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I could take a nap.
Grabbing my purse, I started for the room at the back of the bus. I prayed the sheets were clean as I set my purse down, then laid down on the bed. Despite the debauchery that I knew had taken place on this bus, I felt my eyes fluttering closed. My body ached from the work I’d done yesterday, and I could still smell horse on my skin, no matter how much I’d scrubbed the day before. I hunkered down, kicking my boots off and shoving them off the side of the bed.
Then, I promptly fell asleep.
I dreamed about my father; about the times we spent running around in the front yard and the nights where he would read me stories to get me to sleep. I thought about the brownies we used to make and how we got sick eating so many of them at one time. I saw the smile on my mother’s face whenever he would bring her home fresh flowers. She hated the things from a florist. She never understood why people paid so much for flowers when there were beautiful ones that already grew in fields.
I dreamed about the fighting, how things spiraled between my parents once my father started to drink, how breaking his sobriety angered my mother and spiraled her into depression. I recalled all the times I sat at the top of the steps and listened to them scream at one another, screaming and crying and begging for the other to stop.
I saw in
perfect detail the day I woke up and watched my father leave.
I could remember the color of his suitcase, how he dragged it behind him, stumbling around trying to get out of the house. I remembered the color of the liquor he poured down his throat; crystal clear and straight from the plastic bottle it came in. Always the cheap stuff so he could afford more of it. My dream included me screaming from the porch, crying for him to come back as my mother gripped my shirt, trying to stop me from going after him as he backed his truck out into the road.
I dreamed of the phone call that came not thirty minutes later. The phone call that spiraled my mother into an even greater depression that she would never come out of.
I could feel myself fighting to get out of the dream. Fighting to wake up, even though I couldn’t move. I could hear my heart pumping in my ears, and I could feel tears rising to my eyes. But it was like I was pinned, held down by the ghosts of my past as the world passed me by. I heard the roar of the crowd and how they chanted Drake’s name. I heard the wind whipping through the tour bus as the scent filled my nostrils.
Still, I could hear my mother crying as she hunched over the kitchen table, the phone falling from her hand as it shattered against the floor.
Suddenly, a warmth encompassed me. I felt a fire drape over my body as I began to wake up. The warmth got closer and closer as I drew in a deep breath, trying to turn over so I could get back to my dream.
I wanted to get back to a time when my father was still alive.
The warmth seemed to follow me, and finally, there was no getting past it. I opened my eyes to find the sun shining through the curtains, right onto me. Sweat dripped from my body as I tossed and turned for a little while longer.
That same heat and the sun made me think back to the day before, working on the farm with Drake. He might be an asshole, but he was a damn fine one at that. While in reality, I had no intention of ever getting intimate with him, I found the pace of my heartbeat quicken increasingly as I imagined what his body would look like naked. Nothing on but his cowboy hat.
Why was he so damn sexy?
Without thinking, I unzipped my pants and slid my hand down in between my legs. I rubbed myself through the panties, wetness soaking through the thin material. I groaned lightly as I rubbed my clit.
I slipped my hand underneath the thin, cotton material and circled it, feeling a warmth growing inside of me.
“Yes,” I moaned quietly. I closed my eyes, picturing Drake naked, imagining what his body looked like underneath those jeans. I'm sure I wasn't the first woman to have such thoughts about him, and I wouldn't be the last, but damn it felt good to imagine him touching me.
I penetrated myself with a finger, just one. I'd never been with a man before, so I could only imagine what it would feel like to have a cock buried inside of me. In this case, Drake's cock. I knew he was well-endowed, would it hurt? I mean, if we were to hook up. Not that we would, but in my head, we'd already gotten undressed and were in his bed, him hovering above me, pressing into me.
I thrust two fingers inside of me, and I cried out. My body arched upward as I imagined Drake's cock thrusting into me instead.
“Oh God, yes,” I whimpered. “Drake, yes...”
I fingered myself, burying my fingers in deeper and deeper, faster and faster, picturing Drake's glistening body above mine, moving in perfect harmony. My toes curled as a wave of pleasure rushed over me, and I cried out, “Drake, yes!” over and over again as my head flailed on the pillow.
My eyes opened wide in the midst of my orgasm, pulling me from the fantasy almost too suddenly, as I saw a figure standing in the doorway, watching me.
I pulled my hand from my pants and sat up, my cheeks flushing red.
“Drake, I-- umm... I can explain...”
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. His eyes burned with something, and I couldn't tell if he was turned on or angry with me. Neither one of them sounded like a good idea to me.
“I don't know what came over me, honestly,” I said. I buried my face in my hands, unable to even look at him. I prayed the Earth would open up and swallow me, but there was no getting around this one. Drake had caught me touching myself. Had he heard me calling his name? Hell yeah, that was obvious. I finally pulled my head from my hands and stared up at him.
His face glistened with sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead. Probably from the performance, but the heat in the trailer didn't help matters any. He stared down at me with big, brown eyes and a look that would make most women drop their panties. So yeah, he was hot, I'm not denying that, and seeing him there, and being in such a confined space with him did things to my body that I couldn’t even describe. Standing up, I zipped up my pants and headed toward the door. Drake was standing in front of it, not budging.
Whiskey permeated the air, he smelled heavily of it. His words were slurring just a bit. He'd obviously had more to drink since I drove us here this morning. Shocker.
