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From: Al Steiner <al_steiner@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Going to Disneyland by Al Steiner (Fm) 2/3
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Date: Mon,  6 Mar 2000 22:10:04 -0500
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GOING TO DISNEYLAND - 2/3
Send comments to al_steiner@hotmail.com


"Marla," I said hoarsely, with a mouth that had suddenly gone dry.
Pull her shirt down?  Had she really just said that?  Was she really
inviting me to bare her breasts?  I was suddenly very scared, almost
petrified by how fast things had gone from innocent to, well to
naughty.  I did not know how I was supposed to act here, how I was
supposed to feel.  "I don't...," I stuttered, "I mean how do..., I mean, I
mean..."  My mind seized upon a concrete fact to worry about.  "I mean...,
what about Uncle Dave?"

"Oh, I don't think we should tell him about it," she said, reaching out
and taking my hands in hers.  "He probably wouldn't approve.  But don't
worry.  I know how to keep a secret."  She pulled my hands to her chest
and placed them on the top of her halter.  I could now feel her breasts
against my wrists.

"But," I stammered, "he's right on the other side of that..."

"Hush," she told me, arching her chest upward, pushing those mammaries
into me insistently.  Oh how nice, how soft, how right they felt.  "As
long as the rig is still moving he won't hear us and he can't look in
here.  Now pull my shirt down Mike.  I know you want to.  Look at my
tits.  Touch them."

With shaking hands I did as she asked.  I slid my fingers beneath the
material of her halter, feeling the soft breast flesh against my
knuckles, and pulled downward.  They sprang into the dim light of the
sleeper compartment and my eyes feasted upon them.  They were pale,
lightly freckled, and so large that they were pulled slightly down to
her sides by gravity.  The nipples were turgid, protruding nearly half
an inch outward from the aureole.  She took my hands in hers once again
and gently placed them in position, one on each breast.  They were
unbelievably soft, yet firm and springy at the same time.  The nipples
pushed into my palms.

"Go ahead," she told me, a little breathless and flushed herself at
that point.  "Play with them.  Squeeze them.  They're all yours."

They were all mine!  I heard myself groan a little in the back of my
throat with a mixture of fear and desire.  Was this really happening to
me?  Was Marla really letting me feel her tits, the tits that I'd
fantasized about so many times?  My hands, unconcerned whether this was
real or a dream, went to work independent of my mind.  I began to
squeeze and feel her globes.  I ran my fingers over the flesh,
caressing it, memorizing the sensation.  I explored the nipples,
tweaking them gently, feeling the hardness of them, the ridges and
bumps that covered their surface.  Do you remember the first time you
ever had a bare breast in your hand?  It is truly one of life's pivotal
moments.  Marla moaned a little under my touch.  "That feels good," she
whispered.  "You're getting the hang of it right quick."

I was beyond the ability to answer her at that point.  I was simply
lost in a world of overwhelming tactile stimulation.  My hands
continued their explorations while my penis, now hard enough to cut
diamonds, throbbed beneath my shorts.

"Now suck them," she told me.  "Put your mouth on them."

My initial reluctance was rapidly diminishing under the strain of
promised physical pleasure.  Uncle Dave's presence only four feet away,
though still very much in my mind, no longer generated the fear it had
a moment before.  I quickly rolled over a little onto my stomach and
she put her arms around me, pulling me against her feminine body.  I
lowered my face down and took the nipple closest to me into my mouth.
It slid between my lips like the finest candy.

"Oh yes," she breathed, her fingers running through my hair, her leg
rubbing firmly, deliberately against mine.  "Use your tongue.  Lick it
a little and then suck on it like a baby does."

I did as she asked, bathing the nipple with my saliva, tasting it,
swirling around the perimeter.  I then clamped my lips to it and
suckled gently, as if I was trying to draw milk from it.  She moaned in
pleasure and arched her back upward.

"Yesss," she encouraged, her hands sliding down to my back and finding
their way under my shirt.   Her nails began to scratch lightly up and
down upon my skin.  I never had any idea that something as simple as
that could feel so erotic.



I switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as I had
its twin.  Marla pulled me tighter to her and then her hands suddenly
slid out of my shirt.  I raised up my head, thinking something was
wrong, thinking that Uncle Dave had caught us.  Would he kill me right
away, or would he draw it out, make it messy?  But Marla gently pushed
my head back down, forcing her nipple back into my mouth.  "Relax," she
told me.  "I'm just starting a new game."

I went back to sucking contentedly upon her tit.  I felt her moving a
little beneath me, shifting her weight this way and that.  I then heard
the sound of a zipper being pulled down.  With black excitement I
realized that she was undoing her shorts.  Was that the new game?  Was
she going to show her pussy to me?

She didn't exactly show it to me, not then, but it was the object of
the next game.  She took my left wrist in her hand and placed it on her
smooth stomach.  She then began pushing it down her body.  "Put your
hand in my shorts," she said lustily into my ear.  "Feel me."

My fingers tracked along the baby soft flesh of her lower stomach and
into the V of her unbuttoned shorts until I encountered the elastic
band of her panties.  I hesitated for an instant before forcing my hand
under the band and downward.  Her legs opened wide to allow me entrance
to her treasures and I took the invitation.  I felt kinky, curly hair
that thickened as I went deeper in and finally a warm, slippery wetness
as my fingertips touched her lips.  They were like nothing I had ever
felt before.  Though my movement was impeded to a great degree by her
shorts, I touched everywhere I could, sliding my finger over the lips,
between them, getting my fingers saturated with her juices.

"Do you feel how wet I am down there?" she breathed into my ear.  "Do
you feel it?"

"Yes," I croaked, nearly panting.

"You did that to me," she said, her tongue licking at my earlobe for a
moment.  "You made my pussy that wet."

"Uhhhh," I moaned from around her nipple.

She began nibbling on my earlobe, taking it between her hard teeth and
nipping at it.  She would alternate this with little sucks, little
growls and mewls, and the occasional probing of my ear with her warm,
wet tongue.  I actually began to sweat from the arousal, from the
sensations that were coursing through my body.

She let me feel her pussy on my own for a few minutes and her wetness
increased under my clumsy, inexperienced fingers.  Her hips began to
rise up and down a little from the mattress and a rich, musky odor,
very sharp, very arousing began to fill the unventilated sleeper
compartment.

"That's my pussy you smell," Marla whispered.  "That's the smell of
pleasure.  Like the pleasure you're giving me right now.  Do you like
it?"

"Yes," I mumbled to her, still suckling her nipple.

"Let me help you," she said, kissing my neck now with her puffy lips.
"Let me show you how to get a girl off with your hands."

She grabbed my wrist in her hands and rotating it around in her
crotch.  "That bump," she said.  "Do you feel it?"

"Yeah," I panted, feeling a wet, slippery protrusion at the top of her
slit.

"That's my clit," she told me, continuing to kiss on my neck and my
shoulder.  "Put your fingers on it and push."

I did as she asked and she groaned at the contact.  She then began
forcing my hand to rub in circles against it, pulling it tighter into
her.  Her wet pubic hair scratched at my palm but that bump between my
fingers began to swell and get wetter.  Marla's words became more
breathless, her kisses on my neck more passionate.  She began to nip at
my neck a little, placing love-bites all over it.  Her hips began to
rise up and down rhythmically from the mattress.  The smell of her lust
increased, making the air seem thicker.

"Oh yes," she moaned.  "Sooooo gooood.  Suck my nipple harder now."

I began to suck furiously at her breast and she pulled my hand even
harder into her crotch, rotating it faster and faster.  She was panting
in my ear now, her free hand pulling almost painfully at my hair.
Suddenly she bit down on my shoulder and her hips jerked spastically up
into the air.  She moaned against my flesh and seemingly every muscle
in her body stiffened.

"Yessssss!" she cried through her clenched teeth.  "Oh yesssss!"

She let go of my hand and let her teeth unclamp from my shoulder.
Slowly her hips settled back down to the mattress.  The hand that had
been pulling at my hair relaxed, releasing its grip.  I raised my head
from her nipple (but left my hand in her pussy - I wasn't giving that
up until I had to) and looked at her face.  She was smiling, her eyes
looking at me with adoration, a gleam of perspiration on her face.
"Are you okay?" I asked carefully.  I had a pretty good idea what had
just happened to her but I wasn't completely sure.

"Oh yesss," she sighed, kissing my forehead.  "That was wonderful,
absolutely wonderful.  You made me come."

"I did?"

"You did," she assured me.  "Remember that technique.  Whenever one of
the girls at the trailer park lets you get your hand down her pants, be
sure to do to her just what you did to me.  You make a girl come Mike,
and they're yours."

"Wow," I said, imagining the possibilities.

"And for doing such an outstanding job," she said.  "I think I owe you
a little something in return."

"Owe me something?"

"Roll over on your back," she told me.

The psychology of a teenager is interesting, isn't it?  Now I had just
sucked on Marla's tits, made her come with my hands, and had had her
whisper filthy, erotic things into my ear.  After all that I still
hesitated to roll over when she asked because I was ashamed that she
would see my bulging hard-on, which, I might add, was aching with blue
balls at that point.  But Marla wasn't about to let me wimp my way out
of this.  She pushed my body off of her and forced me onto my back.  My
hand slipped reluctantly out of her crotch as I went, the fingers still
saturated with her juices.

"Mmmmm," Marla said, looking at the bulge in my shorts hungrily.  "It
looks like it's just about ready to explode."

Though I was embarrassed to have her looking at it that way, there was
no denying what she was saying.  I was beyond even hair-trigger status
at that point.

"Would you like me to help it to explode?" she asked.  "Does that seem
a suitable reward for the generosity that you have shown me?"

"Uh," I said, "uh..., I uh, guess so."

She smiled, sitting up and crossing her legs beneath her.  "You drive a
hard bargain Mike," she said, reaching for the button on my shorts.
With deliberate slowness she undid it.  She then slid my zipper down,
tooth by tooth until it reached the bottom.  She pulled the shorts
open, revealing the tented underwear beneath.  They were damp with the
pre-cum that had leaked out over the last twenty minutes or so.  My own
hips rose involuntarily into the air, driven upward by the proximity of
her hand.

"What do you think Mike?" she asked me, two fingers sliding beneath the
elastic of my BVDs.  "Would a nice little handjob feel good.  Would you
like me to jack you off and make you come in my hand?"

"Uhhh," I groaned, breathless from the very thought.

She pulled the underwear down and my cock sprung out into the air, as
stiff as it had ever been in my life.  The head was purple and nearly
throbbing with the beat of my heart.  "I'll take that as a yes," she
said, slowly wrapping her hand around the shaft.  The feel of her
fingers upon my, grasping me, almost made me shoot right there.  Hers
was the first hand other than my own that had ever touched me there.
She slid her hand slowly up and down a few times, delighting me with
the friction, spreading the pre-cum that had gathered.

"But you know," she said, stopping her motion suddenly.  "I just had a
thought."

"Huh?" I panted.

"I can't have you shooting come all over the inside of the sleeper."

"You can't?"  She was not going to let me come?  Even with my limited
(okay, non-existent) sexual experience, this seemed like an unusually
cruel manner in which to behave.

"It would make quite a mess," she told me.  "Especially as loaded as
this weapon feels like it is.  That would be rather hard to explain to
Dave, don't you think?"

"Uh..., well..."

"So I'm afraid I won't be able to jack you off Mike," she said.  "I'm
sorry."

"Uh," I answered, shaking all over with desire and disappointment,
"well..., I..., okay."

"What I'll have to do instead," Marla explained, "is suck you off."

"Whu... whu... what?"  Suck me off?  Did she mean, well, suck me off?  With
her mouth!?  Surely I must have misunderstood her.

"You don't mind, do you?" she inquired sweetly.  Without waiting for an
answer she gave me one last teasing smile and then lowered her mouth to
me.  Those big, puffy lips sucked in my head and then dove to the
bottom of my shaft.  My straining cock was suddenly enclosed in a
teasing wetness as she deep throated me.  Her blonde hair tickled my
stomach.

"Ohhhh!" I said, my hands clenching into fists, my hips driving upward.

With her eyes staring upward at my face, Marla slowly brought her head
back up, sucking lightly, applying delicious pressure with her hands.
When she got to the top she licked the head like a lollipop.  "I just
love the taste of a nice hard cock," she said.  "Do you want to come in
my mouth?"

"Yesss," I assured her, nodding rapidly.

She began to jack up and down with her hands.  "Tell me then," she
said.  "Tell me how you want to come."

"What?" I asked, confused, trembling.

"Tell me that you're going to come in my mouth.  I want to hear you say
it."

"Marla, I..."

"Tell me," she insisted, her hands jacking faster.

"I want to come in your mouth," I told her.  "Please, I want to come in
your mouth."

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "Don't ask me.  Tell me.  Tell me
you're going to shoot your come in my mouth.  Tell me I'm going to take
it.  Do it Mike."

"I'm gonna come in your mouth," I commanded.  "And you're gonna swallow
it."

"Yes," she said excitedly.  "Oh yes!"  With that she lowered her face
back to my cock and went back to work.  She bobbed her head up and
down, licking, sucking, and teasing with her tongue.  Her warm saliva
dripped down my shaft, puddled in my pubic hair as her mouth and her
hands began to pick up speed.  I had had no idea that a blowjob could
feel like this, that a woman's mouth could bring such pleasure.

As Marla had pointed out however, I was ready to explode.  It didn't
take long, less than a minute I would venture to guess, before her
sucking began to have the desired effect upon me.  I began to groan in
the back of my throat once more as the tingles of impending orgasm
began running through my body.  The waves of pleasure that assaulted
me, waves that were so much more powerful than when I did this solo,
started in my pelvis and slammed throughout my entire body, running up
my spinal column, tensing every muscle.

"Ahhhhh," I grunted as Marla, sensing what was happening, tightened her
mouth and began to suck and jack frantically.  The orgasm reached its
peak and I began to shoot blast after blast of hot sperm into her
gulping mouth. The spasms seemed to go on for several minutes, seemed
to release gallons.  She continued sucking as I gave her my load,
making little grunts of encouragement as she swallowed down every drop.

When she lifted her head from my lap my dick, though wet with saliva,
was clean as a whistle.  "You see?" she said, placing a little kiss on
the head.  "Not a drop in the sleeper.  No evidence."

"Yeah," I agreed, satiated, my body and mind in post-orgasmic bliss.

In a motherly manner she pulled my shorts and underwear back up,
zipping and buttoning me closed.  When that was done she did the same
for herself.  She leaned down and gave me a soft, slow kiss on the
mouth, her tongue just darting between my teeth.  I stuck my own tongue
out to greet it.  They touched briefly at the tips, just allowing me to
catch a taste of her mouth, which tasted like me, before she broke the
kiss.

"Did you enjoy our games?" she asked me, resting on her elbows, her
breast pressing into my arm once more.

"Yes," I told her, nodding enthusiastically.  "It was...," words escaped
me for a moment.  "It was... really cool," I finally articulated.

"It was really cool, wasn't it?" she giggled.  "I haven't had the
pleasure of a cock coming in my mouth, or the pleasure of a hand other
than my own bringing me off for quite some time."

"But..." I said, confused.  "Uncle Dave.  Don't you and he... you know?"

"We don't," she told me sadly.  "Uncle Dave is a good man, sort of, but
his... well his equipment doesn't work very well.  It's not very often
that we can play.  Over the last four years we haven't been able to do
it at all.  And I miss it.  Oh how I miss it.  Not enough to have an
affair or anything.  Affairs, while they may be exciting, do complicate
relationships greatly.  But you, on the other hand, you're not exactly
like having an affair."

I nodded wisely, although I didn't really have any idea what she was
talking about.

She seemed to sense this.  "I've been attracted to you for a long
time," she told me.  "You have a beautiful young body, a handsome face,
you're clean and you're smart.  I've longed to put my hands on you
Mike, I've dreamed about it."

"You have?" I asked, amazed.

"I have," she confirmed.  "But you're also forbidden in a way that a
mere affair is not.  On the one hand, that makes playing with you all
the much more exciting.  But on the other hand, it makes it something
that can not continue, that can not be an ongoing thing.  Do you
understand?"

"You mean," I asked carefully, "that we can't do this again?"

She gave me a cynical smile.  "We're on a trip to Disneyland," she
said.  "I've never had any desire to go to that place, but on this trip
I'm going to create my own Disneyland.  I'm going to make my fantasy
come true.  That's what Disneyland is all about, isn't it?"

"I guess," I answered.

"So while we're on this trip, this fantasy trip, it's fantasy time.  We
can play when circumstances permit.  But when the trip is over, when we
come home from Disneyland..."

"Back to the way things were?" I asked, feeling a combination of
elation and disappointment at her words.

"I told you that you were smart," she said, leaning forward and kissing
my nose.

One of the great things about being fifteen, about lacking the
sophistication and life experience of an adult, is that a deal like
that sounds like a premium thing.  You don't have the smarts to worry
about what comes after.  You simply factor things down to the lowest
denominator.  The lowest denominator in this case was sex.  She was
offering me her body during the course of the trip.  There wasn't much
that could have made me turn her down.

"But we'll have to be careful about it," she warned.  "Oh so careful.
We will act the same as we normally do when Uncle Dave or anyone else
is around.  EXACTLY the same.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," I told her, trying to take her into my arms.  I was ready for
some more playtime.

She pushed me away, gently but firmly.  "Not right now," she said.
"It's time to mellow out for the time being.  We need to open up these
windows and get the smell of us out of the sleeper.  Dave doesn't
usually come back here on the road and he smokes so much that its
doubtful he would smell anything even if he did, but careful must be
our word.  We must not break the routine that Dave is used to on the
trip any more than needed."

"Okay," I agreed, slightly dejected.

"We'll be able to do nothing else together until well after dark."

"After dark?" I asked, appalled.  Dark was more than ten hours away!
And how much longer was "well" after dark?

"After dark," she insisted.  "This has been my usual nap time on the
road.  And while I spent it doing something a little more interesting
than sleeping, it was part of the routine for me to come back here at
this time.  If I come back here again, Dave might get suspicious and we
simply can't have that."

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly.  After all, what else could I do?

"Dave will drive us straight through to Los Angeles," she explained,
"stopping only for food and fuel.  That's what he always does.
However, since I don't imbibe in his little wake-up drug, I always
retire for the night around ten.  Dave stops at a truck stop or a rest
area so I can pee and then, once we get back on the road, I change into
my nightgown and go to sleep.  When we do that I want you to stay up
for at least another hour in the front seat with Dave.  I want you to
talk to him, give him no clue that you're anxious to climb into the
sleeper portion.  At around eleven you need to begin complaining that
you're tired.  Dave will then tell you to climb on in the sleeper."
She smiled seductively.  "And then," she promised, "we'll play some
more games.  Some new ones."

I believe that I can say unequivocally that that was the longest day of
my entire life.  I was not aware that it was possible for time to pass
as slowly as it did.  We rolled on down the road, heading steadily
south down Interstate 5, and the hours, the minutes, even the seconds
dragged.  I would check my watch every once in a while, swearing that
an hour had gone by bringing me sixty minutes closer to playtime, and
would see that it had only been ten minutes or so.

We stopped at a truck stop in Vancouver, Washington, just across the
Columbia River from Portland, and had breakfast.  Marla and I ate
greasy bacon and eggs and hashbrowns while Dave sipped coffee and
smoked cigarettes.  After he gassed up the rig and everybody relieved
their bladders, we headed off once more, spending the bulk of the
daytime hours traveling through Oregon, occasionally stopping at a
weigh station to be inspected or at a rest stop for bathroom breaks.
For most of this time I sat in the sleeper compartment, sometimes
poking my head out to watch the Interstate pass by, sometimes lying on
the mattress trying, unsuccessfully for the most part, to concentrate
on my book.  Thoughts of Marla, of her body, of her lips, of her pussy,
and of what she was going to do with all of that come eleven o'clock
that night, kept intruding on my concentration.  My stomach felt almost
ill with the anticipation of it and my dick hardly ever went below the
state of semi-erect.  I did manage to catch an hour or so of fitful
sleep somewhere between Medford, Oregon and the California border but
my dreams were filled with lustful images of Marla.

We rolled into Sacramento at about 7:00 that night, just as the sun was
sinking towards the horizon.  Dave pulled us into a huge truck stop
just outside of town and announced that it was dinnertime.  We went
into yet another truck stop diner and spent forty minutes there.  I had
a cheeseburger, which was actually pretty good but which I had to force
myself to consume, my nerves were on such edge.  Marla had a steak
sandwich with home fries and a glass of white wine.  Dave, like before,
simply drank coffee and sucked down four or five cigarettes while we
ate.

We were back on the road again by 8:00, once again with two full tanks
of diesel and with no more extended stops planned until Los Angeles.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the sun at last sank below the horizon and
the stars came out.  I had thought that once it became dark and my goal
came into sight that I would be happy.  What did happen however, was
that as the time grew closer to zero hour, it actually seemed to pass
more slowly.  The hour between nine and ten o'clock took an eternity to
pass, almost as long as the previous eight seemed to have.

At last, at ten minutes after ten, Marla told her husband, "About time
to start lookin fer a place to pee hon."

"You got it Honeybunch," he told her.  "There's a restin area up yonder
at San-Nellie.  I'll bring us in there."

San-Nellie, also known as Santa Nella according to the sign that marked
the town limits, was little more than a highway intersection with a few
gas stations and fast food joints.  It suddenly appeared out of the
farmland we were passing through as a collection of huge advertising
billboards and jumbled buildings.  Uncle Dave pulled the rig off the
freeway and into a Burger King that promised it was open twenty-four
hours.

Marla opened her door and looked back at me.  "Do you need to pee too
Mikey?"

I didn't really need to but something in the tone of her voice told me
that I should.  "Sure," I told her and began extricating myself from
the sleeper.

"How `bout you Sweetie?" she asked Dave.  "Need to piss?"

"I'm okay," he told her.  "I'll just pull over and hang her out the
side if I has to later."

"Good `nuf," Marla said.

I hopped down onto the parking lot of the Burger King and Marla and I
began walking towards the building.  When we were well out of earshot
of the rig she said, "Now remember.  Sit in the front for a while with
him; at least an hour.  Keep up your end of the conversation and don't
give the slightest hint that you're anxious to get into the sleeper.
Can you do all that?"

"Yes," I assured her.

She smiled.  "Good," she told me.  As we came to the door that led into
the fast food establishment, she turned to me and whispered.  "I might
be a few minutes.  I'm going to be playing with my pussy a little while
I think about what we're going to be doing later."

After that little encouraging word it took me a minute or so before I
could pee.  It's almost impossible, as you are probably aware, to
urinate with a hard-on.

Marla climbed into the cab of the truck ahead of me when we returned.
She kissed Dave goodnight and then gave me a brief, sisterly hug.
"You'll have to excuse me for a few minutes Mikey whilst I changes into
my gown," she told me.  "Gimmee five minutes and I'll be decent and
nice and tucked up ginst the back."  She chuckled a little.  "Hope you
don't mind sharin the sleeper with an old lady."

For a moment I thought she was changing our plans, that she wanted me
to come back as soon as she was done changing and a burst of excitement
shot through me.  It lasted only a second or so before I realized she
was just putting on an act for Dave's benefit.  "I kin live with it," I
told her.  "But all the same, I think I'll sit up front fer a while.
I'm not tired jist yet."

"Suit yerself," she said, seemingly disinterested.  "Night y'all," she
told us.

I planted myself in the passenger side of the cab as Dave put us in
gear, released the brakes, and started heading for the Interstate
onramp.  Marla zipped herself in and disappeared.  Before he even had
the rig back up to speed, he began talking rapidly about his adventures
in Vietnam.

In that long, agonizing hour I heard it all.  I heard about the first
day Dave had arrived in Danang and had been assigned to shithouse
detail.  I heard about his numerous trips to the Danang whorehouses in
PG-13 detail.  I heard a graphic representation on the horrors of the
clap.  I listened to a lengthy dissertation about the many combat
missions in which Dave, as the door gunner, had "hosed down" ranks of
VC and NVA regulars outside of various LZ's in and about the Danang
area.  I learned more about the .50 caliber machine gun and what it was
capable of doing to the human body than I had ever hoped to know.

Through it all each minute ticked by at a snail's pace.  I held up my
end of the conversation nicely, despite the fact that my mind was
spinning with erotic images of Marla on the other side of the zipper
and with worries about whether she would fall asleep before I got back
there.  She HAD been up all day after all.  I asked the appropriate
questions and listened attentively to the answers.  I looked properly
solemn when Dave gave an almost tearful speech about how he planned to
visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington when it was finally
done and take tracings of all the brave men that he had served with
whose names would be up there.

Finally, fifty-eight long minutes after we had climbed into the cab in
Santa Nella, I began to go into my sleepy act.  I yawned into my hand a
few times and rubbed my eyes.  I stretched in my seat, making
exaggerated groans of fatigue.  What I wanted was for Dave to suggest
that I sack out in the back for the night but he stubbornly refused to
do that.  He simply kept talking about Vietnam and helicopters and .50
calibers and what VC heads looked like after being hit with such a
weapon.

Finally I was forced to take matters into my own hands.  After a
particularly fierce yawn I told Dave, "I'm gettin' right tired.  I
think I'll try an' catch some sleep."

"You go on `head an' do that," he told me.  He looked over.  "If'n ya
don't wanna sleep in the sleeper with Marla, I'll turn the music down
so you kin crap out up here."

Adrenaline flooded through my body at these words.  How to respond to
them?  Was he suspicious about me sleeping with his wife?  Did he not
want me back there?  Or was he just assuming that I wouldn't want to
sleep with "an old lady", as she had termed it.

"Uh," I said, biting my lip nervously.  "I'll uh... be all right in the
back I guess.  Marla's prob'ly sleepin by now and I'm not sure I kin
sleep sittin up."

He nodded.  "Suit yerself," he told me.  "We'll be rollin into LA `bout
three in the aye-M.  Don't be alarmed when we stop.  It'll jist be me
droppin off the trailer."

"Okay," I said, twisting in my seat and reaching for the zipper.  When
I pulled it open it was dark in the sleeper.  I could barely make out
the form of the lump that was Marlene under the covers against the far
wall.  That vaguely defined lump was perhaps the most exciting thing
that I'd ever laid eyes upon.  I began to climb in.

"Don't you be messin with my woman now, ya hear?" Dave told me as I
went in.

Another jolt of adrenaline shot through me at these words until I
looked at his face.  He was smiling, very amused at the joke that he'd
made.

"I won't," I promised, finishing my climb.  I stretched out on the bed
and zipped the canvas shut once again.

As I settled myself into position above the covers on my side of the
sleeper, I was still worried that Marla had gone to sleep.  What if she
didn't wake up?  Had all of the agonizing waiting been for nothing?
But this worry only lasted a few seconds.  Her head, barely visible in
the dim light, poked out and turned towards me.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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