THE DRIVER

He lay in her bed, considering how to tell her the truth. She was busying herself with her morning toilet in the bathroom. Sighing, he folded his hands behind his head and waited for her to come out.

The bathroom door opened and Chantal padded out in her white terrycloth bathrobe. She looked clean.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

"Good morning to you to," he said, trying not to look too guilty.

As he climbed out of bed, she noticed that he had already dressed. She thought his shirt had been black, but today it was white. Obviously she had been mistaken in the dark of the previous evening- maybe blind with lust, she thought, blushing internally.

"So what do you want to do today?" she asked, pulling some casual clothes out of her dresser.

"Well I was thinking..." he began, stopping confused as she gave him a pleading look. "What?"

"Um, would you mind, you know, turning around or something?"

He chuckled at her modesty this morning, after how she'd acted the night before, but turned to face the window anyway.

"Go on," she prompted, voice muffled by a shirt.

"Right, well I was thinking we could just go for a drive, and maybe if we see something that looks like fun, we just go for it."

"Ok," she sounded a bit hesitant, "drive where though?"

"Just around, I guess."

"Sure, why not. Oh, you can turn around now, thanks."

He turned to see her dressed in fresh khakis and a baby blue cotton shirt.

"Cute."

"Thanks, are you hungry?"

"A little, how about we go out for breakfast to start things off?"

"Pancakes at Perkins?"

"You read my mind."

The day was a lot warmer than yesterday had been, and the air smelled like spring. Some melting snow lingered on the lawn in front of her building, and the sky was clear and bright.

Chantal walked out to the street arm in arm with her lover, her heart feeling twice its size with joy. Maybe now her life would really begin. She could get married, have kids, and she'd start by finally getting a jump on her career. She felt like she was just awakening to a whole new world of possibilities, filled with meaning and purpose.

She was on top of the world as she climbed into the bluish-silver sports car- nothing would bring her down.

She smiled, admiring his profile as he pulled the car out into the street. As they drove, she noticed something about the way he was driving- it was more like cruising. He sat low in the leather seat, one hand on the gear-shifter, and one at the top of the wheel. He wore that same serene expression that she remembered caught her attention outside the shop.

Just as she was filled with joy at her situation, so he felt the calm wash over him as the engine purred. The stereo in his car was impressive, and at the very least, expensive, but he seldom turned it on. Preferring to let his mind drift and become one with his car, the road, and the other drivers.

Chantal was just about to ask which Perkins he was headed for, when she glanced away from him and noticed that they'd already arrived.

"Your server will be here right away, can I get you any drinks to start off with? Coffee?"

"Sure," he replied, looking over to Chantal.

"Yes please," she said to the hostess that sat them.

He turned to watch the hostess run off then looked back at Chantal.

"So you like pancakes?" he began.

"Yeah, well they're good breakfast food, you know?"

"Definitely, but- do you ever wonder why you like pancakes?"

"Because they taste good?" she offered.

"Ever take philosophy when you were at university?"

"I took Intro in my first year I think, but I couldn't really get the hang of it."

"Well have you ever heard of determinism?"

"I don't think so... what is it?"

"It's pretty much the opposite of free will. Determinism says that everyone's actions are always determined by antecedent conditions, and that free will is just an illusion."

"That's pretty messed up," she chuckled.

"Is it?" he asked, "Let me ask you this then, you said you liked pancakes because they taste good-"

"Don't forget the syrup, it helps," she interrupted.

He smiled, "-but why do you like things that taste good?"

She mulled this over for a moment, and figured she had come up with a pretty clever answer when her train of thought was derailed by the arrival of their coffee.

The hostess set a bowl of creamers, two cups and a carafe of coffee on the table and apologized for the wait, assuring them that their server would be with them shortly.

He burnt his tongue sipping some steaming coffee and nodded an acknowledgment to the hostess.

"Ok, I give up, what's the answer?" she conceded while dumping four creamers and four packets of sugar into her cup.

"The answer is that you can't help but like things that taste good. You see, the question itself is nonsense, in that you would obviously consider what you 'like' to be 'good'. My point is that you will order the pancakes, and can do nothing else, because you can't help liking them, and that's the antecedent condition."

"You're beginning to turn me off pancakes," she said.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to overwhelm you." This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Don't worry about it, it's just a little too deep for breakfast-talk. How about you tell me about your job instead?"

And so the time had come.

"Yeah, about that," he began.

Out on the highway, he played a little game he made up to amuse him. He would see how fast he could get the car going before a cop would pull him over. It was a relief to get out of her life for a while. Maybe she'd develop a bit more on her own.

The coffee shop closed early on Sundays, so it was still daytime when Chantal went around cleaning up the last few tables. She had almost had a heart attack the previous week at breakfast with Greg.

Everything had been going so well up to that point. She thought she'd finally found Mr. Right, and that her whole life had been about to change. They were on such a similar wavelength; it was like he could read her thoughts. But then he told her the truth.

She had heard guys start with the phrase 'Yeah, about that...' in the past, and it never led to anything good. Her breath had caught in her throat and her eyes widened like a frightened doe.

She had been prepared for anything, but as it turned out, the news wasn't quite as bad as she'd thought.

He'd told her that he actually lived in another city, and only came to this city now and then on business. He said that they could never have a proper relationship, but that he still cared deeply for her.

Feeling used, but otherwise intact, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she should have asked him more questions about his life rather than dominating the conversation. Really, it was her own fault. She had probably scared him off just by thinking about the future.

He'd promised her he would write, and visit when he was in town, but she'd heard lines like that before as well, and they've never made things any better. In the end, she'd just asked to be taken home. They'd skipped breakfast, and she'd watched him drive away before going in to- reflect.

Reflect, not cry.

Chantal finished the rest of her closing duties at the shop and caught the bus home. She tried, yet again, to keep herself from thinking about Greg, but he filled her thoughts. She wavered back and forth between missing him- odd, since they were together such a short time- and hating him for leaving her.

By the time she arrived at her apartment, Sunday bus schedules being as bad as they are, she had managed to get herself under control again. She made herself some vegetable stir-fry for dinner and didn't think of him for the rest of the evening.

When she was getting ready for bed, however, standing in the bathroom about to take her pill, he stole into her thoughts. An image flashed in her mind of him laying on her futon, shirt open and eyes deep and sexy in the candlelight.

Angry with herself for indulging, she looked at the tiny pill in her hand and took her rage out on it. She squeezed the pill to no effect, instead throwing it in the garbage, followed quickly by its brothers in the little dial case. She vowed never to have sex again. It always ruined things.

They had been having a wonderful time, talking in her living room, until she had to go and drag him into the bedroom.

"Well no more", she thought, and stormed off to bed, falling asleep very slowly in a tempest of emotion.

But in sleep her dreams betrayed her.

He was standing in the coffee shop, looking out the window- ignoring her. She was upset, had tears streaming down her cheeks and was pleading with him.

"Please, I need you."

No answer from Greg, not even a clue that he heard what she said, just that stupid, placid look on his face.

"I don't want to be alone anymore, why did you leave? I hate you!" she screamed at him. There was an eerie silence, like the eye of a storm, as she waited for any kind of response from him, but he remained motionless.

The silence crashed into resounding sobs, like a roomful of children crying it seemed, as she felt broken, desperate.

"I'll do anything," she sniffed, after calming down a bit, "anything you want. I'll be your servant, do whatever you want, if you come back.

"You just want to use me for sex? Fine, use me for sex, just don't leave me alone," her hand dropped to her crotch at the idea of sex.

"I'll be your private dancer if you want, I'll give you shows every night," her fingers curled between her legs, pressing against her lips through the crotch of her jeans.

"Look, I can be sexy," she started rubbing her hand over her mound, bucking her hips. She pulled her shirt off and cupped her breasts with both hands, "this is want you want, right?"

Letting go of her chest, she opened her pants and slid her hand down, her middle finger coming in contact with her dry clit. The shock of it made her gasp and she pulled her hand back up.

She put her fingers in her mouth and drew out some saliva. Moving back down to her cunt, she spread it all around the area of her clit.

"See?" she paused, drawing in a laboured breath, "I'm your little sex-toy, and we can be happy together."

Her fingers worked faster, making little circles around her clit. Her knees grew weak and her speech became thick with lust.

"Oh god, see how horny you make me?" she cried, and then she was on a table, with her knees in her armpits and Greg's cock sliding into her cunt with a wet, squishing sound. She grunted loudly and tried to pull her legs further back to open herself wider.

As his cock pounded her relentlessly, it occurred to her that she'd stopped taking her birth control, and that she might get pregnant from this. If she had his baby, he'd be forced to stay with her. He could never leave!

"Oh yes, cum inside me, lover, fill me up," she pleaded, now desperate to get knocked-up.

His noises became more audible after a bit, and sensing that he was getting close, she grabbed his tight ass and pulled him in deeper with each stroke. She could feel her own orgasm building up at the thought of getting pregnant, and of trapping her man forever.

Just as she was about to climax, his cock came a bit too far back on one of the strokes and it popped right out of her pussy. She looked down in time to see his cock jerking and cum shooting out on to her belly.

"No!" she cried in anguish as the precious sperm was wasted.

She reached down and tried to force his already- softening cock back into her body. The head of his cock was still coated in cum, so maybe there was still a chance.

She tried to scoop as much cum as she could off her belly and out of her pubic hair to push into her cunt, as a long shot.

Frantically fingering herself to push the cum deeper, she was about to give up hope when she felt a little sperm sneak into one of her eggs. She smiled triumphantly and looked up at Greg's calm face.

Chantal awoke, sticky with sweat, to the sound of her alarm. She had to go to work in an hour.

Turning of the alarm, she jumped out of bed and went to her bathroom to shower. Vague feelings were bothering her- floating just past her consciousness. She couldn't remember exactly what she'd been dreaming about, but it had been degrading and shameful.

Thankfully, though, showers can be good for cleaning more than just the body, and the hot water beating against her back focussed her thoughts on the day ahead and what she would wear.

She got dressed and headed downstairs to catch the bus to work, and stopped by her mailbox to check for mail. Sorting through the stack she found bills, junk mail, and a letter- from Greg.