Scotch by night

Abby is woken by the sound of a V8 and tyres against gravel. Both sources of sound are close to her head, and her head is resting on her arm, on the ground in a deserted 2:30 am petrol station on the outskirts of town. The first daylight is coming in along the ground, and for the first time in a few hours Abby is visible: that is how Bjorn was able to see the outline  of her body next to the pump. The neon of the petrol station is weak, cold, absent, and alone it did not reveal her presence. Abby has been invisible since she passed out.

Abby gets up from the ground next to the Mustang. The electrically powered window slides down. She is too dazed to take in everything, so she focuses on herself. Her body. Chilled. Dizzy. Clothes wrinkled, but whole. Her mind makes a quick scan of herself. No pains, no vomit, no sperm, no blood, no cuts. She’s in one piece. Unmolested.

Presently she turns her attention to the car and its driver. She shivers slightly with the night air, and notices that her bag is somehow in its place, hanging from her right shoulder. Her hands on the top of the door frame as she leans on the car, the heat from the cabin envelops her upper body. Bliss. 

The driver looks at her. She looks back.

“Where you headed?”

She names her homeplace.

“That’s a 40 minute drive!” the driver exclaims.

“I know”

Abby’s mind is racing. She needs to get home before the morning. There is really no way to get home except a lift with someone. Someone like this guy?

She looks at him again. Who will say it first?

He is non-descript. Not a guy she would look at twice. The car is immaculate. It smells slightly fusty, the way of old cars, and also of petrol and oil. The rev-counter and speedo in their deep cowlings, the manual shifter, the seat covers. Everything is familiar to her; this is her childhood and adolescence. The sound of V8s and the smell of burnt rubber. Even the driver seems familiar, a standard country boy in his set of wheels. He’s turned the music way down, but she can still hear Ring of Fire. Some tapes are stacked on the centre console. Talking Heads, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Bruce.

The V8 rumbles reassuringly, rocking the car from side to side. She can smell the exhaust.

“Can I get in? I’m cold”

He nods, she slips in. Deep bucket seats.

He looks at her, gathers himself.

“I can drive you home in exchange for… some… “

She looks at him, eyes squinting.

“services”, he concludes.

Her stomach goes cold. So this is what it’s about.
“Why don’t you just give me a lift like a gentleman”, she rebuts.

He hesitates, as if searching for assurance and the words to sound assured.

Her stomach is gauging the situation, and it’s dialling back the fear. His hesitation reassures her.

For a moment he looks like he might take the gentleman-offer. Then he doubles down.

He knows she has few options. Not a single car has passed in the time he’s been there. And who knows who’s out there at this hour.

“and?” she challenges him

“two cumshots” he says. He looks as surprised as she is to hear the words. “cumshots” – where did that come from?

“what?”

“I wanna cum twice. Now, and when we get to your place”

He must have practiced this phrase, maybe even said it before. It sounds strangely mechanical.

“can you .. I mean, twice, like that?” (why is she discussing this as if it were some biological issue?)

“sure”

This at least, he seems sure of.

“I don’t fuck. I’m a virgin”

Her crucifix glints as if to make the point.

“Handjob now, blowjob when we get there”, he ventures, 

Sounds like a menu in a brothel, she thinks to herself.

Silence reigns for a while. She looks out the window, which he has closed to keep the warmth in. As if to put off the negotiations, she turns to him.

“do you go to.. I mean .. do you do it with whores?”

He hesitates.

“sometimes”

They both know this is a low estimate.

“OK”, she relents, without really knowing why. But she does know how the world turns, and she has been here before, one way or another.

He sighs with relief, and for a moment looks like he intends to leave it there, as if her acquiescence were sufficient.

But he’s got a hard-on, she just knows.

He unbuttons his jeans, down goes the zip, and there it is, almost completely erect, already glistening, and to her astonishment, uncut. This is a first.

“My dad didn’t want me to be cut” he says, anticipating her question.

But she would hardly have asked.

The foreskin rolls back and the deep purple glans comes into view.

Abby tries to remember how she got here, but instead she grabs the hard shaft and starts to jerk him off. He moans softly. This is going to be very quick.

“oh God I always come too quickly” he mutters. She takes a break. 

“no, go on!”. He sucks air between his teeth. His cock is really hard, and dry and pleasant to hold. Her left arm already aches a bit.

She pauses, as if she already guessed his next move. He doesn’t want to soil himself or his car. A condom is fished out of a pocket and quickly rolled on. Abby twists her body and grabs his dick with her right hand. That’s easier. Bjorn stretches out, luxuriating in the feeling of being jerked off by a strange hand, knowing it’s all his now, a home run, he can just enjoy, come, come… he comes, rapidly filling the condom with sperm. She squeezes out a few final drops, and leaves the rest to him.

“What’s your name?” 

“Bjorn”, he replies.

He must be a few years older than her. Looking around the car, she can confirm his name. A small brass plate is attached to the dash with brass screws, it says “Bjorn’s wheels”. He has zipped up and clears his voice. He gives her a shy look before selecting first gear and giving the accelerator a firm prod. The familiar V8 rumble fills the cabin as the car wags its tail slightly on the gravel before shooting down the road. The headlights and the dashboard lights create a small world containing just the two of them. It’s them and darkness.

She glances at the speedo and the rev counter, and the numbers tell her that he’s a responsible driver. She finds herself relaxing, almost amused. Warmth from the V8 has filtered into her body, and she’s feeling all right. A slight headache, that’s to be expected. She’s thirsty, and rummages in her bag. The half-empty bottle of Coke is gone.

“Are you thirsty? There’s a can in the glove compartment”

Glove compartment, how quaint, she thinks, but also feels grateful. She knew almost immediately that Bjorn, as he turned out to be, was not wicked or dangerous. Just lonely and horny.

She gulps down the 330ml of Coke. 

“What should I do with the can?“

“There’s a litter bag by your left foot”

Indeed there is, held in place by a spring loaded clip. The car is immaculate. She knows instinctively that his only dream is to share this car with his girl. That’s what it’s for. All the hours he has spent grinding, painting, rubbing this machine, all the time his fingers were black with oil and grease, all pointed to that singular goal. To share it with his girl.

“I’m Abby”, she says. “Abigail. My father is English, you see.”

She’s not sure he sees.

They pass a familiar point in the gloom, a former trading place by the sea. 30 minutes to go.

She is surprised she has never met Bjorn before.

“You don’t live around here, do you?”

“Well, I do now. I moved here a few weeks ago, so I am just making myself familiar.”

But you knew where my place is, she thought to herself. Been on the prowl maybe?

His accent suggests the same region, maybe the mainland.

“I am a bus driver”, he ventures.

That would explain it. Indeed, she had taken the bus the previous night to go to the concert, but her plans for getting home were sketchy to say the least. A half-baked plan to stay the night with Sophie fell through when Sophie changed plans at the last minute. And now she’s here, in this temple to masculinity, with one down, one to go.

There’s time to reflect. Chat, even.

“Do you go to school?”

He’s trying to find out her age.

“Sure, final year”. So at least 18 then.

“And then?”

Will she stay and become his girlfriend, or move away?

“I haven’t quite decided. I’ll study, for sure, but maybe I’ll take a year off. Work, travel”

She’s not in the mood, she realizes. Tired, too. Her ideas of dentistry would be met with remarks about her school achievements. She does not want that.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She does not reply at first. He looks at her to provoke her to answer.

She looks back. At length she says:

“I did, but we broke up after he tried to rape me”

Bjorn looks slightly shocked; a shock tinged with guilt. Maybe this was rape, too?

She reads his mind, does not feel like giving him a free pass.

Abby can almost see the cogs turning in his head.

“How?”

Bjorn can’t stop himself from asking. It’s not an innocent question, and they both know it.

“The usual way. He tried to stuff his dick inside me. You know. I wasn’t ready. It’s my decision when that happens.”

“he was getting violent, and showing something I had only glimpsed until then. A hardness. You know?”

“What happened then…”?

“His dick was rubbing against my stomach and he came suddenly. Then he got soft, and that gave me time to pull away”.

“.. and I ran out and never went back”

“Did you tell your parents?”

“Yup, and they supported me. We’re a religious family.”

She knew what he was thinking. Handjobs and blowjobs were a common solution to the virginity-conundrum. Even anal sex.

“Only sex is sex”, he smiled, and she smiled back at this sudden mutual understanding.

“Did you blow him?”

She did, but she was ready to draw the line. “None of your business”, and the warmth gave way to a chill. He cursed himself and his lack of self-control.

The silence lasted a long time. Bjorn considered mentioning the weather, or music. Even buses. Or politics. She was unreachable, he realized.

Outside the dawn was fastening its grip. The contours of the landscape appeared, suddenly the low, undulating hills along the coastline stood out. The orange cone of the headlights slowly faded, overcome by the clarity of dawn.

Looking at her composure, he didn’t feel anger. Gray, that’s how he felt, and limp. His mind was limp. He couldn’t muster the strength to approach her again.

She sensed how despondent he was.

“What is it with you and sex” she asked

“I need to come many times a day” he said matter of factly.

Again, silence. Then she turned to him.

“Yes, I did blow him. Every girl around here blows her man”.

There wasn’t much more to say.
“Turn off in about 200 metres” she said, and he did. They were on a narrow gravel road through a wooded area, when she said “turn down that track”.

Bjorn obeyed, as the Mustang heaved and rolled on its rear leaf springs down a dirt track which descended out of view and ended on a flat surface with a large pile of wood and some wood-splitting machinery.

She smiled at him. “This place is called the BJ-hole among my sisters and brother”.

“And they all ended up losing their virginities here”.

Bjorn shot her an almost hopeful glance.

“Let’s do this”, Abby said.

“No, no, it was wrong of me. Back there. I’m sorry. I’ve been ashamed the whole time”.

“I know”, Abby replied. “You can’t hide your feelings very well”

Abby reached over and undid his fly, then pulled his dick out from his underwear. It looked a bit sad, moist and half limp, but now slowly filling with the blood of hope. Abby found support for her weight and leaned over him and filled her mouth. The smell of his pubic hair stung her nostrils, as did the funk of fresh sperm. She fought back a wave of nausea and started to move up and down while using her tongue to caress his softest, most vulnerable parts. In a short while his precum started to flow, and quite abundantly, too. She felt her power. Her shoulders ached, so she stretched and took a break. Her face was so close to his that her hair hung over his right shoulder; he could smell the alcohol on her breath and also his own sex, and her shampoo, and all the smells hit him like a punch to the gut. Her gaze was steady on him.

“Sure you can come”?

He nodded.

She resumed her work, and before she tired completely she felt his orgasm approaching. He tried to push her head away, but she shook her head, which hurt a bit, so he relented, and presently ejaculated into her mouth.

She raised herself upright, swallowed, looked at him with a wry expression. His was a look of gratitude and wonder.

A few minutes later Bjorn turned the Mustang around and the V8 grumblingly pushed the heaving, bobbing car up the track, then left onto the gravel road. She made him stop short, just as he glimpsed a building in the distance, in a spot where he could turn the car.

“Good bye”, she said, and shut the door softly. As she walked away with his taste in her mouth and a tingling between her legs, she heard the familiar V8 rumble, softly, softly, so as not to wake the household.

Bjørn did a hard left onto the highway and turned on the radio.

“Velkommen til nattradioen. Klokken er halv fire, og vi skal straks spille fra ønskelisten til lytterne, men først en væroppdatering”