Tuesday, November 08, 2005
I sit up a little straighter, with your arm still firmly around me, and try to catch sight of something that will give me a clue as to our whereabouts. There is an exit coming up, but all the sign says is the exit number, which tells me nothing because I don't even know which direction we're traveling in.
You signal that you're taking the exit, and slow down to leave the highway. I can see bright lights through the trees, so I am assuming you have seen a sign or something that indicated there would be coffee near this exit. We reach the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp, and I see it on the right - an old-fashioned diner, the sort that looks like an aluminum boxcar, with the windows all around. You pull into the parking lot and stop the engine. I sit up, preparing to get out of the truck when you tell me not to move.
I'm already in trouble, so I freeze where I sit, waiting until you give me the word that it is okay to get out.
You haven't parked in one of the convenient spaces facing the side of the diner. We are in the first space parallel to the windows, which strikes me as odd, but I imagine you have your reasons. You get out of the truck and come around to my side, standing between my door and the windows of the diner.
You open the door and unfasten my seat belt. You motion for me to get down from the seat, and as I do you move away from the door, exposing me to the diners.
"Turn around and put your hands on the seat," you command. Not here, I think. Please not here. Not in front of all these people. "No, wait. I think it will be more effective if I have you put your hands on the hood."
You lead me away from the door and close it, loudly. I place my hands on the hood of the truck, and close my eyes, waiting for whatever is about to happen. I feel you lifting my skirt, and turn my head, saying "Hey - " but I am stopped in mid-protest by the feeling of your hand connecting with my ass.
You signal that you're taking the exit, and slow down to leave the highway. I can see bright lights through the trees, so I am assuming you have seen a sign or something that indicated there would be coffee near this exit. We reach the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp, and I see it on the right - an old-fashioned diner, the sort that looks like an aluminum boxcar, with the windows all around. You pull into the parking lot and stop the engine. I sit up, preparing to get out of the truck when you tell me not to move.
I'm already in trouble, so I freeze where I sit, waiting until you give me the word that it is okay to get out.
You haven't parked in one of the convenient spaces facing the side of the diner. We are in the first space parallel to the windows, which strikes me as odd, but I imagine you have your reasons. You get out of the truck and come around to my side, standing between my door and the windows of the diner.
You open the door and unfasten my seat belt. You motion for me to get down from the seat, and as I do you move away from the door, exposing me to the diners.
"Turn around and put your hands on the seat," you command. Not here, I think. Please not here. Not in front of all these people. "No, wait. I think it will be more effective if I have you put your hands on the hood."
You lead me away from the door and close it, loudly. I place my hands on the hood of the truck, and close my eyes, waiting for whatever is about to happen. I feel you lifting my skirt, and turn my head, saying "Hey - " but I am stopped in mid-protest by the feeling of your hand connecting with my ass.
