Strawberries

That's ok. I enjoy seeing someone else's imagination. He should give it a shot on here sometime.

 

We will find out soon. I didn't want to force the ending last week and write something I wasn't pleased with.
I needed another week on the road to work it out. I do my best thinking behind the wheel.
I often wonder what I would do if I could quit driving a truck and write full time.
I would probably have to get in my car and take off every few days, then come back and write some more.

The newspaper article was misleading because I have ended a few stories that way.
When I pick it back up it will be six months later in Georgia.

 

I did like the part about a potential three way LOL

 

"White flag this time by. And it looks like Savannah's own Mike the Hammer is going to...oh no! He done blowed his motor sky high. I swear I just seen a connecting rod slap the inside wall. Looks like he led every lap but the last one. Junior Jones in the 17 car is first across the stripe, followed by Buck Hawkins in the 12 and Charlie Watts in the 29 rounding out the top three. What a race ladies and gentlemen. We're taking a fifteen minute intermission, so be sure to take advantadge of our two for one specials on hot dogs and Cokes at our concession stand. And don't nobody dare go nowhere. The main event is coming up, with some super modifides down here all the way from Atlanta. It's gonna be good folks."

"Danged if you aint the sexiest announcer I ever laid eyes on." Ricky said into Joey's ear as he slipped up behind Joey and wrapped his arms around her.

"Now I don't believe fans are allowed up in the tower, but I could make an exception, being on break and all." she said, kissing him full on the mouth. "Back early aren't you, not that I'm complaining."

"I deadheaded from Augusta. Might load me some chickens in Valdosta next week. Then again, I might not."

"I'm really liking this new and improved lazy truckdriver mode you're in."

 

That day on the beach six months ago evolved into three days and two nights in a surfside motel. Three days and two nights largely spent indoors, with brief excursions to visit the little cafe next door or a quick dip in the ocean. Everything they did served to validate what he thought to himself back at the house. I can't let her go.

Hours passed like minutes and time took on a dreamlike quality. Their lovemaking was at times slow, peaceful, like a swan drifting on a pond on a sultry summer day, with no particular destination and no hurry to get there.

Other times it was intense, physical, bordering on violent, biting, clawing, pulling. A runaway locomotive hell bent on thundering down the mountain grade, oblivious of the village at the bottom.

They would sleep in each other's arms as one, often awakening to find themselves in coitus, not knowing when the sleep ended and the loving began. Orgasms were plentiful, often coming together, as synchonized as a finely tuned ballet duo.

"Watcha thinkin' country boy?" Joey asked, coming out of the shower, hair still damp, water glistening on her breasts, towel slung nonchalantly over her shoulder.

I can't let you go is what he was thinking. Instead he said "I could do this from now on."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful. But unless one of us wins the lottery, we need to get back out in the real world and be productive. Besides, if we keep this up much longer we could devolve to the point of losing our social skills. We could turn into nymphomaniac cave dwellers or something."

"I love it when you use big words." Ricky said, tossing her on the bed.