Chapter 2: Astoria

Like I said, we’re driving south on I-5 toward Seattle, and neither of us had much to say. Thinking, I guess.

Finally I said, “Want to listen to something? Why don’t you turn on the radio and try to find something.”

Lorene leaned over and turned on the radio – the guy I bought the truck from had installed a pretty good sound system a few years before I bought it – and played with the buttons ‘til she found something that sounded like what I guess you’d call “soft jazz,” like Kenny G and stuff. Not what I would normally want to listen to, but I didn’t hate it, either.

More importantly, it filled the gap in our non-conversation and helped the miles go by, so that in less than an hour we were past Everett, almost to the point where we – meaning I – needed to decide whether to grind through Seattle on I-5 or take the 405 through Bellevue and Renton, which could be just as hectic. We – I – decided that since we weren’t going to get too far today anyway, that it would be simpler just to stay on 5 and deal with whatever we found.

We did, and it wasn’t as terrible as it could have been, and in not too long we were past SeaTac and all the Tacoma exits. And it was after we’d passed through Olympia that she opened up.

“I guess you’re wondering how I got myself into this situation, huh?”

I didn’t want her to feel pressured, like she had to tell me about her life, maybe like she owed me because I was doing her a favor. I started to tell her that, but she said that I was entitled to know, and also, that she thought she just needed the chance to tell someone – IF it was alright with me.

“A lot of it’s because of these.” She put her hands on her chest and lifted her heavy breasts.

“You’ve seen me, so you know that I was always the skinny girl with the crazy hair, and I was never pretty.” I tried to stop her, to say that wasn’t true, but then realized – that would just be patronizing her – treating her like the homely little girl she was trying to get away from being.

“But then around when I turned 13 these things started to happen,” and she gave her breasts another lift-nudge. “And, yeah, I know – having big jugs is supposed to be special for a girl and give her lots of advantages. Well, for me they been a mixed blessing – mostly trouble.

“First the kids at school, mostly the girls, made fun of me and treated me like a freak, even though I’m pretty sure most of them would have given a couple fingers to have boobs like mine. But the real problems started at home. My stepfather was quick to notice how his wife’s little girl was growing up, and he took every chance he could to touch me. He’d make suggestive remarks, like ‘My, how you’re growing up, Lorene,’ and ‘Lorene, honey, I’ll bet you’d look real nice in this new swimsuit I bought for you,’ and ‘I bet a lot of the older girls – and their moms – envy what you got.’

“But he didn’t stop with just the comments. He also took every chance to touch me, and by ‘touch me’ I mean ‘touch them.’ He made sure to brush up against me whenever we passed each other, or he’d ‘accidentally’ bump them with his arm when he’d turn. Or sometimes he’d try to go through a doorway the same time I was so he’d be squeezed up against me. Mom saw this and told him he’d better stop, but all that did was make him sneakier about it.

“At school it was kind of a different story. While the girls made fun of me, all the boys that wouldn’t have given me the time of day before were now all hangin’ around, askin’ to go out with me, or inviting me into a garage or into their basements when their folks weren’t home.

“And to be honest, I liked it – liked the attention. It was all so new to me, and I liked that now I was popular and that boys liked me. And, yeah, for a while I would go into those garages or basements and let the boys touch me. And then one time I got this text saying to come over to this boy’s house. ‘Cept when I got there, the boy wasn’t home – turns out he was visiting his aunt somewhere – but his father was there, and it turns out he was the one who sent the text using his son’s phone. I got out of there as quick as I could ‘cause I knew that getting involved with someone’s dad could be big trouble.”

She stopped, like this was the point where the “storyteller” would light up or take a drag on a cigarette, except that Lorene didn’t smoke, or at least, I hadn’t seen any sign of it. Also, she waited, like she wanted to see if I was listening, or how I felt about what she was telling me, or if I wanted her to stop telling me. Since I didn’t say anything or make a move, she went on.

“Then I met Jake – he picked me up, actually. I was working check-out at Safeway and I saw him looking at me, and he wasn’t being too obvious that he was looking at my tits, and when people thinned out he got in my lane, and he was nice and had a nice smile, and he asked me if I’d have coffee or an ice cream with him when my shift ended – he didn’t even ask when that was.

“I put him off a couple of times, but then one time when I really didn’t want to go home and face my leering stepdad and my bitching mother I told him yeah. So we started dating, and on the second date we fucked, and enough ‘dates’ and I got knocked up. And I’m pretty sure you can guess how the rest of the story goes. Momma called me a slut and my step-dad called me a whore – but I think he was just jealous it wasn’t him that knocked me up – and they told me to go live with my pimp.

“So I moved in with Jake into his trailer, and for the first few weeks he was nice – sweet, even. But then after that he got mean and started blaming me for all kinds of stuff, starting with the doctor visits, ‘til – well, like I told you, I was afraid he’d do something that’d hurt the baby.

“And that’s how come you found me standing there in the pouring rain next to his broken down old truck.”

And she just sat there, I guess exhausted from the emotional strain of telling her own story. And waiting.

I have to admit – I felt kind of exhausted myself. Her story, what she told me, was about like I would have expected. Still, it was tough to hear, and especially from a girl who struck me as a perfectly nice person, one who shouldn’t have had to experience what she apparently had. I wanted to say something “optimistic” but then figured that anything like that would just sound condescending, trying to deny the miserable life she’s experienced so far.

Instead, I said, “That sounds tough – I’m sorry it’s been like that for you. But now you’re out of that, at least for the time being, and you’ve got your friend in California...,” and ran out of reassuring things to say so I just shut up.

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for listening. I think I needed that – needed to get it out, for a long, long time. So thanks for being here and listening to my sob story.”

I don’t know what prompted me, but I reached over and put my hand her thigh – reassuringly, I hoped. She rewarded my pat with a smile, and for just that brief instant she looked pretty, almost.

We didn’t talk for a while.

And one of the things we didn’t talk about was what happened at our motel cottage last night. Nothing about whether it was good – for either of us. Or whether it was going to happen again. Or whether it was never going to happen again. Or was it expected because I was being “nice” to her and doing her a favor by buying her meals and driving her 1400 miles?

Nothing.

A freeway sign indicated that the exit for Mt. Saint Helens was 2-1/2 miles ahead. We looked at each other, but neither of us showed any indication of being interested so we drove on...

Until 20 minutes later we started seeing signs for Astoria.

And Lorene lit up.

“Astoria! That’s where they filmed that movie – you know the one – that movie – ‘Kindergarten Cop,’ the one with Arnold Schwarzenegger as the cop?”

Yeah, I vaguely remembered seeing the movie but I had no idea that it had been filmed in Astoria, Oregon – or even that there was an “Astoria, Oregon,” for that matter.

“Yeah, I think I remember that.”

“Well – can we go there!”

Huh? I’ve volunteered to give her a free ride to her friend’s, 1400 miles away, and now she’s asking me to make a detour so we can see some town where some 30-year-old film was made? WTF?

And then I looked at her. And, really – her face was lit up like it was Christmas morning and there was a shiny new bike under the tree.

I looked at the GPS and it showed that, yes, going to Astoria was out of the way. But it also showed that once we were there we could continue driving south down the Oregon coast, which to be honest, looked a whole lot more interesting than grinding straight down I-5 another 300 miles.

And then there was the way Lorene looked. The very thought that we were even going to be near Astoria seemed to make her happier than anything that’s happened in the last 17 hours.

“Sure, I guess we can go to Astoria.” I looked at the time on the GPS. “In fact, we can probably find a place to stay there for the night and get an early start tomorrow morning. That sound OK to you?”

Her big smile was my answer.

So we left I-5 at a place named Industrial Way and took the bridge across the Columbia River and headed west, and in another hour we saw the Astoria city limit sign.

Okay, we’re in Astoria. Now what?

“Look, Paul!” Lorene’s holding up her freshly-charged phone so I could look at something I can’t safely look at when I’m driving, like now.

“They got a whole Wikipedia entry on the movie – Kindergarten Cop. And it tells all the locations in Astoria where they shot the film! Can we stop and see some of them?” I could almost hear the “Gee, Dad – can we, can we?” in her voice.

What am I gonna say?

“Sure. Let’s see how many of them we can find, OK?”

The first “location” listed in the Wikipedia article was the school they used for the school scenes.

“Look – there it is – I recognize it from the movie!” There was actual glee in her voice.

Turns out, the school they used, “Astor Elementary School,” was just off the main road we were on coming into town.

“Let’s look!”

Well, to me it looked pretty much like any other 1920’s public school building, but I made a couple turns into the parking lot and we sat in the truck and ... looked. I wasn’t raining anywhere close to what it’d been last night when Lorene and I were forced to “seek refuge from the storm,” it’s still November in the Pacific Northwest and it was drizzling and chilly, and sitting in the truck with the nice warm heater seemed to me like the best way to “see” the Kindergarten Cop school. Lorene wanted to see if we could go in and see the halls and classrooms where they shot the movie, but with school security being the way it is these days we figured there was no way they’d let us so we stayed in the truck – with the heater.

We drove down Commercial Street, which I guess shows up in a lot of the scenes of the town. And it looked like any other small city main street. Wikipedia said that the “Seafare Restaurant” was on Industry Street so we drove there, but it turns out that “Industry Street” is – surprise! – an industrial area, and Lorene didn’t see anything that looked like the popular diner in the movie.

The house where the teacher – “Ah-nold’s” love interest in the story – and her son lived is kind of a local attraction, and we were able to find it from the Wikipedia entry and GPS – a big frame house up on a high terrace and Lorene said we just had to stop. So we got out and walked around. There was another couple there, looking around like we were, I guess. Lorene took out her phone and made me take a picture of her with the house in the background.

Then out of the blue I got this notion that I should have a picture of this woman – Lorene – and that if I was going to have a picture of her then it should be at a time when she’s happy. So I got out my phone and took a picture of her, looking happy. And then I took one more.

Then we switched, and I stood where she’d been and she took pictures, one with her phone and one with mine.

Then the other couple that was looking around walked over and asked us if we’d take a picture of them in front of the house. Then they surprised us by asking if they could take our picture. I hesitated for a second but Lorene blurted out, “Sure!” and gave them her phone, and we stood next to each other, and the woman said, “Closer,” so I moved closer, right next to Lorene. And then, for some reason, I put my arm around her waist.

“That was great – now do you want one with your other phone?” and Lorene looked at me, and I knew I had to say yes. But I also knew – I would’ve said yes anyway.

We thanked them and we all headed for our cars. It was now after 4:00 and we realized that we were hungry. But maybe first we should find a place to stay for then night. The other couple hadn’t driven away yet, and since they looked like tourists I went over and asked them if they knew of a place – an inexpensive place – to stay. The said that they’d just checked out of a place a few blocks away that had a nice room over their garage that wasn’t too expensive.

I got directions from them and then drove the three blocks to where they said it was. There was no sign, only the street number. We rang the bell, and I hoped that with Lorene pregnant and all that they might give us a break on the price. The lady who answered the door said that, yes, the room was available and that it would be $75 for the one night. But then an older man, seemed like her husband, appeared behind her. I could see his eyes drop down to Lorene’s enlarged belly and he said, “Y’know, Millie, it’s late and I don’t see a lot more people coming by today, so how would $50 be for you two?”

He went and got the key and held it out to me. “Breakfast’s at 8:30 – kitchen door’s ‘round back,” and pointed – “Bacon ‘n’ eggs OK?”

As we were turning to go down the porch steps and back to the truck I heard him say, “Those kids are gonna be needin’ all the money they can pretty soon.”

We took our stuff – same as last night – my sports bag, her duffle bag and tote – upstairs and checked out the room. But then we decided that we were both really hungry so we went back down to the truck. We remembered that we saw several restaurants along Commercial Street when we were first driving in so we drove back there and parked near several of our restaurant prospects.

The first two places we looked in were not real expensive, but we were still hoping to find some place cheaper. Then we noticed a diner a half block down a side street. Still more expensive than we were hoping for but cheaper than the other ones we looked at.

We shared a large bowl of smoked salmon chowder (really good!) and an order of fish tacos (good, but not great) and coffee – not so much because we wanted coffee but because they would keep giving us refills for no extra charge.

So we sat there for a while, drinking our coffees, not talking much. And like in the truck, what we didn’t talk about was last night. And about tonight. And what ... how things will be when we get back to our room. What’s expected? What’s appropriate – and not? And by whom?

We looked at each other, and it looked like we agreed that it was time to leave. There was no sales tax on the food so I left a little larger tip for the older waitress who kept our coffee mugs filled. We put on our coats and stepped out into the drizzle, and while we were walking back to my truck Lorene put her arm around my waist. I wasn’t expecting anything like that, but then I looked down at Lorene and got the feeling that she’d surprised herself. I opened the door for her, then got in and we drove back to the room.

Our room, I guess.

I locked the truck and we walked up the stairs. I unlocked the door and opened it for Lorene. I followed her in and turned and locked the door.

And the very first thing she did when I turned around was to kiss me. Not a long or sexy, but not just a “peck,” either. Just a nice, soft “thank you” kiss, I guess.

“On my eighth birthday my parents saved up the money and surprised me with this brand new bicycle that I had wanted so badly – it was a Disney ‘Frozen’ bike with Princess Elsa on it.”

She paused, to make sure that I was listening and understanding what she was saying.

“Paul – today is the best day I’ve had since that birthday. So thank you – thank you for one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

I was touched. But really – what did we do today? We had a good hot breakfast and she got her cell phone charged and while we were driving she had a chance to tell me some about her life. And then we made a detour to this city where some movie was made and she got to see some of the places in the movie and we took some pictures, and then we had a dinner that was good but not great. And I thought, if this is one of the best days of her life, well, that’s kind of sad.

But on the other hand, I was glad that it was such a good day for her, and that I was able to make it happen.

“If it’s OK, I’d like to take a shower right now – would that be OK?”

Of course – I mean, what am I going to say?

But when she looked in the bathroom she realized that it had a full bathtub.

“Paul, do you think it’d be OK if instead of a shower I took a bath? I haven’t had a bathtub in years, and the idea of soaking in a warm bath seems so nice right now. Plus, my back is kinda sore from all the driving and ... well, you know...”

So I said, “Sure – I guess that’s why they got a bathtub, right – for people to take a bath?”

So while I was there she got undressed – kicked off her sneakers, then her white crew socks, then pulled her gray jersey sweatshirt off over her head, leaving her standing there in her jeans and that large bra. I wasn’t looking at her, but I didn’t make a point of looking away, either. Then she undid her denim jeans, which I noticed were snapped wayyy below her bulging abdomen, and stepped out of them, leaving her there in the dark pink cotton panties that she slipped on when she got out of bed this morning – man, that seems like ages ago now.

“Can I use your green jersey again like last night?”

I reached into my duffel. The neon green jersey was right there on top so I grabbed and held it out to her. She reached behind her back and unselfconsciously unhooked her full bra guided it off her arms and hung it over the back of the chair by little desk. She took the jersey from my extended hand and slipped it on over her head and worked it down her body, then slipped out of her panties and went into the bathroom. I heard her turn on the water in the tub, then closed the bathroom door. But like last night, only half-way.

I heard the sounds of the tub filling and the shower curtain being pushed aside. I kicked off my shoes, deciding that it would be OK to walk around the room in my socks. I finally closed the curtains and was taking out my shaving paraphernalia and stuff when my eye caught Lorene’s tote purse there on the bed. It had tipped over, and the way it was lying I could see the top third of a book.

I’m always curious about books. I didn’t think she’d mind, so I pulled it out. It was something with an unusual title, “All the Light We Cannot See.” It was by someone named Doerr – the picture on the back of the dust jacket showed “Doerr” to be a man. It kind of intrigued me. I mean, Lorene didn’t some across as the high-brow literary type and this looked like one of those artsy-fartsy books that wins lots of awards and is boring as shit.

But like I said – I was curious.

I went over to the bathroom door and called into the opening. “Hey, Lorene, I found your book sticking out of your bag – is it OK if I take a look at it?”

“Sure – look all you want.”

Then her voice changed, like she was going to ask a question – ask me for something.

“Paul. You know what would be really nice, if you came and read some of it to me,” then added in her usual, cautious way, “But only if that’d be OK with you.”

Sure. It wouldn’t kill me, and it might even make her good day even better for her.

“You want me to come in?”

So I opened the door and was immediately hit by the moist warmth from the tub of hot water. I took off the hoodie that I’ve been wearing as a combination shirt and jacket and hung it on the hook on the back of the door, right on top of “Lorene’s” jersey. I put down the toilet lid and tried to make myself comfortable on the hard flat seat.

“What should I read?”

“I think I got a mark stuck in it someplace,” and sure enough, there was a piece of paper sticking out from the pages. I opened the book to where her “bookmark” was – it turned out to be a “Bed, Bath & Beyond” coupon – didn’t they go out of business a while back? – and started reading:

I realized two things. I couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on in the story. And I found the writing strangely moving.

“Paul? Paul??”

“Huh? What?”

“I’m finished. I forgot to get a towel – could you get one and hand it to me ... please?”

I kind of gathered myself from ... from wherever my mind was ... and stood up from the toilet seat and grabbed one of the bigger towels. Then I noticed that the timer on the in-the-wall heater that Lorene had turned on when she first went in had timed-out, so I twisted it back on again.

“Paul, do you think you could please help me out? I think I’m a little off-balance... ‘cause of this...” and she put her hand to her belly. I held out my hand to her and she took it and pulled herself up to standing, but then kept ‘hold of my hand as she stepped out of the tub and onto the bathmat.

And she stood there, wet from the bath, in all her pregnant nakedness. I thought, “Should I help dry her?” but then thought that, no, we don’t have that kind of relationship. In fact, we don’t have any kind of relationship at all. Well, except for that thing last night...

And it didn’t seem like she was expecting me to. I handed her the towel and went back into the room, leaving her to dry herself off, I guess like she ordinarily would.

“Your turn.”

Oh. Yeah.

I grabbed the jersey I wore last night. I guess from now on it’s going to be my robe, too. I undressed, and I tried to be as cool about it as Lorene had been when she undressed. And it really wasn’t that hard. Like she did, I didn’t try to cover up and I didn’t try to show off – just took off my tee and jeans and Jockeys and pulled on the red Chiefs jersey. I grabbed the things I’d unpacked while Lorene was in the tub and went into the bathroom.

I took a quick shower, and figured that since I was already wet and steamy, that it would save time tomorrow morning if I shaved now. So I leaned out of the shower curtain and grabbed a Bic and the can of Barbasol and shaved in the shower.

I got out and dried off and put on some deodorant, then brushed my teeth. I slipped my jersey back on, looked around to see if I was forgetting anything, and stepped out into the room. Like last night, I left the bathroom light on and closed the door most but not all of the way.

“You clean up pretty good.”

I smiled. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Lorene complimenting me like that, but then I decided that it felt kinda good.

Know what else felt good?

When she put her arms around my neck and pulled my head down, gently, and kissed me. Then she pulled back and looked at me. And I guess what she saw was enough to make her do it again.

This time when she stepped back she said, “Paul?”

“Yeah?” I think I had a little catch in my throat when I answered.

“I liked what we did last night.”

I didn’t answer. I don’t know if she was even expecting an answer.

I don’t think any answer was necessary.

She put her hands on my hips to steady herself and kneeled down in front of me, sliding her small hands down to lift the front of my jersey with one hand, and with the other hand she took my cock, which somehow had become thick and engorged, and held it steady.

And she gently put her mouth over it, just holding it in the warmth and the softness. And for ten or fifteen seconds, this is all she did – just hold it. But then she started to slide her head back and forth, and she seemed to be making sure that it was always touching her tongue or her cheeks.

She didn’t hurry, didn’t try to act like a slut or a porn actress – just slid her soft mouth slowly and steadily back and forth on my cock, and I couldn’t tell if my cock wanted to get ramrod stiff or to melt in the warmth of her mouth. I put my hands on her head, and I just held them there, liking the soft feel of her kinky rust-colored hair while this woman I didn’t know 24 hours ago made love to my cock.

“Paul? Paul?”

“Oh. Yuh?”

“This position is kind of uncomfortable.”

Yeah, I guess this would be kind of hard on her. I lowered my hands and took her arms and helped her to stand up. I backed her up to the edge of the bed, then guided her down and she pulled her legs back and I kneeled down, and now it was my turn to make love to her.

And that’s what I tried to do – not eat her, like I might do other times. Instead, something told me that this woman – that Lorene – would prefer gentleness to passion, this time, at least. Since she was pregnant I didn’t know what to expect, but her freshly-bathed pussy was fresh and soft and tinged with just the slightest hint of woman, and I heard her sigh when my lips touched the delicate folds of flesh that protruded through the soft reddish fur.

I put my hands on her slim thighs, right where they met her narrow hips, and I leaned forward until that soft fur was touching my face, and then I pressed in closer. And this time it was her turn to put her small hands on my head, and I felt her fingers in my hair.

And like that I tried to treat Lorene’s pussy as lovingly as she had treated me. I pulled my nose and lips out of the soft fur and extended my tongue and began to lick up and down those soft coral-colored petals of flesh, first the outsides, and then the slit in between them. And I touched the firmer, wetter flesh there, and I licked that, running my tongue up and down the cleft there, and then touching the little bump at the top, and then running my tongue back down, then pressing in a little more firmly, trying to penetrate her with my tongue.

And in all honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever known a lovelier pussy. And is that because Lorene – her pussy – are “different” in some way, or is it because in an effort to be gentle with this woman whose physical condition I was totally unfamiliar with, that I’ve taken the time to appreciate what is there? Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed eating – making love to a woman – “there” as much as I am with Lorene, now.

And speaking of enjoying.

While my mind was lost in these thoughts my tongue and lips had been following a familiar path, and that path had led them to Lorene’s clit, and my tongue was swirling itself around it and my lips were encircling it and sucking gently, and I was thinking that if I’m going to make her feel good then maybe I’d better make sure and do it “this way,” because I don’t know how much she’s able to react, or whether we’d be able to find a position what would work for her, or...

“Oh, Paul..., ”

... and the fingers in my hair clutched, and her hips jerked once, and then stopped, then jerked again, and then jerked again...

And then her hips – her whole body – seemed to relax totally, and I lay my cheek against her pussy and her thigh and I relaxed. I don’t think I was even aware of my cock that had figured so prominently in getting us to this point.