The Stripper Sex Chronicles - Part Four

Warning:  This story series will contain scenes of a sexual nature. If this offends you, please don't continue reading it. 

 Misty left three days before midterms. There wasn't a note or a message on our answering machine. There wasn't a kiss goodbye and there wasn't a tearful hug.

I got the call while working on my thesis.

“You've got to come right over.” . . . “She's gone. I'm there now, it's empty just trash on the floor.” . . . “No the door was open, I walked right in. She's fucking gone.” . . . “I'm going after her. I have to find her.” . . . “What if she's in trouble?”

Debbie waved at me as I jumped into my car. She wore tight jeans and an equally tight sweater. Her hair was tied into a pony tail and she looked ten years younger than she was – she looked my age. When I didn't call over to her she came out to the street.

“Where you going in such a hurry?” I still love that Oklahoman twang from a woman. When I man chops his words like that it just sounds like his mouth is full of shit but when it's a woman's voice I can close my eyes and envision the words coming out from a pretty smile.

“I have to stop Dylan from taking off after Misty. She left.”

“Oh I knew that girl was trouble. Let's go.” She ran around the car and jumped into the passenger seat. She smelled of sandalwood.

“What about Bob?” I asked.

“Honey, it's football season. We won't be seeing him until after the championships.”

He was the high school coach after all.

Dylan was on his bike outside Misty's apartment building. Tears openly fell from his cheeks and his breath was coming in heaving bursts.

Debbie and I spent a couple hours consoling him while he intermittently shifted from bursts of cursing anger and then wracking sobs. It was a good thing she came along, she was much better at tempering his emotional extremes than I was.

We talked him into staying in Oklahoma and into going to class. Even though his heart wasn't in it, I helped him study enough to keep passing grades. Debbie came over at least once a day to check on our patient. Sometimes she brought leftovers; sometimes sandwiches.

* * *

We both knew he needed a distraction, so we came up with a couple.

The first one was another Harley. Dylan got his bike while he was in the army. He'd purchased it as junk for $500 and lovingly restored it piece by piece. We decided that the miracle could be repeated, so that winter our living room became a motorcycle garage.

I found a frame and old '78 sportster motor for a few hundred and then we divided our free time between searching Harley dealerships, salvage yards and mail order catalogs for parts. He taught me how to check, clean and lube every part before installing. We sanded down the frame and tank and then painted them by hand: flames, of course.

I feel like I should apologize to the landlord for the stains in the carpet, but that was a long time ago and it's probably too late now.

The second distraction was a set of friends from the college. Crystal was a tall blond girl with a fine ass. Dylan met her first and was happy to let me know that she had a friend. Dana was a cute brunette, perhaps a bit too timid but otherwise fun to date. Unbelievably they'd come over to our place and hang out for hours while we worked on the bike.

Everything settled down nicely and although the house smelled like motor oil and charred metal, it was a great time to be living there. Football season ended and the neighborhood parties resumed although indoors. Debbie and Bob were the center of all activity and they openly welcomed Crystal and Dana.

* * *

It rang and rang and rang until I finally woke enough to figure out that it was the doorbell and not a gong in my dream. I squinted at the clock. Four AM. Fuck. I stumbled out of my bedroom and to the front door.

Misty crouched against the wall next to the door. Her face was bruised. She was so thin I could see the contours of bone in her elbow. The guy with her was big. He had a beard and wore a chain from under his leather jacket to his back pocket. Before I could say anything he pulled the jacket back and I saw his pistol – a .38 I guessed.

“Bitch says you can pay me the five hundred she owes.”

Small talk was over.

“Come in,” I said.

There was no mistaking the marks on Misty's arms or the haunting deepness in her eyes.

I pulled Dylan out of bed and gave him a quick synopsis. He raided his stash of money and I gave him two hundred. We paid the guy and he left.

I wish he'd have taken Misty with him.

- rick

Comments

[a rose is a rose]

oh shite shite shite ANOTHER i have to wait forever until the next episode.

1) thanks for telling me this was up
2) i'm mad i have to wait
3) this is a GREAT story (not that's it's a nice one mind you)
4) i believe i've mentioned this to you before. please watch 'saving grace'. i think it's on tnt. the second season JUST started. it takes place in oklahoma. not just that though. it involves an angel BUT it also involves grace. holly hunter. she smokes, drinks, f**ks like a bunny, doesn't 'believe' and as we just found out on the second season opener, her character attended the execution of tim mcvey and said it was WONDERFUL
5) once again i must say how lucky i am to have run across you and your writing

[Cherise]

I hope you don't make us wait for the next episode as you did with this one. I don't like Misty and I feel bad for Dylan. I've loved some turds in my life, it ain't fun! ;p

[Jane]

Oh, thanks for the tip, Rose. I love Holly Hunter and that show looks good. The title, though, is a total turn off.

[bex]

hmmm... methinks the "stripper" foreshadowing part of your title has FINALLY paid off...

great writing, as usual, CV!