This story is dark.
Hurtling along in the dark midnight hours at 75 miles per hour, down a long straight stretch of Arizona Interstate 10-a road to nowhere in particular and everywhere specifically-I become lulled by the monotony of the ride. I'm Bill Dolezol. I'm about 6' around 200 pounds, a little bit overweight, sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. I began dreaming, dreaming of my wife at 22 years old when we were married. She was so pretty, ripe with innocent sexuality, playful, erotic, eternally horny, so desirous; those were the days before pain, emotional scarring, the rage, hurt, insult, unexpected cheating and forsaken love.
We'd been married 8 years when it all blew. We were both 30, well on our ways to successful careers, neither of us desiring children. We both worked hard and played hard. Our wedding was prefaced with serious talks. We'd agreed on fidelity, absolute fidelity. We'd agreed, no children. We'd agreed where we'd live, how to handle our finances, who cooked, who cleaned and when, who took the garbage out and most of the myriads of things couples were likely to face. We were proactive, we told ourselves, and had these talks before we tied the knot. Most importantly, we agreed on our sex lives.
All that is not to say we didn't realize the possibilities that might arise which would create a need for revisions, and we both agreed on how to revise. We were one. We'd left our mothers and fathers and clung to each other.
Our sex life was perfect, at least for me and I thought so for her too. We'd decided we each had the right of refusal at any given time, but we also agreed not to defraud one another by using sex as an instrument of persuasion or control.
We both loved oral, neither cared for anal, she loved my cock, often licking, sucking, stroking and playing with it for long periods of time. She loved it when it was large, hard and purple; she totally perved on wearing it out and enjoyed toying with it when it was spent and small and shriveled. When it was out, she was touching, kissing, licking, scratching, stroking, playing with it.
I worshipped her body, caressing, licking, nuzzling, breathing, kissing, stroking and sucking on her erogenous zones regularly. I loved slowly arousing her, bringing her to the brink of orgasm, then backing her off, only to bring her back and then finally pushing her over the edge, all with my tongue, lips and fingers, before we fucked. We lived for one another and for our closeness.
For me, there was no indication of any restlessness or dissatisfaction. I was content and I thought Brooke was too. She often told me she was happy and that she loved me. I often repeated the same to her.
I'd left on my once yearly week-long business trip to the home office in Atlanta. I went back for a week each year for updating, training on new product development, information about the competition, marketing tactics, and whatever else the company wanted to impart. It was part of the package when I hired on and we both agreed it was ok, do-able and acceptable as part of our overall plan.
The fellow who led the training sessions in Atlanta, Del Mason choked on a piece of his lunch the first day we were there, Monday. Several of us from the class tried the Heimlich maneuver on him to no avail. He died right there in front of us. Distraught doesn't begin to describe how we all felt, but we were helpless to save him without the medical training we might have used to save him.
We were dismissed back to our homes by the company president at 4 pm after we'd waited around in the classroom all afternoon. We were to make our own travel arrangements and go home; they'd be in touch when they figured out what to do about our updates.
The company arranged for a bus to take us back to the airport and we all set about getting our flights back to our respective homes on our own. I never called Brooke, it never crossed my mind. There was so much that had happened, and with the pressure to get a flight back, I was busy, preoccupied and upset by the death of the instructor right in front of me.
I left for Phoenix at 6 pm Atlanta time, having lucked out and caught a 2 stop flight that wasn't full. We arrived at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix at 8:15 pm, we gained three hours from Eastern time to Pacific time, so I was walking into my house at 9 pm, just 16 hours after I'd left it at 5 am for Atlanta that morning.
Brooke is a tall, willow fox of a woman. She's lean, has large hands and long fingers with long dark brown hair to her waist, with green eyes, C-cup breasts, a flat and firm belly, very slim waist and small but round butt that really is something to behold. She's bright, thoughtful and focused. She was my dream girl. I was glad she chose me, glad I'd chosen her and, as far as I was concerned, we were on our happy way to forever together.
Brooke worked in a medical clinic as a Licensed Practical Nurse and was the personal assistant to one of tthe thirty doctors that had offices there, Marc LeBlanc. Her job was to see the patient after they'd been shown into the exam room, take their vital signs, note any comments or complaints on the patient's chart, ask pertinent questions and then inform the doctor that the patient was ready.
Dr. Marc LeBlanc was a distinguished looking, handsome and fit 44 year old endocrinologist with a 46 year old wife and three children. He's into physical fitness, has no excess weight, is very bright and is cool as a cucumber. Meaning, nothing much seems to ruffle his feathers. He's probably 6'3" with dark hair and I'm guessing he weighs in at 180, very trim and fit. Being so tall, he is a commanding presence, especially given his demeanor, which is 'all business and no nonsense'.
Brooke worked for him for 3 years. She loved her job and loved her boss. He was helpful to her obtaining her LPN and she was also working to become a full RN under his tutelage. As far as I'd known there was never any indication of anything untoward happening between them. I had absolute confidence in Brooke, especially because of our understanding from before we were married. He seemed happily married to his wife, Connie, dedicated to his children and his work. He did a strange way about him though.
I'd met him several times, at Christmas parties and summer picnics that the clinic sponsored for all the Doctors and staff from the various doctors' offices. He looked at me as if to gauge me, to sense from me how I felt about Brooke and he watched her and me together. It was strange, but I had never considered it seriously. It was only later that I remembered the feelings I had when I'd met him.
Alarming noises intrude; I tumble back awake with violent motion that becomes rolling over and over, down, down, over and then smash to a sudden stop. I smell the odor of hot rubber, hot oil spilling on a hot manifold, overheated engine coolant and electrical smoke. My seat belt unsnaps easily and I fall onto my head and shoulder. My car is resting upside down, the front and back glass are out, the contents of my car scattered around beside me. I am tangled up in the airbags that all had deployed in the car.
I feel around, try to sense if I'm bleeding or if I have pain. Am I, for sure, conscious? I have no pain, but I'm aware that sometimes trauma is not immediately noticeable. I know that I need to get out of this car right away; because I can smell electrical smoke and that might ignite into a gasoline fire, which would roast me for sure.
The hood is smashed up and in the way of a frontal exit, so I scramble towards the back seat and out the back window. It is pitch black outside and I can sense that I am on a slope. I cannot immediately tell how far down I am from the road surface, but I do know I am below it.
Struggling with not being able to see anything for the thick black darkness, and with confusion, fear and trying to figure out what to do, I begin taking one step up at a time, carefully trying to feel my way back to the road.
It was about 2 am the last I looked at the clock in the car, so there isn't much traffic out. So far, I haven't heard any other vehicle driving by. It is so black, so hard to see. I very carefully make my way, one step-feel around-then another tentative step, uphill and feel around, then another.
I hear a hiss and rattling to my right, nearby. "It's a rattlesnake", I think. I move one step to the left, the rattling stops. Another step up the slope, then a few more; it is slow going. Finally, the ground levels and I realize I am on the roadbed. I feel myself all over, no pain, no broken bones and apparently no blood. I do not detect injury. I am, Without a Scratch.
I follow the road for a ways, trying to distance myself from my car in case it blows up. The force of an explosion and fire might finish my night; I needed to be farther away.
I sat there waiting for someone to come by, my cell phone lost in the debris below me, in the wreckage of my car. It was sitting on the console beside me recharging when I last remember seeing it as I sped down the highway lost in my thoughts.
The stars, set against the deep black sky is literally all I can see. They are beautiful. I muse, "No trouble up there". I sense a spirit of despair, discouragement and hopelessness. I wonder if I'll ever find contentment again. I check my pockets and find the rolled up wad of hundred dollar bills that I'd removed from the bank the previous afternoon. There is five thousand in that roll and I have a cashier's check for thirty thousand more in my billfold, which is in my back pants pocket.
.... There is more of this story ...