Incorrigible Pt. 01

He had the rest of their lives planned to perfection... he only missed one small detail.

Randy had a good life. He owned a successful business, had two wonderful children and a beautiful wife. Now that their youngest was off to college, Randy was eager to reap the benefits of having had children young. To his way of thinking, becoming empty nesters in their early forties was just about perfect. But his wife had other plans.

Following the divorce, and a bit of soul searching, Randy decides to take a Grand Tour of his homeland and really own his mid-life crisis. He buys a fast car, kisses his kids goodbye and heads west. He would soon discover, however, that fate had one more surprise in store for him.

After accidentally saving an ill-tempered alien with a cockney accent and a devastating appetite for junk food, Randy embarks on an adventure beyond his wildest imagination with a companion whose abilities seem boundless. Along the way, he encounters the best and worst of humanity and meets a bevy of remarkable women.

Incorrigible is the tale of a good man who, in rescuing an alien, finds himself in a very human struggle between good and evil. His new companion tosses out Faustian bargains like candy, forcing him to navigate the fine line between finding true happiness and losing his soul.

Author's note:

This novel is a work of sci-fi adventure. I've split it into four sections for publication here.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

One

"Did you know this song is technically a march?" Randall "Randy" Vettel whispered to his wife, Jennifer.

"Sounds more like a dirge," she muttered diffidently.

"That's just because they're playing it too slow. I'm not surprised, how many times have they played it so far? Ten?"

"There are nearly four hundred kids graduating. It's almost a crime to make those children sit out there in the sun in all black, playing for nearly an hour without stopping."

"You're not wrong," Randy replied with a grim chuckle.

"Look!" their daughter Holly whispered fiercely. "Peter is nearly up to the stage."

The family looked on in pride as the youngest member of their clan walked across the stage. A laugh erupted from the crowd as Peter turned a cartwheel after collecting his diploma and shaking the hands of the faculty members.

"Who taught him how to do that?" Randy whispered to Holly.

"I think four girlfriends ago was a gymnast. Or maybe it was five. Who can keep up anymore?"

"Wait a minute. When did Peter start dating?" Randy asked in mock horror.

"When he was eleven," his daughter responded dryly. "Pretty sure he waited until he was at least fourteen before he lost his virginity. I swear, it's a miracle he graduated."

"Would you two zip it," Jennifer hissed.

Randy frowned and shifted on the uncomfortable bench before pulling out the program and taking a moment to estimate the remaining number of graduates. Not surprisingly, considering their family's late position in the alphabet, the estimate he came up with represented under ten percent of the graduates. He was also relieved to see that once the procession of graduates completed, there would be no further speeches which suggested that the ceremony would wrap up with a quickness.

Randy's prediction came true and fifteen minutes after their son crossed the stage, they were collecting their belongings and heading for the parking lot. They made their way through the beginnings of the holiday weekend traffic and managed to arrive home in under thirty minutes.

Preparations for the celebration were mostly complete, but Randy and Jennifer had a busy time of pulling all the food from the chill chest and giving the pool a final skim before people started to arrive. It was a tradition in their upper middle-class enclave for each senior's family to host a graduation party and allow the students to migrate from party to party throughout the afternoon.

Randy spent the next three hours sweating in front of the grill. Normally he would have the company of the Y-chromosome possessing segment of their guests at the grill. But most of their friends were hosting similar parties, so Randy and Jennifer's guests were comprised mostly of seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds who were impatient to get to the party planned for that evening at the lake house of one of their wealthier classmates.

As he sweated, he thought back to what was, in his estimation, the world's most uncomfortable conversation which he had somehow found himself having with his son over the course of the prior two weeks. He was unsure of what he had been expecting when he started in on his son about the importance of using protection, but a lengthy dissertation from the younger Vettel on the pros and cons of various brands of prophylactics was certainly not it. The only saving grace of the conversation where his son had made clear his confidence that he would indeed be engaging in intercourse with at least one partner at the upcoming party had been a reasonable certainty that the youngster would do so safely.

Randy spotted Jennifer wandering through the party, collecting garbage and issuing gentle reminders to teenagers about picking up after themselves. She looked quite lovely in the form-fitting sun dress and drew the eyes of not a few teenagers. He could scarcely believe it had been nearly twenty-three years since they got together back in college. He remarked inwardly that she was, if anything, even more lovely now than she had been then. She still had the same breathtaking figure, the same ready smile, the same piercing eyes. Her surprise pregnancy, and their ensuing marriage, had been a strain in their early days but now it seemed a blessing. They were both still reasonably young and Randy's successful career afforded them the ability to enjoy their childless lives in a way that would never have been possible in their twenties.

As afternoon gave way to night, the party transitioned from a destination spot for the graduating seniors to the gathering place for grateful parents. By the time darkness fell, there were several dozen parents ranging in age from late thirties to mid-fifties. The universal topic of conversation was 'what's next?'. Many parents were in the same position Randy and Jennifer had been in two years prior when their eldest, Holly, had graduated but there were a handful who joined the Vettels in the 'finally' category.

Randy found a pair of such fathers along the rear of the property enjoying cigars. As he approached, the taller of the two handed Randy a stogie and a box of matches.

"Got these out of Cuba when they lifted the embargo," his neighbor Nick whispered conspiratorially.

Randy took it with a nod and said, "Are you whispering because you think the feds are listening?"

"Fuck no. My wife."

Tim, a coworker of Randy's, chuckled and said, "I'm pretty sure everyone within a thousand meters knows what we're doing over here."

"Nah. We're downwind of the party. How could they know?"

"Let me guess," Tim offered. "You used to smoke?"

"Yeah. The wife made me quit when our oldest was born. Why?"

"Because smokers have an eternal optimism for believing smoke has magical properties, like not adhering to clothing or remaining confined to a space no bigger than a couple square meters. People that have never smoked, on the other hand, can smell it from across a football pitch. And on clothing? Forget about it. Even washing it won't fool them. Wives are like bloodhounds when it comes to smoke. I guarantee, the only reason no one's raising a fuss is because they've decided to wait until later to give us shit. It sure as hell isn't because they're unaware of our activities."

Nick shook his head and said, "You speak as though your wife has supernatural abilities."

"Yours doesn't?"

"Hell no. She only cares about her social calendar."

Tim shrugged and said, "A friendly wager then? A hundred bucks says she mentions the cigars before you get to your front door."

"You're on."

Randy said, "I don't know what the big deal is. I know Jennifer sneaks out and smokes a joint every once in a while. Who gives a shit?"

"Well, the cops for one," Nick pointed out. "Or have you two forgotten we still live in a state run by the religious right?"

"Sure... I guess there is that. But everyone knows those laws are idiotic. I just meant that I don't care. And I can't imagine she'll pitch a fit about me enjoying what is a truly terrific stogie. Imagine being married for as long as we have and still getting hung up on the petty shit."

"Indeed," his friends intoned before taking another puff of their cigars.

Later that evening, after their guests had departed and Randy and Jennifer were cleaning up, he took a moment to stretch the tightness from his back after tossing a final bag of trash into the bin.

She said, "Did you boys enjoy your cigars?"

"Very much. Did you ladies enjoy your special gummies?"

"You noticed that, did you?" she retorted with a smile. "Lindsay was in DC last week for work and just so happened to decide to drive rather than fly. Refreshed the stashes of the entire neighborhood. You want one?"

"I'm good on rye and fine cigars for tonight, but thanks. Do you think Peter's having fun?" Randy asked as he drank the last of the aforementioned rye.

"He's probably knee deep in pussy, if Holly's intel is even remotely accurate."

Randy sputtered on his drink and said, "Excuse me?"

"Oh shit, don't tell me you flaked on having the talk with him. You promised, Randall."

"I did it," he protested. "Even bought him a box of rubbers from the wholesale store. I just never expected you to take such a crass view of things."

"Pretending Peter isn't a lothario doesn't make it true. According to Holly, he's made his way through a not insignificant percentage of the senior class."

"Jesus. He sure doesn't take after his old man."

"Would you have preferred he knocked up and married the first chick who ever gave him the time of day?"

"I was just waiting for my soul mate, honey."

"Yeah right," she muttered. "Listen, could you grab me a glass of wine?"

"Sure," Randy replied before gathering up a stack of plates to carry inside. He returned moments later to find Jennifer seated by the pool. He handed her the requested glass of wine before taking the seat beside her and enjoying a sip of the evening's final old fashioned.

"We did it," he announced quietly.

"We certainly did. It's hard to believe, if I'm being honest. I can think of at least ten different times I'd have bet my left tit against this moment ever coming to pass."

"Why is it always the left tit?"

She snickered and said, "Because the right one is bigger. You know that."

"I was thinking earlier today... I'm glad things worked out this way."

"You mean as opposed to divorcing me when Holly was in the middle of her screaming phase and forgetting you ever heard of any of us?"

"Of course not. I just meant that we're both still young. We raised two wonderful kids and sent them out into the world. But, unlike some of our guests earlier tonight, we're still decades away from qualifying for the old folks' home. We could, for lack of a better term, start over. You know, enjoy just being together. But, unlike the couples that wait to have children, we have the benefit of both wisdom and money on our side. We could do... well... whatever we want. Go to Europe and see the land of our ancestors; climb a mountain; go to the Arctic, hell, the Antarctic; drive across the country and really take the time to soak everything in."

"Is that your dream?" she replied quietly.

"Think of it, honey. We could rent one of those fancy RV's and just go wherever our hearts led us." He noticed the lack of enthusiasm in what little he could see of her face in the lights coming from the pool, so he hastened to add, "Or whatever you wanted to do. The point is, we have our health. I've got my practice right where I'd want it if I wanted to take a sabbatical. We could do anything."

"Anything, huh?"

"Yeah. What's your dream vacation?"

"I'm not sure. Give me a little while to think on it?"

"Of course, honey. Just let me know. This is our time, now."

She reached out to take his hand and murmured, "Thanks. You know... for everything. You could have just buried yourself in your work and told me the kids were my job, but you always made time for them. You're a great dad, Randy. I couldn't have asked for a better partner in raising them."

"Ditto, babe. You're the best mom that's ever been. Our kids are lucky to have you."

She stood and said, "I'm bushed. I think I'm going to head for bed."

He stood and retook her hand. As she took a step toward the house, he blurted out, "Hey, you want to fool around to celebrate?"

She smiled wanly and said, "Can't. It's shark week. Rain check?"

"Sure babe," he replied with more enthusiasm than he felt. "I'm going to finish up out here, so we don't have to fuck with it in the morning. Sleep good, Mrs. Vettel. I love you."

"You too," she said around a yawn before heading into the house.

He watched her head through the house before turning and resuming the cleanup efforts. He tried to concentrate on the enormity of their accomplishment and revel in the frivolity of the evening. But it was difficult for him to ignore the voice in the back of his head which pointed out that, as a married man of more than two decades, he was intimately aware of his wife's cycles. Whether it was being drafted to pick up supplies, or just the small hints one cannot avoid when sharing a space with someone, he had developed an innate sense of this component of his wife's body. Twice, since Peter had been born, he had known she was on edge because she was late. He had never mentioned his knowledge to her because it was her body, but he had known, nevertheless. Both times, he had known better than to ask questions when she celebrated the arrival of her menses. It was due to this innate sense that he was one-hundred percent certain that her last cycle had ended two weeks prior and, for the life of him, he could not figure out why she had lied.

Two

"Happy anniversary, honey," Randy said with a raised glass of champagne, which he hated but had shelled out three-figures for due to the special occasion.

Jennifer raised her own glass clinked his before returning to her salad.

It had been two weeks since the evening of graduation and Randy had never felt a more profound sense of something being off between Jennifer and himself. He had refused to confront her about the lie she had told him in hopes of things returning to normal. But things had gotten worse instead of better. Jennifer's social calendar was suddenly filled to bursting with events which kept her out of the house all day, even on weekends.

This stood in stark contrast to Randy's schedule which, after decades of building his financial advisor practice, finally allowed him to only need to spend twenty hours a week in the office. He frequently did client calls from his home office at random hours and needed to meet regularly with his employees at the office to keep the practice running at peak effectiveness, but he was otherwise free to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

He took a bite of his perfectly prepared steak and decided to double down. Vague questions about what was wrong had been met with quick dismissals. Uncommitted shrugs had been her only response to suggestions about possibilities for their 'post kid' life. The last meal they had shared had been one he had literally ambushed her with the previous weekend when she walked through the door after yet another unexplained absence.

He took a breath and said, "I reserved an RV for August. We'll fly into Salt Lake City and then we'll have a month to go wherever we want. All you have to do is decide whether you want to do national parks or all the cities out west you've always talked about wanting to visit."

"Whatever I want," she muttered distractedly.

"Sure, babe. I'm easy, you know that. What's your pleasure?"

"I want a divorce," she replied, meeting his eyes for the first time that evening.

"You're hilarious," Randy huffed. "Seriously, if you don't want to do the RV thing, just let me know what you'd prefer instead. I can still get the deposit back. You're not giving me a lot to go on here, Jennifer."

"I am serious, Randall."

"Fine. No RV trip. Got it. What would you prefer?"

She glanced at the ceiling briefly, her eyes moistening, before she finally repeated, "I want a divorce. We've had a good run, you and I. But, like you said, we've got a chance to start over now."

"I meant we have a chance to restart as a couple."

"I know. But we've spent what amounts to our entire adult lives together. Neither of us ever even had a chance to do anything other than be parents. I didn't even graduate, for God's sake."

"I have said countless times I'd be fine with you..."

She held up her hand and said, "I know. You told me to go back once the kids started school. But the degree isn't the point. The point is that all I've ever been is Holly and Peter's mom. Now that they don't need a mom as much anymore, I'm not sure who I'm supposed to be."

"Well, you've also been my wife for that whole time. I've never done anything to dishonor that."

"I know, Randall. You're a good person, and I've never regretted marrying you."

"Then why are you so quick to say sayonara?"

She took a moment to take a sip from her drink before saying, "It's not quick. I've been thinking about this for years. I just had no intention of getting into a custody battle with you. It's just easier this way. We can handle this like adults, and each enter the next phase of our life unencumbered."

"So that's all I've been to you? An encumbrance?"

"Don't be like this. We had a good run. Twenty-one years. That's longer than most marriages. It's just time for us to make a clean break before we start to resent one another."

"Too late," he muttered before draining his champagne. He coughed as it seemed to explode in his throat, and he made a snap decision to make that the last time he had champagne. He stared at her sullenly for a moment, almost willing her to admit it had all been a ruse, but she just held his gaze with a sad expression on her face. At length, he said, "So it's always just been about the kids. There was never anything between us?"

"I'm not a sociopath, Randall."

"Could have fooled me."

"Just because I think it's time we move on doesn't mean I've been lying to you for two decades. I've never lied to you. I loved you. Hell, I still love you. And I was in love with you."

"You lied to me the other night," he huffed. "You could have just said you weren't in the mood. It's not like I'm some kind of mindless rapist who wouldn't have taken no for an answer."

"You're right. And, as fucked up as it sounds, that's when I knew we needed to go our separate ways."

"So, you don't love me anymore? Just like that?"

"You act as if this is something that happened in the last couple weeks. I told you, I've been thinking about this for a while. I do still love you. I always will. But not the way I should be if we're going to spend another quarter century together. This isn't just about me, either. You're a good man. You deserve to be with someone who's crazy about you. And that isn't me anymore."

The waitress stopped by the table and brightly asked, "Anyone need a refill of champagne?" Her face immediately fell, however, when she looked down at the ostensibly celebrating couple. She whispered, "Sorry. I can come back."

"Old fashioned," Randy barked. "Make it a double."

The waitress glanced quickly at Jennifer before beating a hasty retreat.

Randy regarded Jennifer for a moment before saying, "What's the plan, then?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't play stupid with me. You're nothing if not a planner. Aren't you always going on about how you're a fucking Virgo and can't do anything without a plan?"

"We split everything, obviously. There's no child support to deal with so it seems pretty straightforward to me."

He bit back the angry response which sprang to his lips and instead said, "What are you going to do for money? Hell, what are you going to do period?"

"I don't know... be happy? Not plan my entire life around other people? As for money, I see no reason why I shouldn't continue to live in the manner to which I've become accustomed."

"Oh, so in addition to ripping away my hopes and dreams, every plan we've ever made, you also intend to force me into a position where I work until I drop dead all to afford to pay alimony?"

"There's no need to be so dramatic, Randall. I'm sure we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement. Look on the bright side, you can now travel to your hearts content without me constantly dragging you down by insisting that we stay in places which, I don't know, passed the health department inspection?"

"Very funny, Jennifer. I happen to think this is quite serious. What about the fact that I'm still in love with you?"

She sighed and said, "First off, I've never been more serious. I'm just trying to point out this doesn't have to be the tragedy you're making it out to be. Secondly, are you really still in love with me? Do you feel about me the same way you did when we first hooked up all those years ago? Or have you just grown used to being with me? I suspect you're more in love with the idea of being married than you are with me. That was certainly true in my case. I have no doubt this isn't what you wanted, but that doesn't mean it has to ultimately be a bad thing. Regardless, I assure you it is in fact happening. I've given this a lot of thought and my mind is made up. I can give you a little while to think things over before we sit down to try to divvy things up."

"Why bother? As you say, your mind is made up. Let's do it right now."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. I'm sure you want a chance to look things over."

He stared at her with cold eyes, causing her to flinch ever so slightly, before whispering, "Do you think there is even the slightest chance that I don't know our current portfolio down to the penny? You want to take your half and go, fine." He pulled a pen from his sport coat and spread his linen napkin out on the table. "Let's do this. What's first?"

"I don't want to do this here, Randall," she said resignedly.

"Then you shouldn't have broken up with me here. What's first?"

Two hours, and a dozen napkins later, they emerged from the restaurant. Jennifer's eyes were red from crying. By way of contrast, Randy looked like a corpse found after several hours trapped underwater. He handed her the valet tag and, after a moment's hesitation, began walking toward the main road.

"Randall, wait. There's no reason I can't give you a ride."

"I'd say there are a couple million reasons why I wouldn't accept a ride from you," he snapped.

"Fine," Jennifer replied wearily. "Call me tomorrow, ok?"

"Don't count on it."

"I need to know you're ok."

He shook his head and said, "No. You don't," before he resumed his trek.

Jennifer briefly pulled up next to him and looked at him hopefully, but he pointedly ignored her until she eventually pulled away. He thought about summoning a car, but he then realized he did not actually have a destination in mind. He trudged slowly down the busy thoroughfare, the sad piano music playing loudly in his head.

Eventually, he came upon a hotel. It was far from luxurious, but he decided in an instant that it would suit him just fine. Whether it was because it was the kind of place Jennifer would hate, or because he finally realized how exhausted he was, he could not honestly say.

He dropped onto the lumpy bed of the room he rented and stared at the ceiling numbly. Over the course of the 'negotiation' with Jennifer, he had come to see, at least in part, her point. He had realized that part of his pain came from the fact that he had been so blindsided. Their marriage had not been a rocky one. He and Jennifer had rarely argued and never fought. It was true their interests had diverged as their marriage matured, but Randy had felt this to be a healthy thing. After all, he thought, how creepy would it be to do literally everything with your spouse. He still strenuously opposed getting divorced, but he knew it was futile to attempt to convince Jennifer to change her mind and madness to oppose her wish to divorce in the hopes that they could rebuild everything. He knew this was not a hill to die on, and so he had acquiesced.

The trouble was, every plan he had ever made included Jennifer and he had, quite literally, no idea what to do with himself now that she had made it clear that she was done being a part of his life.

Three

"Mr. Vettel," his secretary's voice called from her desk outside his door. "Your wife is here to see you."

"Tell her to go away," Randy called out, relishing the opportunity to simultaneously punish his secretary for continuing to refuse to call him discreetly when an appointment arrived and his ex for daring to darken his door.

"Really, Randall?" Jennifer's voice said from his doorway. "How long are you going to continue to pretend that you're mad at me?"

"I'm not pretending," he snapped. "Good day."

She entered and closed the door behind her before crossing the office and taking a seat before his desk.

"Excuse me," he huffed. "You're trespassing."

"And you're being childish. I come in peace."

Randy chuckled despite his irritation and said, "You know, that's usually what the aliens say right before they atomize you. What do you want, Jennifer?"

"To take you to lunch."

"I'll pass. I still haven't gotten over the last meal we shared."

"That was over two months ago."

Randy raised his arms demonstratively and said, "Well excuse me for not getting over the end of a twenty-one-year marriage in less than a fiscal quarter."

"Come on, Betty already told me your calendar's free for the rest of the day. I'm not budging on this, Randall. We need to talk."

"Then talk."

"Not here. Trust me."

"The woman who reneged on 'til death do us part' wants me to trust her. That's rich."

"Don't be an asshole," Jennifer snapped. "This is important."

"Is it one of the kids?" Randy asked, his voice suddenly filled with concern.

"No, they're fine. This is about you."

"I thought you didn't care about me anymore."

"That's it, Randall. That's the last time you play the 'maybe you never loved me in the first place' card. I'm trying to help you and I'm sick of this abuse."

"Fine," Randy replied with more contrition than he felt before standing and grabbing his jacket. As they departed, he bent over his sexagenarian secretary's desk and muttered, "Traitor."

"Who do you think called her," Betty stage whispered to his departing form.

"You're fired," Randy replied in the same whisper before walking out the front door.

"What the hell was that all about," Randy asked as they took their seats in the sandwich shop across the parking lot from his office.

Jennifer frowned and said, "Before I answer that, can I assume that you will not, in fact, fire Betty?"

"Are you insane?" Randy barked. "Wait, ignore that. Obviously, that's a very insensitive question, considering present company."

"Are you implying that I'm not right in the head?"

"You're not the only person here, Ms. Mason. Nice touch with taking your mother's maiden name, by the way. But I assume you're aware that it was still an artifact of the patriarchy having come from her father."

Jennifer shrugged and said, "We do what we can. Besides, she was truly touched. Almost enough to not give me a ration of shit about my decision every time I talk to her."

"What do you want, Jennifer?"

"I've decided to go by Jen now. Feels in keeping with my new outlook on life."

"Congratulations, Jennifer. What. Do. You. Want. And why the fuck did Betty call you?"

"Because you're running the business you've spent two decades building right into the ground. And she hopes that I can talk some sense into you, since clearly you're not listening to her."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She folded her hands on the table and said, "How many people have you lost since the divorce?"

"I don't know... some?"

"Bullshit! You know exactly how many."

"So? What of it?"

"Lemme see if I've got this right. After spending the last half decade only going into the office when necessary, you've suddenly started spending sixty hours a week there. You're up everyone's ass about everything rather than letting your managers handle their direct reports. You're cold-calling people like you did before Holly was born. And now you've started losing people. Sound about right?"

"No," Randy muttered petulantly.

"Do you really think you can make up for everything you lost in the divorce in a few months?"

"I didn't lose it. You took it."

"Would you stop this childish bullshit!" Jen exclaimed loud enough for the entire dining room to hear her. She refused to look away, forcing Randy by process of elimination to look to the other diners apologetically. Jen continued, "We got divorced. Fucking get over it. If you don't, you'll lose a hell of a lot more than half your precious money."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You've got half your company convinced you've mutated into a horrible boss since the divorce. Not surprising, considering that's exactly what happened."

Randy drew his finger through the condensation collecting on the outside of his glass and muttered, "And the other half?"

"They think you're fattening the company up to sell it. That's why you're losing people. Half have decided what they thought was a dream job isn't worth the trouble anymore, the other half are playing defense against getting laid off by whatever hedge fund buys your company wanting nothing more than your portfolio and your customers. If you want to sell, fine. But, if not, then you better get your head out of your ass before the actual best thing about your company walks right out the front door forcing you to sell at ten cents on the dollar. I'm not here as your wife, Randall. I'm just here as someone who hopes to one day be able to be your friend again and doesn't want to see you lose something you built from nothing into a genuinely great business."

Randy gave a resigned sigh and said, "I'm not trying to drive them crazy; I just don't know what else to do."

"What about the guys you went to school with? You used to hang out with some of them pretty regularly."

"No go. We only get together during football season. Besides, I'm not interested in their pity."

"You haven't told them?" Jen exclaimed, albeit not quite at 'now everyone is staring' volume this time.

"What am I going to say? That they were right, and I was never good enough for you?"

"Careful with that violin, Randall," Jen said in exasperation. "They're fragile when they're that tiny. You should talk to them. Maybe they'll help you get over all this unfocused anger. And, for God's sake, stop making your employees crazy."

***

"Pinto, my good man," the Chicago-accented voice thundered through Randy's speakerphone. "How the hell are ya?"

Randy grinned at the old nickname and said, "Hey, D-Day. You busy?"

"Not so busy I can't make time for you. Gimme a minute."

Randy heard a few moments of enthusiastic shouting and cursing before a door slammed and Dan 'D-Day' Davis returned to the line and said, "What happened?"

"Why do you think something happened?" Randy asked defensively.

"Because I ain't heard from you in coming on six months. Then you call out of the blue at ten in the morning on a Thursday. If you just wanted to catch up, you'd have called when you were commuting. Ergo, something happened. You know I'm on the next plane if you need me, Randy."

"I know, Dan. Same here. But I truly appreciate it. That being said, fortunately for both of us it is rather more pedestrian. Jennifer and I split up."

"I'm sorry to hear that, brother. What happened? Was she having an affair?"

"No..." Randy began, but Dan quickly cut him off saying, "You had an affair?"

"You make it sound like that would be completely outside the realm of possibility."

"Hey man, I know you. You're not the cheating type. Besides, you're not near rich enough to attract a lady at your age."

"Hey! I'm only forty-two. That's hardly ancient. I've taken care of myself."

Dan laughed and said, "Is that what you call it? Last time we got together you looked like you got locked in an all-you-can-eat place over the weekend."

"Fuck you," Randy said with a chuckle. "Like you've got any room to talk. You've been carrying a couple dozen extra kilos since college."

"Precisely. I'm much more adept at hiding it. Whereas you... are an amateur. But seriously. If neither of you were getting any on the side, what happened. I'm assuming she did the leaving, since you sound more bummed out than that time we got so high that we went to the wrong city when we were following that band from Canada with the lead singer who sounds like the wicked witch of the west got locked in a dishwasher."

"You got so high," Randy interjected. "I was just dumb enough to believe you. I swear, my kids think I'm bullshitting them when I tell them about the days before the internet."

"Indeed. So... why'd she give you the pink slip?"

"I don't know, brother. She just seemed like, in her mind, she'd fulfilled her commitment. It was like talking to a first basemen at the end of a contract year. It was all 'no hard feelings, but I did my job and now it's time to hit the open market'."

Dan sighed and said, "Makes sense."

"Of all the possible responses you could have given, that would not have been one I would have guessed. What ever happened to 'til death do us part'?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do. But that's not the most important question."

"Please, oh wise and powerful D-Day, enlighten me."

"Are you upset that you're not with Jennifer anymore, or are you upset that she divorced you?"

"Those are literally the same thing," Randy huffed.

"Once upon a time you were a pretty smart cookie," Dan retorted darkly. "What happened? Did you stop reading when you joined the church of the almighty dollar?"

"Hey!"

"I'm not trying to kick you when you're down, brother. I'm just pointing out that you don't sound heartbroken about losing the love of your life. You sound pissed that she left you."

"She could have given me some indication of where her head was at. You know, given me a chance to right some wrongs."

"But what if the only thing that was wrong was you two being together? I've seen you guys together. You're awesome parents and you made a wonderful team. But I can't remember the last time I looked at you two and thought about how much you love each other. Isn't it better to wrap things up before you start hating each other?"

"You realize you're making the same points she did, right? What happened, did she call you too?"

"How do you mean?" Dan asked with what Randy could tell was genuine confusion.

"Betty, my secretary, called Jennifer and asked her to, how did she put it, talk some sense into me. Apparently," he added derisively, "the fact that I'm in the office twice as much as I used to be is freaking some of my people out."

"Lemme guess, you're trying to make back what you lost in the divorce."

"Is it wrong to plan for the future? To have some money put away for a rainy day?"

"Only if you flush your company down the toilet in the process. The last fucking thing you need to do is drown yourself in work, brother. You need a vacation. Get away from Charlotte for a while and just fucking relax. I'm sure your company will be fine without you. Hell, based on what you've told me, it might be a hell of a lot better off."

Four

"Hey baby girl!" Randy said brightly as he stood to greet his daughter, who accepted a hug with only minimal objections before taking her seat across the table from him and opening her menu.

"How's work?" Randy continued.

"Fine."

Randy tapped his foot impatiently as he stared at his daughter, who seemed intent on looking anywhere except at her father. He waited until their orders had been taken before forcing the issue.

"What's wrong, Holly?"

"Why would anything be wrong?"

"Because you're treating me like you treated your brother after he told his friend to ask you to prom so you'd have a date."

"He's such an asshole."

Randy sighed and said, "So is that what I am now?"

She stared at the ceiling for a moment before saying, "Why didn't you do something?"

"Pardon?"

"I really thought you and Mom would be together forever. Why didn't you do more to keep things from unravelling?"

"I'm not really the person to whom you should address that question, sweetheart. It was your mom who left me."

She stared at him condescendingly and said, "And you had no idea?"

"Of course not. How would I? I thought things were great."

"You didn't think the fact that you guys haven't had a date night in ten months was a red flag?"

Randy sighed and said, "You act as if I was some workaholic who never made time for her. I tried to arrange date nights, she said no."

"Then how on earth did this catch you off guard?"

Randy thought for a moment before responding as he tried to plot a course through this conversation which would not push his daughter away. At length, he said, "How long were you and Edward together?"

"Ugh. Don't remind me." Randy just stared at her until she relented and said, "I don't know, a year? Give or take a couple months."

"If I recall correctly, the relationship ended in a whimper."

"How do you mean? I certainly wasn't crying over him, if that's what you mean."

"It's a saying from seventy million years ago when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and your dad was still young."

She grinned and said, "You're not that old."

"My point is, you didn't catch Edward cheating on you; or stealing money from your purse; or anything else which could have instantly scuttled an otherwise healthy relationship. Right?"

"Sure. I guess so. Why?"

"How long before you broke up with him did you start thinking maybe he wasn't the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with."

"Are you saying that you and Mom had been thinking about this for a while?"

"Not exactly," he replied with a frustrated sigh. "What I'm getting at is: did you tell Edward you were thinking about breaking up with him in advance? Or was the first time you brought it up when you actually broke things off?"

"The latter. But..."

"Hang on, sweetheart. I'm nearly there. Was he surprised? Hurt, even?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess so. He cried a lot. Oh, Jesus. Did you cry?"

He gave her a crooked grin and said, "What do you think?"

"Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen you cry."

"I have, for the most part, lived a very happy life. Even in light of the divorce, I'd still say I have a happy life. I have the two most wonderful children in the world. Your grandparents are still with us, and we all have our health. I'm not ignorant of the fact that I have a lot to be thankful for. I wish things had gone differently with your mother, Holly. But I can't get on board with a version of history which lays the blame for the divorce at my feet. Sure, in hindsight, maybe there are things I would have done different. But, let me ask you this, did you have any inkling this was coming? Wait, strike that. That's an unfair question. Um... how's work?"

"It's ok, Dad," Holly said gently. "I didn't have a clue. If it makes you feel any better, I was significantly louder when I had this conversation with Mom."

"It doesn't, actually. If there's one thing I hope for, it's that this doesn't negatively impact you or your brother. I truly believe your mother feels the same way, hence her timing."

"I know. And I'm sure we'll be fine. Who doesn't want another Christmas? I just wish..."

"I know, sweetheart. But... what's done is done. Time spent now wishing things were otherwise is just time you could have spent being happy."

She grinned at him and said, "Thanks, Dad. And... work is great. They put me on one of the dev teams, which my lead said is super unusual for an intern. I had a meeting this week with the CIO. He said he skipped college all together and got a job as a developer right out of high school. Never looked back. Kinda makes you wonder."

Randy took a drink of his water and said, "When I was a kid, it would have been unthinkable to leave school for a job. My folks would have disowned me for even entertaining the thought." Holly started to speak, but Randy held up his hand and said, "But things are different now. Especially in technology. I've met tons of people just like your CIO. The reality is that little of what many people in that sector do is taught in schools. Just remember, if you ever want to be something more than a developer, a degree will help you mightily. Sure, plenty of companies are like yours and couldn't care less about a degree. But there's a lot more that consider a degree as a sort of lodge card which is required for entry into the ranks of management."

"I know," she replied warmly. "And I'm not planning on dropping out. At least not yet. I am, however, considering taking a lighter course load in the fall so that I can keep working. I figure I could accept the full-time position they offered me..."

"They offered you a job?" Randy enthused. "That's wonderful. Congratulations sweetheart."

She grinned shyly and said, "Thanks. In any case, I'm thinking about taking the job and only taking a few classes a semester until I graduate."

"Just leave some time for fun," Randy advised with a wistful smile on his face. "My college years were where I met most of my best friends. I'd hate for you to miss that because you're too anxious to become a worker bee like the rest of us."

"I will, Dad. How about you? I heard a rumor that you reversed the rectal-cranial inversion you had been suffering from."

"I can't imagine who told you that..."

"In any case, I think it's a good thing. You should have some fun yourself. Maybe start interviewing stepmoms, as it were."

Randy snorted and huffed, "Really."

"I'm serious, Dad. You're a kind-of good enough looking guy. At least if someone lost their glasses and it's really dark."

"Thanks a lot."

Holly chuckled and continued, "I mean it. You're a catch. Why not start dating."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Your mom and I were together for nearly a quarter-century. I mean, the internet barely existed when we got together. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Maybe Mom could give you a few pointers," Holly muttered.

"Excuse me?" Randy thundered before quickly lowering his voice and saying, "Your mother is dating?"

Holly frowned and said, "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Mom and Zeke have been together for a while now."

"As in..."

"As in he was at the house when I stopped by the weekend after Peter's graduation, and she told me you two were getting divorced. But, as to your question, I'm not sure how long they've been together. Or if it predated you two splitting up." She gave him a sad look and said, "Sorry. Again, I thought you knew."

"It's fine, honey. I'm glad for her that she's gotten such an efficient start to her new life."

Holly said, "I know that look, Dad. That's the 'you're super pissed but bottling it all up' face."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he replied with a faltering smile.

"Forget about Mom. Just get out there and have some fun. You deserve it."

Randy reached out to take his daughter's hand and said, "Thanks, sweetheart. You're the best daughter a guy could ask for."

"I know," she replied playfully before taking another bite of her sandwich.

***

"This baby's one in a million," the smug car salesman announced for what felt like the one-millionth time over the course of the fifteen-minute test drive. It was as if the salesman could see dollar signs every time a traffic signal turned green and Randy put his right foot down, almost like a cartoon villain. Randy granted the assertion that the vehicle did indeed have amazing, even terrifying, acceleration. But the engine sounded like a shrieking banshee and every time he turned the wheel he genuinely wondered if the vehicle would turn as instructed or just keep on along its current heading until it rammed into some poor, unsuspecting building or bridge overpass.

Randy was only too happy to see the dealership come into view and extracted himself from the salesman's clutches with only a handful of mild evasions and one outright lie. He drove his luxury sedan off the lot and wondered why he had even gone in the first place. In truth, his current vehicle vastly outperformed the one he had just driven in every arena except for raw acceleration. On a track, it would not have even been a fair fight unless the German vehicle was driven by someone bereft of at least two of their senses.

He was self-aware enough to admit that the stereotype of a mid-life crisis car was not without merit. Randy could think of at least three friends or colleagues who had turned in their sensible family car for something with a horsepower to seat ratio of at least two hundred to one and which was virtually guaranteed to never exceed the speed limit. The car he had just driven was a perfect example of such foolishness. It was shouty and preposterous, just like everyone who drove one.

As he drove through the city's car dealership district, he thought about the concept of a dream car. He had not been immune to putting posters of exotic Italian super cars on his wall as a youngster, but years of watching British motoring shows had taught him that these cars were profoundly impractical. Thoughts of those shows caused his desires to coalesce like a super saturated solution that finally cooled enough to instantly transition from liquid to solid. He didn't want a super car; or a thinly veiled race car; or even an uber-luxurious German sedan. What he truly wanted was a grand tourer, a vehicle which was an exceedingly nice place to be while also having the performance of a sports car and the luxuriousness to drive all day. He knew his budget would not allow him to acquire a handmade European grand tourer, so he pulled into the next American car dealer he passed intent on making a poor unsuspecting car salesmen work a little for their commission.

Two hours later, he drove off the lot with a smile on his face. The top on his V8 powered GT car was down and the wind was in his hair. Even better, he had engaged in a rewarding, and quite successful, bit of negotiation which allowed him to fit the new vehicle comfortably within his budget. He gunned the engine a few times as he waited for a break in traffic before dumping the clutch and darting nimbly through a gap in the oncoming cars to the throaty roar of the five-liter engine.

Five

"Excuse me," Randy interrupted the young man at the dorm's reception desk after waiting, in vain, for fifteen minutes in hopes of being noticed. Ringing the bell on the desk had been no match for the parade of coeds streaming through the dorm lobby. The bespectacled, acne-scarred youngster never had a chance and part of Randy took pity on him.

"What?" the desk jockey snapped in irritation.

"I'm looking for Peter Vettel's room. He told me it was room four-eleven, but this building only has three floors."

"So?"

"So... the first digit in a multi-digit room number typically denotes... you know what? Never mind. Please direct me to his room."

"He's in room four-eleven. Top floor, southwest corner. Just follow the moaning. Hey," he said, his attention shifting to a buxom blonde prancing through the lobby. "Brenda. How's it going?"

The girl, or perhaps woman, in question barely broke her stride and did not deign his outburst with a response.

Randy headed toward the elevator, trying to expunge the comment about moaning from his memory. Upon reaching the top floor, he emerged from the elevator and looked around for a moment. He distinctly remembered having an innate sense of cardinal direction in college and frequently giving directions similar to what he had just received. But, here in this brightly lit but devoid of windows hallway, he found he did not have the foggiest idea which way was north. He began heading down the hall in hopes of finding some kind of clue. He never determined which way north was, but he decided that the fact that he was between rooms four-seventy and four-sixty-nine was as good a clue as he could hope for, and he set off in the direction of lowering room numbers. Moments later he stood before what he hoped was his son's door. He paused for a moment, listening with great trepidation for any sounds which would tell him to head for the nearest bar and get blackout drunk in hopes of erasing his short-and medium-term memory before returning very early the next morning. Thankfully, only silence emanated from the door, and he sighed in relief before raising his hand to knock.

"Who the fuck is it?" a voice that was unmistakably his son's thundered from inside the room.

"It's your father," Randy responded loudly.

There followed a flurry of whispered oaths and the sound of frantic scurrying before the door finally opened. Peter regarded him with a mixture of wonder and horror. His face was flushed, and he was sweating profusely. He was wearing a t-shirt which was both inside-out and backwards and a pair of shorts which did not come close to fitting him.

"Dad! Hi! So wonderful of you to visit... completely unannounced and without even a few minutes of warning."

"Hello son!" Randy announced with mock jubilation. "So glad I caught you. I was hoping you could give me a tour of the campus, starting with your dorm room which couldn't possibly have a female inside since that would be a clear infraction of the rules."

"Keep it down, would ya?"

"Perhaps you could excuse your guest?" Randy offered helpfully.

"Right," Peter turned to the darkened interior of the room and whispered something unintelligible. Shortly, a petite coed with dark brunette hair emerged and smiled shyly at Randy before coming to a stop next to him in the hallway. Moments later, a curvy redhead followed, wearing what Randy quickly realized where the shorts Peter had been wearing when he answered the door.

"Call me later?" the brunette asked coquettishly before blowing Peter a kiss. The redhead merely giggled, but her cheeks matched her hair as she gave Peter a parting smile before hurrying down the hallway.

Randy stepped into the room and muttered, "Jesus. Open a window or something. It reeks in here."

"Huh? I just cleaned up an hour ago before the girls came over."

"I think you know what it reeks of in here, son. I certainly hope you're using protection."

"Always," his son replied with a triumphant smile.

"Come on. I'm going to throw up if we stay in here. It smells like a frat house on the Sunday morning after Homecoming. You can show me around the campus."

***

Randy sat in fascination at the amount of food his son was capable of consuming while trying not to think about what he had done to work up such an appetite. At length, curiosity got the better of decorum, and ever sleeping soundly again, and he asked, "Two?"

"Two what?" Peter asked around a mouthful of fries.

"There were two girls in your room."

"Oh yeah," Peter replied, sounding uncomfortably like a stoned surfer from an eighties R-rated comedy.

"Let's pretend, for a moment, that you're the same person who's diapers I changed and for whom I'm footing the bill for this fine academic institution, and not one of your testosterone-riddled, barely conscious, drinking buddies."

"Sorry," Peter replied with genuine contrition. "I just thought that now that you're single, you'd be a little... I don't know... cooler."

"Giving yourself a reputation as a sexual predator is hardly cool, son."

Peter regarded him for a moment with fury in his eyes before he finally said, "That was unfair. And undeserved. Both those girls were there of their own free will and without any promises beyond trying to make each other happy. No laws were broken, or even mildly strained. What happened to the guy who told me the most important thing you could do with a lady was treat her like a queen?"

Randy took a moment before saying, "I apologize, Peter. I jumped to conclusions. My dark-ages mind had trouble imagining such a thing, but that's no reason to make unfounded accusations."

"Don't sweat it, Dad. I just couldn't bear you thinking less of Whitney. Or Keely, for that matter."

"I don't even know them, but the fact that they've taken a liking to you speaks highly for them."

Peter shrugged and said, "Whitney's my girlfriend, at least I want her to be. It was her idea to invite Keely over. I said no at first, both because I'm really only interested in Whitney and because it honestly sounded like a trap. But she eventually wore me down."

"But... why?" Randy asked in wonder. Peter started to speak, but Randy hurried to clarify. "Not why did you say yes. I just can't imagine why your girlfriend would push for such a thing."

"Because she's bi. She wants to be with me, but she also likes to be with women."

"But how is that sustainable?"

"I don't know," Peter huffed. "We've been together for a few weeks. We'll worry about what we say to the other PTA members after we clear the six-month hurdle."

"Fair enough. Just remember..."

"I know. Use protection and no means hell freaking no."

"I'm not sure that's exactly how I put it," Randy said with a smile. "But I think you've got the basic idea. So... how about that campus tour?"

Peter shoved the last of his fries into his mouth and followed his father out to the parking lot. He looked around in confusion at the handful of cars parked there. His confusion turned to elation when Randy clicked the key fob in his hand and the parking lights on a shiny new Mustang flashed at him.

"No way! You got a new car?"

"Sure did. That's one of the reasons I came to visit. I'm going on a grand tour, and I wanted to see you before I left."

"Can I drive it?"

"No, please, son. Calm yourself" Randy exclaimed dramatically. "I won't be gone forever. Really, the wailing and gnashing of teeth are bound to make people talk."

Peter chuckled and dashed over to the car and peered through the window. He looked up at his father and said, "Can I drive it?"

"Not unless you learned how to drive a standard in the last month. But I'll gladly give you a ride."

Randy climbed in and started the engine. His son grinned maniacally at the thunderous rumble of the V8. Randy then lowered the top and pulled out onto the busy campus street. They cruised in silence for a few moments, with Peter indicating which streets Randy should take with a gesture. As they turned onto fraternity row, a passing coed called out to Peter, prompting him to greet her loudly in return.

As he turned back to Randy, he said, "I think the car gets the hot chick stamp of approval."

"I'm so relieved," Randy replied dryly. "That's totally why I got it. Certainly not the excellent performance or how nice of a place it will be to reside as I drive across the country."

"Like... all the way across the country?"

"Pacific or bust, young man."

"Rad," Peter uttered approvingly. But a perplexed expression soon settled over his features. After an additional moment's hesitation, he said, "Why?"

"Why the Pacific? Or why go anywhere?"

"Either? Both? Seems pretty far."

"Indeed it is," Randy replied gently. "As to why... because it's there. Or perhaps because I've always wanted to. It has become abundantly clear to me that my company operates better without my careful oversight. You and Holly are starting your lives and have little need of direct oversight. And your mother has made it abundantly clear that she has moved on."

"You found out about that?"

"Holly told me a few weeks ago."

Peter looked quizzically out the window for a moment before saying, "Zeke's an ok guy, I guess. He didn't try to pull any quote stepdad unquote crap with me, which I was totally ready to go nuclear about. But he was just... fine."

"Good," Randy said quickly. "I only ever wanted your mother to be happy."

"We all know that, Dad. Even Mom. She asked me if you had a girlfriend yet."

"Yeah, right," Randy huffed with a wry chuckle.

"Why not, Dad? You haven't let yourself go too much, and you're only fifty."

Randy guffawed and said, "I should make you walk home for that. You know damn well how old I am."

"Sixty?" Peter asked with a barely repressed giggle. "Seriously, lots of chicks would love to catch your eye. I can't tell you how many girls Whitney's heard moaning about how all they want is to marry some rich older man who will take care of them."

"I have no interest in being somebody's sugar daddy, son. That's not a relationship. It's just like having another dependent."

"At least it would be a dependent with benefits," Peter offered.

Randy sighed and said, "I can understand why that might sound appealing, but I assure you it would be anything but. One of my fraternity brothers is stuck in an unbalanced relationship. His wife refuses to accept any responsibility, either for herself or for the family. It started when she had terrible post-partum depression after their youngest was born. My friend assumed responsibility for everything and gave her space to get the therapy she needed. But she never got any. Instead, she just pushed everyone away and started blaming him for her lot in life. Now he's the sole breadwinner in addition to being what amounts to a single parent who is constantly trying to shield his children from seeing just how poorly Mommy treats Daddy. He works himself to the bone, day after day, without any hope for anything ever improving and without any help... for anything... ever."

"Jesus. Why doesn't he divorce her?"

Randy sighed and said, "Because he loves her, God help him. He truly wants her to get better. More than that, he's what you could call a man of honor. He knows his life sucks, but as far as he's concerned, 'in sickness and in health' is a vow he made without any reservations. The fact that he stopped being married five years ago and just became a single father with three kids, one of whom happens to be his age, has no bearing on his responsibility. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror if he left her."

"Not exactly a ringing endorsement for marriage."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it's the ultimate example of what marriage could be. If two people both behaved as he did, they'd have a marriage that could change the world."

"That's awesome. It sucks that Mom didn't want to be that for you Dad. But I'm glad she didn't drag both of you into that kind of nightmare. I guess what I'm saying is: I hate that she ended things, but if it was going to be a choice between that and making you both miserable, I'm glad she chose the former."

"Me too," Randy replied sincerely. He looked around the bustling campus and said, "You going to be ok here by yourself if I take this grand tour? I might be gone for a month or more."

"I'll be awesome, Dad. I've been waiting my whole life to get to college. I never want to leave."

"You might change your mind when they start giving you tests."

"Perhaps, but even the studying is fun if you do it with the right person."

"Indeed," Randy answered with a grin. He reached out to grip his son's shoulder and said, "You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Go on your grand tour. See some sights, maybe even meet a pretty girl or two. Have fun, Dad. You deserve it."

Randy regarded the man in the seat next to him with admiration and said, "Thanks son."

Six

"That the five-point-eight?" a man who appeared like he was old enough to have participated in both world wars asked suspiciously as he came to a stop before where Randy leaned against his car.

Randy shook his head and said, "I'm afraid not. It's the five-point-oh."

"Shame," the man said with a frown. He took a few steps to walk away before he stopped again and said, "Turbo charged?"

"Nope. Naturally aspirated."

The man paused, his frown lessening ever so slightly before he said, "What's the horsepower?"

"Four fifty."

"Torque?"

"Four ten. Why?"

"I saw you out on the track. How in hell are you not getting below ten seconds with that much horsepower and no turbo lag? You got rocks in the trunk?"

Randy grinned and said, "I've never done this before. I suspect I'm doing about a million things wrong."

"Still fun though, isn't it?" the man replied with a twinkle in his eye. "You just get this baby?"

"About a month ago. But, until the last couple days, I never had her much over a hundred kph. But I found a few roads in the Smokies that had some excellent straightaways."

The man grinned knowingly and said, "Lot easier to go a hundred to two-hundred versus zero to a hundred, isn't it."

"You're telling me. The thing I can't figure out is how to get off the line without burning the clutch out."

"Just turn on launch control and dump the clutch. After that, you just have to hang on tight and remember to shift."

"Launch control?"

"Hoo boy," the man retorted with a shake of his head. "You really are a virgin, aren't you? Get in youngster, you're about to go through drag racing one-oh-one."

Randy eagerly hopped in the car and watched the man drop wearily into the passenger seat. He was tempted to start the voice recording app on his phone so he did not forget anything, but he suspected his guest might not be very welcoming of such a gesture.

As Randy had mentioned, the drive through the Smokey Mountains had been exhilarating. He had begun his journey from his son's college in Boone with no destination in mind other than a desire to head west. He had soon found himself in a maze of endless switchbacks on a series of roads that seemed custom built with motorcycle racing in mind. And, judging by the thousands of two-wheel enthusiasts he had encountered, the secret was out about this driving Mecca.

The apex of the drive had been a road referred to by motorcyclists as The Tail of the Dragon. Over three-hundred curves in less than twenty kilometers between North Carolina and Tennessee. Randy had not been ashamed by the need to pull off and stretch his legs after he had survived the harrowing road.

Heading further into Tennessee, Randy had found a dragstrip open to the public outside Knoxville and had decided to try his hand. As the old timer had mentioned, he had had fun on each of his eight runs. But constantly getting bested by cars old enough to vote had started to wear on his nerves and he had decided to take a break to get some sustenance and think about his next move.

The suddenly quite friendly old-timer finished his lesson, which included two runs down the dragstrip, and Randy felt as though he was driving a whole new car. There were what seemed like endless settings he could access with a few clicks of the steering wheel mounted controls or the switches on the dash which were entirely dedicated to a driving style which, on surface streets, would be profoundly illegal. The most fun of these was launch control, but the old timer had also shown him how, by flipping a few switches, he could turn the ostensibly mild-mannered grand tourer into a drifting monster. Randy suddenly wished he had access to a full race circuit rather than a simple dragstrip and made a mental note to carve out some time in his hotel that evening to finding just such a venue.

As he drove the old timer up to the grandstand, Randy voiced the thought which had been in the back of his mind since the 'lesson' began. "Why are you helping me?"

His wizened teacher chuckled and said, "This here's my place. The only reason I keep it open is because I like watching people go fast. And it was a damn shame what you were doing to this fine machine. I've always fancied a true-blue, American V8, and this baby's got a beauty of an engine. No turbos or electric motors, just raw muscle. And mark my words, you get this baby on a track and you'll run circles around damn near anything else made in this country."

"I appreciate the help, and that you open this place to the public," Randy said sincerely.

"I just figured it was a damn shame that even a sub-compact will do one-fifty without breaking a sweat these days. And anything which even suggests it's a performance car will hit two fifty. Yet the man won't let people drive more than a fraction of that on public roads. I figure I'd give people a place to see what their cars could do."

"You're truly a good Samaritan."

"All part of the service," the old timer said as he climbed from the car. Before he closed the door, he turned back and said, "I'm telling the kid at the gate that you're not allowed to leave until you break nine seconds."

"Fair enough. Thanks again."

The old timer only waved in response before heading out into the parking lot in search of another pupil.

Randy pulled up to the line again and could hear his mentor in his mind chastising him for checking out the scantily clad women prancing around the starting line. Most appeared to be either drivers or in the company of drivers, but a few looked to just be fans of racing and watched each car thunder down the dragstrip with a mixture of awe and longing.

When he pulled up to the line, a particularly beautiful representative from the fairer sex walked up and ran her finger along the top of Randy's door as she examined his car with a knowing eye. She stopped next to his door and bent over to appraise the interior, allowing Randy to peruse her bountiful cleavage which strained against her snug-fitting V-neck t-shirt.

At length, she said, "Nice car."

Randy thanked his upbringing, in addition to every influential female in his life, for the restraint to avoid responding with a comment about the quality of the woman's mammary glands. He tore his eyes from the aforementioned breasts, no small feat considering he was quite certain he could see her nipples hardening through the shirt's thin material. His only response was, "Thanks."

"Want a passenger?"

In the blink of an eye, Randy thought about the disapproving look Jennifer would have given him for even glancing in the direction of the woman currently ogling his car. He thought about how Holly and Peter had eagerly encouraged him to get out and meet people as he began the next phase of his life. Finally, he thought about how the entire point of his grand tour was to experience so many of the things he had forgone because of his obligations to his family. As these thoughts flashed through his head in an instant, he smiled at the newcomer and said, "I'd love one."

She grinned and climbed into the car. Fastening the seatbelt did rather remarkable things to her appearance, straining the material of her shirt to the breaking point as it nestled between her breasts. She turned to give him a thumbs up, paired with a brilliant smile. He revved the engine a few times before doing a quick burnout to heat up the tires. The attendant waited for Randy's thumbs up before looking over to the driver of a decades old Japanese sedan which had likely increased its horsepower by a factor of five since leaving the factory.

The light pole flashed to warn the drivers to get ready. Randy turned on launch control and floored the clutch and accelerator. The revs built up to three thousand and he waited for the green light. He dumped the clutch just as the last yellow light flashed and his Mustang leapt forward just as the green light came on. His passenger squealed in delight as they raced down the quarter-kilometer strip. As he crossed the finish line, he glanced at the clock and yelped in delight when the first digit was an eight.

"Finally!" he exclaimed.

"Not bad."

Randy turned to smile at her as he turned to head back toward the finish line. "You're my good luck charm."

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that, I'd be a rich woman."

"What's your name?"

"Elizabeth. You?"

"Randy."

"I like your car, Randy"

"Thanks. I like it too. Even more since I actually figured out how to drive it. You come here often? Wait, don't answer that. It totally sounded like a lame pickup line"

She chuckled and said, "Yeah, I actually do. It sure beats the hell out of the mall."

"You ever race here?"

"A couple times. But I blew out my clutch, so I'm sidelined until I get some money."

Randy thought for a moment before saying, "Do you race for money?"

"Only if no one's looking," she answered with a sly grin.

"So... how am I doing?"

"Pretty good for a beginner. Although it helps to have an eighty-thousand-dollar car with launch control."

"Indeed it does."

She smiled at him coquettishly and said, "Mind if I give it a try?"

Randy looked thoughtful, giving her a long look as he considered her request. She opened her thighs suggestively, emphasizing just how short her Daisy Duke style shorts were. As he watched, she slid her finger up the shoulder belt, pausing between her breasts for emphasis.

"Give me a run on the track," she whispered huskily, "and I'll give you a run off it. My place is only a few minutes from here."

Just as he had when she first asked for a ride, Randy's mind blazed through a lengthy debate before ultimately arriving at 'fuck it... why not?'.

He stepped from the car as she excitedly scampered around the front to meet him at the driver's side door. She traced her finger along his forearm suggestively as she waited for him to move away from the driver's door.

She whispered, "This is going to be a day you'll never forget."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

He watched her climb in and get the seat adjusted before belting herself in. He stepped away from her door and began walking around the rear of the car. As he did, he heard her shout, "Sucker!" just before the door slammed. He heard the telltale sign of the doors locking and instinctively jumped back away from the car. From inside the vehicle, he could see Elizabeth furiously trying to start the vehicle. Fortunately for Randy, that would be rather difficult without the key fob which rested in his pocket.

"How'd you get this far in life being so dumb" Randy heard the old timer grumble from his side.

Randy shrugged and said, "I knew she might be trying to rob me, but she wouldn't get far with the keys in my pocket. I figured it was only fifty-fifty that she was on the up and up, but that sure would have made for an interesting evening if things had turned in my favor. Has she tried this here before?"

"Not that I could prove. But there have been a few incidents similar to what she tried to pull. I was thinking I'd have to install a security system."

"What happens to her now? You going to call the cops?"

"Only if she won't play ball. I've been looking for another person to run the concession stand. Either she does it, and rats out on her friends, or she'll have an uncomfortable conversation with a few of my friends in blue."

"Fair enough," Randy agreed. "Any advice on how to get her out of the car?"

"I got it," he muttered before approaching the car. He glared at Elizabeth for a moment before saying, "Either get out or I'm calling the cops."

Elizabeth screamed in frustration before climbing from the car. The old timer said, "Come with me, missy. We're going to have a little talk about just how sorry you are for trying to pull this shit at my place of business."

As they departed, Randy shook his head resignedly before climbing into his car and driving away.

Seven

Two weeks, and nearly fifteen-hundred kilometers later, Randy found himself in the doldrums of the middle of the country. He had known this would be the most challenging part of his trip, but even his expectations paled in comparison to the oppressive emptiness of central Kansas. Everywhere he looked, he saw only flat, featureless farmland. He truly had no idea how anyone lived here without quickly going insane, and he had grown up in Florida, so he was intimately familiar with the concept of unending flatness. He had pushed on through Kansas City after stopping for dinner. But the further he drove into Kansas, the more he wondered if there would be anywhere with a decent motel before he got to Denver. The featurelessness of the road was either ideal or terrible, depending on one's point of view, because he had spent several minutes scanning his phone for an alternate route with little worry about the fact that he was traveling in excess of one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour. He figured the road had not changed direction by so much as a degree in more than ten minutes and there were no cars within a kilometer of his, so what was the harm?

He had, for the most part, enjoyed his grand tour thus far. He had never before taken a trip so free of itinerary or definition. When he decided to spend four days sightseeing in St Louis, there was no one to answer to and no schedule to alter. It had merely been part of the experience. He typically drove for between three and six hours a day and spent another two to three working from whichever hotel suite he had chosen for the evening. His company was operating just fine in his absence, thanks to the undeniable quality of his management team. His strategy thus far had been to stay in big cities where he could reliably find upscale hotels and restaurants, but his research had shown that all that stood between Kansas City and Denver was a thousand kilometers of nothing that would align to even the most liberal definition of a city.

He stowed his phone and focused back on the endless ribbon of tarmac stretching before him while he tried to ignore the fatigue that was settling over him. There was a light rain falling intermittently, otherwise he would have stopped and lowered the roof to keep himself alert. He tried to turn up the radio, but it did no more good than anything else he had tried. At length, he gave up and vowed to take the next exit so he could get out and stretch his legs in the hope of waking himself up a bit.

The next exit came twenty minutes later but did not seem very promising. There were none of the usual advertisements attempting to lure travelers to part with some of their hard-earned currency. There was not even a street name or number. Just an exit number and an off ramp. Recognizing that anything was better than continuing until he fell asleep, he took the exit.

"Huh?" he muttered as he reached the end of the offramp to find... nothing. No road, no signage, no houses or commercial buildings. Not even a dirt road. The exit ramp just unapologetically stopped alongside an endless field. There was not even an under- or overpass, even though the eastbound traffic also had an exit at the same location. Randy sat in the car for a moment, staring at the vast emptiness in wonder as he tried to solve the riddle of why the highway department would bother building an exit that went nowhere. He climbed from the car and scanned the horizon but saw no sights of civilization in the gloominess of that moment when dusk turns to darkness.

"Why is this a state?" he muttered into the void. "There's literally nothing here."

He walked around the Mustang a few times to stretch his legs, thankful at least that the weather was still temperate. He walked further from the car, his curiosity about the mysterious exit driving him in search of some kind of explanation. He pulled out his phone and checked a satellite rendering via a mapping app. After a moment's investigation, he saw that there were a few structures to the north. Or, at least, there had been the last time anyone bothered to take satellite images of central Kansas.

Looking in that direction, Randy thought he saw a glimmer of light, so he started walking driven by nothing more complicated than raw curiosity. Concepts like trespassing or getting lost were the furthest thing from his mind as he began walking north over the flowing prairie. As he walked, he saw no sign of any structure, but he continued to feel like he was seeing flashes of light just out of the corner of his eye. Each time, when he turned toward the perceived light, he saw nothing but blackness. But whenever he tried to convince himself that it had been nothing, he would inevitably see the light again.

The further he walked, the more he began to appreciate the sky above him. Far from any source of light pollution, Randy was also favored by a completely cloudless night. Even at sea, he had never seen the sky so full of stars. He paused for a moment to just gaze skyward and worship the majesty of the heavens. After several minutes staring upward, his head began to hurt so he laid down in the tall grass and continued his stargazing. Moments later he spotted what he initially believed was a shooting star, but the phenomena kept repeating itself. At length, he realized it was actually satellites reflecting the setting sun to the west.

Randy laid in the grass for uncounted minutes, feeling more awake than he could ever remember as he watched the sky. He could have laid there in quiet contentment for several hours had he not heard what sounded like an anguished scream come from the south. He sat up rapidly and looked around for the source of the sound. At this point, his eyes were quite accustomed to the darkness, but he was still unable to spot anything. Even standing gave him no more insight.

He began walking in the direction of the disturbance but was brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of a man's voice shouting, "There it is! Kill it!"

"Oh great!" Randy muttered to himself.

He sat back down, visions of a group of ignorant, gun-toting savages in search of some poor, pitiful creature who they had decided needed to die to satisfy their brainless bloodlust filling his imagination. Randy abhorred hunting, and hunters. This was due in part to a visceral hatred of nearly every hunter he had ever known but it was also driven by the pointless brutality of it all. He was a carnivore and recognized that the steak he picked up at the S-Mart had once been a living animal which likely met a worse than necessary end. He accepted that as a member of the species at the top of the food chain. What he hated about hunters was their fetishization of the killing. Randy also hated guns and he knew he would never be able to find common ground with a person who defined themself, even if only in part, based on the weapon, or weapons, they possessed.

He listened carefully to the empty countryside until he was able to make out movement. He focused in that direction and eventually was able to make out a group of silhouettes. He was grateful he had chosen to sit as they were headed almost directly toward him.

Soon, it was easier to make out individual voices and it became clear that, whatever manner of creature they sought, it was still eluding them. It was also clear that they were, at least to Randy's way of thinking, unhealthily angry with their quarry. After a few moments, they finally drew close enough that Randy could make out what they were saying.

"We're never going to find that damn thing in the dark."

"We're not giving up until that fucking thing is dead and mounted on my fucking wall, you hear?"

"Fine," the first voice grumbled. "But how exactly do you propose we find it without so much as a flashlight?"

"I know it's close by. I heard something move just up ahead."

Randy's blood ran cold, because the footsteps began heading in his direction. He had a sinking feeling that he was the thing they had heard. He was psyching himself up to call out to them, lest they start shooting in his direction just for the hell of it, when he heard a repeat of the shriek of torment that had initially captured his attention. It was a sound that simultaneously chilled him to the bone and made him weep with anguish. There was so much suffering in the sound that Randy felt as though he could feel every ill which had befallen not only the creature being hunted, but the thousand generations which had come before it.

"I got it!" one of the hunters exclaimed triumphantly.

At those words, something snapped in Randy. Whatever manner of creature these morons had cornered deserved better than a death merely for their amusement. Randy rose to a crouch and peered across the dark prairie to spot three men gathered in a circle. They were only a few dozen meters from him and seemed unlikely to notice him as they were fully occupied with screaming obscenities at something on the ground at their feet.

Randy rushed forward without a second thought. As he neared within a few meters of the group, he heard one of the men shout a warning. He skidded to a halt as the men turned to face him. Even in the darkness, he could see that they almost perfectly matched what he had imagined as he lay silently listening to them. The one in the middle wore overalls while his two buddies both wore worn jeans and faded work shirts. Each wore a hat emblazoned with a different stock car racing logo and all three reeked of alcohol and chewing tobacco.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" the middle one asked.

"That must have been his hotrod up by the highway. I told you we'd find someone out here."

The man in the middle asked, "How 'bout it, mister? That your car?"

Randy stared at them for a moment, feeling profoundly uneasy. After a few moments, he came to the realization that none of the men appeared to be armed. This revelation caused him to glance down to see what exactly they had been hunting. His confusion was only heightened when he saw that the ground at their feet was just as empty as anywhere else in this strange, empty land.

Unable to stop himself, Randy mumbled, "What are you guys doing?"

Horror filled their expressions as they whirled to look at the ground behind them.

"Fuck!" the overalls wearing man shouted. "It's gone!"

He spun back to face Randy and said, "Where'd it go?"

"Where'd what go?" Randy asked in genuine bafflement.

"Spread out. Find it," the man barked. He then stabbed a finger into Randy's chest and spat, "You'd better start looking too, mister. Because if that fucking thing got away, I'm going to hold you personally responsible."

"Looking for what?"

"You'll know it when you see it. Now get looking."

The men spread out in search of their mysterious quarry, but Randy did not fail to notice their expressions. These were not the faces of predators in search of prey, they were the faces of frightened men. Randy had never been in battle, but he scarcely doubted that these men were experiencing the kind of terror soldiers experienced just before everything went to hell.

"Fuck this," Randy muttered to himself before hurrying to the south. He heard a few shouts behind him, but that just made him run faster. He pulled his phone out, thankful for the app which automatically marked his car's position each time he parked. Despite the lack of roads, it reliably led him directly back to the Mustang which was now in the company of two pickups. Randy heard footsteps approaching as he climbed into the driver's seat and fired up the five-liter V8. He had to feather the throttle a bit to avoid spinning the tires on the loosely packed earth, but he was already on the on-ramp by the time the headlights of one of the pickups flared to life. By the time that vehicle had made it onto the on-ramp, Randy was already passing two hundred kph.

He gave thanks for the lack of traffic as he sped west, keeping his foot to the floor until he reached two fifty and maintaining that speed until he saw no headlights in the rearview mirror. He then backed off to a more sedate one-seventy-five and prayed there were no cops about. After twenty minutes, he reduced speed again to merely ten percent above the posted speed limit. There was no question in his mind that he was more than awake enough to push through to Denver, both because of the adventure he had just had and because he knew nothing short of a big city would give him the peace of mind that he had truly lost his pursuers.

As he settled in for the lengthy drive, he experienced another jolt of adrenaline when a bizarre voice from the back seat said, "That was a proper bit of driving, back there. Much obliged for the assist with those imbeciles although I can't imagine why they were so cross."

"Who said that?" Randy barked as he looked around the car furiously.

"Well that's a stupid question. I said it."

"Where... who are you?"

"I'm resting comfortably in your back seat. Best keep your eyes on the road though. You know, traffic safety and all that. As for who I am, I believe your kind would refer to me as an alien. But you may call me Cnychwr."

Eight

"What?" Randy gasped as he craned his neck around to scan across the back seat.

"Eyes on the road," the interloper snapped.

"Sorry," Randy replied automatically as he returned his eyes to the road.

"Think nothing of it. You humans are just so unpredictable when it comes to the operation of your vehicles."

"Why can't I see you?"

"Because I'm hiding, you stupid man. I haven't yet decided if I should trust you."

"Yet you're in my backseat. How in the hell does that make sense?"

"After the day I've had, I think I've earned the right to be a little cautious."

"Those guys back there were after you?" Randy asked in amazement. "I thought they were hunting something."

"They were... me!"

"Jesus. That's fucked up. I'm glad I happened by. Did you say your name was Konichiwa?"

"Close enough."

"Is that Welsh?"

The voice in the back seat chuckled and said, "Not exactly, but I can see where you'd get that impression."

Randy thought for a moment before saying, "So... what happens now? We headed west as quickly as possible without attracting official interest and you're hiding in my backseat. Do we just keep this up until we run out of gas? I'm certainly glad to have kept you from harm back there but I wasn't exactly in the market for a passenger."

"How do you know I'm not an achingly beautiful, completely devastating, eagerly nubile female who would like nothing more than to spend the next eight hours engaged in sexual intercourse with you?"

"Well... for one, you sound more like a fifty-year-old man from the north of England than a young American female. Also, I've got a twenty-year-old daughter and I can assure you that no females under the age of forty would ever use the phrase 'sexual intercourse' other than as a joke."

"Indeed. Very well, I admit it. I'm not a young human female."

"I suspect you're also not a self-aware mosquito, but we'll never get anywhere discussing what you're not."

"I don't want to cause you any mental anguish."

"It's a bit late for that!" Randy shouted.

"Fine. I'm what your kind refers to as an alien."

"Just because I'm a white male doesn't mean I agree with all those fascist assholes," Randy huffed. "So, I assume, based on your accent, that you're from the UK?"

"No, Randall Lewis Vettel, I am most certainly not from the UK."

"How did you know my name?"

"The same way I know everything else about you," Cnychwr intoned with terrifying calmness.

Randy desperately tried to scan the backseat without a care about looking in the direction in which the Mustang was travelling. When he didn't see anything, he shouted, "Where the fuck are you?"

"I told you, Randall Lewis Vettel, I'm hiding."

"Where? In the cupholder?"

"Oh, you humans and your rudimentary physiology," Cnychwr mumbled dismissively. After a moment's pause, he continued, "Very well, I will reveal myself. But not while we're under way. I cannot trust you to not lose consciousness and your vehicle's controls are incompatible with my skeletal structure."

"We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. It could be hours before there's a suitable turnoff."

"Not my problem."

"Are you saying you're an alien alien? Like from outer space?"

"Remarkable. It only took you ten minutes to surmise the truth. I can't imagine how long it would have taken had I not told you exactly what was happening when we first met."

"Hey," Randy snapped. "Alien has more than one meaning. Excuse me if I assume you meant the much more likely definition of the word."

"I cannot be held responsible for the failures of your primitive language, sir."

"You could have been more specific."

"How?"

"I don't know," Randy huffed. "I guess it doesn't matter now. So was that why those assholes back there were after you? Were they hoping for the mother of all trophies to hang above their mantle?"

"I wish it were that simple. The truth, I'm afraid, is much more sinister. There are members of your government who would pay a handsome ransom for my capture."

"Why? Those assholes have more problems than they can solve as it is."

"Undeveloped species always fear those more advanced than them. Can you not imagine why they'd be interested in the fact that I'm less than a meter from you, yet you cannot perceive me with any sense other than the fact that we are conversing?"

"So, what is it? Are you brainwashing me to convince me that I'm not seeing you when in fact you're right in front of my face? Or are you actually capable of physically disappearing?"

"What makes you believe it can't be both?"

"Seems a little redundant. Why would a species evolve to do both when one would suffice?"

Cnychwr seemed to pause for just a moment before saying, "A reasonable point. Would you believe that one trait evolved as protection and the other evolved as a more efficient method of communicating?"

"At this point, I won't even concede that you are, in fact, an alien. We'll tackle the specifics of your evolution later."

"Why would you not believe me?" Cnychwr asked with what sounded like genuine curiosity.

"Because it would be far more reasonable for you to be a speaker in the backseat being controlled by someone hell bent on fucking with me. We'd have to reject literally thousands of hypotheses before we got to 'you're from another planet'."

"You speak as though you're a scientist, yet your memories suggest you are some type of commodities broker."

"I'm educated," Randy said defensively. His irritation only increased when he heard a dismissive snicker come from the backseat. "I'm also a voracious reader. I'm not like those ignorant morons who nearly did you in back there."

"I apologize for laughing. You are indeed a different class of human from those unfortunates. I believe we are approaching the border between two administrative regions. Perhaps you could find a secluded portion of the border crossing so that we might become properly acquainted."

Randy took the offramp into the Colorado welcome center and pulled into a parking spot at least twenty meters from the closest possible observer. He shut off the ignition and turned to glare into the backseat.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" he heard Cnychwr ask from the passenger seat.

"It's either this or I pretend like the entire thing was a particularly vivid psychotic episode and spend the rest of my life wondering if I went completely bug-fuck insane for an evening."

"Is that a yes?"

"Let's do this," Randy muttered with more conviction than he felt.

His passenger seat began to shimmer for a moment before Randy got the distinct impression that the seat held a particularly adorable canine with bright cerulean fur. But this impression was extinguished when the creature rose up on four legs and spread a third pair of arms affixed to its torso wide in a 'ta da' gesture. Cnychwr's head was large for his body, the latter being roughly fifteen kilos in mass and seventy to eighty centimeters in length. His head also had large ears which seemed to be articulated and Randy had no doubt they had uses beyond mere hearing. When he stood to his full height, he was nearly fifty centimeters tall. He regarded Randy seriously with large eyes which had black, as opposed to white, sclera and large, bright green irises. The pupils were shockingly large and seemed to bore right into Randy's soul.

"So... what do you think?" Cnychwr asked without moving his mouth.

Randy seized upon this immediately and said, "How are you speaking without moving your mouth?"

"I told you, my species does not communicate with our mouths. Those are for consumption of energy. My physiology would not permit me to form the words of your language in any case. I am communicating with you with my mind."

"So why do you have a British accent?"

"Because that is where I learned to communicate in your strange language, of course," Cnychwr said as he offered a very human shrug of his shoulders.

"Fuck," Randy muttered. "How am I not losing my shit right now?"

"I'm not entirely certain that's an accurate assessment of the situation. From my perspective, you're very much losing your shit. Your heartrate has doubled, and your hands are shaking so severely that it's a wonder you haven't damaged yourself. Calm yourself. I assure you, there's no cause for concern."

"Oh really, you already as much as said that the government is looking for you."

"That's all too true. Even with my considerable intellect I can scarcely imagine what they would do to me if they captured me. I would imagine that the best-case scenario would result in me being vivisected, likely while I was still very much alive."

Randy shivered and said, "You couldn't just parley your superior technological knowledge to get them to let you go?"

"I don't know how my people's technology works any more than you know how this vehicle works. I'm no scientist. I'm just here on vacation."

"Why the hell would you come here on vacation?"

"It hardly matters anymore. I just want to go home but your kind won't allow it."

"How long have you been here?"

"A couple of your months. I'd gladly leave if I could just get a signal to my people."

"You're joking," Randy guffawed.

"Hardly. What makes you say that?"

"The fucking movie, dude. Phoning home?"

"It's not a phone call. It's a subspace burst transmission on a narrow beam. It lasts only a few microseconds despite containing all the information necessary to ensure that I am rescued."

"You really have only been here a little while. Remind me to make a movie recommendation when we stop."

"Does this mean you'll assist me in getting home?"

"Perhaps. What exactly do you need?"

"I am unsure," Cnychwr said as though suddenly unsure. "I have had limited exposure to your kind's communication equipment. I will need to learn more before I can answer your question. Might I suggest pushing on to the next metropolis where I would have a chance to investigate what kind of equipment I'll be able to make use of?"

"I thought you said you weren't an engineer."

Cnychwr bared his teeth for a moment before his features returned to normal and he said, "That is correct. But certain training is required before my kind is permitted to travel amongst the stars. Much of it concerns education about lesser race's violent tendencies and staying hidden."

"Makes sense," Randy replied with a knowing nod.

"You are not offended by my characterization of your race?"

"My countrymen allow lunatics to legally purchase weapons of war and then pretend it was an act of the almighty when said lunatic goes on a killing spree. You'll get no objection from me when you call us savages. Listen, I've got to hit the head... I mean make use of the facilities... I mean use the restroom... I mean..."

"I am well versed in your language, Randall Lewis Vettel, and I am aware of your biological urges. Go, I will be here when you return."

"Call me Randy. And don't you need to attend to anything?"

"Our bodies have evolved to be more efficient than yours and do not require the elimination of waste."

"Fair enough. Be right back."

Randy exited the vehicle, locking it behind him and hurrying toward the rest stop's main building. By this point, it was so late that he suspected they had transitioned to early. There was still no hint of light in the eastern sky but there was an unnatural stillness to the air. The parking lot was nearly empty, and those cars that were there seemed to mostly be drivers who had pulled off to grab some sleep.

Randy was still wired from everything that had happened, but he knew that eventually the adrenaline would wear off and he would crash. He resolved to stop at the first hotel, or even motel, he saw and try to get at least some sleep.

On his way into the bathroom, he passed a beautiful young woman who smiled shyly at him. He held the door for her, and she whispered her thanks before bounding down the stairs toward the parking lot. Randy watched her for a moment, unable to help himself from appreciating just how remarkable the fairer sex of his species could be.

He shook his head and continued inside to attend to his business. On his way out, he purchased a couple energy drinks from the vending machine. He despised the taste of them, but he also knew that, despite entering Colorado, he was still hundreds of kilometers from civilization, and it might be some time before he happened upon a place to get some sleep.

As he approached his vehicle, he heard a scream from behind him and turned to see the woman he had held the door for running toward him with panic in her eyes.

"Help!" she wailed.

"What happened?"

"They are coming," she gasped as she crashed into his arms. "Please, not let them take me."

"Who's coming? What's going on?"

"Please!" she exclaimed with tears streaming down her cheeks. "I will tell everything, but we must go now."

Randy glanced quickly inside the car, but saw no sign of Cnychwr, so he quickly opened the passenger side door and helped the woman inside. Dashing around to the driver's door, he fired up the massive V8 and raced onto the westbound highway.

Nine

"Thank you for rescuing me," Randy's passenger whispered slowly after about ten minutes of travelling.

"Of course," Randy replied carefully, his eyes still anxiously watching the review mirror for signs of pursuit despite their velocity which, for the second time in as many hours, was significantly in excess of the speed limit.

"I am sure you expect explanation," she continued.

"That's entirely up to you. I'll drop you wherever you like, with or without an explanation."

"No. Is only fair I explain."

"Before you get into that, I've been awake for the better part of an entire day. I'm going to need to stop and get some rest pretty soon. I propose that I can get a room for you as well and then we can pick up this conversation later today. Or you can go your own way, no hard feelings."

His guest accepted this with a nod and leaned back in her seat. Randy was desperately curious to know more about her, but he had no intention to pry. The memory of the terror on her face when she had run up to the car was fresh in his mind and while he was somewhat ignorant on dealing with trauma, he suspected that rule number one was 'don't be a pushy asshole'.

Randy saw an advertisement promising a motel at the next exit. Upon seeing this, exhaustion began to overwhelm him. It was as though his body had been waiting for the appropriate moment to admit that it required rest. He pulled off the highway and into the aged, but clean-looking motel.

"Be right back," he said quickly as he climbed from the vehicle.

After a moment's hesitation, his passenger leapt from the car and joined him as he walked inside. She gripped his arm like one would hold onto a buoy to keep from drowning.

Randy looked down at her and said, "Don't worry. I'll get you your own room."

"No!" she said forcefully enough to draw the attention of the sleepy night manager. His passenger looked sheepish and more quietly said, "I do not wish to be alone."

Randy reached the desk and said, "Two rooms, please. Both with two beds." He turned to his guest and said, "Just in case."

She smiled gratefully to him and squeezed his arm tighter.

After the ritual exchange of pertinent information, Randy was handed two pairs of old-fashioned room keys. He walked back out to the car and moved it around to the rear of the motel. As best as he could tell, there were only a few occupied rooms. He took this in stride in light of the fact that it was the middle of the week, in the middle of a month not known for vacationing, and they were in the middle of nowhere.

He led his guest into the first room and then told her he would be right back after collecting their bags. He returned to the car and sat in the driver's seat and looked in the review mirror before hissing, "Cnychwr? Are you still back there?"

"Where else would I have gone?" the alien asked as he shimmered and reappeared in the back seat.

"I don't fucking know. I assume you heard everything with the girl... about her being in trouble?"

"I did. You are most noble for rescuing her."

"Cut the crap. Do you know anything about what's going on with her?"

"How would I know anything beyond what you know, Randy. She's barely said ten words since you agreed to help her."

"She doesn't want to be alone tonight, and I have no fucking idea how I'm going to handle that. But I guess I'll figure it out as I go. I got you a separate room, so you don't have to hide in the car all night."

"Most thoughtful. I am again in your debt. If you would be so kind as to open the door, I will relocate there and get some much-needed rest. In the morning, just open the door after knocking thrice and I will make my way to your vehicle whilst camouflaging my appearance."

"Do you need food or anything?"

"Not at present, but much obliged. Merely privacy, and rest."

Randy stepped from the car and opened the door to the second room. He heard no movement but after a few seconds, Cnychwr whispered, "I am inside."

"Good night," Randy whispered loudly.

"And to you as well, good sir."

Randy pulled the door closed after hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle. He then collected the bags from the car and took a moment to combine the things he would require into one smaller bag before locking everything else, including his wallet and the keys, in the trunk. He smirked at the force of will it took to intentionally lock his keys in the car, but an app on his phone had proven a reliable means of opening the car in the past and there was a backup keypad on the driver's door. Confident that he had reduced his risk for being robbed as much as possible, he approached the door to the first bedroom. After a moment's thought, he pulled his phone from his pocket and activated the audio recording feature as he could think of no better way to defend himself should his bizarre evening continue to get stranger.

He opened the door and quickly closed it behind him after entering. A quick scan of the room revealed no sign of his passenger. He then noticed a movement near the area of the bathroom. He stared in that direction for a moment before she sprang from the closet area.

"Where were you?" she exclaimed after rushing to his side.

"I just had to make sure everything was locked up," he said with an inward cringe at the omission.

"I was worried."

"Everything is fine. This place is nearly deserted, and we're parked where you couldn't possibly see us from either the road or the highway. No one will find you here."

She sighed mightily before slumping against him. He hugged her awkwardly, anxious both to comfort her and to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. She sighed wearily and said, "Thank you. Again."

"You don't have to keep thanking me..." he let a pregnant silence linger in the air.

"Olga," she supplied with a sheepish grin.

"Olga," he parroted with a smile. "I'm completely exhausted. I'm going to hit the sack. Feel free to sleep or do whatever else you want to. I'm a heavy sleeper, you won't bother me if you watch some TV. If you're still here once I've gotten some rest, we can talk about whatever you'd like to."

She nodded solemnly and watched him kick off his shoes and drop onto the bed, barely taking the time to cover up before he lost consciousness.

***

Randy awoke to the worrying sensation of someone else in the bed with him. He remained still for a few moments as the previous day's events replayed in his memory. For a brief panicked moment, he was convinced that it was Cnychwr in the bed with him but then he remembered the mysterious girl he had rescued. A soft, feminine snore from between his shoulder blades settled the debate definitively.

He remained for several minutes despite a rather urgent need to visit the restroom. This was driven by two factors. The first was that he had no wish to wake the woman, whose name he finally recalled was Olga. Her arm was wrapped firmly around his midsection as though, even in sleep, she needed some reassurance that he had not disappeared. Her body was molded to his as though some dire punishment would be rendered should a nonexistent judge be able to identify so much as a cubic centimeter of air between them. The second reason, which was likely a direct result of the first, was that he was impossibly, and most inappropriately, aroused. He could feel the swell of her supple breasts flattened against his back and her taunt stomach pressed against his ass.

Eventually, the call of nature overwhelmed all else and he carefully slid from the bed. Several moments later, he emerged from the restroom to find the room lights on and Olga regarding him with wide eyes. She was sitting up in the bed and had pulled the sheet up beneath her neck, but his eyes did not miss the fact that the clothes she had worn yesterday, which were unquestionably the only clothes she possessed, were resting comfortably on the undisturbed bed.

He grinned at her and said, "Good morning. Sleep well?"

She nodded solemnly and said, "I apologize if you are upset I shared bed. I was scared."

"It's fine. Really. Whatever makes you comfortable."

She paused for a moment before saying, "I took off clothes."

"So I noticed. Would you like me to go outside so you can get dressed?"

"No!" she said firmly. "Not ashamed. And... not wish being alone."

Randy took a seat on the other side of the bed and regarded her for a moment before speaking. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Olga. But you're going to have to stop apologizing to me. You've done nothing to offend me. Furthermore, I did what I did of my own free will. You don't owe me anything." She opened her mouth as though to apologize again, so he added, "So, please, just relax."

She snapped her mouth closed and regarded him for a moment before nodding and climbing from the bed. She stood and approached him, bending at the waist to kiss his cheek briefly before walking to the restroom and closing the door behind her. Randy stared at the door numbly, unable to do anything more than breathe since his brain was currently overloaded with the memory of Olga's naked, and stunningly beautiful, body.

He heard the shower start and took the opportunity to attempt to relax, but he was unable to resist the image of the warm water streaming down her creamy skin which leapt to his mind. Jennifer had been a very attractive woman when they got together. Randy had had no shortage of fraternity brothers who were anxious to point out that she was way out of his league. Even in her early forties, she was still quite beautiful and never failed to draw the eyes of men from sixteen to sixty. But never in his life, even in movies, had he seen someone with a body like Olga's. She was reasonably tall for a woman, likely around one hundred seventy-five centimeters, with straight brown hair which fell below her shoulders. She had a solemn face that likely hid a beautiful smile, should she ever find cause to do anything other than frown. She was slender without being skinny, with breasts which were large for her frame and displayed astonishing firmness. But the things that set her apart were her staggeringly flawless skin, which seemed as though it had been carved from marble, and her devastatingly soulful brown eyes.

Randy heard the shower turn off a few minutes later. The abrupt absence of the sound of water flowing spurned him into action. He walked to his bag and pulled some items out before crossing to the bathroom and knocking lightly on the door.

"I brought you something to put on," he called softly through the door.

She opened the door wide and smiled shyly at him. She had wrapped a towel around herself, which managed to emphasize her nakedness rather than concealing it. She glanced down at the t-shirt and boxers he held out to her, and her smile widened.

"You disapprove of nakedness?"

"No! I mean... um... I... uh... just wanted you to be comfortable."

She chuckled at his discomfiture, which caused the gold in her eyes to flash, and she jerked her towel away before taking the clothes from his now lifeless hands. She slowly pulled the boxers up before pulling the shirt over her head.

"Better?" she asked coquettishly.

He stared at her numbly for a moment before exclaiming, "My name's Randy."

She guffawed and stuck out her hand before saying, "It is pleasure meeting you, Randy."

He shook her hand, trying to ignore the shiver that raced up his arm at her touch and the blood which raced to his groin. "Perhaps we could find someplace to grab some breakfast."

Ten

"Do you always eat so much?" Olga asked with an impish grin.

Randy self-consciously dropped his fork and stared at the remains of a waffle on his plate for a moment before shrugging and saying, "No. But I haven't eaten for nearly a day."

"Was not criticizing, Randy. Merely impressed."

"And yet you've barely eaten anything."

Her smile disappeared and she glanced down at the table. "I am still... remembering. Before you rescued me."

"You don't have to tell me," Randy said quietly. "I'll help however I can regardless."

She stared down at her lap for a moment before saying, "I cannot remember."

"How do you mean?"

"Am trying to remember how I came to be at service center, but all I recall is fear."

"Do you remember any faces? Or names?"

She shook her head sadly and said, "Nothing specific beyond certainty that freedom, and safety, were at risk. Have spent morning trying to understand. Only explanation I think of is I was drugged."

It had been the most she had said all at once and Randy found himself charmed by her thick eastern European accent. Almost as much as he was mesmerized by the way her eyes, so guarded when she glanced around to take in their surroundings, opened wide whenever she looked at him. It was as though he was the only thing that stood between her and a cruel, uncaring world. The thought at once terrified and emboldened him.

"What's the last thing you remember before we met?"

"Am not sure," she stammered. "Remember friends, family, my life at home... but little else. Must have been on holiday in your country before... before whatever happened... happened."

"Do you have a phone? A wallet?"

She shook her head and said, "Nothing."

"You could use my phone, or my laptop, to try to contact someone. Or I could get you another phone."

"Could not ask you do that, Randy."

"I don't mind. Tell you what, why don't we take a few hours and replenish your supplies? Then, we'll see what you feel like doing."

"Is crazy. I am stranger."

Randy sighed and looked at her intently before saying, "Are you in trouble?"

Olga shook her head before raising her eyes to meet his. "Do not know answer anymore."

"Very well. How about this... are you definitely not in trouble?"

"No," she whispered morosely.

"Then I am honor bound to help you until the answer to that question changes. No arguments," he said gently in response to Olga again shaking her head. "So, first order of business is getting you some supplies. Are you done eating?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Let's see what this little town has in the way of shopping."

***

Randy regarded Olga with a stern stare and said, "I swear, if you say, 'is too much' one more time, my brain is going to melt."

"You make fun of accent?" Olga asked with a coy smile.

"No. Of course not. It's just..."

"Is joke, Randy. Just cannot think of better way to express feelings. No one has ever been so generous. That phone alone costs fortune."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just trying to get you back on your feet. Speaking of which, we need to get you some clothes and something to put them in. Not to mention all the bits and bobs that a modern woman needs to get through the day. Hopefully the S-Mart will do because it is, as near as makes no difference, the only shopping this town seems to have."

"Will you come with me?"

"Sure. Whatever makes you happy."

She smiled at him adoringly and whispered, "You make me happy."

He returned the smile before pulling into a parking spot and exiting the car. Olga rushed to his side and grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers with his as they approached the front door of the megastore.

He gave a brief thought to Cnychwr who was, as far as he knew, still holed up in the hotel room. Randy had been unable to think of a way to check on his alien guest without tipping Olga off to his existence. He hoped there would be an opportunity to do so once the shopping was finished.

Randy led Olga to the personal care section and watched her wander around, picking various items off the shelf and dropping them into the cart. He felt tempted to insist she get more since, after living with Jennifer for the better part of two-and-a-half decades, he had learned just how much was required by a modern female. He suspected that, had Jennifer been tasked with rebuilding her traveling kit of toiletries from scratch, it would have cost thousands rather than hundreds.

When she insisted she had everything she needed, they proceeded to pick up a medium sized rolling duffel and a purse she could use. Randy pretended not to notice that she had picked the least expensive of each and dutifully followed her to the clothing section. She collected a handful of items before quickly heading for the fitting room.

Randy smiled to himself as he leaned on a conveniently placed wall and gave a knowing nod to a man a few years younger than him who was grumbling to himself as he sat awkwardly on the pedestal which held up a mannequin.

"You got roped into this shit too?" the man muttered in Randy's direction. Randy shrugged in response before glancing in the direction where Olga had disappeared. "I swear to God, women just can't get any enjoyment out of shopping if they're not inflicting some pain. The fact that she's emptying my bank account should be enough, but no. She's got to take up my lunch break too."

Randy replied, "Then why not pretend to enjoy it?"

"Are you daft?"

"If you're right, and the only reason she drags you along is to make you miserable, then she'll stop asking you to come if she thinks she's failed."

"That's brilliant!"

A woman emerged from the fitting room and looked at the shopping hater cautiously before mumbling, "What do you think?"

"It's great!" he gasped. "You look amazing in it! We should go find some shoes to match it."

"Really?" she whispered as a wide smile spread across her face.

"Definitely, babe."

She followed him as though in a fugue as he led her toward the shoe section.

Randy watched them go with a smile and mumbled, "Of course, you might also have just turned yourself into an indispensable shopping buddy."

"Randy?" Olga's voice called softly from the fitting room. "Could you help me?"

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes scanning around for signs of a threat.

"N... nothing. Just need help for moment."

He glanced around for a moment before peaking inside the fitting room to find only one curtain drawn. He approached it and said, "What is it?"

She slid open the curtain and said, "I cannot tell if strap shows," as she turned to show him her back. She was wearing a white, racer-back tank top over a plain black bra whose straps most definitely were not concealed by the top. She was also not wearing anything below her navel save a black thong.

He grinned at her sheepishly and said, "I think you know the answer to that, Olga."

She smirked wickedly, turning to face him, and said, "Yes. But wanted to see smile. Will be serious now." She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra before tugging it from beneath the top. "Is inappropriate now?"

"Um... what?"

She pointed at her breasts, which had not perceptibly changed shape with the removal of her bra, and said, "See nipples?"

He sighed and said, "What are you doing?" while carefully keeping his eyes on her forehead. "I know there are mirrors in there."

"Want opinion. Do you not like?"

"Like what, Olga? Being teased? Not particularly."

"Am not teased you, Randy," she barked in frustration. "Just thought you thought I was attractive."

"Of course, I do. You're beautiful. You're also at least a decade younger than me."

"Age is irrelevant. My mother is thirteen years older than husband. They have been married for four decades. You are good man, Randy. You saved me without question. You provide for me without asking anything in return. I find that very attractive. But... you have still not answered question."

"Forgive me. What question."

She stroked her breasts lasciviously, causing her nipples to harden visibly, and said, "Can you see nipples?"

"Of course I can," he stammered after a brief glance at her chest.

"Why are you uncomfortable? We are both adults and we are... Bože můj!" she gasped as her hands flew to her mouth. "You are married! I looked for ring but did not see. Feel like such fool."

"I'm not married. Not anymore."

"Then why are you not attracted to me? Am not proposing long term relationship, just like you very much and want to make you happy. You can cum on face... if excites you."

"Don't be preposterous," Randy scoffed.

"Is thing many guys like."

"Is thing which shows many guys have an unhealthy obsession with demeaning women."

"You make fun of accent again. In any case, I do not mind. I also am fan of anal, unless you are hung like horse."

"Hardly."

"Perfect. Then we shall have anal, and you shall cum anywhere but face."

"Um... right. Perhaps you should get dressed first? Unless you were suggesting we get down to business right here."

"Is up to you," she replied sincerely. She lifted her shirt and pinched her nipples while staring at him wickedly.

"Sweet Jesus," he whispered reverently.

"I knew you liked." She reached out to stroke his cock, which had sprung back to full hardness at her display after waxing and waning throughout their charged conversation, through his trousers.

"We should go," Randy stammered. "Um... get dressed."

"As you wish."

She dressed quickly in the clothes she had been wearing when they had met before leading them back out of the fitting room. She grabbed a few more items, including lingerie which definitely prioritized form over function, before leading him back to the personal care section.

Upon reaching the family planning section, which Randy was surprised was not better secured than the firearms had been considering the small town's likely conservative lean, she indicated the available prophylactics said, "Do you have preference?"

"Not really. It's been a few decades since I used one."

"Oh. Well I suppose we could..."

"I wasn't implying I wouldn't use one, Olga. Just answering your question."

"Perhaps I could help you choose," she whispered conspiratorially before reaching out to stroke his once again turgid member through his trousers. "Would be easier if clothes weren't in way."

She started to unzip him, and he yelped in protest. "I don't think that'll be necessary."

"Very well. I suggest this one." She tossed a package into the cart which Randy could not help but notice contained several dozen condoms. She also selected a bottle of lube, shaking it lewdly before saying, "For anal."

"Right," he mumbled to himself, still very much convinced that the entirety of the prior twenty-four hours was either a remarkably vivid hallucination or a particularly cruel and elaborate prank. He half expected that when they returned to the hotel, he would find the second bedroom empty, and Olga would either disappear or reveal a cleverly hidden camera crew.

They climbed into the Mustang and began the drive back to the hotel. Olga was quiet for a moment before she gave voice to her thoughts. "I come on too strong, yes?"

"No. It's not that." Randy paused for a moment before saying, "It's not only that." She made to interject, but he cut her off. "You have to understand, my marriage wasn't a rocky one or even one I would call loveless. My wife and I made love somewhat frequently."

"What is frequently?"

"Once or twice a month? We made it a point to have regular date nights and those typically ended with us being intimate. I'm not complaining, it was fine. I'm just saying it's been a while since someone implemented the full-court press to seduce me. Jennifer followed a tactic more akin to shrugging her shoulders and saying, 'so... do you wanna?'. It's taking me a moment to realign my thinking to how one should react when a beautiful woman feels as though she must convince me to be intimate with her."

"I think you are doing fine job."

At this point they pulled into the hotel and Randy said, "Listen. I need a moment before we... you know. I promised my kids I'd call them daily lest they think their old man got kidnapped by aliens." He cringed inwardly at the colloquialism which had sprung from his mouth before he could think to say something else. In truth, he did want to call Holly and Peter as it had been several days since they had spoken. But he also wanted to check on Cnychwr as it was nearly noon, and he had no idea if the alien was in need of something after being cooped up in the room alone all night.

"Is fine," Olga said coquettishly. "But do not dawdle or I will start without you."

Eleven

Randy knocked several times on the door to the second bedroom without hearing any response from the room's interior. At length, he sighed and pulled the copy of the key from his pocket and regarded the door for a moment trying to decide if he should return to Olga before opening the door to the alien's room and popping the bubble on what was undoubtedly a severe psychotic episode. Just as he was about to turn away, he heard a noise from within the second bedroom which sounded like a being in distress. Without hesitation, he stuck the key in the lock and opened the door.

Randy was unable to stop the contents of his breakfast from violently expelling themselves from his body and onto the stained carpet just inside the room at the smell that assaulted his nostrils upon opening the door. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked around the room in horror. Every horizontal surface was covered in either fast food containers; or a bright green, viscous substance; or both. Cnychwr was in the middle of the second bed, violently expelling more of the green slime from one end while voraciously scarfing down a slice of pizza at the other.

"What the fuck is going on?" Randy choked out.

"Oh!" Cnychwr exclaimed exuberantly. "Um... what's your name again?"

"Randy."

"Randy! That's right. If you would mind standing still, I'd be most grateful."

"I am standing still."

"Then perhaps something is the matter with this domicile. Are you quite certain you're not hopping around like a man possessed?"

Randy frowned and said, "Quite certain. Listen, do you think you could stop... whatever it is you're doing while we're talking?"

Cnychwr looked around in confusion before belatedly noticing his lower half, whereupon he yelped, "Blimey. How in blazes did that happen. I am frightfully embarrassed."

"Are you sick?"

"Right as rain," Cnychwr hiccupped before taking another bite of pizza and resuming his excretions. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you look like one of my fraternity brothers on the night he discovered liquor came in proofs higher than one-hundred. Smell like him too."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just having a bite to eat."

"I'd say you've had considerably more than a bite. Not to be redundant, but what in the hell is going on?"

"Just a wee spot of indulging in your culture's crowning contribution to the common good." He waved his hand formally over the food spread across the bed. "A truly exquisite high, if I do say so myself."

"Fast food gets you high?"

"Come now sir. This is hardly food."

"A fair point. But it's hardly a drug. I'd say it would be more accurate to call it poison, or sustenance of last resort."

"I'm so sorry for you, then. I know not what it is, but this matter is filled with a compound which is unknown on my planet. If I could figure out a way to import it, I'd be wealthier than your ruling class.'

"Pardon me for saying so," Randy began. "But this doesn't seem to particularly agree with your system." He waved his hand to the pile of excrement Cnychwr was half-laying in.

The alien waved his forelimbs dismissively and said, "Details. One can always clean up a bit of mess. A small price to pay for this exquisite feeling."

"I'm glad you said that, because you're cleaning all this shit up."

"Hardly. This establishment has people who perform such menial tasks. How are things with your female?"

"She's not mine, but she's fine."

"Is she not? I rather thought she would find you quite agreeable. Or do you prefer males?"

"No, I'm straight. But we just met. Why on earth would she already have thrown herself at me?" Randy tried to tamp down the voice in his head which accurately pointed out that Olga had indeed done just that, and that had Randy found Cnychwr in a less catastrophic state, he would at this moment likely be enthusiastically engaged in making her 'his'.

Cnychwr shrugged and said, "I am still ignorant in the ways of your species. On my planet, if two sentients encounter each other and find one another compatible, they will engage in our equivalent to your coitus. We evolved beyond associating economics and emotion with the act."

"So it's just about feeling good?"

"Of course. As I said, much more evolved."

"Perhaps. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a big fan of a good old-fashioned roll in the hay. But I can't imagine not being able to make love. If I had to choose between the two, I think I'd take our way."

It sounded like Cnychwr muttered, "You'll see," but he immediately started vomiting to join the near constant excretions coming from his lower hemisphere.

"Would you stop that!" Randy shouted.

"Stop what?" Cnychwr stammered between bouts of nausea.

Randy picked him up and hurried toward the restroom.

"Unhand me, fiend!"

Randy tossed him into the shower and turned on the water. He had a moment's terror that Cnychwr would have a physiology which had an aversion to water, but the alien merely continued to curse Randy's name as the water washed away the filth. Randy returned to the main part of the room and surveyed the damage with dismay.

***

"Sorry again about leaving so quickly," Randy said quietly as they merged onto the highway.

"Is fine," Olga replied reassuringly.

"It really isn't. I was looking forward to... well... you know."

"Anal," she replied companionably.

"No, not that."

"You did not want ass?"

"No. I mean, I did. But that wasn't why I was looking forward to us being together."

"Will have other chance."

Randy nodded and thought back to just how quickly, and horribly, his morning had turned. One moment, he was on the verge of making love to an astonishingly beautiful woman. The next, he was cleaning up an appalling amount of alien excrement while simultaneously trying to keep Cnychwr from inhaling even more fast food. He shuddered to think of the charge which would appear on his credit card once the cleaning crew got around to the alien's room. Randy had been forced to use, and dispose of, every linen in the room just to clean the room up to the point where it looked like an eighty's hair band had spent the week there. He resolved to find some time in the near future to attempt to recoup some of the unplanned expenses he had racked up in the last day.

Despite his concerns, and the anxiety and worry he had experienced, he was honest enough with himself to admit that he had had more fun, and felt more alive, in the last day than any time in recent memory. He would never have described himself as an excitement junkie, but he could not deny the rush he felt when running from Cnychwr's tormentors or the as-yet-unknown force from which Olga had escaped. She still had no memory of what had happened to her, but Randy strongly suspected she had been the victim of human trafficking and had been kept high on mind altering drugs to prevent her from being aware of her surroundings.

"Is Denver?" Olga asked, pointing at the developed area shoved against the eastern slope of the towering Rocky Mountains.

"I think so. I've never been but it stands to reason. It's incredible how abruptly the plains end, and the mountains start. Do you have mountains near where you're from?"

"Yes, but they are more akin to your eastern mountains. Have only seen mountains like this in Alps."

"I've never been to Europe," Randy said wistfully. "But I always wanted to go."

"I must take you sometime. Many parts are very beautiful."

"You never told me where you're from."

"Village just outside Prague. Is very beautiful. And very old. Your country is so young, so vibrant."

"I'm not sure I'd call it young."

"It is almost a certainty that humans have been living in Prague since before any humans came to Americas. There are buildings there which are nearly two thousand years old. Trust me, your country is very young."

"Ok. Point taken. I guess that explains why collectively we act like a group of hormonal teenagers."

"That is excellent hypothesis. But does not explain why British act exact same way."

They rode for a time in silence as they watched the approach of the Rocky Mountains in awe. They drove through Denver and eventually stopped when they found a park on the west side of the city right where the city met the towering mountains.

"What is this place?" Olga asked as they climbed from the car and she stretched expansively, exposing her midriff and making it very difficult for Randy to focus on their surroundings. She had still not replaced her bra after their shopping trip and Randy would not soon forget the sight of Olga lazily masturbating which he had encountered upon returning to their room to announce they needed to leave immediately.

"I figured we could stretch our legs for a bit."

"Fine by me."

"Did you think you'll want to have a... um..."

"What is it, Randy?" Olga asked with a knowing grin.

"A bra. I imagine you'd be more comfortable with one considering your... um... size."

"You think am too fat?"

"No. Far from it. You're just well endowed. I've known women far less voluptuous than you who wouldn't contemplate going for a drive without a bra, much less a hike."

"Perhaps. But if wear bra, cannot do this." She lifted her shirt to reveal her stunning breasts and shimmied her hips briefly before regrettably covering herself.

"I find your logic irrefutable," Randy said with a chuckle.

"I am also not wearing bottom," she said before flipping up the mini skirt she wore to reveal her neatly trimmed triangle of pubic hair above her hairless slit.

Randy left the windows cracked in deference to Cnychwr, who was sleeping off his hangover in the backseat, before joining Olga on the trail. The hike was inefficient but fun, with frequent pauses for Olga to find an excuse to put her body on display. Sometimes she would simply flip up the back of her skirt as they climbed higher, giving him a glimpse of her spectacular ass. Other times she would 'mistakenly' pour some water down her chest as she took a drink from their shared water bottle, turning her shirt from translucent to transparent.

Upon returning to the car, Randy lowered the roof, and they took a driving tour of Denver. The weather was flawless for early autumn: warm without being hot, and sunny without being oppressive. The streets were filled with people taking a late lunch and enjoying the last of the nice weather before it started to get cold. Olga made it clear from the outset that she was a big fan of the convertible roof being lowered by pulling her tank top down until the edges of her areola were showing and pulling her skirt up until the tops of her thighs were soaking in the sun.

"This car is wonderful," she said softly as they came to a stop at a traffic signal.

"I'm pretty fond of it."

"Does it go fast, or merely look fast?"

"I guess that depends on your frame of reference. Compared to a super car, or certainly a hyper car, this thing's hardly different from your standard sedan. Same for your high-end European performance cars. But against damned near anything else, this baby will hold her own."

"Show me."

"Ok, but if we get pulled over you might have to flash your tits to get us out of a ticket."

She pulled her top down to reveal her achingly beautiful breasts and said, "Am ready."

He started to tell her that was not yet necessary, then the ten-year old boy that still resides within every adult male objected so strenuously that he nearly flinched. Instead, he merely gave her breasts an appreciative, and lengthy, glance before turning back to the road. The traffic signal was still red, so he quickly engaged launch control and built up the boost. When the light turned green, he dumped the clutch and the Mustang surged forward. Four seconds later, they exceeded one-hundred kilometers per hour to a shout of delight from Olga.

Copyright © 2022 Jake Lazarus

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This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, business, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.