan my fingers under the elastic band and play with the top of his perfect butt. He groans in my mouth as my fingers inch lower.

  Before I can reach the bottom of his butt to cup it, he pulls away. His hat is barely hanging on his head, his breath is heavy, and his eyes are full of lust. “We can’t do this with your dad and brother right below us.”

  Disappointment falls over me as I think about how right he is. We are in the middle of a drive in movie theater. Our RV might be parked in the back row, but we are still surrounded by people, people like my brother and dad who would probably decapitate Porter and then rip his dick off to only replace it with his head.

  But, I want him. I give him the once over, taking in his disheveled look and his obvious arousal. I want to see what I can do to him, I want to see if I can pleasure him the way I’ve always dreamed of. So, I slide to the front of the RV to see what my dad and Paul are doing.

  Secretly, I look over the front to see my dad passed out in his chair, head back and mouth open, snoring up a storm. And, like father, like son, Paul’s head is pressed against my dad’s shoulder, sleeping away.

  “What are you doing?” Porter asks, trying to adjust himself.

  I crawl back over to him and press my hand against his chest so he’s forced to lay down.

  “Marley, not here.”

  I place my finger over his mouth to quiet him. “Paul and my dad are snoring up a choir of bedtime lullabies down below.”

  “Still…”

  Not listening to him, I straddle his legs and watch as his eyes widen. His hat is off to the side and I remind myself not to forget it after we’re done, I would hate for him to lose it, since it’s such a staple in his wardrobe.

  Looking around real quick to make sure no one is watching us, I lean down and run my hands under his shirt, pushing it up while I lower my body on his. His muscles ripple under my touch; with each press of my finger, I feel him quiver under me.

  Starting at his neck, I kiss my way up to his jaw, pressing light kisses on his beard until I reach his lips. I slip my tongue inside his mouth and I bask in the feel of his hands gliding across my back and down to my ass, where he cups it with ease.

  The attraction is heavy between us, our hands are frantic as we explore each other’s bodies, memorizing each curve and contour, realizing we’ve both grown into adults and our bodies have changed. Porter, the once slim farm boy is now a rugged, strapping man who I feel like could lift ten logs at the same time if you asked him. And me, with my curves and bendy yoga body I’ve worked tiresomely over.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he admits while I kiss his lips.

  “Good,” I smile, starting to lower myself.

  Instantly, he knows what I’m up to and grips my shoulders to stop me.

 
“What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Taking what I want.”

  I slip out of his grasp and kiss his exposed chest, licking his nipples a few times, loving the way it makes his body tense, and then I run my mouth down his defined abs to the waistband of his boxers and sweats. I look up at him, his eyes are heavy, his chest is rapidly falling up and down and his hands are dangerously gripping the blanket underneath us.

  Warming my hands before I make a move, I blow on them and then grab the waistbands of his clothes and pull them down, exposing his erection.

  Let’s pause for a second. I know, you want to shoot me, right? I just think we need to take a second to talk penis.

  I’m not a virgin, that’s evident in the way that I’ve practically attacked Porter, and I’ve been around a few penises. I’ve seen small ones, little elbow macs that try to shove their way through your special place. And I’ve seen large cocks, ones that you wonder if they’re really appendages or if they are there to slay your loins out on the bed.

  But this penis, the one that belongs to Porter, it’s different. Not in a bad way, but in the best way possible. He’s big, he has girth and it curves up just a little, which I know will only benefit me in the long run. Hands down, best penis I’ve ever seen.

  “Staring isn’t polite,” Porter teases me.

  “Right.” I look up at him and smile. “I guess this changes our friendship just a little.”

  He chuckles and tilts his head to the side as he looks me in the eyes. “Pretty sure we altered our friendship the minute I ate you out this morning.”

  “Porter!” I hiss at him from his vulgarity. “God, don’t say that.”

  His chest rumbles as he laughs, making him that much sexier.

  “Sorry, baby.”

  And right there, I melt in half, turning into a puddle of liquid obsession over Porter Smith. I thought it was his eyes, maybe his body, or the stupid dimples that pop through his beard on occasion that would get me, toil me over the edge into pure infatuation. It could have even been his prideful penis, but nope, it was him calling me baby, a term of endearment that never affected me until seconds before.