Ghost Rider Pt. 03

See Pt. 1 for blurb. Also, if you haven't already read Pts. 1 & 2, I strongly recommend doing so before proceeding. All on-page sensuality takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-One

GRRR

"Huh?" David grunted as he picked his head up off the pillow and looked around.

The first thing to confront him was the alluring sight of Petra's sleeping face as she rolled off his unclothed chest to claim his pillow. The windows suggested it was at least an hour after sunup, but the campground around them was still quiet.

GRRR

David's eyes swung to where Emmy was standing at the foot of the bed, her attention firmly on the door which sat less than a full pace from the side of the bed where he was sitting up. His attention bounced between the dog and the door several times as Emmy's body language rapidly transitioned from merely anxious, to 'Come on you apes! You wanna live forever?!' He felt frozen by indecision until he heard a whispered voice just outside.

Rolling from the bed, David rushed to fetch clothing from the closet. After a brief hesitation, he opened the lower drawer in the bedside table and, after keying in a quick series of numbers, finished the process of clothing himself. He was momentarily gripped by indecision, but it only took a few moments to settle on the proper course of action.

"Petra?" he whispered after bending over the bed. "I need you to wake up, honey."

"Hey handsome," she murmured with a widening smile.

"I think someone's here," he continued after committing the vision of her angelic face to memory. "I need you to get up and get dressed. Just in case."

"In case of what?" she hissed, now very much awake. "What are you going to do?"

"It might just be the campground manager doing rounds, but Emmy's freaked the frag out about something, so I don't want to take any chances."

"Then I should come with you," Petra insisted as she stepped into her overalls. "We should come with you."

"Please. Just let me handle this. Ok?"

Her only reply was a somber nod. He waited a moment as she pulled a T-shirt over her head before fastening her overalls, immediately followed by attaching Emmy's leash and leading her over to the recliner. Once he was certain they were both out of sight of the door, he opened it and stepped outside before turning to lock it behind him.

As he turned to survey their campsite, a nasally voice thundered, "You!"

David turned slowly to find a pair of men rounding the hood of the van and stalking toward him. When it seemed they were as likely as not to bowl him over in their headlong charge, he announced, "That's far enough."

"This is him, Hayes! The Native American I told you about!"

It was not a simple matter to keep his features schooled in response to the racist assertion, but David managed it.

Just.

He glared at their pair of interlopers and growled, "I'll thank you to get the hell out of my campsite."

"Only after you tell us what became of the visitors."

Recognition bloomed in David's mind and he muttered, "Oh, you're that asshole that accosted me in Oklahoma. What was your name?"

"Trassar. Dr. Kurtis Trassar. And this is my esteemed colleague, Dr. Lincoln Hayes."

David took in the sight of the man, who looked to be somewhat older than he was, and several decades Trassar's junior. He was of small stature, with a wispy mustache and soul-patch combination that seemed like a refuge from the time of David's birth. Both men were dressed similarly. And, like Trassar had been in Oklahoma, both were festooned with suspicious-looking equipment.

"Congratulations. Now can you get the hell out of here? You're disturbing people's sleep."

Trassar lowered his voice, albeit by the slimmest of margins, before demanding, "You must tell me where they are... what was your name?"

David's only reply was an angry glare as he tried to come up with the best strategy to rid himself of the troublesome so-called scientist.

After a pregnant pause, Trassar muttered, "Oh, wait. I've got it right here." He pulled out a spiral notebook and flipped through several pages before yelping, "Here it is! David Shyam of Montgomery. A far cry from Louisville, don't you think? And the Grand Canyon lies to the west, not north."

"I think we're done here," David seethed before turning back toward the van.

"You will not walk away from me," Trassar snarled as he slammed the flat of his palm against the van's door, effectively blocking David's retreat. "You've seen them. I'm certain of it. You owe it to the scientific community... hell... the entire world... to tell us what really happened out in that field."

"There were no aliens!" David shouted. "All right! It was just a fucking thunderstorm."

"Don't give me that shit. I know what I saw on my instruments. At least before that stupid cunt you were with wrecked them."

David lowered his voice to a low growl and glared hatefully at the older man. "Tread carefully, sir."

His peripheral vision told him that Trassar's companion was closing the distance between them, so David took a step back to stay out of reach. He gave brief thought to just circling the van and driving away, but the question of how they had found him (to say nothing of knowing his name) loomed large in his consciousness.

While David was still trying to come up with a strategy to gather much needed intel, Trassar's companion said, "Listen. We know something happened in Oklahoma. We've been over the landing site with every piece of equipment we have. The soil was vulcanized so far down that we couldn't even dig down to find the bottom edge. The most destructive naturally-occurring electrical discharge in history wouldn't come close to doing that. There is zero possibility that it was simply a lightning strike. We know what it wasn't. All we're asking you to tell us is what it was. Ok?"

"First you tell me how you found me, and how you know my name."

"I don't have to tell you that!" Trassar yelped. "Not until you tell me what happened to the visitors."

"Then we seem to be at an impasse," David replied firmly.

"It was those cameras set up along the side of the road," Hayes volunteered, "the ones that capture your license plate. Dr. Trassar knows a cop down in Savannah who was willing to..."

"He doesn't need to know who, Dr. Hayes!" Trassar interrupted anxiously.

"All right," Hayes continued. "We told you something. How about a little quid-pro-quo?"

The door to the van suddenly swung open, sending Trassar stumbling backward to prevent a broken nose. Petra clomped down the stairs with Emmy on a tight leash.

After closing the door behind her, she whirled to face Trassar and demanded, "What is the basis of your hypothesis?"

"What?"

"You claim to be a scientist, sir. If that were the case, then you'd be able to clearly state your position, along with your supporting data."

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Then get the frag out of here and leave us alone. You demand answers, but you refuse to give any in return? I knew you were no scientist."

"How dare you!" Trassar thundered. "I'll have you know I count several highly influential members of the government as close, personal friends."

"Hardly surprising," Petra huffed dismissively.

"Listen," Hayes interrupted. "Dr. Trassar took readings at the site which can't be dismissed."

Petra sent a withering glare in his direction and challenged, "Don't tell me he's got you buying into this fantastical notion of a quantum surge?"

"There was a quantum surge!" Trassar protested excitedly. "I also detected a significant neutrino residue all around the landing site, and there were still detectable amounts of gamma radiation the next day!"

"How much?" Petra demanded pointedly.

Trassar sneered, "I thought you said that nothing happened."

"The fact that neither of us saw anything outside of a particularly energetic thunderstorm has nothing to do with my interest in knowing whether or not we were subjected to a potentially dangerous amount of radiation. So, I repeat, how much?"

"I'm not telling you anything until you both sit for a deposition and recount everything you saw."

"Yeah," David grumbled, "that's not happening." He glanced in Petra's direction before adding, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere!" Trassar snarled as his hand shot out to grip Petra's upper arm.

The moment his skin touched her, a warning growl rumbled in Emmy's lungs. David glanced down to find that the still-very-much-recuperating dog was vibrating menacingly, and both of her amber eyes were locked on Trassar's hand.

"Call off your dog!" Hayes yelped.

With steel in his voice, David retorted as he grabbed for Trassar's wrist, "How about you tell your boss to get his fucking hand off her before he loses it."

Trassar screamed, "Get that monster away from me! Hayes! Do something!"

Hayes's eyes were filled with fear as he dropped his bag on the ground and stooped to reach into it while David's attention was firmly on Trassar, and doing whatever it took to get him to unhand Petra. It took only a moment for him to recognize the error of his ways.

Hayes shouted, "Get the dog into the R. V. now! Or I'm hitting it with fifty thousand volts."

David turned to find Hayes wielding a menacing-looking taser, which was pointed squarely at Emmy.

Before he could act, however, Petra screeched, "Don't hurt her!"

"That's entirely up to you, ma'am," Hayes said more calmly. "Put it inside, and then you two can come with us. We should have you back by this evening. I didn't want it to go like this, but... Jesus!"

Using a form which would have made his instructor proud, David kept the pistol he had snatched from its skeleton-holster in the small of his back steady on his target. Whether said instructor would be apoplectic or enthusiastic about the fact that his weapon was trained on the spot directly between Hayes's eyes was something best left unconsidered.

"Drop the taser and take five steps backward," David said with intense resolve. "Now!"

Hayes's weapon clattered harmlessly to the tarmac on which his van was parked.

After waiting for his opponent to follow his directions, David instructed, "You will both leave all of your equipment, including anything on your belt or in your pockets. Then you will get the fuck away from us." He swung the gun in Trassar's direction before adding, "Do I need to tell you what happens if we meet again, Mr. Trassar?"

"Doctor," Trassar muttered, albeit very softly.

"You're betraying your entire race," Hayes insisted as he emptied his pockets. "We both know something happened in that field. We just want to find out what, so we can be ready when they return in greater numbers."

"Don't test me, Trassar," David growled when the pair finished divesting themselves of their belongings. "Now... get the fuck out of here."

David was unsure what emotion he expected to see when he turned in Petra's direction after the interlopers had left their campsite, but he decided on the spot that fear was among the worst of the options on offer. Several possible reassurances flitted through his head, but the truth was that they all felt woefully insufficient to the task at hand.

Left with little alternative, he whispered, "Get in. We're getting the fuck out of here before they come back with whatever they left in their car."

"What about the..." she began.

He cut her off by hissing, "I'll get all that shit they left. Please, Petra, just get Emmy inside. Now!"

She nodded somberly and opened the door to shoo the dog inside. David took a moment to scoop up the impressively sized pile of miscellaneous debris left by their adversaries and shove it through the door before slamming it closed.

He rounded the back of the van to find that they were still connected to shore power, so he spent an agonizing ninety seconds freeing them from their campsite before he leapt onto the bridge. The trusty turbodiesel rumbled to life without complaint, and he soon had them under way with no immediate signs of pursuit.

The question of whether they were safe, however, was an altogether different matter.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Two

"Are you ok?" David asked worriedly after pulling onto a state highway.

"I'm fine," Petra replied softly. "He didn't really grab me that hard."

After a pause to offer the headpat Emmy requested by means of poking her head beneath his armpit (heedless of his urgent need to upshift) he said, "I'm very happy to hear that. But... what about the other stuff?"

"You mean the gun," she murmured somberly.

"I am very sorry if I scared you, Petra. I sincerely hoped that things wouldn't get that far, but then they escalated things..."

"I'm no stranger to firearms, David. Even after they were outlawed shortly after the outset of the Second Civil War, my father maintained a secret cache beneath our house which he said I was never to touch."

"Well... I should have told you I had one before springing it on you like that."

"It honestly never occurred to me that you wouldn't have one. My research suggested that, in this time, guns are more commonplace in this country than people are."

"That's true, but..."

"You're acting like you're expecting me to suddenly be scared of you, David, all because you acted instinctively to protect Emmy and I."

He shrugged and grunted, "Maybe you should be."

"A firearm is a tool, only as good or as evil as the person wielding it. And nothing I've witnessed this morning has changed my opinion of you in the least. I would, however, be interested in learning to shoot. You know... if you'd be willing to teach me."

"Your takeaway from being accosted by those two assholes, followed by the man you've been forced to trust threatening said dickheads with a heretofore undisclosed pistol, is that you want me to teach you to shoot?"

"Well... yeah."

"Not 'what the frag are you doing with a gun?', or 'when were you planning to tell me about this?', or even 'is there anything else you really should have already told me?'"

She sighed tolerantly and said, "We have known each other, in total, less than ninety hours; and that doesn't take into account time spent sleeping or worrying about far more pressing matters than reviewing an itemized manifest of everything you've got onboard."

"I guess," he sighed.

"Fine," she groaned, "I'll play along. What else is in the van that you're dying to tell me about?"

He groaned, "I'm not saying there's something else I've hidden from you, Petra."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I just can't figure out why you're not angry with me for keeping this from you. Or, at the very least, demanding to know why I've got the gorram thing."

"David," she replied patiently, "I know you to be a kind, and charitable, and rational person. I also know there are only a few reasons why a man such as yourself would make the decision to keep a gun with you. And whether your reason was the perfectly logical fact that you live alone and in your vehicle, or something more... grim, I would never, could never, hold that against you."

He found himself fumbling helplessly for a response, but the words would not form in his mind. Before he could begin to spiral, however, she reached across the bridge and took his hand.

After accepting his smile with one of her own, Petra inquired, "Are you ok? I know this morning can't have been easy on you either."

"I'm better now."

"Pity," she grumped. "I figured that, at a bare minimum, I'd get to take my teats out for you. But, since you're apparently just fine..."

"I genuinely appreciate the offer. But..."

"But we've just been told that that fragging shaz-head has figured out a way to weaponize the police state against us, so maybe we should be keeping a low profile?"

He glanced in her direction appreciatively before replying, "Well... maybe?"

"I suggest we compromise. How about Emmy and I adjourn to the galley so I can at least get coffee started while I get out of these gorram dungarees? Then, properly caffeinated, we can discuss what can be done about this new predicament in which we find ourselves."

"I'm not sure about the second part, but I won't say no to coffee."

She turned in her seat and prepared to crawl beneath the desk behind his shoulder. She paused in her journey, however, to place a lingering kiss on his cheek before murmuring, "Thank you for saving me, David. Again."

An instinctive, "You're welcome," spilled from his lips absent any conscious thought on his part. It was only after she had finished the transition from the bridge to the office that his mind caught up and prompted him to add, "Jesus, Petra, I still can't believe I pulled a gun on that guy."

"Speaking of which, is that thing still wedged in your bum? That can't be comfortable."

He snickered to himself before replying, "It's not like I shoved it up my ass. I have a thing called a skeleton holster, which attaches to my belt and holds it in place."

"Even if it was wrapped in every scrap of lace you bought me, I still wouldn't want it pressing against the base of my spine. All I'm saying is, if you'd like me to stow it back in the safe next to the bed, I'd be happy to do so."

"How'd you know that's where it was?"

"Your van is lovely, David. Literally everything I could ever imagine needing or wanting in a home. That being said, there aren't exactly a ton of places to hide something back here. Also, you did tell me on not a few occasions to explore to my heart's content, so I knew there was a safe there; I just had neither the desire, nor the inclination, to ask what was inside. So, would you like me to secure it for you?"

"You really don't mind?"

"David," she replied warmly, "on the scale of things I would do for you without hesitation, this doesn't even register. Why don't you just place it on the center console and I'll grab it when I bring your coffee."

"I very much appreciate this, Petra," he replied haltingly. "And you. I appreciate you... I mean, I am thankful for you... that you're in my life... not just the things you're doing... for me."

"Thank you, handsome," she murmured from right beside his ear before placing a kiss against his neck.

"Crikey! You've got to warn me before you do something like that. Not that it was unwelcome... it's just..."

"I could wear a bell around my neck," she offered teasingly. "Or you could get me a collar like Emmy's."

"Yeah... let's not go there."

"Or," she continued in the same tone, "you could make use of a new feature I implemented yesterday. I'm not sure it's strictly within the bounds of the laws governing such things, but when I installed the new dashboard cluster I made a few tweaks to the configuration."

David surveyed the new and improved bridge of the van with renewed interest. Where before there had been a single dogleg-shaped touchscreen display which covered the territory where traditionally one would find the dashboard and center console, there was now a landscape of gauges and readouts, knobs and switches, that seemed to be from a bygone era. The only nod to modernity was the persistence of a large, square screen to the right of the dashboard. But, in a departure from every modern car he had ever encountered, everything on the screen was controlled via a daunting array of tactile buttons beneath the display. When Petra had first explained what she had built to him, it seemed over-complicated in its unfamiliarity. In less than a day, however, he had already developed the muscle memory to control over two-thirds of the options on offer by touch.

"What am I looking for?" he called over his shoulder.

"Click the knob just below and to the left of the screen to activate it, then you can scroll through the different options I've programmed so far."

He did as she had instructed. The first click switched from the standard display (which featured the view from the rear-facing camera on top, with a navigational interface below) to one which swapped the map for an entertainment interface. He started to comment that she had already shown him this feature when the weight of his finger caused the knob to click again.

"Well, hello!" he gasped as a glance toward the display revealed two new video feeds showing the van's interior.

The one mounted so that it could see the majority of the bedroom showed a happily panting Emmy stretched out on the bed, while the one which looked down on the office and living room featured a now-nude Petra presenting her smooshed together teats to the camera.

"You like?" she asked playfully as she returned to the task of preparing coffee.

"Very much so. Although, to your point, I'm not sure how it could be considered legal."

"I got the idea when I was doing research online. Apparently, it's a not-uncommon feature in high-occupancy passenger vehicles designed for large families. I figured if it was acceptable for moms to use in hopes of figuring out why their little one is crying, there's no logical reason you couldn't use it to see if I'm doing anything intriguing back here."

"My dear, a live video feed of you wearing nothing but a smile is the very definition of distracted driving."

She chuckled and said, "And yet I notice you haven't switched back to that boring map."

"Do I look insane?" he retorted playfully.

He returned his attention to the road; limiting himself to only glancing in the direction of his gorgeous companion as often as he checked his mirrors. When the road straightened out before him, he leaned forward and extracted the pistol (still in its holster) from his waistband. Holding the wheel steady with his knee, he removed the weapon from the holster and removed the clip before actioning the slide to eject the chambered round into his waiting hand. After loading the round into the clip, he returned the latter to the weapon. A touch confirmed the safety was still engaged, so he holstered the gun and placed it on the center console beneath his elbow.

Petra delivered a covered cup of coffee, and another kiss, before retreating back into the living quarters.

As she approached the bedside table, he shouted, "One, two, three, five, seven!"

After watching her stow the weapon alongside his most important documents, she strode back into the kitchen and asked, "Does that number hold some significance for you beyond being the first five prime numbers?"

"It's also a very easy sequence to key in quickly. No wasted movement in your fingers."

"Indeed," she replied companionably just before he heard the WOOSH which told him she had taken a seat at the desk. "Do you mind if I..."

"Please don't ask me again if you can do something, Petra," he groaned in frustration. "Mi casa, su casa. That means, as far as I'm concerned, you don't need to ask permission to do anything. No exceptions."

"Not even if I want to..."

"If you really think it isn't a massive waste of your time to teach yourself a coding language so you can do my work for me, I can't stand in your way. I maintain that you shouldn't bother, and that your time is better spent doing literally anything else, but I'm not the boss of you. I'll be honest, it's probably a lost cause in any case. I haven't really done a gorram thing in over four days for the one job I already had before you arrived, and I was supposed to start another job this morning but I can't even tell them where to ship the laptop."

"I think I'd much rather spend time with you when we reach our destination, rather than you staying up all night working. The fact that I'm doing something which helps you only sweetens the deal in my mind."

"Oh... well... cool."

"Although," she continued, "if I'm being honest, that wasn't what I was going to ask. But since you've made it clear that you have now pre-approved any reasonable request, I don't mind telling you that I'm really looking forward to finally getting to see your prick once we stop."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Three

"And thus did the good ship COLERIDGE pass into the annals of history," David murmured to Emmy.

When the dog made no reply beyond pawing at his leg to request yet another piece of tortilla (which he provided without comment), he was left with little alternative to stare somberly across the parking lot toward the body shop where his van's gun-metal grey exterior was being painted over with a heavy application of stark white.

Rather than continue to watch his home's facelift, David turned back to his late lunch of a side salad consisting only of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato (with the dressing that they had insisted on giving him left very much on the side) while looking fondly at the basket of tortilla chips which had provided him so much amusement.

Almost as if driven by unconscious thought, Petra had reached for a chip after the waitress had delivered them. She then looked pointedly in his direction, obviously expecting him to take one for himself. After he had eaten what he informed her would be his 'one', she had theatrically shoved the basket aside. It was only a few minutes, however, before she reached for another chip... immediately followed by her looking around in confusion as she chewed the chip. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, the siren's song of the chips had lured her in an additional seventeen times. And each time it became harder for him to contain his laughter.

He heard the door open behind him, followed by an excited whimper from Emmy which told him that 'Mommy' had returned.

As Petra took her seat, he began, "I'm starting to think it's going to be pretty dark in the back, even with this so-called perforated vinyl covering the... what's wrong?"

Petra's clouded expression faded into a tolerant smile as she took her seat. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just... confused, I guess."

"Ok," he replied slowly. "What about?"

"Do I look like a dyke?"

"Excuse me!"

"Oh, shaz! That's a slur, isn't it?"

"The answer to that is a bit complicated, but I think the simplest response would be yes. Where'd you pick that term up? Is this another word that got normalized through seventy-five years of hate-speech without consequence?"

"The first time I ever heard the word was about five minutes ago."

His eyebrow quirked with obvious amusement and he prompted, "I am beyond intrigued."

"You act like I did something wrong. I was just in the bathroom washing my hands when this woman walks in and does a double-take when she sees me in the mirror. She walks up to me and gives me this long look before telling me that I was absolutely gorgeous. I told her thank you, sincerely, and that I thought she was also very pretty... which she was. But when I tried to leave, she suddenly tried to kiss me. When I froze up, she backed off right away and apologized profusely. But, when I told her I had a boyfriend, she looked strangely upset and told me I shouldn't dyke myself up if I wasn't into women."

"Are you ok?" he asked anxiously. "This place probably has cameras outside the restrooms. I could get the manager to pull the feed and find out who did this."

"She didn't assault me, David. It was honestly a little flattering. And, like I said, she backed off the second she perceived hesitation on my part." She paused to send an appreciative smile in his direction before adding, "So I take it that she's a homosexual and there was something about my appearance which suggested to her that I was one as well. But... what?"

"Um... how would I know?"

"David," she sighed tolerantly, "you have spent your entire life in this time. And, while I know that things are already regressing in this regard, they haven't yet gotten close to what will happen all too soon."

"What do you mean?"

"I am from a time when the official punishment for homosexuality was death by crushing. Public death by crushing."

"Holy shit! That's awful."

"Worse than you can possibly imagine."

"Wait," he interrupted, "I thought your husband was gay."

"He was also very rich. Why do you think I engineered an arranged marriage to him?"

"You arranged your own arranged marriage?" he asked in amazement.

"Of course. I found what I'm sure he fervently believed was a secret profile in a chat room. After I confirmed his true identity, I researched his family to be sure they didn't have any skeletons in their closet. Once I was sure he was perfect for what I needed, I contacted him online and let him know that, if he married me, I would use all my skills to keep his secret. And that I would never judge him. All I asked in return was that he fund my experiments. I didn't even need to request that he never question me as to what I was doing. He was too smart for that."

"Wow."

"My point is that, unlike the vast, vast, majority of people living in this country at the time of my birth, I have zero issue with homosexuals. Nor am I upset that she thinks I'm a dyke..."

"Whoa!" David interjected. "How about lesbian?"

"Shaz! I'm sorry." Petra took a calming breath before continuing. "I'm not upset that she thought that I'm a lesbian, but I'm terribly curious what made her so certain that she tried to kiss a complete stranger."

"Well... you are drop-dead gorgeous. And kissing you happens to be one of my favorite things in the world."

"Same for you, handsome," she replied with a dazzling smile. "But she doesn't know about the kissing thing. Are you seriously suggesting she goes around trying to kiss every woman she thinks is attractive? In fragging Kansas! That strains credulity, David. There simply must be more to it than that. Something that suggested to her that I was, more likely than not, a lesbian. Right?"

"Well," he began, but then his brain caught up with his mouth and he stopped talking.

"What!" she demanded. "Is it the way I'm dressed?"

She looked down at the bohemian maxi dress she had chosen for the day, which had thin straps to support a snug fit around her ample bust, but then relaxed into a long, flowing expanse of multi-hued lightweight fabric. "Is it this dress? I know you warned that I might look like a... hippie? Is that another word for lesbian?"

"No," he replied with an amused shake of his head. "Hippie is something else. But, you might be on the right track. You've definitely got a hippie vibe going right now, what with the..."

"The what?"

"Well, and please don't take this as a rebuke, or a contradiction from my sincerely held belief that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But..."

"Come on, David! Out with it!"

"It's, um, considered unusual, but by no means unattractive, for American women to not, uh," he dropped his eyes before adding, "shave."

"You mean my," she began excitedly before dropping her voice to a whisper to add, "quim?"

"Not that so much as your..."

"What else would I possibly shave?"

"Please don't make me say it. I feel like such a judgmental bastard right now."

"But you're not telling me these are your expectations of me," she protested. "You're just teaching me about the culture you grew up in." When he still made no reply, she said, "You know what? Hold that thought." She pulled her phone and spent a few minutes feverishly tapping as her eyes continued to screw up in bafflement. Then, with a swiftness which caught him off guard, she slammed the device down on the table and covered it with her napkin. She stared at him with an expression which was equal parts shock and horror for a long moment before hissing, "Women shave their pits!"

He shrugged and said, "It doesn't matter what other women do. You're gorgeous, Petra, exactly as you are."

"But they do shave them, right? And it isn't like with quims, where only trollops do it. It's like everyone."

"Perhaps," he allowed. "I haven't really done a statistically significant analysis."

She started to lift one of her arms, allowing him to glimpse the sparse patch of light blonde hair beneath for barely a second before she snapped her elbow back against her side.

Before he could make yet another attempt to reassure her, she murmured, "And their legs... and their arms... some women even get surgery to remove all traces of hair except what's on their head."

"And some women get so much plastic surgery that they can't move their faces anymore."

She glanced once more beneath her arm before whispering, "I want to try it."

"I hope you mean the shaving part," he replied with a grin.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"It's your body, Petra."

"But..." she began before falling victim to an out-of-character loss for words. She took a moment to collect her thoughts before launching back in. "Listen. One of my very favorite things in the world is the way you look at me. It's right up there with kissing you, and..." She offered him a dazzling smile before continuing. "Well, truth be told, I love everything I do with you. But the point I'm trying to make is that I'm desperately curious to know how it feels to be... bare. But that curiosity pales in comparison to the way it makes me feel when you tell me I'm beautiful."

"You'll always be beautiful to me, Petra. I wouldn't want you to change anything for me, but I also would be devastated to know that you didn't do something which could make you happy just because you thought I might not approve."

"I appreciate that, David. It would also make me exceedingly happy if you were to share your preferences with me."

"But you're already the most gorgeous, perfect woman ever."

"Does that mean you don't want me to change anything about my, you know, hair?"

"Of course not."

"Because you really don't like your women hairy?"

He smiled and replied, "Because of the look in your eyes when you get excited about discovering something new about my time... our time."

"I like the sound of 'our', handsome."

He smiled his agreement before testing her willingness to change the subject. He nodded across the street before pointing out, "Speaking of 'ours', they seem to be done with the painting phase and have moved on to the speed-dry."

"I know it seems like a travesty to dress up the van like this," she offered reassuringly. "It's just, based on what we've been able to find out about how this network of cameras works, our best bet is to change as many fundamental attributes about it as we can. It has a very unusual size and shape, which we can't change easily. So, instead, we're changing the color and trying our best to make it appear to be a commercial vehicle rather than a mobile home."

"I'm still unsure about how effective this business with changing the license plate will be," he hedged. "It seems like if you could just use mud to change a few letters, everyone would do that."

"All we can do at this point is lower the confidence score for any hit on your van by a sufficient degree so that it does not show up on any general searches for your plate and/or the van's make/model/color."

"You're right," he conceded. "And I really appreciate you coming up with this. It beats the hell out of trying to avoid those gorram cameras. They're fragging everywhere these days." He blew out a long breath before adding, "I just hope the perforated vinyl window decals don't make it like a cave inside."

"It'll be fine. They said they'd remove the tinting first, so it should be a wash. Although, this does create a non-zero chance that some lucky long-haul trucker will get an eye-full if they pass us when the light is just right and I'm putting on a show for my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend," he muttered, almost to himself. "You know there's no one listening right now, right?"

"I hope you're listening," she replied with a twinge of heat in her voice, "and that you're not trying to suggest that I only use the story of you being my boyfriend to deflect the advances of enthusiastic lesbians."

His eyes widened in response to her abrupt change in tone. After raising his hands as though to defend himself, he pleaded, "Petra... that wasn't what I..."

Before he could dig himself any deeper, his phone buzzed on the table between them. Both of their eyes were drawn to the screen, where a message indicating that the work on the van was complete had popped up.

She sighed wearily before standing from her chair and extending her hand to him. When he looked at her with a perplexed expression, she said, "I know we're in a hurry, David. So we should get on the road. As for the other point, I will eagerly await your answer."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Four

"How did you find this place?" David whispered as he threaded the van down a winding dirt road stretching across the rolling prairies of south-western Nebraska.

"I told you I knew how to use a computer," Petra teased from the seat beside him.

"I never doubted that. But finding a literal needle in a haystack is pretty fragging impressive."

"All I had to do was locate a topographical database which was geocoded, and cross-reference it against the tax records of all the surrounding counties to figure out where all the inhabitable domiciles are. Then it was simply a matter of eliminating all the areas with a house less than ten seconds away as sound travels. That still left quite a few possibilities, but once I excluded those where the terrain was too flat to hide the van, and the ones not near so much as a dirt road, that only left a few dozen. The satellite imagery available on the internet is quite impressive, so I just picked the one that looked the most promising based on that."

"I still maintain that it was impressive as hell. We could probably write down what you just said, and half the companies I've worked for would hire you as a senior data analyst based on that alone."

"I'll keep it in mind," she replied with a smile. Her expression then grew pensive and she added, "Does your mention of work mean you're going to have to spend time doing your job tonight?"

"I thought you said you basically caught me up since we left the body shop."

"I did. And your project manager is very grateful for your dedication."

"Please don't take this the wrong way," he offered with a shaky smile. "But even knowing all the amazing things you've done, including inventing a fragging time machine, it still amazes me that you taught yourself a programming language and did a week's worth of work... all in an afternoon."

"The truth of the matter is that I'm not really a scientist, David. Not in the traditional sense of the word. I didn't invent time-travel. No one did. Nor did I discover it. The phenomena which makes it possible to travel back in time was proven before I was born, as was the means to create a stable containment field which blocks all forms of energy. Even the process for shrinking organic matter was established science before I even considered making use of it.

"What I am is a mathematician. And whether we're talking about identifying a fundamental flaw in the physics used to manipulate the size of a relativistic shard, or recognizing pretty quickly that a Morris-Musashi time nexus is a 5-D translation (rather than the more commonly believed four), or building a quantum computer which has a thermal efficiency of five-nines even when operating at TFLOP levels of performance; none of these felt groundbreaking (or even remarkable) to me... they were just the logical way to do it.

"I've learned, or invented, hundreds of programming languages in my life, because that was how I did everything. It was only in the last six months that I built anything, beyond the aforementioned quantum computer, that had physical form. Up until then, everything only existed in models I created, using software I also had to create. And, when you get right down to it, there are only a handful of ways to tell a computer's hardware to do something. Because, at the end of the day, it's either a one or a zero."

He quirked an eyebrow in her direction and asked, "So you're not the most beautiful inventor in history, but you are the most gorgeous hacker since the discovery of the electron?"

"I will leave assessments of beauty in your capable hands," she replied with a wide smile. "As for the rest... do hackers enjoy getting naked for their reluctant boyfriends?"

"I..." he began as he tried to tamp down the increasingly familiar sensation of adrenaline surging through his system.

"I'm not nagging, David. And as long as you continue to maintain that I'm not making you uncomfortable with such talk..."

"You're not, and I don't think you are."

"Well... then tell me this. If I told you that I would reply with an enthusiastic 'yes' if you were to ask me to be your girlfriend, what would you say?"

"You shouldn't have to do that, Petra. You deserve better than a boyfriend who is so timid that you have to guess everything he's afraid to ask you, so you can tell him in advance what you'll say. You deserve a man who treats you like a queen, a goddess."

"I didn't tell you that I'd love to be your girlfriend because I think you're afraid to ask me, David. I said that because of the way you smiled before too many years of cruel conditioning kicked in and convinced you that your genuine feelings should embarrass you. And because never in my life have I met someone I wanted to be in a relationship with more than you."

"I feel the same..." he stammered, but the urge to stop speaking quickly overtook him.

While he tried, in vain, to find the right words, she asked with a teasing tone, "Is this because I am, without possibility of doubt, the most hirsute adult human female you've ever encountered?"

"No!" he replied without hesitation. "You're gorgeous, Petra. Perfect. Whatever else I've allowed you to believe as a result of my fumbling inelegance, please never doubt that." He blew out a long breath in an attempt to calm himself before continuing. "You're also the best person I've ever met, and it would make me very happy if you'd be my girlfriend."

In a very soft voice, she replied, "Please stop the van."

"Is everything ok?"

"Of course, but I need you to stop. Please."

The road (if a pair of indentations stretching to the horizon could be called such) was bounded by unforgiving, rocky terrain. But there were no other cars in sight, so David simply brought the vehicle to a halt.

Once he set the parking brake, he turned toward his companion and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," she replied as she removed her safety belt and crawled toward him. "I just had no intention of telling you how happy it makes me to be your girlfriend until I could see your eyes." She grinned at the obvious delight on his face before adding, "Or do this."

David knew he would never truly grow accustomed to the gift of Petra's kisses. The experience was too sublime, too existentially perfect to ever take it for granted.

That is not to say that his ability to recover from the lance of excitement which suffused his body in response to her touch was not slowly improving. He even managed to bring his hand up to caress her cheek before she pulled back to once again grace him with her angelic smile.

"Thank you, David, for asking me to be your girl. I'll do my best to live up to my responsibilities."

"I know you're likely fragging with me, but all I ever want you to do is be happy."

She caressed his cheek reassuringly and said, "I want the same for you, handsome."

As quickly as she had initiated their kiss, she retreated back to her seat and gestured through the windshield to encourage him to get them back under way.

"Our destination should be just over that ridge which is just ahead, off the starboard bow."

"You really needn't speak like a middle-aged man who's become obsessed with novels about the English navy during the Napoleonic wars," he offered with a smirk.

"But you kind of love it. Don't you?"

He shook his head to hide his smile. "Maybe?"

They crested the ridge she had indicated and looked down onto a natural depression which was half-again as deep as the van was tall. A final look before driving down into their hiding spot revealed a complete absence of signs of human habitation as far as the eye could see. As they came to a stop at the low point within the ring of hills surrounding them, he knew that even their lights would be shielded after the sun dropped below the far-off western horizon.

"This really is amazing, Petra. It's a gorram unicorn of a boondocking site."

Without interrupting her slow inspection of the site, she asked, "How long do you think our water will last?"

"It used to last me six or seven days, so I figure half that for the two of us. But I thought we were in a hurry."

"I think it would be wise for us to operate with a sense of urgency in general, but that doesn't mean we don't deserve to relax for a few days."

"Hear, hear," he concurred enthusiastically. He looked around their makeshift home for a moment before adding, "It's too late to put out the solar panels, but I should set the stabilizers."

"I'll take Emmy out while I don't even pretend to not stare longingly at my handsome-as-shaz boyfriend."

Despite his conviction as to the quality of the spot Petra had located, David began his labors by opening the spigot to the freshwater tank and allowed it to flow for a few seconds while he pulled a camp shovel from the storage locker. Once he had created a bit of mud, he shut off the water and scooped up a shovel-full which he carried to the rear of the vehicle. He tried to make things as unsuspicious as possible as he slathered mud across the rear of the vehicle, but he had soon effectively obscured the license plate (along with enough of the surrounding bodywork to make it, if not believable, then at least defensible).

Masquerade extended, he got started with the real work of camping. The process of preparing the van for an overnight bivouac was something he could almost do in his sleep. However, it did not take long for him to stumble in the execution of his appointed duties. As soon as Emmy made it clear that she would not stray far from the van, Petra turned her attention to ridding herself of her clothes.

When David dropped the stack of jack pads, resulting in a loud clatter of engineered plastic, Petra called out, "Everything all right over there?"

"You're really just going to wander around like that?"

"Of course! And I shouldn't be the only one."

He felt a spike of fear at her challenge, and his deflection was prompted by instinct. "I should really get us squared away."

By the time David finished readying them for an evening in a part of the country with potentially volatile weather, Petra and Emmy had disappeared from sight. He took a moment to inspect the van's 'costume', as he had taken to calling it. Whether it was the somewhat inconsistent white paint job, the crudely-lettered signage on the doors (which advertised a consultancy that only existed in their imaginations), or the decals on the windows which they hoped would convince law-enforcement's tracking tools that their home was a commercial vehicle; he considered it all to be bordering on obscene (even though he conceded the necessity of the masquerade Petra had architected).

When he opened the door to the van, he found Petra perched on the corner of the bed waiting for him with a gleeful expression. Off to his right, he could hear Emmy scarfing down her dinner. A quick glance around revealed that the flat panel mounted on the wall of the head above the recliner had been swung out so that it was (mostly) visible from the bed.

"Will you sit with me?" Petra asked softly, patting a spot beside her for emphasis. Once he took a seat, she reached for his hand. "I need to ask you something, David. But I suspect your natural inclination will be to interrupt me. Not because you're rude, or uncouth, but out of misplaced concern for my happiness. So, do you think you could let me get through this before you say anything?"

"Of course."

"I know that you think, that you believe, that I am beautiful. I do not doubt your conviction when you declare that I am perfect in your eyes. And it is very important to me that what I'm about to say in no way undercuts that sentiment. Ok?"

He took in the hopeful expression in her eyes and replied gruffly, "I could never doubt your sincerity, Petra."

"Ok. Just remember. I'm trusting you here." She took a deep breath before lifting the arm closest to him above her head and reaching with her opposite hand to tug on the tuft of pale blonde hair she had revealed. "This is weird, right? I don't mean in your eyes, I'm talking about in the consideration of this society as a whole."

He was slow to answer. "With the caveat that you are absolutely beautiful, without qualification or reservation..." He waited until she nodded tolerantly before continuing. "My understanding is that most women choose to shave portions of their bodies. Including their armpits."

"Ok. Thank you. Now we're getting somewhere. What else?"

"Huh?"

"Where else do they shave?"

"Well... their legs. I guess. And their..."

"Go on," she prompted with palpable excitement.

"Their... uh... what do they call it... bikini... um... area."

"What's a bikini?"

"A bathing suit. But it's a two-piece. Kind of like underwear, I guess."

"Women are seen in public in... that?"

"Sure. I mean, sometimes."

"I want to see."

"Well. It's October and we're in the Midwest. You might have to wait until next year."

"What about on there?" she asked, gesturing toward the flat-panel.

"Oh. Sure. I guess so. Hang on."

David connected his phone to the display before beginning his search. But he was quickly stymied as he considered what he should search for, as every thought which popped in his head struck him as likely to end up on some kind of governmental watch list (a prospect which, thanks to Petra's dire warnings about the near future, was something he took much more seriously than he would have even a week prior).

"What's wrong?" she asked companionably.

"Um... I'm just trying to think of what to search for."

"Why don't I try?" she offered as she reached for his phone.

Unwilling to snatch it away from her, despite the rising panic he felt, he loosed his grip on the device. She took a moment to familiarize herself with his hierarchical approach to app organization before navigating to video-sharing app. His worst fears were given form moments later when she typed in 'bikini', and a drop-down of recent searches appeared which included 'bikini big tits', 'bikini nip slip', and 'beach walk San Tropez uncensored nudity'.

"God dammit," he sighed as he turned away in shame.

"In Tesla's name!" Petra gasped beside him. "These women are in public with their gorram teats out!" When he made no reply, she tapped his thigh insistently and added, "David! Is this real?!"

"I guess so," he muttered sullenly. "I've never been to France."

"This is incredible! I want to see more."

"You're not skeeved out over that shaz I was searching for?"

"Frag no!" she exclaimed. "Hang on. I know what we should watch next."

Despite her reassurance, and her enthusiasm, he could not bring himself to lift his eyes from where they were locked on the base of the door to the head. His resolve cracked, however, at her next utterance.

"Well... that's something you don't see every day."

His head snapped up to find a video of a very skinny, almost gaunt, woman with a breathtaking amount of tattoos and piercings. She also, in keeping with the title of the video, was possessed of a frankly staggering amount of armpit hair. As he watched in amazement, she started attacking the aforementioned follicles with a set of clippers. The pair watched, completely enthralled, as the woman spent the next ten minutes transforming from looking like she was smuggling a pair of badgers beneath her arms to being completely smooth.

When the video ended, Petra gushed, "I want to try it!"

"Um... ok," David replied slowly. "I think we have everything you need here."

"What about that ultra-sensitive shaving cream with the pink top?"

"Uh, that's actually the kind I use. You know, for my face. The regular stuff gives me a rash."

"Is that why you always smell so nice?"

"I doubt it. My facial hair grows quite slowly, so I don't actually need to shave more than once a week."

She shrugged and offered him a brilliant smile. "I'm fine with believing that you smell delightful on your own merits." She then gestured toward the screen with her forehead before adding, "You know what this means, right?"

Before he could reply, she began searching for a new video. But her search quickly encountered multiple impediments in the guise of blocked videos and click bait.

As gently as he could, David offered, "I think that 'how to shave my quim' videos aren't really in line with this site's content policies."

"Fair enough," she replied. Then, without missing a beat, she asked, "So, how do we watch pornography on this?"

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Five

"You want to watch porn?" David asked in disbelief.

Petra reached out to grip his hand fervently and enthused, "You bet your gorram hiney, I do! Can we! Please!"

"But... why?"

"Because I've never seen a human naked who I wasn't related to. And, before you think it was something taboo, recall that I came from what would be, in this time and place, a very large family. But none since I was married. And said marriage took place immediately after I reached menarche, so I've gone my entire life since I began puberty with nothing more than text to satisfy my curiosity."

"Didn't you say you had porn in your time?"

"I didn't, as a matter of fact. I merely said that I was aware of its wide prevalence in this time. But, since you ask, porn will exist in eighty-five years. But the penalties for getting caught accessing it are terrifying. And what's on offer hardly makes it worth the risk. According to my research, it was almost all either extremely dehumanizing from the female's perspective, or they omitted the female altogether."

"Well," he replied slowly, "I suspect there's plenty of that on offer today as well."

"I'm terribly curious as to your preferences, David. But do you mind if we start with a quim-shaving video?"

"It's up to you," he allowed, emphasizing his point with a concessionary gesture.

"Thanks, handsome," she gushed before placing a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Which is your preferred app for pornography?"

He felt the familiar spike of anxiety in response to her question, but he managed to point her toward the answer without suffering permanent damage.

"I don't think less of you because you've pleasured yourself while viewing pornography, David," she soothed.

"Why not?" he grunted before he could rein in the impulse to reply.

"Because the belief that masturbation is sinful is rooted in the underlying assumption that it is a form of adultery, which of course is complete fragging shaz. I will never lay with another while we're together, and I would hope you'd extend me the same commitment."

"Of course."

"But that's now. Why would I judge you for something you did before we met, and which didn't hurt anyone? I hope you don't think that I've never frigged my quim before, especially considering I broke my own maidenhead shortly after my nuptials. I did it in case the Defenders of Morality ever got wind of my husband's predilections and decided to perform an inspection, but I also did it... repeatedly... because it felt good. Very good."

"Whoa! There is a lot to unpack there."

"How so? Masturbation isn't wrong, David. I almost never went a whole day without getting myself off. In fact, I suspect that this moment represents the longest I've ever gone without giving myself the fruitful frenzies since I came of age."

"I wasn't talking about that. I meant the... inspection."

She sighed wearily before replying. "When I was still young. A business partner of the husband of one of my sisters forced himself on her. When she reported the crime, the Defenders sent an Inquisitor to her house to perform an inspection. After the Inquisitor raped her, he announced that she had falsified her report, and she was sentenced to ten days in the stocks.

"After that, I collected all the research I could on the Defenders. I discovered so many reports of childless women being similarly inspected and jailed for failure to perform their wifely duties. I knew it was an imperfect solution, but I managed to smuggle some chemicals in from Europe. After that, I had to endure way too many doctor's appointments as he tried to figure out why my flow had abruptly stopped so soon after menarche, but he eventually concluded I was barren. My husband was seen as very charitable in his community for not annulling our marriage and casting me out. I guess you could call it an unexpected benefit."

"Fucking hell, Petra. That's awful."

She shrugged and said, "Why do you think I was so anxious to leave?"

"When you talk like that, it just makes me want to get you the hell away from here before it's too late."

"And whenever you talk like that," she replied warmly as she rested her hand on his upper thigh, "it makes me want to watch a video of a beautiful woman shaving her quim with you."

He blew out a long breath as he felt the tension flee his body, only to be replaced by something far more welcome. After gesturing toward the screen, he said, "With the very sincere warning that you're likely to find far more than you're bargaining for on this app, I place myself in your hands."

"Yay!" she enthused before leaning close to collect the kiss he was more than willing to offer.

David was rather surprised to find that the video she chose was... exactly what she sought. He strongly suspected that the woman in the video was an adult performer of some renown, but she did in fact walk the viewer through her process of removing all traces of hair from the apex of her thighs without any pretense of sex to muddy the proceedings. Petra watched with rapt fascination, cataloging every detail in her remarkable memory.

When the video concluded, she whispered, "Her quim is beautiful! I mean, it was very pretty when she still had her hair. But now... it just looks... perfect."

"I still maintain you've got her beat by a comfortable margin."

"But you won't mind if I do that, will you?"

"I won't mind if you do anything," he answered carefully.

"David," she replied soothingly, but firmly. "I would really, really, appreciate it if you'd tell me your preference."

"You," he answered quickly. "You are my preference."

"That's very sweet, but..." She fell silent as a look of frustration invaded her features. Her eyes then popped open and she added, "Do you mind if we watch another one?"

"You're in charge here."

"Ok, but promise you'll tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. Ok?"

"Of course."

The next video was slightly less clinical than its predecessor, but nearly as instructive. David tried his best to overcome biases planted by his father, and reinforced by three decades of American culture. It was no small feat, but he managed to watch each of the ten minutes of an admittedly attractive man meticulously removing every trace of hair within a handsbreadth of his cock.

"Very informative," David offered after the video ended.

"I don't think his prick is very beautiful," Petra blurted out. "Impressive, but not very pretty. Not like yours."

"You've never seen mine."

"You could show me now," she replied hopefully.

"You should know that mine isn't even in the same galaxy as his, from a size perspective."

"Good," Petra replied comfortingly, "because, unlike yours, his was way too big for a normal human to consider allowing inside their body."

"How could you know that?"

"I refuse to bully you into showing me your perfect penis, David. And I didn't queue up that video to trick you. I did it to establish a basis of comparison. I reserve the right to change my mind in the future. But, I think, at this moment, my preference would be for you to remove the hair on your penis, and your scrotum; but to merely trim the hair between your prick and your waist to a length which is tidy, but not so short that it feels prickly. I just think that, if you were to go completely hairless, it might remind me of my brothers when they went to the swimming hole. You know?"

"Oh kay," he drawled slowly.

She prompted, "Now your turn. How would you like me to do my quim?"

"Um... the same?"

"Could you be more specific? We don't have the same equipment, after all."

"I'd request that you, uh, shave your, you know, pus... I mean labia. And then, maybe, trim the rest. And, if you want, you could shape it into a..."

"A what?" she soothed. "Just tell me, sweetheart. You won't offend me."

"A triangle. You know, with the flat edge at the top and the point..."

"Pointing at my quim?" she prompted gleefully. When he nodded, she said, "That sounds lovely. Thank you for sharing that with me."

"Thank you. I'll take care of what you requested tonight."

"I couldn't help but notice that those videos were filmed in bathrooms quite a bit roomier than our head in the van. I wonder if we couldn't try heating some water on the stove and just doing it outside in the morning. That would make it a lot easier to help each other."

"You really want me to show you my... everything," he whispered in disbelief. "Don't you?"

"Very much." She picked up his phone and waggled it suggestively. "I'm having a wonderful time right now, David."

"So am I," he replied warily.

"I'm not disappointed by your search history. I actually find it rather exciting."

"Uh... ok?"

"I mention that because I would very much like to see what else you've searched for." She gestured at the still open porn app before adding, "But I won't look without your permission."

"Right," he grunted as the familiar panic reared its ugly head in his mind. But he found that its effect was diminishing with each passing moment he spent in the company of the most comforting person he had ever encountered. He nodded at the phone and said, "Go ahead."

She smiled in acknowledgement and tapped on the search bar. Upon spotting the top entry in his history, she cackled and remarked, "Well, I can't say that I see 'big natural tits compilation' as an inauspicious beginning."

After scrolling past several options with thumbnails featuring more than one woman, she paused at one which showed a woman with a glistening face. After clicking on the video, the flat-panel flared to life to show a woman with breasts which were unquestionably large (if likely not entirely natural) kneeling on a carpeted floor presenting her aforementioned endowments.

Petra observed, "Those certainly are quite large, but why is she... in Tesla's name! Why would he do that! Wait a minute! There's more than one! Why are they all doing that to her! Why is she swallowing it! David! What is happening!"

He managed to retrieve the phone and pause the video before answering. "They're... um... cumming on her. I think it's called bukkake. Definitely not my thing."

"That's what comes out of your prick when you... you know?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess so."

"But why in her mouth? Why aren't they doing it in her quim?"

"I think it's just one of those porn things."

"It looks dreadful."

He mumbled, "Yeah. Probably."

"Wait. Is that something you'd want to do to me?"

"I would hope that I'd never do anything that made you feel uncomfortable, Petra."

"But... hang on."

She dug through the app's seemingly endless hierarchy of categories and sub-categories before making a selection. He glanced at her screen to spot that her search had led her into the 'Porn for Women' section of the site. Without making a sound, or moving a muscle, he watched her as she gazed up at the video.

"David," she breathed as she took his hand. "Look. Aren't they beautiful together?"

He turned his attention to the screen to find a young couple bathed in golden-hour light spilling in from the open door to a balcony as they enjoyed a slow, sensual sixty-nine in each other's arms. The view shifted laconically from her slow, patient worshiping of his towering shaft to his gentle, dedicated attention on her sex, from her clit to her entrance. Neither lover appeared to be in a hurry. Furthermore, they both gave off the undeniable impression that there was genuinely nothing they would rather be doing than pleasuring each other.

"They are indeed," David conceded as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Can't you just feel how eager she is to make him feel good?"

"I would say that nothing is more important to him than her pleasure."

"Oh, wow!" she sighed as the woman on screen brought her partner to completion. "Isn't that incredible? He didn't do it to her; she did it for him. And she didn't look disgusted to eat it; she looked ecstatic!"

"And look how satisfied he was to have her liquid pleasure covering his face? He's lapping it up like that was the high point of his life. Even after she came, he seemed like he never wanted to stop."

"Can we watch another one? Please?"

"As many as you want, angel."

"Before we do that," she began hesitantly before falling into an awkward silence. She glanced down toward his lap for a moment before asking softly, "I promise I won't think less of you if it's too soon, or if you're not comfortable. But... please David... please share the rest of your beautiful body with me."

"You really want to see my..."

"I want to see all of you, David."

"Are you going to touch it?"

"I would love to touch it, but I won't do anything without asking you first."

The effort to ignore the voice in the back of his head which warned of impending doom if he acquiesced to her request threatened to overwhelm him. But, the undeniable truth was, that he yearned to do literally anything to get closer to the person he was certain was the most alluring human in history.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he jolted to his feet and started working on the buttons to his shirt. He glanced down to find Petra watching him with bright eyes and an excited grin. He shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it toward the hamper before kicking off his shoes and toeing his way out of his socks. After taking a calming breath, he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers before carefully stepping out of the latter.

He noticed a movement in his peripheral vision which he belatedly realized was his companion clenching her thighs together as she stared at his tented boxer-briefs. Her eyes grew wide when he stuck his thumbs into his waistband, and he could not be entirely certain if she was aware that she nodded in encouragement just before he pushed down his final article of clothing.

"I knew it," she whispered hoarsely.

"What's that?" he asked cautiously as he kicked his boxers toward the hamper before resuming his seat by her side.

"Your prick, David. It's absolutely perfect. It doesn't hurt when it gets that hard, does it?"

"I'm not sure that's the word I'd use."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whimpered woefully.

"It doesn't hurt. Now. It's just... never mind."

"Please tell me."

"No. I'll come across like a creep."

"I could never think that of you."

"It's just... if it stays hard for a long time, it can be uncomfortable if I don't..."

"Give yourself the fruitful frenzies?" she guessed.

He smiled and shook his head before remarking, "I find the vast percentage of your colorful metaphors to be completely charming, but I think that one might be a bridge too far for me to adopt with a straight face."

"Well I would hate to think that the first time we make love would be a laughing matter for you," she replied playfully. "What would you prefer I call it? Ejaculation?"

"I know the word 'cum' is a bit crude, but is anything wrong with 'orgasm'?"

"Nothing at all. And, if you don't mind me saying so, I am very much looking forward to giving you a great number of orgasms."

"Now?"

"Is that what you would like, handsome? Because, if so, you will find me to be a most eager and enthusiastic partner."

He was genuinely unsure if it was excitement or fear which caused his blood pressure to spike. Racked by indecision, he stammered, "Well... I don't know."

"On the other hand," she offered. "We could spend a few hours tomorrow morning grooming ourselves, and each other, in hopes of making our first time together, when we're both unquestionably ready, absolutely perfect. Whether it happens tomorrow afternoon, or in a few days. How does that sound?"

"That sounds... nice. I think. I'm honestly not sure I'm capable of contemplating you helping me shave my..."

"The thought of you carefully, meticulously, lovingly, ministering to my quim fills me with excitement, David. My heart thunders at the thought of your touch on my most intimate place."

"Mine too."

"Then, it's a date. For tonight, however, I would hate to think of you being uncomfortable in any way."

With complete sincerity, he declared, "I honestly don't think I've ever been more comfortable."

"I meant your lovely prick, handsome. Don't think I'm unaware that it's been so hard that it's literally been pulsing throughout our entire conversation."

"Oh, well... I'll be ok."

"David," Petra sighed tolerantly, "I'm not telling you I won't be offended if you felt the need to masturbate; I'm pleading with you to do it for me... with me."

"You mean..."

"I'll start another video, and we'll enjoy it. Together. Please, David. I need this. I need you. Don't you need me?"

"I have never wanted anything more than I want to be here, with you, like this, Petra. This is the best moment of my life."

"Oh, David," she gushed. "Thank you. You've made me so happy."

"Same here, angel."

"What should we watch? More like the last one?"

"Whatever you want."

"Ok," she sighed with an unsteady breath. She scrolled on his phone for a moment before sighing, "How about this one? I think she has big teats."

"They won't hold a candle to yours, Petra."

Neither of them moved for several moments after the video started, nor did they make more than a token effort to watch said entertainment. He was vaguely aware of the soft sounds of passion coming from the screen, but he only had eyes for the devastatingly beautiful woman at his side.

"We're supposed to be masturbating," she whispered softly as she gazed into his eyes.

"Would you like me to go first?"

"I want us to do it together."

"Petra?" he asked gently. "Would you touch yourself for me?"

"Yes!" she gasped as her hand raced toward the apex of her thighs.

His hand gripped his shaft the moment her fingers found her folds. The scent of their combined arousal filled his nostrils, but the jolt of excitement he felt in response paled in comparison to the incomparable sight of her arousal on her fingers as she frantically flicked her clit. Her chest heaved as her breathing grew ragged, and it was impossible to miss her crinkled areola and her turgid nipples at the peaks of her jiggling breasts.

"David," she panted in desperation. "Please. I'm so close."

His hand, which had been stroking his cock driven by pure instinct, kicked into high gear when he saw the fervent need in her expression as her eyes darted between his voracious gaze and his throbbing shaft. She leaned close to him, as much for support as out of a desperate need for his touch. He looked down in time to see her sink several fingers into her soaked core while her other hand busily strummed her clit.

"Honey," he rasped helplessly as he felt the pressure building in his core rocket past the point of no return, "I'm going to..."

"Yes!" she shrieked. "With me! With me! With ME!"

His body jolted with the force of his release, and he had a dim awareness of moisture splashing across his belly, but he only had eyes for his alluring companion as her body shook with the power of her orgasm. She drove her head into his shoulder for support while her hips spasmed mightily. He could see the white of her knuckles where her hand was held in a vice grip between her thighs, and her breasts quivered in time with her gasping for breath, but she was helpless to do anything but ride out the waves of pleasure.

When the tension finally left her body, she surged upward to claim his lips with a passion and hunger which would have frightened him had they not been perfectly in sync. Their tongues flashed together with fervent urgency, and manic intensity, but the power of their combined orgasms left them too breathless to continue for long.

She fell back against the bed and gazed up at him adoringly. "Thank you, David. That was..."

"Amazing," he sighed in agreement.

He raked his eyes along her body, trying to memorize every iota of perfection on offer. When his eyes fell upon her breasts, however, he experienced a moment of regret.

"Oh, shaz! I'm sorry. Let me get a towel."

"What is it?" she drawled, still very much in her refractory period.

"I got some on you," he replied regretfully. He pointed at her port-side breast and added, "Just there."

She looked down to spot the offending dollop. Then, as though she had been possessed by the forgotten video playing on the screen, she swiped it up with the end of her index finger. After inspecting the pearly slickness briefly, she shrugged and stuck her finger in her mouth. She sucked on it briefly before extracting it and sending a playful smile in his direction.

"Not what I thought it would taste like, if I'm honest. I think it would be better from the source, however. I'll let you know once I have a chance to do more testing."

Rather than grapple with his panicked reaction to her inexplicable act, he tamped down his faulty societal programming and listened to his heart. He reached over to where her other hand was still buried between her thighs. Moving very slowly, and keeping his attention focused on her widening eyes, he lifted her glistening hand to his mouth and sucked her dripping fingers between his lips. He was unprepared for the way his body responded to her taste. It was like drinking from the Fountain of Youth. He felt an intoxicating mixture of excitement and need, which spurred him onwards to lap the remaining slickness from her fingers.

"Well?" she whispered breathily when he released her hand.

"Also not what I thought you would taste like." When he saw a hint of worry flash across her features, he hastened to add, "Amazing, angel. Incredible. So much better than I could have possibly imagined."

"Well, good," she replied sleepily. She pulled him down next to her and murmured, "I know we haven't had dinner, but we had a late lunch, and..."

"I just had my dinner."

"You're ridiculous," she sighed.

"I'm lying in bed naked with the most beautiful woman in the world. I'd say I'm entitled to be a little giddy."

"I feel the same way. Can we just sleep for a while? Just like this, with nothing between us?"

He smiled and whispered, "That would make me very happy."

David took a moment to clean up the remaining mess from their shared pleasure while Petra topped off Emmy's water bowl. After locking up and shutting down all non-essential systems, they came together in bed where she molded herself against him and laid her head down on his chest.

Just as she started to drop off to sleep, he murmured, "Thank you."

"For what?" she sighed, already half-unconscious.

"Everything. You're a dream come true, honey... the best thing that ever happened to me."

After a pause long enough that he was certain she had succumbed to sleep, she mumbled, "I... you... vid..."

"What was that, angel?"

Through sleep-closed lips, she breathed, "I love you, David."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Six

"David!" Petra shrieked. "That tickles!"

"I've never done this before," he replied gently, "I'm doing my best."

She took a deep breath before sighing, "I know. Just... try your best to..."

After resisting the impulse to snicker, David schooled his features and whispered, "Not tickle you?"

"Yes!"

"Ok, I've got an idea."

"Don't be gentle! That makes it even worse!"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Just hang on a minute!"

David settled back onto his haunches and tried to hold in a frustrated huff, but he suspected his expression hid nothing from his companion.

Petra glanced down at herself momentarily before gasping, "In Tesla's name! Is that all you've done!"

"Petra... I..."

"No!" she interrupted breathlessly. "I'm sorry. I'm not blaming you. I know this isn't your fault. It's just so fragging frustrating!"

He thought for a moment before offering, "Should we switch places?"

She grinned at him and enthused, "You really wouldn't mind?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I guess not."

"You're the best!" she gushed before surging forward to crush her lips against his.

After relinquishing his lips, she retreated by a scant margin to give him room to get to stand before her. He offered his hand to help her to her feet, although he could not fail to notice her attention on his midsection. For his part, he congratulated himself on not remarking on (or even reacting to) the sight of the vertical line of demarcation across the blonde hair beneath her left arm between stubble- and finger-length.

She noticed the direction of his eyes and grumbled, "I know. It looks even dumber now than before we started."

"I didn't say that."

"You should have. I look ridiculous. At least we were able to get through the right one."

"There is that."

"Enough talking. You said we could switch."

He took a deep breath before sighing, "And I'm a man of my word. How do you want me?"

"Just lay down on the blanket," she instructed excitedly. Before he could move a muscle, however, she yelped, "Wait! We should shake it off first."

Emmy quickly decided she loved the game of chasing after the cloud of Petra's hair which billowed off the blanket as David shook it vigorously. He paused for a moment to ensure the canine did not follow the floating strands too far, but she seemed content to watch the wind carry them toward the edge of the depression in which they had spent the night.

As David looked around, he was struck by just how inconceivably his life had changed in less than a week. Even as much time as he spent in locations where he was certain that he would have to walk for more than an hour to find another human, he would never have been caught dead unclothed outside his van. He had been loath to even sleep in less than long pants and a long-sleeve shirt. The thought of spending more than an hour outside in nothing but his socks and shoes would have been unfathomable. The added component of being in the company of a similarly attired, and breathtakingly gorgeous, woman who had spent the morning directing his touch to her most intimate places would have no doubt severed his tenuous grip on sanity.

After getting the blanket sorted, David dutifully laid down and did what would have been (in the estimation of his mind from just a week earlier) the most baffling thing yet: he watched the woman of his dreams settle between his knees before reaching for his swelling manhood.

"I don't suppose you could make it harder?" Petra prompted nonjudgmentally. "It would make it easier to use the shortest guard if the skin was as taut as possible."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," he hissed as she took him into her soft hand.

His heart rate spiked in response to the first instance of her touch on his manhood. Yet it was not anxiety, or fear, which propelled his excitement. It was amazement. Complete and utter amazement that, in the space of less than a week, he had gone from enduring a level of isolation which would have been considered a war crime had it been imposed on him, to gazing down at the most beautiful woman in history (who was, as had inexplicably become the norm, delightfully nude) as she gleefully watched his cock swell to fill her hand.

"Ok," she muttered with a wink, "here goes."

She took a long moment to gaze adoringly at his growing shaft before flicking the switch on the clippers and making quick work of removing the hair from his penis.

Progress was slower as she addressed his scrotum, especially after she misjudged how sensitive the area was for him. But after a lengthy bout of apologies (and not a few kisses to make things better), she was ready to move on to shaping his pubic hair. By the time she finished using a longer guard on the clippers to trim what remained of the thick thatch of dark hair above his cock, his manhood was glistening in excitement and she was biting her lip in anticipation.

When her work was done, she asked, "How close did you come to... um..."

"Cumming?" he asked breathlessly. After receiving his reply in the form of a firm nod, he continued, "I would have previously insisted that it was impossible to... uh... finish... without some sort of stroking happening. But, now, I'm not so sure."

"So... very close?"

"You could say that."

"Do you want to... finish on me? I meant for me!" After taking a ragged breath, she bit her lip and added, "But also on me?"

It was not without effort that he managed to interrupt the eruption his bewitching companion requested, but the compulsion to always put her needs first won out. "I think I need to finish you up first," he offered with a nod toward the clippers dangling, forgotten, from her hand. "Those storm clouds are getting close, and we really ought to finish up before this balmy morning turns cold and rainy."

She quirked her eyebrow playfully and prompted, "Are you sure you're not just eager to touch my quim for the first time?"

"I am indeed excited by that proposition," he admitted with a knowing smile. He glanced at where she still gripped his manhood before adding, "As you well know. But we have other unfinished business before we get to that."

"But it'll tickle," she whined.

"All I can promise is that I'll try my best to avoid that."

"I've got an idea. I'll keep holding your prick to distract myself, and then maybe I won't notice that you're tickling the shaz out of me."

He did not quite manage to prevent the wince from briefly crossing his features. He stammered, "So, if I accidentally tickle you... what are you going to do?"

"David," she soothed with a gentle voice, "I swear... I would never do anything to hurt your prick. It's my favorite."

He nodded and replied, "Ok. So... should we switch positions?"

"I say you should just finish me off now while I'm distracted by all the cream flowing out of your massive prick."

To himself, he murmured, "Give me strength."

David took a moment to steel his resolve (in the desperate hope that he would not make a catastrophic mess) before he activated the clippers. True to her word, no damage was done to his manhood as he finished off the job of trimming her underarm (despite the frequent shrieks and accusations of torture emanating from his companion).

When he finally decided that he had done as much good as he could without enlisting the help of a razor, he shut off the clippers and remarked, "All set."

"Tell me the truth, handsome. Will it tickle that much when you do my quim?"

"Do you honestly expect me to be able to come up with a reasoned response to any question after you make mention of me doing you?"

She gave his shaft an affectionate squeeze before answering. "You have to trim my quim, so you can shave my quim, so I can shave your prick. Then, once both of us have been optimized for maximum sensitivity, you can do my quim as many times as you want."

He muttered, "Your attempts to help me calm my mind need a bit of refinement."

"You can't fool me," she teased gleefully. "Not with your prick pulsing like that. You absolutely love it when I talk like this. Especially when I'm also touching your pretty penis."

"Must you keep calling it pretty?"

She leaned in to offer an unhurried kiss before remarking, "I'm the one who is contemplating, and eagerly anticipating, having it thrust into multiple bodily orifices. I would think you would welcome any and all positive attributes I might care to assign to your pride and joy."

"You have the most delightful way of scrambling my wits." He brandished the clippers before asking, "Shall we finish up?"

"What? No teasing innuendo? No declarations of your opinions on portions of my anatomy?"

"You're the most beautiful woman who has ever lived, Petra. Every cell of your body is not only objectively perfect, but also the physical embodiment of every fantasy which has ever manifested itself in my fucked-up mind. And I feel as though I've spent every moment since you came into my life wondering if that was a lightning strike, and everything which I've experienced since is just a fever dream as I languish in a hospital bed in a coma from which I'll never recover. You're an impossibility, a fantasy come true. How could any words of mine ever do justice to what I feel every time I look at you. Hell... every time I think of you."

She gazed at him through shimmering eyes and whispered, "That's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I meant every word," he assured her huskily.

"I know. And I hope you believe that I feel the same way about you, David."

They shared another lengthy kiss which would have been laughable to his mind from just a week prior. He was in the middle of the Great Plains, naked as an oyster, in the company of both his dog and his girlfriend (who was also nude), kneeling on a blanket with clippers in one hand, and one of the top two most perfect breasts in history in the other, while his aforementioned partner stroked his cock languidly.

'Maybe I am dead,' he thought to himself. 'Perhaps this is all nothing more than an intensely realistic Jacob's Ladder scenario occurring over the course of a single moment as every neuron in my brain is exploded by that blast of lightning.' Yet, as he contemplated the thought, he could not find it in himself to care. Because whether he was actually in the midst of dying, or truly preparing to trim the quim of an angel who had traveled through time to find him; he was determined to enjoy every second of happiness he could.

Their lips parted reluctantly, followed by his whispered, "I guess we should finish," and her mewled, "Please! I don't know how much longer I can wait!"

With no prompting from him, she fell back onto the blanket and spread her thighs. He gazed fondly at the lush thatch of pale blonde curls. He suspected the dew on her pubic hair would have been easily visible from the lip of the depression in which the van resided, and he gave brief thought to whether the moisture might damage the clippers. But it only took a repeated whimper of anticipation from his companion to shake him from his reverie. He worried she might do permanent damage to her lower lip, so fervently was she biting it as he knelt between her knees and brandished the clippers.

Just as he was ready to get started, she yelped, "Wait!"

He looked up at her in concern and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Before you shave it all off, I want you to... touch me. You know, for science."

"Science?"

"You have said, many times, that you love the way I look."

"And I meant it with all my heart."

"I believe you. I also really want to do this. For both of us. But, in case you decide you don't like how I look, or feel, when my quim is smooth, it would be logical for you to have a basis of comparison. So you can form an informed hypothesis."

"For science," he repeated with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yes, David!" she yelped with a wide smile.

"Not because you've been fantasizing about how it will feel when I pet your quim?"

"In Tesla's name," she panted. "Please! Don't make me beg."

He started tentatively, with the tips of his fingers barely disturbing the soft fur just below her navel. His deft touch moved lower, toward the dripping hairs covering her sex. The temptation to lift his fingers to his lips (or dip his head to taste her directly) was powerful, but he was a man on a mission. His touch grew more bold, combing through her pale curls to tease the soft skin beneath. Despite the visual evidence openly on display for his eyes, he was caught off guard by just how much moisture was on offer. The mental image of his face glazed with her excitement after he buried his tongue in her gushing entrance caused his hips to buck absent any conscious thought. His fingers delved deeper, and a gasp escaped his lips when he touched the impossible softness of her feminine folds.

"Oh, David," she hissed. "Please..."

"Right," he grunted with a chastised tone. "Back to work."

He flicked the switch on the clippers and got to work. Starting with a longer guard, he made quick work of trimming everything to a length roughly analogous to the width of his thumb. The amount of hair which fell between her thighs grew quickly and it was not long before he had to swipe it aside to finish the first round of trimming just below her entrance.

Once the first pass was complete, he switched to the shortest guard and got to work on the more detailed work on the areas which he would soon be required (requested... allowed...) to shave. He started at the top and worked his way down, starting off with a triangle of hair with sides longer than his middle finger and slowly sharpening the angle at the bottom and lowering the upper terminus until he was satisfied (since Petra refused to comment on his work beyond encouraging him to do what he wanted). Attending to the now-short hair covering her labia was easier said than done, since (unlike his previous pass) he could now clearly see the barely-hidden perfection beneath. Adding to his challenges were his companion's soft moans, which accompanied his every touch. He was finally granted some measure of reprieve when she yelped in surprise as he trimmed the last of the hair between her vagina and her anus.

"You did that on purpose!" she accused good-naturedly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he replied as he straightened to inspect his work.

"Well... what do you think?"

"I thought you were perfect before, and I maintain that you are perfect now."

"Is that so?" she challenged. Catching him off guard, she then sat up and reached for the thick braid which hung down her back. After removing the thick rubber band which kept everything tidy, she shook her hair out until lush waves of platinum blonde hair spilled over her shoulders to pool in her lap. "How about this?" she prompted, taking one of her locks and reaching up to tickle his chest with it. "Should I shave this too?"

"Oh, God no!" he gasped reflexively. "I meant... if you want."

"Glad to know you're capable of forming a firm opinion on something."

"I have a firm opinion about you, angel. And you'll never stop being the most gorgeous, most sexy, most perfect woman who has ever lived. No matter what you do with your hair. You are beautiful, Petra. Not your teats, not your quim, not your lovely hair. Not even your angelic face. You."

Her reply came in the form of a kiss which David knew instinctively would lead to a disruption of their carefully laid out plans to finish their grooming session before making love. But he was beyond caring about anything beyond the happiness of the woman with whom he was rapidly falling in love.

"David," she gasped, "I..."

She was cut off by Emmy, who had been placidly laying on her back in the diminishing sun, leaping to her feet and unleashing a warning bark.

"What's wrong, girl," Petra asked breathlessly.

Emmy let out another growl, but David heard something ominous in the distance as she fell silent.

"That's an engine. Someone's coming."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure enough that I think we need to get the hell out of here before we find out the hard way that someone doesn't take kindly to uninvited guests."

"Oh, shaz! I'm sorry, David. I thought this place would be perfect."

"This isn't your fault. It just comes with the territory. Now, you and Emmy get inside, and you get some clothes on. I'll police up all this stuff and be right behind you. Ok?"

"Do you want me to get your..."

"Let's hope we don't need it. Now git. They're getting closer."

Within moments, both companions were dressed and the van had been hastily made ready for departure. Unfortunately, before David could climb beneath the desk and make his way onto the bridge, a luxury American SUV had crested the lip of the depression in which they had parked and was headed right for them. David watched with an almost surreal detachment as the vehicle came to a stop beside them as though they were in a grocery store parking lot, and the driver hopped out to approach the driver's side door to his van.

The newcomer knocked firmly, but not aggressively on his window and announced, "I'm so glad I finally found y'all." She looked back over her shoulder before turning back to lock eyes with David. "We don't mind y'all campin' here as long as ya' like, but this storm is gonna be a doozy. Why don't y'all come up to the main house, just in case things get excitin'. I've got a breakfast casserole in the oven, and the coffee's pipin' hot." After a brief pause to see if she would get a reply, their apparent host added, "Y'all just follow me, ya' hear? I'd hate to have to get the sheriff involved."

Without waiting for an answer, the woman climbed back into her S. U. V. and, after tooting her horn, set off.

David looked over his shoulder and asked, "What do you think?"

"I don't think that was a request. We can't get out of here without passing within shouting distance of her house (despite the path we took being out of sight). That comment about the sheriff was her saying that, if we don't accept her so-called hospitality, we'll get intercepted before we can get to the county line."

"And I have little doubt that a woman driving a vehicle worth six figures, and who owns enough land to drive out of sight from the main house in any direction without trespassing on a neighbor's property, has formulated a very productive relationship with local law enforcement."

Petra sighed and suggested, "Let's just have a cup of coffee, say sorry for boondocking without permission, and get the frag out of there as quickly as possible. Ok?"

He nodded in resignation and remarked, "It's not like we have any choice," before reaching for the ignition button to follow their mysterious host.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Seven

"Wow," Petra breathed from the passenger seat. "I saw the house on the satellite image, but it didn't look this big."

David peered through the windscreen at the sprawling house before replying, "I actually see stuff like this way more than you'd think; a house which would cost ten million dollars if you built it in the suburb of a reasonably large city. But, when you build it in the middle of fragging nowhere, who knows how much you save. Because, by way of comparison, the land is almost free."

The home in question was a massive two-story house built next to a sizable pond, and which he estimated contained at least a half-dozen bedrooms. Behind the structure, he could see a pool already covered for the winter and a massive outdoor kitchen. There were several outbuildings, including a four-car garage and a barn. Beyond the buildings immediately surrounding the house, however, he could not spot any additional buildings out to the distant horizon across the rolling plain.

"But how many people must live there? Fifty?"

"You forget her S. U. V. These are people who want to project an image of opulence. I'd be stunned if more than a single family lives there."

"Whoa. I read about the rise of the ultra-wealthy which preceded the downfall of the United States, but seeing it in person is... unsettling."

"So the rich don't live like this in the twenty-second century?"

"In the twenty-second century, the trillionaires, and especially the quadrillionaires, live in complete isolation. Not even the government knows the exact location of their enclaves. Because they know, if the huddled masses knew their location, they wouldn't live until sundown."

"Well, in that respect, I think we could learn something from the future. Too many people these days act like those assholes are mostly harmless. But I doubt our so-called host would be considered ultra-wealthy. It's entirely possible that they're in debt up to their ears, and have a net worth lower than ours."

"Ours," she sighed happily. "I like the sound of that."

"Me too," he concurred huskily. After another glance through the windscreen revealed that they were arriving at their destination, he murmured, "Let's just stick together, and get through this as quickly as we can. With any luck, we'll be in South Dakota before you can say boondocking."

Petra nodded and said, "Let's do this."

Their presumptive host was waiting by the front bumper of her luxury S. U. V. when David and Petra exited the R. V. They could hear Emmy whimpering from her spot in Petra's seat, but they had aligned during their trip on the strategy of leaving the animal behind to keep things as uncomplicated as possible.

As they approached the woman who had interrupted their morning, David took a moment to study her. He guesstimated her age at somewhere between forty and sixty-five, depending on whether the plastic surgery she had undergone could best be classified as a limited degree of the reasonably inexpensive sort, or a staggering amount of top-tier variety. She stood between David and Petra's height, with a trim body and shoulder-length brown hair. Whether she was walking or talking, much of her body seemed either unwilling, or unable, to move naturally, and the look in her eyes gave David the distinct impression he had erred in leaving the van unarmed.

"I'm Sarah," their host announced as they approached.

"This is my husband, Mitch," Petra enthused as she extended her hand. "And I'm Marge."

"Husband?" Sarah asked without acknowledging Petra's hand.

"Yes," Petra replied slowly. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not," Sarah announced with an abrupt change in demeanor. She took Petra's hand and shook it briefly before gesturing toward the house. "Won't you come in?"

David shook his head in resignation as he led Petra into the sprawling homestead. The inside of the home was oozing with the kind of self-importance which David found both familiar and unsettling. Every room, every wall, and every flat surface, was designed to give off the impression that an exclusive interior decorator had been consulted. But much of the artwork looked soulless to his eyes, and something felt off about the plethora of family photos on offer.

Sarah led them into the kitchen, which was large enough to fit his van comfortably and likely could have been used to prepare a meal for hundreds without having to reuse any cookware. They accepted the offered cups of coffee and took a seat at the enormous breakfast room table. Their host brought in a tray of cinnamon rolls and placed them on the table in front of Petra before taking a seat across from them.

After taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Sarah turned to Petra and said, "So, I take it y'all ain't from around here."

"What makes you say that?" Petra asked warily.

After allowing her eyes to dart briefly to David, she replied, "Ain't hard to figure out. Now how 'bout you answer the question."

"I'm sorry," Petra retorted sweetly. "What was it you wanted to know?"

"Where you from?"

"Louisville. How about you? Have you always lived... wherever we are?"

"I'm the one askin' questions."

"Why should we tell you anything?" David growled without quite managing to hide his growing frustration.

"Because I'm the one whose land you were trespassin' on, 'ese."

A reflexive huff of mocking laughter escaped his lungs which stood in stark opposition to his growing unease. Having grown up in the deep south, he was no stranger to this kind of treatment. He was also far too old to think the people could be diverted from their true nature. Long, uncomfortable experience had taught him that, too often, the only reasonable response to some people was just to get the hell away from them.

He felt the impulse to surreptitiously communicate to Petra their need to depart with all possible haste. But, as he considered and rejected several possible strategies, he realized that nothing had actually changed with respect to their plans. He did, however, feel some small measure of comfort that he had not taken a sip of the offered coffee (as he could not deny the suspicion that their host was not above slipping something into it).

He tuned back into the conversation to hear Petra announce, "... together for quite a while, but we just got married recently. How about you? Your husband must be very successful to give you all this. And powerful. Is he home today? I'd love to meet him."

"He is indisposed at the moment," Sarah retorted snippily.

"But he must be widely respected in his field to have risen to such heights. I have little doubt that he commands every room he enters."

"He makes an excellent living, but he also knows his place... and where his opinion is unwelcome."

By the time Sarah finished speaking, her voice was indistinguishable from a snarl.

"Goodness," Petra gasped. "I hope I haven't said anything wrong. I certainly meant no disrespect."

It took an uncomfortable time for the fury in Sarah's eyes to fade, and it took all of David's willpower to resist the urge to scoop Petra into his arms and make a break for it.

"Oh, none taken," Sarah replied sweetly, once again whipsawing back to her hospitable mark. "More coffee?"

"No," Petra replied quickly. She glanced to her side and inquired sweetly, "How about you, baby?"

David ensured he kept his tone even as he replied, "Negative."

Sarah rose from her seat and crossed the kitchen using measured steps. David watched in confusion as she poured out her steaming mug of coffee before refilling her cup. His eyes widened in amazement as she spooned in enough sugar to induce a diabetic coma.

"In Tesla's name," Petra hissed in his ear as she gripped his elbow in fear.

He tore his attention from Sarah's to whisper to Petra, "What's wrong?"

"It's him!"

He looked around before asking, "Who?"

"The Architect of the Downfall."

He followed her eyes to the massive flat panel hung above the fireplace in the adjacent family room. There he spotted what appeared to be twenty-four-hour cable news coverage discussing current events.

"The what?" he asked softly.

"He paved the way for the first hereditary Supreme Leader."

"That fucking guy?"

"Yes!"

"Not entirely surprising," he grumbled. "Although, if I'm honest, I kind of assumed that he was the first, you know, leader."

"There's plenty of evidence to suggest that he did everything in his power to do exactly that. But his ambitions will come to an end on the first Saturday in November when the Supreme Leader calls down divine justice to punish him for his wickedness."

"Jesus," David whispered in surprise.

"How dare you blaspheme in my house!" Sarah snarled from the kitchen.

David turned to glare at her, but declined to offer an apology.

When Sarah remained silent, Petra said, "Well... we really appreciate the coffee, but I think it's time for us to get on the road."

"The breakfast casserole isn't done yet. I'd hate for you to miss out on one of my specialties. I insist that you stay."

"Look," David hissed through gritted teeth. "I apologize for trespassing. But I checked the site as we pulled out. There's no damage done. I suspect it's been a while since it rained, so there aren't even any tire tracks. Why don't we just get out of your hair, and you'll never see us again. Ok?"

Sarah seethed, "I don't remember asking you a God damn thing, 'ese. So why don't you shut the fuck up before I make a call to immigration. Ok?"

"Fine," Petra snapped, "then I'll say it. Give me one reason why we shouldn't just..."

She fell silent in response to a door slamming in another wing of the house. David stood and turned toward the noise to find a white-haired, stoop-shouldered man walking in their direction holding a casserole. He watched in complete bafflement as the man placed the casserole on the table, then distributed plates and silverware for three, then returned whence he came (complete with yet another slammed door); all without saying a word.

His attention was drawn back to Sarah as she declared, with scarcely contained fury, "The next time you slam that fucking door, I'm going to set fire to your God damn truck right in the middle of the fucking driveway. Do you understand me, you worthless piece of shit!"

David and Petra looked at each other in confusion until they heard a static-y, but undeniably masculine, voice reply, "I understand."

Sarah released the button to a countertop intercom unit beside the coffeemaker before looking skyward and growling, "Imbecile!"

"Look," Petra announced, "we're just going to go."

"I don't think so," Sarah retorted with a cruel smile.

Petra stood and stated calmly, "You can't keep us here."

"I've already called immigration on the illegal, you stupid cunt. I'm not sure what he promised you. But, trust me. Once they deport him, you'll be able to start over. Hopefully next time you won't betray your race."

"What the shaz is wrong with you!" Petra yelped as she leapt to her feet.

"I'd ask the same thing of you," Sarah replied calmly. "You're a reasonably good looking woman. Why are you sullying yourself with this vermin?"

"You're the vermin, you hateful hag!" Petra seethed. "You know what? Frag this! We're leaving!"

"Sit down, and shut up," Sarah directed as she reached into a drawer and extracted a small pistol.

"Please," David whispered fiercely, "do as she says."

"Better," Sarah clucked as she approached them. "Now, on your feet, 'ese. I don't want you doing anything stupid while we wait for immigration to arrive. So, you're going to wait in the basement." Without adjusting the gun's aim from the middle of David's chest, she looked in Petra's direction and instructed, "And you, traitor, will stay right where you are. I'll be back in just a minute so we can discuss how you might atone for your massive lapses in judgment."

Petra nodded her acquiescence while never taking her eyes from David. His mind raged against his unforgivable decision to come into a potentially hostile situation with no way to protect the most important person in his world. He barely gave a passing thought to the gun threatening him, or the broken, hateful person wielding it. Even consideration of escape was beyond his grasp. All he could think about was that he had failed in the most monumental way imaginable.

The opulence of the house quickly gave way to a more ominous vibe as they navigated down rough-hewn basement stairs, past unpainted walls, to find a massive concrete-slab basement floor only broken up by occasional support columns. Along the wall which aligned with the front of the house, he spotted a row of doors that looked not unlike prison cells.

"Over there, 'ese," Sarah directed, jabbing the gun into his kidney for emphasis.

He started to head in that direction, but a loud crash above him drew his attention.

"What the fuck was that?" Sarah demanded insistently.

Her only reply came in the form of a keening beep from a fire alarm, which was quickly joined by several of its brethren.

"What did that stupid cunt do? I swear, I just had that kitchen redone. If she's done something..."

"Sarah!" a masculine voice called out from the top of the stairs, "we've got a massive fire in the kitchen and the fire extinguishers aren't touching it! I told you to keep those chemicals in the fucking barn. Now we're gonna lose the God damn house."

"Don't you fucking move," Sarah seethed before starting to slowly back toward the steps.

David made no response beyond a hateful glare, but that did not keep his adversary from disappearing moments later. The instant she was out of view, he rushed toward what he hoped was a natural light source. Racing around a corner, he found an open door which led to a sparsely furnished, but seemingly regularly used bedroom. Beneath the twin-sized bed, he found a pair of windows. Leaping onto the bed, he made quick work of throwing open the window and kicking through the screen.

He had just started to crawl outside when he heard Petra shout, "David!"

By the time he had finished his exodus, she rushed up to his side to gather him into a frantic embrace.

"I was so scared," she whimpered.

"Me too. And I'm so fucking sorry I let this happen. I should have taken..."

"No time for 'what ifs'," she chided. "We've got to get the shaz out of here before this entire place goes up."

Questions about what she had done faded as he saw the wisdom of her words. He took her hand and raced around the house to find their van still parked in the driveway. Inside the house, they could hear Sarah and her husband shouting at each other, but he knew either of them could come outside at any second. They hurried to the van and climbed inside.

Before reaching for the ignition, David hissed, "I want you and Emmy to get on the floor in the back. Stay as flat as possible."

"Why?"

"In case that crazy bitch comes out and starts shooting."

"What about you!"

"I'll stay as low as possible too. Now do it. With any luck, we'll be over the horizon before they know we've slipped out the side door."

"Please hurry," she whimpered.

"Way ahead of you," he muttered as he fired up the turbodiesel.

He winced at the thunderous engine note, and was glad there was still enough heat in the engine from their ingress that he could set off at once. Typically, he was a very careful, conservative driver; never doing anything which could risk a rollover of the very large, and very top-heavy vehicle. But that was when the life of the woman he loved was not being threatened. David dumped the clutch and pushed the mighty engine to its limits, slamming through the gears heedless of the bumpy, unpaved surface. He heard a few surprised yelps from behind him, but all he cared about was the shrinking, smoking house behind them.

It was only after they crested the horizon that he allowed himself to relax by even the smallest of margins. But he knew he would not truly breathe easy until he had put the city, and county, and state where they had staged their jailbreak behind them.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty-Eight

"I can't see the house anymore," Petra reported from the back of the van. "Does that mean we're out of immediate danger?"

"You were supposed to be taking shelter on the floor," David grumbled.

"If you must know, I monitored the exterior cameras on your tablet until it looked safe to poke my head up."

David started to make a reply, but he found it hard to form the words under the shadow of his own undeniable failure. Rather than obsessing over his shortcomings, he focused all of his attention on escape. True to Petra's declaration, Sarah's house was no longer visible in his rear-facing displays. Yet he had little doubt they were still on the malignant homesteader's property. The smoke he had seen rising from the sprawling wannabe-mansion as they departed also left little doubt the arrival of the authorities was imminent, regardless of the veracity of Sarah's claims.

He breathed a bit easier when they reached the main road without encountering any other vehicles, but he could hear the keening wail of a siren in the background. Without hesitation, he turned south and cycled up through the gears with all possible haste. He felt a jostle at his shoulder as Petra climbed beneath the desk to reach her seat, but he was surprised when she placed his holstered pistol into the cupholder between them.

When he sent a questioning gaze in his companion's direction, she said, "Better late than never."

"I don't have the words to express how sorry I am for allowing that to happen to you, Petra."

"You didn't allow anything, David. We just had the misfortune to encounter a truly wicked creature."

"You asked me if I wanted the means to keep you safe, Petra. And I said no. And you nearly suffered as a result."

"Do you blame me for picking a site owned by a hateful, horrible, awful, evil woman?"

"Of course not," he replied quickly. "How could you have known?"

"Likely with an elementary amount of research, since you asked."

"Regardless, I don't feel like that was even remotely your fault, Petra."

She reached across to take his hand before declaring, "I feel exactly the same way."

"Jesus," he sighed. "What the fuck is wrong with some people?"

"I have little doubt that Sarah, and her poor, abused husband, inherited a modest fortune from their parents and used it to retire. Did you notice the pictures on the wall? None of the recent ones, as judged by Sarah's apparent age, included anyone older. So, she was suddenly rich, and with an unexpected amount of time on her hands, she turned to politics for something to keep her busy. I have to wonder how many of their fellow landowners were shocked to discover that she has taken her political activism to its logical, if tragic, conclusion."

"What do you mean?"

"When she took you downstairs, I was frantically looking for anything I could do to create a distraction. I found some steel wool beneath the sink and a bottle of grain alcohol in the liquor cabinet, so I dumped it all into a casserole and shoved it into the microwave. I knew it would do little more than start a fire. But, like I said, I was desperate. Then I looked in the cabinet above the fridge."

"I can scarcely imagine what that crazy bitch had up there."

"You don't know how right you are, handsome. That crazy (and I cannot emphasize that word strongly enough) bitch had aluminum dust and iron oxide in boxes right next to each other."

He shook his head and said, "I don't know what that means."

"It means that Sarah is a fragging domestic terrorist. Those are the ingredients for thermite plasma. Which, as I suspect the emergency services gentleman will soon be realizing, is one of the scariest things you can imagine when it comes to fire. Once it begins to combust, it burns at temperatures hot enough to melt steel. And, because the thermite serves as its own source of oxygen (thanks to all the oxide in the iron oxide), it is effectively impossible to extinguish once the reaction begins."

"What did you do with it?" David asked slowly.

"I mixed it all together and set it in a plastic bowl on top of the microwave just before the alcohol combusted and blew the door off."

"So, their house is effectively done for?"

"She pointed a gun at you, David. If all that happens to her is losing her house and everything in it, then she got off light."

"Wow."

After a long moment, she mousily asked, "Are you angry with me?"

"No," he replied quickly. "No way. I'm extremely impressed by your ingenuity, and your quick thinking under very challenging circumstances."

"But?" she prompted.

"I guess I just thought, very briefly, that, perhaps, the punishment might not fit the crime, but..."

With steely resolve, Petra declared, "I would have killed her if that's what it took to keep you safe, David."

He was quiet for several heartbeats before whispering with fierce intensity, "I would do the same for you. Without hesitation."

"So... we're good?" she whispered hopefully as she reached for his hand.

He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles before replying, "Better than good."

Petra took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his touch before turning toward the main display. "Why south?"

"I'm absolutely open to suggestion. I just figured that we should get the hell out of every possible jurisdiction which might be inclined to take Sarah's word over ours as quickly as we could."

After consulting the dash, she announced, "In that case, we should cross into Colorado in about fifteen minutes." Another moment of work with the navigation system allowed her to inform him, "But staying west of Nebraska will add a few hours to our total trip."

He smiled in her direction and said, "I always wanted to drive through Wyoming. Didn't you?"

"Well... I do now!"

"How long until the border?"

"A little over thirteen hours to the spot we marked in North Dakota."

"Piece of cake," he announced with feigned optimism. "You and Emmy climb in the back and grab some shut-eye. I'll have us there before the sun comes up."

"Like I'd let you drive through the night by yourself. Besides, I think Emmy will need to make a pit stop a lot sooner than that. She was very good while we were stuck in the dominion of Sarah the Arsonist, but I suspect she's ready for Daddy to take her for a walk."

True to Petra's prediction, Colorado greeted them less than a quarter hour later. Despite Emmy's whimpering behind them, however, David found no obvious place to pull off. And, after their latest brush with an enraged homeowner, he was loath to just pull off and hope for the best. Fortunately for their canine companion, Petra soon worked out that they were on federal land, so he took advantage of the empty highway and stopped just off the two-lane road.

Emmy showed her gratitude by quickly attending to her most pressing needs, but both humans were loath to lock her back up in the tiny van without any exercise. This led to first David, then Petra, walking Emmy along the road while the other idled along behind them in the van. When the canine finally started to show signs of tiring, David loaded her back into the van and experienced (for the first time) just how narrow the passageway from the living quarters to the bridge truly was.

He belatedly dropped into the passenger seat and huffed, "Phew. That's tighter than it looks."

"I'll have you know that I have a boyfriend, sir," she retorted playfully.

"Wow," he grunted.

"Wait until tonight when you get to experience it, rather than imagine it."

"I'm glad you're driving. I think I almost slipped into unconsciousness for a second there."

She smiled her appreciation before returning her attention to the road. They crossed the state line into Wyoming less than an hour later, but that was more than enough time for a new kind of worry to start blooming in his mind.

Petra gave voice to his fears moments later. "David? Did it seem to be a lot colder when we stopped than it was this morning?"

"Yeah," he concurred. "And I don't much like the way the sky looks."

She leaned forward to look skyward through the windscreen before remarking, "It doesn't look like twister weather."

"I think this is something else," he murmured distractedly as he awkwardly reached behind them to snatch his newly acquired tablet from the desk. He spent a few moments flipping through various apps, but the lock screen had confirmed his worst fears before he got started.

"I think we need to change plans," he announced grimly.

"What is it?"

"We need to head west toward Cheyenne, and hope all the stores there aren't sold out."

"David! What's going on?"

"It's an early season blizzard. And it's forecasted to start snowing in just a few hours."

"I assume now wouldn't be the time for me to gleefully announce that I've never seen snow?"

"This isn't going to be a light dusting where maybe we can make some snow angels. I think, in hindsight, the temperature was already dropping this morning. We were just so..."

"Preoccupied?"

"I was going to say having the time of my life, and that it wouldn't have dampened my spirits in the least if it had been sleeting, but let's go with your answer."

"Jerk," she huffed companionably.

"In any case, I think we just didn't notice that it was getting colder. In the last few hours, however, the temperature has started to plummet. It'll hit freezing before sundown and keep dropping. There's also predicted to be gale-force winds."

"And snow?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, angel. They're calling for quite a bit of snow. An eventuality which, I regret to inform you, we are woefully ill-prepared to confront."

All hint of teasing gone, she asked, "What do we need?"

"To top off our propane tanks, and maybe grab a few more if we can. We also need to top off with diesel. And we should stock up on food, and... everything. Shit, Petra, why didn't I see this coming? Why wasn't I prepared?"

"It'll be ok, David. We'll be at the store in... less than an hour. That gives us plenty of time to build a prioritized list so we can divide and conquer once we're inside."

"This van isn't exactly optimized for cold weather. Wind like this is going to make it hard as hell to keep it warm in here, and that'll be running the generator full-tilt around the clock."

She suggested, "Perhaps we can see if there are any hotels which look robust enough to not lose power in the storm (or which advertise backup power), and which take dogs?"

"I can try," he sighed woefully.

"Whatever happens, we'll figure it out. I just found you, David. I don't intend to let the fragging weather take you from me. Ok?"

He murmured, "I'm just so scared I'll let you down again."

"David, you have never let me down. Not once, not even a little bit. You're..." she fell silent, and it was not hard to see the frustration in her features as she drove them toward the mounting blizzard. "I built a gorram time machine, David. The whole world said it was impossible, but I did it. And I have no doubt I can help you figure out how to handle a fragging snowstorm. You just have to trust me... and trust yourself. You're more capable than you know."

"I'll try, angel. And... Petra? Thanks. That... means a lot."

She reached blindly for his hand. Once their fingers were laced together, she said, "It's the truth, David. You're the best man, the best person, I've ever known. And I am proud, and so very happy, to be your girlfriend."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, honey. I... you're perfect. All I ever wanted."

"Yes. Exactly that. Now, as much as I enjoy telling you how deeply I care for you, I think (as the resident time traveler) that our future selves would thank us if we spent the next forty-five minutes figuring out what to do when we get to the S-Mart."

"Always the lovely, beautiful, genius," he murmured teasingly.

She grinned in his direction and said, "So long as I'm your all of those things."

He returned her smile and said, "That sounds like a dream come true."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Copyright © 2026 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

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.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~