The STANG Part 9

Chapter 9
 
“The function of muscle is to pull and not to push, except in the case of the genitals and the tongue.”
—Leonardo da Vinci
 
I hit the brakes, hard. Me and Mist heard a fwump in the trunk.
 
“He’s still there, H! Sunday supper on momma’s fine china! What if he don’t disappear like Ben did? What if the cops are looking for us? It’s not like we’re driving something that blends in! ShitshitshitshitSHIT!”
I didn’t answer. Mist hadn’t completely given in to the Stang. She was still thinking that our lives would somehow go back to normal after this adventure. I knew this was a one way trip. I kept driving, and five miles later I hit the brakes hard again. This time, no fwump from the trunk.
 
“See, baby girl? He ain’t there no more. Trust the Stang, honey bunch. Trust what we doin’.”
I could see my girl relax a little, but it was obvious that she was still as jittery as a tree’d coon on a midnight hunt. I pulled the bottle of Southern Comfort from the side of the bucket seat and handed it to her.
“Drink, bitch,” I said. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘till dawn, that’s where we goin’, yeah?” Misty took the bottle and gulped. “Easy, girl! Dang!”
I stole the bottle back and wet my own tongue: spiced orange, peach, cane sugar—lots and lots of cane sugar—and somethin’ else I can’t rightly describe, but damn if it don’t have the perfect name: Southern Comfort.
The sun was simmering just below the horizon, and the road was becoming visible in that ghostly, pale, pre-dawn light where everything looks shrouded and foggy and grey. We knew where we were, but at the same time we couldn’t be more lost. We needed sleep before the magnitude of what was goin’ on hit us like a hillbilly moonshine hangover.
The Stang’s blinkers suddenly went on, indicating a right hand turn, and I saw a lil’ ol’ dirt road up ahead to the right. I smiled and caressed the steering wheel with my fingertips, and felt a tiny tingle between my legs, like a kiss.
The road wound through some Sycamores out to a bullfrog pond. My momma once told me that Sycamores represent protection. I parked the Stang under the shade of a Sycamore facing the pond, and rolled the window down a bit so we could listen to the frogs singin’ their mornin’ halleluiahs. I looked over at Mist. She was already fast asleep…
****

Mist?
Where are we, H?
Dreamin’, I reckon.
Yours or mine?
Don’t know, Mist…
We were standing buck naked in the middle of the most beautiful road I’d ever seen, curtained on either side with blooming, pink peach trees, like a tunnel. White/pink petals were lazily drifting down, like angel feathers fallin’ from the sky, and the road seemed to go on forever in both directions. It was both cool and warm at the same time.

It’s beautiful, Heather! So beautiful!
Misty reached her arms out and started twirling and laughing like a little girl in a Christmas morning snowfall. She was so happy. I was so happy. I can’t recall ever being so happy.
A red dot appeared, way down the road. It started getting closer.
Can we stay here, H? Forever and ever? Can we, please? Oh, Heather, it’s just so beautiful!
I tried to focus my eyes on the red dot. I didn’t feel anything ominous or foreboding by it, just curiosity. It looked like a person walking.
Someone’s comin’, Mist...
It was a man, dressed in a red suit with a black tie. He was still too far away to see his features, but I started getting that warm, pulsating feeling deep inside my abdomen. I looked at Misty and she was staring at the approaching man. She put her hands on her abdomen and slowly slid them down between her legs.
The closer the man in the red suit got, the stronger the feeling got. I started to shiver, but not because I was cold. I heard Misty’s breathing change. I pushed my legs together and clenched my thighs. Lord have mercy, it was happening again.
I couldn’t make out the man in the red suit and black tie’s face, but I could tell he was grinning. Misty and I collapsed to the warm pavement as if our bones suddenly disappeared. We started writhing and thrusting as waves of quivering pleasure rippled through our bodies. I had to bite my lower lip because it was so intense I could barely stand it. Misty was moaning, almost crying out, her head whipping side to side. Peach petals were falling on our bare bodies like soft kisses, driving me damn near insane. I looked up, and there he was: the man in the red suit and black tie. His face was a blur, but he was standing right over us, hands casually in his pockets and head tilted just slightly in the most cocksure, confident stance.
Misty leaned up and wrapped her arms around his leg, gliding her hands upward along the inner seam of his pants. I leaned up and wrapped myself around his other leg. We both reached the seam of his crotch at the same time. He was so hard it felt like a steel bar beneath the fabric. I have never felt such overwhelming desperation for pleasure in my entire life.
The man in red pulled his hands out of his pockets and put them on top of our heads, and as soon as his fingers touched us, we both exploded. I screamed. Misty yelped. We fell backwards, gushing, coming all over the road…
****
 
Misty and I both snapped awake at the same time. The sun was up. We were drenched in sweat. We looked at each other, blinking, both disorientated. We were sitting in puddles of our own sweet liquor, and the car was perfumed with the smell of sex.
We both leaned down for the bottle of Southern Comfort at the same time, cracking our heads together. We started laughing hysterically, breaking the trance that we woke up in.
 
“Did you just dream about—”
“—Yup.”
“So we were there? Really there? My god, H. It was beautiful! It was like—”
Misty’s face suddenly went blank. I turned to see what it was she was lookin’ at. There was a man standing at my side window, staring at us. He was dressed in grubby coveralls, holding a fishing pole and wearing Beelzibub’s own smirk.
“Mornin’,” he said.
I started rolling the window up and the man put his hand on the top of the glass, holding it down.
“Now, ain’t that a bit rude, lil’ lady? I say mornin’ to y’all, an’ you go an’ shut yer winda’ on me. Tsk tsk tsk… Didn’t yer momma teach y’all any manners?”
I started feeling a tingle, only this time it had nothing to do with sex. It was alarm bells. We were out in the middle of nowhere, alone. This man was absolutely oozing danger. He looked like a backwoods wife-beater. I tried to roll the window up again, and he pressed harder on the top of the glass.
“Come on, now, don’t be like that. I’m just tryin’ to be friendly, s’all.”
He tried the door handle. It was locked.
“Now you come on out and be friendly, lil’ lady, or I’ll teach you the manners yer momma done forgot to teach ya’.”
Suddenly, the window shot upwards, severing the man’s fingers clean off at the knuckles. His fingers fell to the floor and he screamed. The Stang’s engine roared to life. The man fell over, cradling his bloody hand against his chest while screaming. The Stang squealed backwards. I was doing nothing. I wasn’t even touching the steering wheel. Misty was holding onto the dash for dear life. Her eyes were wide open and full of terror. The man pulled a boning knife out of his belt with his uninjured hand, and the Stang stopped. The gears shifted. It roared forward, spraying dirt behind in a fountain. The man screamed one last time as the Stang ploughed mercilessly over his body…