The sun was hot, the road was barren and the journey was long; and far from over. Cathy Warner and Becky Morris arrived at the old, run-down, almost deserted little family restaurant right smack in the middle of some one-horse town in Indiana not even on the map, wiping the sweat off their brows, not so much happy to be here as happy to be anywhere. This little adventure of theirs seemed to be a good idea when Becky first proposed it-- a "Thelma and Louise Trip" as it had been billed, a little adventure where the two would break free of the ties that bound them, and go on their cross-country voyage into the infinite, to prove that yes, indeed, they had arrived. Unfortunately, though, they had not arrived, in fact, they didn't even know where they were going. Becky righted one of the straps of her turquoise tank top that had begun to slowly slide off her shoulder, repositioning it into the tan line that seemed to mark just where it belonged. There was, one may notice, no bra to interfere in such things. Becky slid into a booth, Cathy just behind her slid into the other side. The cheap vinyl of the seats stuck to the slightly sweaty, smooth, bare flesh of their legs, for the torn remnants of jeans that they called shorts only just barely covered their tight, round asses, leaving the rest of their tan legs vulnerable to incidents of sticking to the feisty vinyl. Becky's tank top slipped off her shoulder once more, she left it this time. "Do you have any idea where we are?" Cathy asked in a slightly exasperated tone, a hand taking a swipe across her face, locks of dirty blonde hair being placed back in their right place, as her curious but tired green eyes peered across the table at Becky. She crossed her legs under the table, wincing as she unstuck one of them, smoothing out her white T-shirt with her bra visible underneath. Becky, the one without the bra, shrugged a bit. "Don't worry about it," she answered nonchalantly, "we can always ask for directions. That's what we can do." She forced a smile at Cathy, trying to placate her traveling companion. Cathy was always the skeptical one. She had been enthusiastic about this trip at first, but that enthusiasm seemed to have faded the first time things didn't go exactly according to plans. For her part, Becky considered herself the more adaptable of the pair, and believed that any amount of trouble was only part of the fun. This, for example, was no exception. A fairly listless waitress made her way over, her gray dress that passed for a uniform faded, her apron covered in stains of every shape and color, her pad outstretched to write down the order-- not that she ever needed to, she had been working here long enough that her craft, if one could be so bold as to call it that, was second nature to her. "What can I getcha?" she asked, peering at each of the girls with the same tired expression, as if to really say, "Tell me what you want, so I can get away from here." "Iced tea, please." said Becky, not even looking at the waitress. "Yeah, just iced tea," echoed Cathy. The waitress looked them both over, and then walked over, not bothering to write anything down of course, for she had no need of that, not ever, but especially not now with such a simple request. Just iced tea. Cathy, meanwhile, grew increasingly agitated, her hands gripping the edge of the table, only the very tips of her fingers visible from above, her slightly long fingernails adorned with chipped, worn pink nail polish just barely protruding over the edge. "So, are you going to ask?" Cathy asked. "For directions?" she clarified almost immediately afterward. Becky just shrugged, the strap of her tank top sliding further downward. Again, she paid it no heed. The iced tea came shortly afterwards, delivered by the listless waitress. "Do you know how to get back to the interstate?" asked Becky. The waitress shrugged, and absently pointed off in some direction that could've been any number of directions, given the unsure way in which her finger just floated in space. "Go that way." "Which way?" asked Becky. "East," said the waitress, who might seem to be getting slightly irritated to someone who hadn't been there since the moment the girls arrived, for someone who had been there since then would notice that every word the waitress uttered was in this semi-irritated fashion. "Go east," she continued, "about ten miles. Then make a left. There's the interstate." "East," Becky repeated. "East," echoed Cathy, "about ten miles. Then a left." She wanted to make sure it was perfectly clear, for they were already lost, and further irritation is not what she needed on this hot day. Being lost, no, she didn't need that either. Especially not here. The girls drank their iced tea, making small talk with each other; small talk, for they were too worn out at the moment to discuss anything of real importance, and with each other, for it was obvious the listless waitress had better things to do than talk to them, small, large, or anything in between. For example, she seemed far more interested in going outside and smoking a cigarette, which is exactly what she did. Upon finishing their tea, and noticing the waitress outside, the girls fished around in their pockets, planning on just leaving some change on the table and departing this dive, the crushing emptiness of the place a little too much for them to take at the moment. "Just a second," Becky said. "I'm going to find a bathroom. Hold on." Cathy rolled her eyes, drumming her chipped pink fingernails against the table, leaning forward to take a sip of her tea, a slurping sound rising from the glass full of ice as Cathy drew in as much air as tea. She gave Becky only an absent nod for acknowledgment, going back to staring out the window at the waitress intently smoking her cigarette. Or cigarettes, maybe, she seemed like the type who would chain-smoke, and she had certainly been out there long enough. Becky made her way to the back of the restaurant, snaking past dingy chairs and dented tables, until she arrived at a small hallway in the back. It was even hotter here than in the front. Two featureless white doors stood before her, neither labeled as to its purpose. She pondered for a moment, before deciding, without any particular reason, on the left door. She pushed the door open, peering inside; she was cautious, as she wished to avoid any possible negative consequence of choosing the wrong door. Indeed, it was the wrong door, for the small room she peered into contained a range, a few various work surfaces, and other accouterments that would suggest it was the kitchen. She was about to put it out of her mind and close the door, when the most interesting feature of the kitchen caught her eye. Near the back of the small kitchen, reclining on a metal chair, was a man. He appeared to be asleep, or unconscious. Or dead. He wore only a pair of faded jeans, and pair of beat-up boots, his chest was bare. Becky could not help but look at his chest, muscled as it was. It seemed to ripple before her. His face was clean-shaven, but he made up for it with his long, stringy, slightly curly hair, that seemed to go this way and that, covering part of his face, going down his neck and shoulders. Becky walked slowly into the kitchen. It was even hotter in here. No wonder there seemed to be a faint glistening of sweat on the man's body. The door closed behind her, making a noise which momentarily made her jump. She glanced back at the door, and then stepped fully into the kitchen, walking towards the mysterious man in the corner. As she drew closer to him, the chiseled perfection of his chest and arms became even more evident to her, and she was even more captivated by him. Upon arriving next to him, her hand reached out and touched his arm. She did not remember consciously directing her arm to do so, it was as though it went forth of its own volition. In touching the man, he awakened, looking up at Becky with curious brown eyes. His face was rugged but handsome, having shown the wear of someone who truly worked for a living, yet not having lost all of its youthful vigor. He looked up at her from the chair, studying her carefully. For her part, Becky studied him as well, the heat in her body rising not only because of the great heat in this cramped space, but because of the visage that this man presented to her. She knew in the back of her mind that the best thing for her to do right now was to leave, to go out and meet Cathy and leave this place for good, but something kept her anchored to this spot in the floor, completely immobile. The man leaned forward, his eyes darting across Becky's body. They paused for a moment on the bit of cleavage that her tank top bared, and then again at the strap that was falling down her shoulder, and the tan line that it left in its wake, marking where it should be. Perhaps a perfectionist, perhaps making a move on Becky, or perhaps just not knowing any better, he reached up, and righted the strap. Becky was shocked momentarily, as the man's hand came towards her, but she quickly figured out that any shock was unwarranted. He seemed harmless enough. These kinds of thoughts, though, she knew, are just what his type would want her to think. Again, the reality dawned on her that it might be safer, and better, to just leave now. Still, she did not. Her feet seemed to be anchored. The man stood up, and again there was a moment of shock. Still, she was paralyzed. However, it was not a paralysis of fear, it was more of an entrancement. Something about this man just had that effect on her. Perhaps it was his eyes. Becky stared into those brown eyes of his, eyes that seemed to sparkle with life, and just wanted to get lost in them. Indeed, she did. They were seemingly infinite, like the road that was ahead of her throughout her travels, and like that road, she knew that she had only to travel this one, not having a destination in mind, for she would know her destination when she arrived. The man reached out again, but by this time, Becky was so entranced by his eyes that shock did not even register. He gripped the bottom of her top, pulling it upward. Almost automatically, her hands rose, her arms stretching upward to allow him to pull the turquoise tank top with the recalcitrant strap right off. She stood topless before him, her shoulders and stomach tan, but her breasts pale. Her dark pink but not quite red nipples stood erect, and her entire body seemed to be filled with an odd sort of energy after staring into the mysterious man's soulful eyes. He took another step forward, and bare chest met bare chest. He pressed himself up against her. Still she couldn't move. His arms wrapped around her. Hers, almost automatically, around him, pressing her breasts up against his muscular chest. Erect nipple met erect nipple. She licked her lips, he licked his, and their eyes locked. They drew closer together. This is it, she thought. I should move, I should go, I should get out of this place. She kissed him. Deeply, and passionately, with all of the strength of her soul behind him. She put all of the mysterious energy she felt surging through her into that kiss, her tongue probing his mouth with abandon, and he doing the same to her. His hands caressed her bare back, they squeezed her tight, round ass, and they pulled her closer to him. The kiss went on for what could have been seconds, or it could have been hours, Becky had no way of knowing, for she was lost in the sensations. Still, it did end, and the man took a step back, looking her up and down again, and smiling slightly to her. Just then, she realized that she had not yet uttered a single word to this man. She tried to speak, but she could not. Like her legs before, her lips too seemed to be paralyzed, at least for the function of speech, for she seemed to have no problems kissing. He reached out, cupping one of her pale breasts in his hand, leaning forward and extending the same skilled tongue that had kissed her, and flicking it across her erect nipple. At this point, the paralysis in her mouth suddenly went away, and she moaned. He sucked her nipple into her mouth, and she moaned again. His tongue delicately teased this nipple, and then other, and this again, alternating in its dance of delights. Becky's hands glided across her bare stomach and to her shorts, which she quickly removed, revealing white cotton panties. Wet panties. She slide her wet panties down her ankles, revealing a small tuft of dark brown covering her womanhood. The man noticed this, and he pulled away from her yet again, removing his pants as well. They fell down with a muffled noise, his underwear followed. With that, he sat back down in the chair, parting his legs ever so slightly, his arousal plainly evident with a look between his legs. This was evident to Becky as well, as she kicked away her panties, approaching him, eyes fixated on eyes once more. She was still silent, the only sound was the quiet patter of her shoes as she stepped towards the man's chair. She leaned forward, spreading her legs, straddling him, her hands on his shoulders as she pushed herself upward. Then down. She gasped as she felt him fill her up. Her eyes stayed fixated on his eyes. Her entire body shook as he went deep into her, stretching her and sending a icy chill with a mixture of pain and pleasure, fear and delight up her spine. Her face twisted as she took in this mixed cacophony of sensations, but her eyes stayed locked on his. He grabbed her by her hips, firmly but not roughly, and started to bounce her up and down. In and out of her he slid, each undulation sending pleasure coursing through her. He increased the pace, and Becky's breasts started to bounce slightly with her rhythmic bouncing. Still, her eyes remained locked on his. The pace increased, so did the pleasure. She could feel him sliding in and out of her slick hole, she could feel the heat rising from between her legs, and yet, to her, none of it compared with the sensation of being lost in those infinite eyes of his. She could feel every stroke, they were fast, but distinct, she could feel every contour of his long, hard shaft as it cleared her moist womanhood and pushed upward into her, she could feel every little shake and spasm in his body and her own, she could feel all of it just the same, yet, it was just not important. It was as though she had discovered another world, and this one's affairs suddenly seemed trivial. The pleasure of being here in this world yet lost in another was something that she had never felt before. Though the actual physical sensations seemed unimportant, compared to her journey through this mysterious man's eyes, she felt the pleasure as acutely as ever, and it was the most intense physical delight she had ever felt. Every nerve in her body was energized, every cell seemed to glow with this energy. Much like the kiss, she did not know if it was minutes or hours or even longer that he bounced her up and down, thrusting into her, filling her up. She was lost in the sensations, she was only aware of the pleasure, and his eyes. Their two bodies seemed to become one, joined in their locked gazes and their mutual ecstasy. She was only faintly aware of holding onto his shoulders, only faintly aware of his hands caressing her back, yet she was acutely aware of the fire rising from within her. It started deep within her womanhood, which was being pummeled again and again, each thrust moving the fire up her body. Through her stomach it went, and up her chest. The fire circled around in her chest, filling her breasts and her hard nipples, making them tingle. Finally the fire reached her head, and for the first time, as the already intense pleasure reached its crescendo, she closed her eyes. She was faintly aware of him twitching underneath her, shooting into her, for since their two bodies had become one, their two orgasms had become one, as well. The fire seemed to make her whole body glow, and it seemed to consume her. Like the kiss, and the lovemaking, she did not know how long her orgasm lasted, for it seemed to transcend time. When it ended, she found herself sitting in the chair, straddling it, only her clothes were on, and the man had gone. Had she dreamed this due to the heat and her stress? Had he dressed her, and left while her mind was elsewhere? The questions raced into her mind, but the departed just as quickly-- she could never answer them, so she reasoned that such things were not worth worrying about. Instead, she stood out and stepped outside, looking for Cathy. She was confident that if they continued this journey of theirs, she would see this mystery man again, and perhaps then, its purpose would become clear. If nothing else, the chance of having another experience like this one would make the trip worthwhile.