Page 40 of Missile Tow
“I’m not normally so direct, but you bring out something different in me. Maybe I’m behaving differently because I have no expectations.”
Chip placed his hand on my bare chest. “Are you saying you don’t think this is something… well, you know… good?” He paused, studying me closely. “Or are we simply playing around with one another for a couple of weeks?”
I held the hand he’d rested on my chest. “I’m not saying anything other than I’m attracted to you big time,” I stated. “And we have this unique chance to have hot sex with zero pressure. Don’t you think?”
“I can do that,” he agreed. “Are we drawing any lines in the sand? Do we limit our expectations? What rules do you have?”
“I’ve got no rules,” I said. “In fact, I hope to feel free to say what I feel, and do what we both find mutually enjoyable. And by mutual, I mean I’d like to have a lot of sex with you. How about that two-week plan?”
He stared into my eyes. I’d shot my shot and now I lay there waiting to see how he perceived the agenda. I wasn’t a hundred percent sold on my idea, but I was afraid not to take advantage of such a rare situation.
I knew the type of person I was. I fell in love too easily. I needed a loving feeling to truly find sexual satisfaction, but we were strangers. Could I truly just enter into a sexual arrangement, or did I have to involve my heart like usual?
“So let me get this right in my mind,” he began, stroking my chest. “More of this. No actual plans per se, but we explore and enjoy each other’s company with few limits. Does that sound about right?”
“If you agree, it does to me.”
He got up from the bed and stood over me, smiling, holding his hand out to me. I allowed him to pull me from the bed and into his arms. His hands made their way inside my boxers, and he gripped my ass cheeks aggressively.
“Okay then. I agree. So let’s help Mrs. Hatfield first, and then when we get back, I’m gonna fuck your ass long and hard.”
“Merry Christmas to me,” I replied.
He held me closer and whispered in my ear. “I’m still gonna like you, though.”
“I was hoping you would, mister.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Chip
The snow was piled high, powdery-fresh, with no tire tracks anywhere to be seen. The snowmobile glided over the empty streets while Van held on to me tightly. He’d slid his hands under my jacket and was rubbing my abs as I steered us toward Mrs. Hatfield’s place, a block from the mercantile.
A five-gallon jug of gas was bungee corded on the back after we’d picked up fuel from the store. Van’s luggage would go home with us later on the return trip to the cabin. We planned to grab bags of chips and beverages on our way home as well, already talking smack to each other about a planned game of Uno when we returned.
As expected, Missile’s roads were quiet. The storm was one of the fiercest we’d experienced in more than a decade. Not a single vehicle was traveling anywhere in town. While at the mercantile, I checked I-90, the highway that connected our town to the rest of the world, and found it as white as the roadsides. Lack of any and all traffic caused me to assume the freeway was closed for miles in both directions. Nothing had been plowed on the highway or in town.
Once at Mrs. Hatfield’s, I drove the snowmobile directly up to her front porch; the snow had drifted higher than the first three steps. Her Victorian-style home was postcard picture worthy, with snow drifting around it and piled on the roof. The hedges and trees around her yard were laden with heavysnowfall, making the scene perfect for a Christmas movie location.
Before we’d even jumped off the snow machine, she was at the front door. Her smile was immediately replaced with a look of concern after noting I wasn’t alone. Her eyes moved from me and then to Van. After two or three additional back-and-forth glances, her mouth pinched.
“Who is your friend?” she asked, giving Van a less-than-friendly once-over.
“This is Vance Holter, ma’am. He’s staying out at my place for a bit.”
She turned to Van. “Have we met, Mr. Holter?”
Van quickly shot me a glance, so I motioned for him to go ahead and reply. He seemed slightly unsure about the bold, in-your-face elderly woman.
“No, Mrs. Hatfield,” he responded. “I’m from Seattle.”
She moved her eyes back to me, her brow furrowed. “He knows my name,” she declared. “Yet we’ve never met.”
“I told Van who you were when you called earlier,” I said. “He wanted to help and came along for the ride.”
“I wasn’t expecting anyone but you, Calvin. How do I know if this young man is trustworthy?” she asked, placing her death glare directly on Van.
“Because he’s with me,” I stated, digging in because I knew how to handle a disgruntled Mrs. Hatfield.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she agreed, assuming her Queen of England voice and manner. “Bertie told me you had a surprise guest. Some stranger who just happened to show up at the mercantile.”
