Page 4 of Red's Peril: Part 1

As if they understand the gravity of the occasion, the elements seem to be with me. Like a welcome onto the road, the rain eases off and the ominous clouds part to let weak rays of the sun through, lighting my path. With every mile under my wheels, I start to leave doubts and regrets behind me. Instead, my head fills with thoughts of excitement and adventures ahead.

Where should I go?It’s a thrilling thought that the whole of the United States, if not the world, is my oyster. Florida? Too humid and full of alligators. California? Nah, in addition to the reasons I’d rejected it before, they have earthquakes. Texas? Maybe. New Mexico? Louisiana? Strange as it may seem, I’ve no preference. No real experience of other states than the one where I’ve lived all my life. As I’d told Manny, I’ll head south, and when I see something that appeals to me, that’s when I’ll stop.

If I never find it? Well, I’ll return, not with my tail between my legs, but with a sense of satisfaction that I’d at least tried.

The wind muffled by my full-face helmet buffets me, and my exhaust sings its grumbling song as the road flies by beneath my tyres. The emotion of the pain of my dad dying, together with the twinges of guilt that it had been a release for us both, the writing of the final page in his story of preparing for and attending the funeral, and even the weight of the last few years all gradually start to fade and are replaced by anticipation.

I can reinvent myself.I’m going where no one will know me. I’ve no past to either live up or down to. This is a chance to discover myself.

I ride on, relishing even the monotony when the scenery offers nothing of note, wanting to put as much distance between myself and my old life as I can in as short a time as possible. The only times I stop are out of necessity, to top off my tank and fill my stomach until daylight begins to fade. Then, when a motel appears in front of me, I pull in.

My muscles, unused to such a long journey, complain as I kick down the stand and protest the weight I put on my legs. I bow my spine, putting my hands to the middle of my back and then stretch. It’s good to feel a physical pain rather than the mental anguish. Honest aches, like those gained through a good day’s work.

I’m pleased to find the sign advertising vacancies hadn’t lied as I head inside and question the woman sitting behind a reception desk. Inwardly I smirk. To me, I’m on an adventure, to her, I’m just one in a long line of guests passing by.

Have I ever stayed in a motel before?I’m fucked if I can remember.

“One night?” she queries in a bored voice.

“One night,” I agree, scrawling my government name in the book she pushes over to me.Colt Masters.It’s a name that’s alien to me. Due to the colour of my hair, I’ve been known as Red all my life and can’t remember ever being called anything else.

Having dumped my saddlebags in the allotted room, pleased to find the room is light, airy and clean, I set off for the adjacent restaurant. I treat myself to a couple of beers and a steak, then return to my abode for the night.

The bed’s comfy enough, and tired from the long hours of riding, I fall asleep fast, and sleep through the night for the first time in forever. As Dad had often needed me during the night, I’d always slept with my ear alert for alarms alerting me he required assistance. After he’d gone, the habit had been hard to break, and even after the funeral, I was still sleeping light. When I wake with the dawn, I realise that this trip is already providing the necessary healing.

Day two starts the same, but without the same sense of urgency. I stop earlier in the afternoon, and after finding a place to stay, I do some sightseeing. It’s strange to just be me, having no one else to think about, no reason to keep an eye on the clock, or think about being there to give someone their medication or do one of the numerous personal tasks I’d stoically performed but would prefer not to think about.

I feel free.Even the air seems easier to draw into my lungs. Quickly, I realise how I relish that feeling.

Enjoying that interlude so much, on the third day, I deliberately start taking the journey more leisurely. I’m in no rush. No demons are chasing me. The only thing I’m keeping an eye on is the winter weather that’s approaching all too fast. Having checked the forecast, finding it predicting high pressure and no sign of clouds forming, I break my journey at midday and pull up in a small town. Leaving my bike parked outside, I enter a mom-and-pop diner.

Obviously dating from the fifties, it doesn’t look like it’s changed much since. Grinning at the nostalgic elements scattered around, I seat myself on a red plastic seat and eye the jukebox. Currently, it’s playing some early Rolling Stones. Is it an omen? That record was one of my dad’s favourites. Tapping my fingers to the beat, I wait for the waitress to come over.

There are a couple of other tables filled, but not many, and I suspect there’s only one person waiting on them. Curbing my impatience, it’s not like I have to be anywhere, I let my eyes roam around, taking in the details of the small place, my eyes captured by the black-and-white photos on the walls, all showing patrons past, and how the place used to look from the outside. It doesn’t seem to have changed much. It’s as though it’s stuck in a time capsule.

To pass the time, I watch the busy waitress as she picks up an order at the counter. All I see is her back, and wow, she’s got a shapely ass. My eyes seem drawn to it, and my cock, which doesn’t usually have something in the flesh to perk up to, gives a twitch. I’ve watched porn, of course, but none of the women I actually meet in real life have been so tantalising, or not during my limited existence over the past few years. I even start thinking I wouldn’t mind tapping that. Nah, not in the least.

The chances, however, are extremely unlikely. When she expertly balances three plates and swings around, she’s pretty, but in a homely girl next-door type of way. A good girl, one that probably goes to church each Sunday, and certainly wouldn’t be up for a roll in the hay.

But hey, I can look, can’t I?

When she leans over to deliver the food, I notice her breasts fall forward—not overly large, and not too small. Definitely natural, I can see by the sway. When she stands though, she massages the small of her back, and gives a little stretch and a roll of her shoulders. Then, she seems to shrug her tiredness away. Spinning around, she spies me waiting, and plastering a welcoming smile on her face, she comes straight over.

“Well, greetings stranger. I’ve not seen you in here before.” She taps her pencil against a notepad she’d taken from a frilly apron that exactly matches the 1950s vibe. “What can I get you?”

“I’m just passing through.” My lips curve naturally as I address her statement, noting while she probably wouldn’t grace a magazine cover, her face is full of character. Big hazel eyes rimmed with long artificially blackened lashes, a nose that could possibly be thought a little too large, and blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail which makes me want to see what it looks like down. Her lips? Full and soft looking, just right for sucking a cock.

Yeah, my thoughts went straight there, which is decidedly odd. In high school, I hadn’t found many girls willing to take a dick in their mouth, and the intervening years had been a desert. I wouldn’t have expected my first thought about a woman to be other than sinking my cock into the hole built for it. But while I continue to drink in her appearance, my nose twitches in anticipation of how she might smell, and what her essence might taste of.Are women different from teenage girls?Guess I’ve got a whole lot of education to catch up on.

As if she can read my thoughts, her smile broadens. Hoping to fuck she’s no mind reader, the pale skin I’m cursed with starts to flush. My freckles must be blazing like beacons as my cock gets into the act, swelling, luckily hidden, under the table.

Christ, I haven’t felt this way since I was a teenager.Is it her who’s responsible for the state I’m in?Or has my new freedom meant I’ve shaken off the shackles of respectability and I’m likely to get hard when faced with any female?Which would be decidedly awkward.

“What can I get you?” she repeats, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

I come back to my senses. “Sorry, darlin’,” I drawl. “Been riding too long. Coffee, please. And I’ll have your special.” I nod toward the board hanging over the counter.

“Coming right up.” She rewards me with one of her dazzling smiles.

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