Friday, February 17, 2006
"This time I'll drive." You take me to the passenger side of the truck and open the door for me. You remove the leash you had replaced when I got to the edge of the clearing, and close the door.
When you climb in on the driver's side, you make certain I'm firmly strapped in the seat belt and that I haven't squirmed enough to bring my skirt down from around my waist, where you lifted it as I got into my seat.
Because of the position we were in, you had to back the truck the entire way down to the highway. "This is why I'm driving." "And I'm delighted that you are. I couldn't do it. I'd be too scared of hitting something or going off the road."
You smile as you manouver us backwards down the road. We finally reach a spot where there is enough room to turn around, and you get us headed downhill. "See - it wasn't that bad."
"Oh, sure. Easy for you to say. You had the steering wheel. I just had to sit here and hope a tree wasn't going to jump out in front of you. Or should I say behind you?"
"I think you should quit while you're ahead."
You get us back onto the highway and tell me that there is a gas station about half an hour down the road where we will stop for gas. "And I'll pick us up something to eat as well. I don't know when dinner will be, or even if you'll be offered any."
Okay, that is starting to sound a little bit scary. This was supposed to be a romantic getaway, and you're talking about it as though there are going to be other people making the decisions. I trust you, but you know I have a hard time with strangers.
We reach the gas station and you tell me to stay put while you put in the gas and grab something quick for us to eat on the road.
"Oh, good. I love turkey. And you remembered what I like to drink, too." "Yes, Pet, no more coffee for you today. You are going to need to be able to control your bladder for what might be an extended period when we get there."
"Get where?" "Where we're going. Now eat your sandwich and try to relax. Everything is going to be fine. You know what you're doing, and you trust me, so you'll do very well."
Oh, boy. This is really sounding like trouble now. "Is it some sort of competition?" "No, not at all. Just a gathering of some friends. You'll know what to do when we arrive."
I finish my sandwich (you've practically inhaled yours) and drink about half of my soda when you take an exit onto a two lane road and start heading uphill again. We are headed into the woods, and I don't see any houses or driveways that might indicate neighbors.
"Oh, by the way, you need to take off your clothes and put your coat back on. Leave just the stockings and heels. And of course, your collar.
I take off my seat belt and wriggle my way out of my winter coat. Then I remove my skirt, pulling it down until I can step out of it. Halfway done, now comes the hard part.
I unbutton my blouse and (sitting in the front seat of a truck) contort myself to get my arms out of the sleeves. Then off comes the bra, and I'm almost ready.
"Where shall I put these?" "Oh, just fold them up and leave them on the seat when we get out of the truck. You'll want them again at some point."
I slide my arms into my coat and get my seat belt fastened just as you turn right, into a driveway that appears to lead to a large, well-lit farmhouse.
When you climb in on the driver's side, you make certain I'm firmly strapped in the seat belt and that I haven't squirmed enough to bring my skirt down from around my waist, where you lifted it as I got into my seat.
Because of the position we were in, you had to back the truck the entire way down to the highway. "This is why I'm driving." "And I'm delighted that you are. I couldn't do it. I'd be too scared of hitting something or going off the road."
You smile as you manouver us backwards down the road. We finally reach a spot where there is enough room to turn around, and you get us headed downhill. "See - it wasn't that bad."
"Oh, sure. Easy for you to say. You had the steering wheel. I just had to sit here and hope a tree wasn't going to jump out in front of you. Or should I say behind you?"
"I think you should quit while you're ahead."
You get us back onto the highway and tell me that there is a gas station about half an hour down the road where we will stop for gas. "And I'll pick us up something to eat as well. I don't know when dinner will be, or even if you'll be offered any."
Okay, that is starting to sound a little bit scary. This was supposed to be a romantic getaway, and you're talking about it as though there are going to be other people making the decisions. I trust you, but you know I have a hard time with strangers.
We reach the gas station and you tell me to stay put while you put in the gas and grab something quick for us to eat on the road.
"Oh, good. I love turkey. And you remembered what I like to drink, too." "Yes, Pet, no more coffee for you today. You are going to need to be able to control your bladder for what might be an extended period when we get there."
"Get where?" "Where we're going. Now eat your sandwich and try to relax. Everything is going to be fine. You know what you're doing, and you trust me, so you'll do very well."
Oh, boy. This is really sounding like trouble now. "Is it some sort of competition?" "No, not at all. Just a gathering of some friends. You'll know what to do when we arrive."
I finish my sandwich (you've practically inhaled yours) and drink about half of my soda when you take an exit onto a two lane road and start heading uphill again. We are headed into the woods, and I don't see any houses or driveways that might indicate neighbors.
"Oh, by the way, you need to take off your clothes and put your coat back on. Leave just the stockings and heels. And of course, your collar.
I take off my seat belt and wriggle my way out of my winter coat. Then I remove my skirt, pulling it down until I can step out of it. Halfway done, now comes the hard part.
I unbutton my blouse and (sitting in the front seat of a truck) contort myself to get my arms out of the sleeves. Then off comes the bra, and I'm almost ready.
"Where shall I put these?" "Oh, just fold them up and leave them on the seat when we get out of the truck. You'll want them again at some point."
I slide my arms into my coat and get my seat belt fastened just as you turn right, into a driveway that appears to lead to a large, well-lit farmhouse.
