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My girlfriend is a lick-it-around-the-edges girl.” God, I might have to wake up Sandra the minute I got home, late or not. I grew unexpectedly warm at the words, especially the way Scott said them, with a seductive lilt that made me instantly think of a hot mouth sucking me off. “Well, the nice thing about getting a blow job from a man… he knows what feels good. “Except…” Scott added and I shifted my eyes over to see him with a half-smile and his gaze far away. I nodded, never having considered it like that. If it’s wet and slick, it’s all good, right?” I didn’t want Scott to get the idea that I was interested in him, even though he was awfully pretty, for a man. “I mean the sex,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the road. “The same as being straight, pretty much,” Scott said dryly. “So, what’s it like being gay?” I asked, and then felt like an idiot, because it seemed like a ridiculous question. “The things we do to make other people happy.” Not tonight, because it would be late when I got home, but probably tomorrow. I trailed off, thinking of Sandra and the nice hot sex I’d be having soon. Personally, I think it’s a load of crap, but if it makes her happy…” She told me this has some sort of protective qualities or something like that. I glanced at the teardrop-shaped crystal that reflected the waning light from the sunset. “I figured any man that has a crystal pendant hanging from his rear-view mirror couldn’t be a bigoted asshole.” I could have been one of those hate freaks.” “People do care, though, and not in a good way.” No, why should I care who you sleep with? It’s none of my business.” “Is that a problem?” Scott asked nervously, probably because I hadn’t said anything.
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Not that I expected them all to wear pink, and talk with lisping voices, and act like they were worried about breaking a nail, but… well, maybe I sort of did. I didn’t drive off the road, but I was surprised. “Boyfriend,” Scott admitted and looked at me challengingly. “Wife? Girlfriend? Both?” I prodded jokingly.
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I had a fight with…” He broke off, seeming embarrassed. “I’m going to stay with my mother for awhile. She’s pretty understanding of my constant traveling. Not too many people want chemical solvents or lubricant.” “If I worked for Budweiser or Frito Lay, people would be leaping at samples. “Giving away samples isn’t much fun,” I complained. I made small talk, explaining my job as an industrial chemical salesman, and gesturing at the sample containers in the back of the Tribeca. “I’m Roger,” I said as I throttled the car back up to speed. His features were handsome almost to the point of pretty, but he seemed muscular enough to defend himself, if necessary. He was well-dressed, in clean khakis and a red tee shirt. The blond man seemed to decide I was harmless, so he tossed his bag and jacket on the floorboard and climbed in. “Yeah, and the radio stations out here are shit. As a salesman, I was usually dead-on when assessing peoples’ character.
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He didn’t seem to be the serial killer type. He stuck his head in and we mutually evaluated each other’s danger factor. He jogged over to the car and opened the passenger door.
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I laughed at that, knowing hot chicks did not hitchhike these days, if they wanted to keep breathing.Īs expected, it was a man, although he was nearly good-looking enough to be a chick. I spotted a hitchhiker ahead and slowed a bit, hoping for a hot chick. “Gonna be a long drive,” I muttered as the radio found one staticky station after another. I was sick to death of country music and my CDs had achieved overplay status about a week ago. I took a swig of my cold soda and pressed the Scan button on the radio for the hundredth time. I’d be glad to leave Oklahoma behind-what a godawful state to drive through. Four hours to go, give or take a few minutes. I pulled back onto the highway and left the gas station behind.