Party Row --- Life is better on the back row. http://partyrow.com/ Tue, 24 Oct 2017 05:11:24 -0500 Joomla! - Open Source Content Management en-gb The Dreamer http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-trucking-zone/the-dreamer.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-trucking-zone/the-dreamer.html The recurring dream explained.

When you are an over-the-road trucker you will find yourself with no shortage of time on your hands. A guy can't drive a truck for more than a couple of months without getting bored with music and looking for a radio show that is more interesting to him. Some guys turn to sports talk, others to news. More than a few drivers can be spotted with a stack of audio books on their dash board. Paul found his attention to be captivated by the paranormal. He had been driving for only a couple of weeks when he stumbled onto an all night show that addressed topics like ghosts, aliens, and demons. 17 years later he still tuned in every night that he was up late enough to get the opportunity. This evening he wasn't driving late, but he had been waiting for this episode ever since the host had announced it and he wouldn't have missed it for anything.

The topic was dreams. The guest was an expert on the subject, and was going to explain what some common aspects of dreams meant. Paul waited patiently through the first three hours for the listener call in segment. He had experienced a recurring dream as a child, and he wanted to tell the guest about it and get some kind of an explanation to what it might have meant.

He was lucky enough to get through to the busy switchboard. That was step 1. The second part was making it past the screener. Another success. This was followed by the biggest challenge of all. Detailing the dream in an accurate yet concise manner so the expert would have all of the information she needed to explain the dream to him. Again, Paul shined. He wasn't even nervous as he spoke. He had done such a good job of it that he didn't mind hearing the click of the host cutting him off after he had laid it out there. He turned on the radio and waited with baited breath for the insight from the expert. What a letdown.

"This is a dream of premonition. A dream that was there to warn you of changes that were coming. Changes that would distance you from your family. Changes that were good and positive for you, but ones that would none the less pull you away from them and out of your comfort zone."

That was it. What a letdown.

The show re-aired immediately after it had completed, and Paul laid in bed listening to the first hour again trying to quell the disappointment so that he could fall asleep, but it was tough. On more than one occasion he wondered if he would be awake to hear the call again. He didn't need to. He could remember everything he had said. In fact, as he lay there now drifting in and out of sleep it was almost as if he could hear his own voice. But something didn't feel right. He woke up with a start. He was hearing his own voice. He tried to sit up but a staggering pain shot through his chest. He had never felt a pain like this before, but the thought of a heart attack came into his head before the pain split like a stab wound down his arm. He tried to yell out in agony, but his voice made no sound. All he could hear was the now eerie calmness of his voice coming over the radio speakers.

"Thank you for taking my call. I was looking for some answers about a recurring dream I had as a child. I had the dream at least ten times but no more than twenty, all of them between the ages of about 12 and 16. The dream was set in my kitchen as the family was eating dinner, and in the dream the setting was exactly the same as it would be in real life down to the seating arrangements with me at one end of the table, my mother and brother sitting to the left side of me, my sisters to the right, and my father at the opposite end. Behind him the door was open and I could see out into the back yard through the screen door."

Paul could barely move. He couldn't yell for help, and nobody would likely hear him anyway. He reached for his cell phone on the shelf beside the bed, but his fingers had gone numb and he clumsily knocked it to the floor. "<em>You're going to die here</em>" he thought to himself. "<em>You're going to die here listening to your own voice on the radio.</em>"

"In the distance I could see what looked to be a fog or a mist spreading out and approaching the house through the yard. It was moving at a steady clip. My father would be talking, but I can't recall what about. I was the only one who could see this cloud approach. As it grew closer I could see it more clearly and I realized that it appeared to be a cocoon spinning and growing as it spread towards the house. I sat calmly without any fear and watched as it pushed up against the back of the house and came in through the screen door."

Paul looked around desperately, unable to move much more than his eyes... his eyes which now settled on the red button on the dash board. The panic button. If he could reach that it would send an emergency signal to dispatch. He summoned all of his strength, and leaned upwards and rolled to the left at the same time. His head hit the cabinet by his bed as his body crashed to the floor of his Kenworth. Without even trying to turn his head to look, he focused all of his efforts on reaching with his right arm for the dash. It took him only a second to find the red button and push it.

"The cocoon came through the door, but not in a destructive kind of way. It seemed to just push against the door, which resisted at first buckling inward, but then seemed to be swallowed up by it. The spinning continued at the same speed, but the thing seemed to progress forward at a slower rate upon entering the house, as if consuming the door had spent some of it's energy. Meanwhile, nobody in my family seemed to notice it's presence except for myself. I would continue to eat while I watched it approach from behind my father."

The sound of an incoming message interrupted his voice on the radio. He couldn't have gotten up to read it if he had tried, but he knew what it was. He had accidentally pushed it before, and an automatic message had come through informing him that if he did not respond within 60 seconds emergency services would be dispatched to his location. All he could do now was lay there and wait, listening to the sound of his own voice.

"The cocoon continued to move towards him. In each dream it would seem that my dad would finish a sentence just as the cocoon began to envelope him. He would be taking a bite of food, seeming not to even notice it wrapping around him. My family members wouldn't notice either. One of them would be speaking in response to something he had said, the rest eating peacefully, oblivious to this monster in the room. Yet through it all, I myself would remain completely calm, never attempting to yell out or warn the others. Just eating and watching."

The same sense of calm had begun to creep over him now. The situation was out of his hands. He would either make it or he would not. He had done all he could do. In the distance he heard what he thought was a siren. As it grew closer, he became sure of it. Was this his ambulance? Would it arrive in time?

"The cocoon would continue to spin and grow. I would continue to eat and watch. The remaining family members would continue to ignore it as they were one by one consumed by it. First my mother, and my sister sitting across from her. There was no blood, no screams, no recognition of it's presence as they would just seemingly be wrapped up in a thin layer that would spin and grow until it had pulled them inside of the cocoon which was slowly advancing towards my seat at the end of the table."

The siren was growing louder. Paul managed to turn his head towards the front of the truck as he noticed the red lights of the ambulance reflecting off of the truck parked beside him. "<em>Hurry up. Hurry.</em>" He hard the sound of the sirens abrupt cut off, and heard the doors of the ambulance opening and slamming shut. He heard the paramedics fumbling with the door to his truck. It was locked. He felt the rig shake as one of them climbed up on the steps, shining a flashlight through the glass so they could assess the situation. He heard a mans voice yell "He's on the floor. Break out the window! If you can hear me sir, cover your head. There's going to be some..." the last word was cut off by the sound of the window breaking.

"The cocoon would then devour my brother and my other sister. It would continue to spin just inches away from my face. Still, I was unafraid. I would just sit there eating my food and looking at it. At this point I would wake up. Do you have any idea what the dream means, or why I would have it so many times?"

Paul's voice over the radio grew distant and faded out as the technicians pulled him from the truck and on to the stretcher. Now he could hear the voice of a woman who was apparently at the end of the stretcher behind his head. "Let's go, we're losing him. Stay with us sir!" They pulled him into the ambulance.

He was vaguely aware of a needle penetrating the skin of his arm but he felt no pain, barely a pinch. He was distracted by a fog that was pushing in across the row of trucks parked behind the ambulance. It was spinning forward towards him. He felt no fear, only calm. He was keenly aware of the longer droughts between the beeps of the heart rate monitor. The nurse behind him yelled something out to the other medic. The man at his feet was fumbling in a bag looking for something, oblivious to the cocoon that now enveloped him. The female behind him had now moved beside him, and she stood over him with a set of something he suspected was a defibrillator. It didn't matter what it was. "Stay with me!" Paul took the words in knowing they would be the last words he would ever hear. The cocoon had moved inside of the vehicle now, but she didn't notice it. The beats of the monitor turned into one steady beep as the line went flat. He looked into her eyes as the cocoon swallowed her, and felt nothing but peace and calm as his entire world went white.

Author

Steve Parry
]]>
Sat, 16 Nov 2013 18:57:28 -0600
The Early Years Part 2 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-9.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-9.html Chapter 9

I wish we would have never moved. After the incident at the party, however, it was necessary. My mom had a friend who used to live at the same motel where we did, and she told her of another motel a couple towns over where she was staying now. We moved there, and times got tough quickly. The guy who owned the place knew what my mom did for a living, and he was okay with it so long as she gave him 50% of what she made on top of the rent. We didn't have much food on account of that, and mom got generic cigarettes if she was lucky. By the time the rent was paid, all we really had money for was hot dogs and the drugs my mom used incessantly by that point.

The one upside to the arrangement was that there was a gas station across the street, and the old lady that worked over there really liked me. “You're such a sweet boy” she used to say, and she would often give me a bag of chips or some candy. One day my mom sent me over for some smokes and she didn't want to give them to me. I told her they were for my mom, but she refused. She told me to tell her to come over and get them, but I told her that she was having a bad day. She said that she would bring them by our room when she got off of work.


"I will go, once I have said what I came here to say. I will never shrink from the anger in your eyes- you can't destroy me. Listen to me closely: the man you have sought for so long, proclaiming, cursing up and down, the murderer of Laius- he is here. --- Robert Fagles Sophocles


She came by with the smokes as promised, but she asked me to have my mother come outside and talk to her. My mom was gone for about 20 minutes, and when she came back she was happy. I could see why. The woman had given her an entire carton of Camels. My mother rarely had an extra pack laying around, let alone an entire carton. Mom said that she had some errands that she needed to run, and she told me that the woman's name was Helen, and she would be babysitting me while my mom was out.

After my mom left, Helen asked me if I knew anything about sex. I told her not much really. I knew how it was done because I had seen my mom do it, but I had never done it myself. She said she was going to teach me how it was done. That day she gave me head. Over the next couple of weeks she would come by every few days or so because my mom had loaned her some money. She would pay her some of it back, and my mom would go to get some drugs or food while Helen would teach me more about sex. She showed me different ways of doing it, and even taught me how to go down on a woman. It was a little weird because she was an old lady. Well, not old lady now, but old lady then if you know what I mean. When you're 12, 40 seems way over the hill, and that's about how old she probably was. It felt good though, and she was teaching me things I needed to know, so it wasn't all bad.

Within a month, Helen stopped coming by. She had apparently paid my mother back all of the money she owed her, and times got tough again. One day the owner of the motel came down yelling and threatening to throw us out. Mom didn't have the rent. She went and talked to him and begged him to let us stay. She said she would do anything, and he offered us a deal. When she came back she was crying. She hugged me and said she was sorry that things were so bad right now, and she promised to make them better someday, but right now she needed me to help her so we didn't end up on the street. She said that the manager would let us stay if I would let him take some pictures of me. It didn't seem like that big of a deal to me, so I said “ok.” It turned out he wanted pictures of me in my underwear. Mom said he had something wrong with him, and he didn't like girls. He came over with one of those Polaroids and took some pictures. He was really particular, telling me how to pose and everything. Eventually he ran out of film and said we were good for another week. Then he left. Fortunately, Brian came over a few days later. After that, things got really bad.


Brian was the son of my mother's friend who had told us about that place. His mother had decided to pack up and move on to someplace else. I think she went out west or something if I remember correctly, but either way she was gone and she had left him behind so my mother told him he could stay with us if he was willing to help out. He was maybe a year or two older than me, and I liked him at first. It was nice to finally have another kid around. I had never had a friend before. The good times only lasted for a couple of days though. Rent was due again, and the money was short. The owner of the motel was willing to deal again, but this time he wanted more than pictures. There was a hierarchy to our new living arrangements. My mom was the queen, and that made me the prince. Brian was the odd man out. He would now have to work to help the family. Brian refused.

Mom locked Brian in the closet for a week. If he wasn't going to help, he wasn't going to eat either. I used to eat my hot dog without the bun so I could slip the bread to him under the door. I didn't want to betray my mother, but she was being a bit harsh with him. She didn't even let him out to use the bathroom. She would hand him the ice bucket and make him shit and piss in that. When he would hand the full bucket back out he would say “Can I please come out now?” She would say “Are you ready to work?” It was always “no”, so she would lock the door again. After Brian had been in there for 4 or 5 days, she got high one day and passed out. She didn't wake up all day, and I obviously couldn't slide a glass of water under the door. Brian was so thirsty that he had to drink from the bucket he had pissed in.

Now I'm no pussy, even though Brian always said I was, but I would have broke after two days of that. Brian made it a week. My mom asked him if he would work if she let him out, and he said yes. She opened the door and, can you believe it, that little cocksucker hauled off and slapped her square in the face. She beat his ass, and beat it badly. She locked him back in and didn't give him any food or water for two whole days. After two weeks of that shit, Brian agreed to work.


I was in bed when the owner came down to the room. For once I was glad to have learned to sleep with the sheet over my head. I didn't see what happened to him, but I heard it all. I heard him crying and vomiting. I heard him screaming in pain. I felt him laying in the bed beside me sobbing when it was over. My mom came to our bed, but she ignored Brian. She hugged me and told me she was sorry things were so bad, but she would get us out of here when she could. I pretended to be asleep. When she left I hugged Brian and tried to comfort him, but I didn't know what to say. What could I say? It was awful.

Some people say things that they don't really mean. They will say things like “You're not going to believe this” and then tell you the story and expect you to believe it. I hate that. When I say that the things that happened to Brian were unspeakable, that is precisely what I mean. I won't tell you the things that were done to him because it hurts me to remember and you would be worse off for knowing. To be honest I have blocked most of what he told me from my mind over the years, but every now and then bits and pieces of it come back to me in a horrific flash, sometimes when I am sleeping and sometimes when I am lost in thought. I wish I could forget, but since I can't completely do that, it would be unfair to ask you to share in my burden with me.

The first month or two Brian confided in me. After that he bullied me. He called me a little pussy boy. He said he had to do the work for the family because I was too much of a bitch to handle it. He started stealing my moms cigarettes and smoking them, then he would blame me and I would get in trouble for it. But all of that was mild compared to what happened next.

There was no pretense of mom working to pay the rent anymore. Brian was now “the rent.” She tried once or twice to pay in cash, but the manager would say “We have a deal” and refuse to take her money. Brian would have to work again. One day when he came by to collect he said that he had a guy that wanted to buy some pictures, and he needed her to have sex with her son. I guess he didn't know that Brian wasn't my brother. My mom argued with him but eventually she gave in. That night I laid in bed with the sheets over my head listening to the sounds of my only friend having sex with my mother. It was almost more than I could handle. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. Where would I go? And what would I do without my mother?

In the end I guess I learned that life just isn't fair. I loved my mother, but Brian hated her. He used to tell me what a bitch she was when she was gone. He changed after that night. He used to taunt me. He would stuff his underwear in my face and say “Taste your mother's cum, pussy boy” or “Smell that? That's your moms pussy bitch!” There was only so much of that I could take. I started trying to work my way back in with my mother, but she was different now. She was cold to me. I began to feel like she loved Brian more than she loved me. In desperation, I tried to work my way back in. I climbed in her bed one night and cuddled up with her. I was going to take her back from Brian. I started to kiss her the way Helen had showed me but when I put my tongue in her mouth she slapped me and called me a “sick little bastard” and kicked me out of the bed.

I was now the outsider. What had started out as a blessing had turned into a curse. Brian had taken my punishment, and now he had taken my mother. She wouldn't even look me in the eye after that first night, and as the weeks went on and the manager would demand more, she got to where she didn't even talk to me much. She barely even got out of bed. He started bringing her drugs so she didn't have to go buy them herself anymore, and she would do what he said and then get high and pass out again. It got so bad that she didn't even get up for work anymore. That's when he started coming down with a key and opening the door. He would let men in to do their thing and leave. Most of the men came for my mother, and they wouldn't even wait for her to wake up. Some of the men came for Brian, and I would fall asleep in the bed beside him listening to the sound of him crying.


I don't know exactly how long this went on for. It seemed like an eternity, but now I know it couldn't have been more than 3 years. I don't remember what month it was or anything, I just remember a man coming in one day and going over to my mother and saying “What the fuck?” He left and came back with the manager. He came in and lifted her arm up, and let go of it. It fell to the bed limp. “See? She's fucking dead. Give me my money back.” And then they left. I looked around for Brian. He would know what to do. He wasn't there. I went over to my mother and pulled back the sheets. She was lying there naked with a band tied around her arm and a needle in the bed. I don't know why, but the site of her lying like there turned me on. I knelt down beside her and kissed her... first on the cheeks, and then on the lips and neck. Her mouth was so cold and dry, but I slid my tongue inside it. I caressed her naked breast with my hand. Then I got scared, so I covered her up and went back to my bed and watched some cartoons.

A couple of hours later, the manager came by with another man. They told me to get lost, so I left the room. I didn't know where else to go, so I went across the street to the gas station. Maybe Helen would help me.

Author

Steve Parry
]]>
Sun, 08 Sep 2013 10:38:09 -0500
Rising From The Ashes Part 5 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-8.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-8.html Chapter 8

Lawson Hole was every bit as beautiful as I remembered it. The snow melt every year feeds the river, making it run wild across the rocks in the gorge nestled between the mountains. I don't suppose I would be considered much of a romantic guy, but I think I did a pretty good job picking this place out for our picnic. Ashley had been lost in thought but the hiss of the brakes snapped her back to reality. "You have to use the bathroom or something?" I smiled across the truck at her. "Nope." She looked confused. "Why are we stopping here?" My smile grew bigger. "It's a surprise. Hop out and help me with something from the trailer."

She was blown away by the fact that I had remembered her comments about a picnic lunch being romantic. I must admit that I got a little pissed off though when she mocked me for buying a softball, bat, and glove. I was too embarrassed to tell her that I thought this was standard equipment for a picnic, but she grabbed them and followed me as I headed off with the picnic basket. She said that it worked out okay because the bat made a good walking stick. "You know of any private places where we could make love in the great outdoors after we eat?" Not off the top of my head, no, but I was pretty sure I could find one.


“The fear of an unknown never resolves, because the unknown expands infinitely outward, leaving you to cling pitifully to any small shelter of the known: a cracker has twelve calories; the skin, when cut, bleeds.” ― Caroline Kettlewell


We found such a spot nestled in behind a big rock with a nice shade tree growing behind it. Ashley laid out the blanket on the ground and began to make our sandwiches while I took out my pocketknife and began writing words in the dirt then erasing them with my boot. "Ever wonder what our lives would be like if we hadn't met each other?"

It was a stupid question. "No."

She scowled at my simplistic answer. "Why not?"

"We had lives before we met each other. We know what they were like. That is precisely what our lives would be like if we hadn't met."

She didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but she brought me a sandwich and sat down across from me.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

That wasn't a fair question. Again with the selfishness. I had just done this nice thing for her yet she wanted to focus on our fight from a couple of days ago. I ignored it and popped open a can of beer and took a sip, looking off into the distance.

"I want to marry you."

I took another bite of my sandwich. That one was rhetorical, no need to respond.

"You would never marry me, would you."

I took another swallow of beer.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I hate that one. That is a question. If I say yes, shouldn't that be the one question you get to ask? I turned and looked at her without replying. She took it as a "yes."

"Why did you bring me here?"

That was a tough one. The truth is I didn't know. What made me decide to do this? Was I really going to settle down and be a family man? Had I planned to propose to her? What was my reason for bringing her here? The truth was, it didn't matter anymore why I brought here here. I was looking past her again. Not at the scenery behind her, but at Hollywood leaning up against the rock holding the baseball bat.

If I had known that was the last time I would ever see her looking peaceful and happy, I would have made a better mental image. Instead I was focused on Hollywood. Her eyebrows were raised in a questioning way as she slowly strode towards us, bat in hand.

"What are you looking at?"

One can never be sure what they will do in such a moment. Should I warn her? Tell her to run? Betray Hollywood to her face? Or should I grab her and hold her, and allow Hollywood to have her way with her?

"Who is it, baby?"
"Hollywood."
"What are you talking about?"
"She's behind you. Look out."

But she didn't. She kept her eyes on me.

"Hollywood? Baby, you are stressed out, and that is understandable. This isn't easy for you. It isn't easy for me either. There is nobody behind me baby. You're just..."

"Wait a goddamn minute!" I stood up, glaring at her. She had flipped my switch. "It's not easy for you? How did you go this long without getting pregnant, and now all of a sudden it happens?" The tears started rolling down her cheeks.

"It's okay, baby. I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it."

"I will tell you what the fuck we do or do not have to talk about." Hollywood stopped behind her, handing me the bat, then turning to walk away. "You think you can use me? You think you can just tell me that 'we' are having a baby? You think you can just tell me how the fuck it is and that will be that?"

She sat in front of me crying. I tried to feel badly, I promise you that I did, but it was beyond my emotional reach to care. I raised the bat and swung, crashing it down into her shoulder. She moaned in pain, but did not cry out.

"Everything was okay until you did this. Everything was alright until you started making choices for me. It didn't have to end this way."

I swung the bat again, hitting her square in the right cheek. She slumped forward and blood trickled from her nose. She tried to pull herself away. I reached down and grabbed her by the back of her shirt, rolling her over onto her back. Her jaw was clearly broken, and she groaned in pain. I sat down beside her and finished my sandwich and beer.

I don't know why she just laid there on her back like that, but she did. I would have half respected her if she had tried to crawl away again, or even if she had lashed out and tried to fight back, but she didn't. She just laid there while I ate.

When I finished my food, I gathered some sticks for a small campfire. Nothing elaborate, just a little collection to make things look legit if anyone should happen upon the scene. When I returned she was still laying there looking up at me. She gestured at me to come close to her, so I knelt over top of her and she pulled me down to her.

"I love you."

No she didn't. "Love" is one of those fucked up words that people toss around but nobody really knows what it means, or if it has any real meaning at all. "I love you" is something people say to elicit a certain set of reactions from you. She didn't love me. She had made that clear.

Her eyes opened wide, perhaps with shock or maybe with pain as the knife plunged into her stomach. I made a long slice from the bottom of her right breast until I hit bone just above her left leg. She made the sounds of a kid who has fallen on his back and is trying to breathe but can't get any wind. Just a hollow sucking sound, that was all. I pulled the knife out and plunged it deep into her again. Her body convulsed up and back down, a bubble of blood burst out from between her lips. The hollow sound was replaced by a gurgling sound, as blood filled her mouth and spilled out as she tried to breathe. I cut the other way this time, slicing a deep "X" into her stomach.

"You don't love anyone but yourself, you selfish bitch."

I rolled her up in the blanket and began hitting her with the bat. I don't know how many times I hit her, but I remember seeing the blood soaking through the blanket and slowly seeping out into the ground below. I opened the cooler and took out another beer and the bottle of lighter fluid. I soaked the whole blanket, emptying the bottle on her and the wood I had collected, then I sat down and smoked a cigarette while I drank the beer.

Anyhow, as I was saying before, it really is a beautiful spot. There was not a cloud to be seen anywhere, and the sky was such a bright blue behind the mountains. I tried to take it all in, as I figured I would probably never see this place again. I was so lost in the moment that I burned my fingers with the last hit on my Lucky.

"Son of a bitch!"

Time to go. I left the ball and glove there next to the cooler, and picked up the bat, holding it over my shoulder as I lit another smoke and took one last look. I took a couple hits off of the cigarette, then turned to head back to the truck, flicking the lit square onto the blanket.

"Ashes to ashes."

It was as much of a eulogy as she deserved.


 Hollywood was waiting in the truck as I climbed in. "Did you miss me?" She smiled and winked across at me.

"Every day."

"Liar" she said playfully, and then her face got serious. "Did you finish the job?" I looked out her mirror and pointed at the small cloud of smoke that was rising off in the distance.

  "Can you agree to this?" She slid a paper in my lap, and I unfolded it and read the following.

  • You can fuck whomever you please, but you will only have a relationship with me.
  • You will never kill without first discussing it with me.
  • You will treat me in as respectful of a manner as I treat you.
  • You will never speak of that fucking bitch again.
  • You will allow me to stay as long as I please.

It sounded good to me. My only answer was to put the truck in gear, and pull out onto the highway headed for Las Vegas.

Author

Steve Parry
]]>
Tue, 03 Sep 2013 19:15:57 -0500
Rising From The Ashes Part 4 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-7.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-7.html Chapter 7

I don’t know how many times I blinked, as if willing my eyes to dismiss the scene that was playing out in front of me, but I do know that it was the exact same number of times that they failed to change a thing. I was like a kid who woke up on Christmas Eve to see their Mom and Dad putting presents under the tree and enjoying the milk and cookies that had been so thoughtfully set out for Santa. Barring a very good explanation, my life philosophy was about to be permanently transformed.

“Hollywood?”, I repeated.

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

The anger in her voice was something that I was completely unaccustomed to, but there was no denying it was her. Even when she had taunted me in my dreams, she had never been this bold and emotional. “Asking?” It came out in the form of a question. A very stupid question at that. I just didn’t know what else to say.


What the hell did that monster do to you? —Sybil


“No, it’s your fairy fucking godmother, dipshit.”

I suppose if I had thought that I would ever see her again, I may have considered the possibility that she might be angry with me. If so, I may have come up with something better to say.

“What… what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Hands on her hips, she looked around, as if to take in what ‘here’ was.I didn't consider the possibility at the time, but this was likely her first view of the inside of the mens bathroom. “I was just passing through and I figured I would stop and check out the scenery. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Yes, I caught the sarcasm in her voice, but I had lost all control of my tongue, which proceeded to answer the question as if this was just a casual meeting featuring some friendly rhetorical banter amongst friends. “Same as you. Just checking out the scenery, I mean.”

“Cut the shit, asshole. You know why I’m fucking here.”

No, actually I didn’t. But I needed to get control of this conversation, and quickly. I was like a boxer who had been stunned, dancing in large circles around the ring trying to avoid a shot until I could get my wits back.

“Where have you been?”

The question seemed to work. It loosened her up a bit, and her answer came across in an inquisitive tone, as if there were a simple misunderstanding between us that would be easily cleared with her answer.

“I left because you asked me to.”

The dance stopped. The other fighter had dropped his left glove below his waste. A good fast roundhouse with a right should end this match.

“Then leave now. Why are you here anyway if I told you to leave?”

I hadn’t exactly told her to go anywhere. In fact, I had missed her at times. But I certainly had not invited her back. I hadn’t even thought about her all that often since Ashes had gotten on the truck.

“I’m here to clean up your fucking mess. What the fuck are you thinking? You’re driving around with some fucking third rate whore, knocking her up like you were some kind of family man or something? Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck are you going to do about her now, big shot? I’m here because you asked me to come and get you out of this fucking mess that you clearly can’t handle on your own.”

At this point, I was at a complete loss. Had we conversed on some occasion that was escaping my memory now? And why would I need her to clean up a mess for me anyway? I had wished that I could talk to my mother about it, but I had never even considered Hollywood as a confidant. Then again, perhaps talking to her about it wasn’t entirely a bad idea. She might have some useful insight. In her present mood, however, that was doubtful.

“What should I do about her? What do you mean? She said we’re going to be a family now.”

I’m not entirely sure what I should have said there, but I am completely positive that it wasn’t that. It wasn’t my intention to piss her off, but if she had been one of those horned toads down in Texas, blood would have shot from her eyes.

“Family?”, she shrieked. “What the fuck do you know about family?”

“Well, my mom…” She cut me off before I could finish my sentence.

“Your mom? Oh! You mean the whore that raised you. That mom? Oh, this is going to be rich. Tell me all about you’re whore of a mother, and all of the great family values she taught you. Can you do that for me? I’m willing to stick around all fucking night for this one. What did she teach you, baby? Did she teach you the value of hard work by fucking for money in the bed beside you? Is that what she taught you? Or how about forgiveness and love? Are you going to try that one on me? Did she teach you to turn the other cheek when her clients were cumming on your face like it was a floor-mat in a peepshow? What would that fucking cunt possibly be able to teach anyone, apart from how to take a cock down your throat without throwing up in the guys pants? How could you possibly raise a kid? You think that you could be a father? What the fuck do you know about family?”

No sooner had the fear washed out of me then the anger came crashing in. How dare she? How fucking dare she? My mother was the only person who ever loved me, and she wanted to talk about her like this?

“You shut you’re fucking mouth about my mother!”, I growled the words more than I spoke them. “My mother loved me!”

She let out a long, piercing laugh like a woman possessed. “Loved you?”, she mocked. “Loved you? You call that love? Let me hip you to something here Einstein, since you clearly missed the last train of thought out of the station. Your mother fucking hated you. You were a burden to her. Don’t you remember what she used to say to you every time some strung out hippie or street thug would shoot enough cum in her cunt to drown out the drugs and knock her dumb ass up? You remember, don’t you? ‘I fucked around and kept you, and look where it got me. You think I’m going to make that mistake again? Fuck no. Not this bitch. I’m getting a fucking abortion. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…’”

Her voice knocked the wind out of me as if I had been punched in the stomach. It was as if the voice of my mother had come out of Hollywood’s mouth. Not a mimic either. It was a perfect impersonation, indistinguishable by the ears of her own son. My voice was horse, and stretched as thin as a sheet of log book paper, but I managed to push the words out. “She never said that! She never said that. Did she?”

Suddenly, a look of pity flooded Hollywood’s face, and she bent over me and rubbed my cheek. “Oh, you poor dear. You don’t even remember, do you? What did you do, baby? Did you lie to yourself? Did you forget the way you used to cry yourself to sleep? Don’t you remember trying to convince yourself that she didn’t mean it? You honestly don’t remember, do you? You poor, poor dear.”

I was bewildered. Suddenly I didn’t know anything about anything. “But that’s not why she got an abortion. It isn’t. It’s because when she had me, things were different. She didn’t have to worry about supporting us. My father…”

“Your father?”, the piercing laughter was back, leaving behind no sign whatsoever of the sympathy that had so briefly revealed itself. “His father, he says.” She looked around as if she were talking to someone else, but nobody was there. “And what father would that be, baby? What was his name? Did she give you a name?”

“No, she never told me his name. But…”

“And why might that be, grasshopper? Or do I have to explain everything to you? Are you really this fucking stupid? Your mother didn’t tell you your fathers name, because she couldn’t tell you your fathers name. And do you care to guess why that might be? It’s because your mother was a whore, junior. Your fathers name was Jack, or Bill, or Bob, or whatever the fuck name the guy gave her when he put the twenty in her purse then bent her over the dumpster behind the 7/11. You don’t have a father. You have a whore for a mother, and she had a customer, but you don't have a father. Any of this sinking in through that thick fucking skull of yours? You’re a bastard. A mistake. You’re a load that she forever wished that she had spit into the fucking gutter she conceived you in.”

The tears began to sting my eyes. It is embarrassing to tell you this now, but her words were sinking in, and it was tearing me apart. It couldn’t be true. I know that now. But at the time, it had the ring of truth to it. My own dear mother. The woman I had loved so deeply. Yet hadn’t she often complained about me? And didn’t she deny me the only true love that I needed from her? I started to remember things that I had long forgotten, but the memories didn’t seem real to me. It was as if I had seen it in a movie, but had never actually lived the moments. It was all coming from Hollywood. Somehow she had this power to make me remember things that had never really happened.

“Why are you doing this to me?”, I sobbed.

“Because you need me to, baby. You don’t want to hear it, but you need to. I don’t want to have to tell you these things, but I owe it to you. You blocked them out of your mind so many years ago. The pain was too great for you to cope with. You created a fantasy world in your mind. A world where you were special and loved.” There was true compassion in her voice, but it faded in an instant. “I love you. I care about you. I alone in this world give two shits about you. And how do you repay me, you son-of-a-bitch? You have some whore out there in your house… my house… our house! You painted her name on my side of the fucking truck. Did you think you could just replace me? Did you think you could just push me out? And you didn’t even have the common fucking sense to not knock her up? She’s a whore, baby. Just like your mother. A fucking two bit, piece of shit lot lizard. And you think you’re going to raise a child with her? And don’t even get me started on what you are, you fucking psycho. You’re a rapist. You’re a sick fuck who drugs women and fucks their limp and unresponsive bodies. You’re a killer, baby. A fucking murderer…”

Somehow, I managed to cut her off. “I didn’t mean to kill you, baby. I’m sorry. I promise you, I didn’t mean for you to die.”

She sat down beside me and pulled me towards her, turning my shoulders and forcing me to look her in the eye. “I know you didn’t mean to, baby. I know. And I forgive you. But it doesn’t change who you are. You remember what happened to Sooner, right?”

Shit! Sooner. I had completely forgotten about her. “I… but you… you… you told me to… you said I had to kill her.”

Her voice was still soft and consoling. “No, baby. I didn’t tell you to kill her. I told you to get rid of her, but I never said to kill her. You took it that way because that is who you are. I don’t say it to put you down. You just need to grow up and face reality. You’re not a father, you’re a killer.”

Her tone that had begun to soothe me all at once set me off again. “You told me to do it. You wanted me to do it! I did it for you! You said it was your truck. You told me to get her out of it, and I did.” I pushed her away from me, and pulled myself up to my knees. “I’m not a killer, I’m a father. You don’t love me, Hollywood. Ashes loves me. She loves me, and we are going to be a family.”

She stood up slowly, her hair stringing down into her face. She looked me in the eye as she rose, and gave me that hideous, screeching laugh again. “Loves you? Loves you? Is that what you are trying to tell me? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You think a hooker loves you? Then tell me this, Ward fucking Cleaver. Why in the hell do you think she rides with you for five years with no problem and then one day all of the sudden, she’s magically pregnant? You think that was an accident? Check her purse. Check her fucking purse, you fucking pussy. Go look and see if she has a sponge or some pills in there. She got pregnant because she fucking wanted to. Did she ask you? No. Care to know why? Because you’re the little bitch that she has wrapped around her fucking finger.”

I began to fear there was some truth in what she was saying. It was odd that for so long we could fuck and nothing, but then one day out of the blue…

“She wants off the truck. She’s bored with it. She’s bored with you. She’s had all the breaker breakers and come on backs she can handle. How easily you forget that she is a whore. You hear me baby? A whore. That is how you met her, isn’t it? But she’s not some stupid fucking street whore like your mother. Not this bitch. She fucks you for five years, and now she gets to go home and sit on her ass while you pay her bills, ain’t that right? She’s a whore with a fucking pension plan. And you’re sitting there lapping it up. Hook, line, and sinker.” She made a motion of casting out a fishing rod and reeling in a fish. “Wake up, baby. Wake the fuck up!”

I tried to argue with her some more, but she was right, and I knew it deep down inside. That’s why Ashes had been so selfish with me. That’s why she had figured that she could just tell me that we were going to be a family. She didn’t care about me. She just saw me as a pushover and a paycheck. The knowledge of it crushed me. It must have shown on my face.

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, baby.” She sure could have fooled me. “I’m trying to protect you from her. I’m trying to help you here. Do you really think you can just pack up and get a nine to five? Can you really come home and put on your slippers, and smoke a pipe while you read the Bumfuck Egypt Gazette? Sure, it’s fine right now because it is just you and her. But what are you going to do when the kid starts school? How long can you hold up under the scrutiny of prying neighbors and PTA meetings?” She moved to the other side of me and took me in her arms. “How long until someone finds out about your past? About what you’ve done? How long until you get the urge to do it again?” I had never even considered that thought. She paused, as if to give me time to consider her words.

“What if she tells them? What if…”. I tried to hide it, but it must have shown on my face. Hollywood’s lips curled upward in a sadistic, victorious smile. “Oh? What’s that, you say? You haven’t told her, have you? Well, get up then. Let’s go. Let’s march right out there and tell her how you like to drug girls and rape them. Let’s fill her in on how you like to push cute little runaways off of overpasses, shall we? She won’t mind that a bit, will she? She loves you, right? Come on. Let’s go. Why don’t you tell her about me while we are at it? Since she accepts you for you, she’ll accept me too. Then we can ride around the Country. The three of us, riding together. I’m sure she’ll love that, aren’t you Darling?”

I hung my head in shame. I had been made a fool. I had been bamboozled by a common whore. I had taken her in, and she had taken me. I had allowed her to change the roles. Ashes was now the pimp, and I was her little prostitute. I worked hard day and night, and I brought her home the loot. And why? Because she had protected me. Not from some customer that would otherwise stab me, but from reality. She had helped me to avoid the bitter truth that Hollywood had just exposed with the diplomatic equivalent of an atom bomb over Nagasaki. She made me forget that I wasn’t loved.

“No. No, I can’t do that.”, I muttered. I was too ashamed to even raise my eyes and look at her. “She would never accept you. Hell, she would never even accept me.”

For the first time since she had crashed back into my world, Hollywood showed true mercy. She silently rose to her feet, extending her arm to help me to mine while allowing me to deal with my shame and embarrassment privately in my own head. She leaned in to me and we embraced silently. It was a good ten minutes before she spoke again, and when she did it was in a soft voice. She kissed my cheek and pulled my head firmly against hers.

“If she won’t accept me, and I won’t accept her, then you know what you have to do. Right?”

Deep down inside, I did. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t offer an explanation.

“You have to chose, baby. It’s her or me. Whom do you want? Her or me?”

There was an unspoken meaning in those words. As it was with Sooner, so it was with Ashes. She didn’t have to say the word “kill” or “murder”. She might try to deny it again later like she had with Sooner here tonight, but we both knew what she wanted. I decided to beg for Ashes’ life.

“We don’t have to kill her, Hollywood. We could just leave her. We could just ditch her somewhere and take off. We could leave her in a truck stop. She could never find us. She would never know where to look. I could send her in to take a shower. We would have at least an hour to run before she even knew what happened to her. We could go away together, Hollywood. You and me. We don’t have to kill her.”

“You fucking coward”, she sneered. “Look at me!” She screamed the words in such a shrill, loud voice that I jerked back away from her and hit my head on the wall. “Look at me, you son-of-a-bitch. Look at what you did to me! You took my life while I slept, and now you want to have a conscience? You killed me just for a piece of ass, but now you want to lose your nerve? Well fuck you! I want her blood, you motherfucker. I want that fucking cunt dead! You fucking kill her, and you cut that fucking parasite out of her stomach. I swear to god, you son-of-a-whore. You fucking kill her or I walk. I walk and leave you in your misery with that worthless fucking bitch, you hear me? You make up your mind right goddam now. What’s it going to be?”

This was one hell of a spot to be put in. Nothing I could say to her would make any sense at all. I didn’t even know why I cared. Perhaps I just wanted to be right. Even in the face of such a compelling case against her, I wanted to believe that Ashes loved me. If you’re not somebody to anybody, than you are nobody to everybody. I wasn’t yet ready to accept the reality that I was a nobody. My spirits lifted at the thought that I didn’t have to be insignificant. Here in front of me was my one chance, and it could be my last. I didn’t know if it would ever pass this way again. She seemed completely sincere in her ultimatum. The gravity of the situation was a crushing weight on my chest. If a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, than Hollywood was offering me a double up. If she could love me and forgive me after all I had done to her, then what could Ashes possibly offer to top that? But it had to be clear what I was getting before I decided anything. “What’s in it for me?”

Hollywood closed the gap that had been created when I jerked away from her. She pulled me back into her arms, and placed her cheek against mine, placing her hand on the back of my neck. Her breath felt cold as she dropped her voice to a loud whisper in my ear. “What is the one thing that you want most in this life? What is your biggest regret. If you had one moment in your life to re-live, what would it be and how would you live it?”

I cringed at the thought. My voice broke as I spoke, making me sound like a boy in puberty. “Don’t make me say it.” I tried to pull away but she grabbed me by the hips and held me there in front of her, looking deeply into my eyes. She leaned in, kissing my neck. Her lips were ice cold, and their touch made me shiver violently. The voice seemed to come from my own head, echoing in a chilled hollowness. “Tell me. Tell me what it is, my sweet.”

“It’s you. It’s… it’s your body. It’s… when you were laying there… well, not really… You know what it is. Please”, I dropped to my knees in front of her. “Please don’t make me say it.”

The eerie voice came again. “Say it. Be a man. Stand up, look me in the eye, and say it.”

I rose to my feet, but the shame of my words would not allow me to look her in the eye. She cocked her head around, getting the perfect angle to force me against my will. “It was after you died. You were laying there so sexy and beautiful. I wanted to make love to you.”

She backed away slightly, never breaking the penetrating gaze that held me entranced. “No”, she said. “No, that’s not it at all.” I wanted to protest, but I couldn’t find my voice. “It’s your mother. It was your mother when you found her. It was your one chance. Your chance to make love to her without the fear of her waking. Your chance to kiss her in the mouth, and plant your seed inside of her. It was your one and only opportunity to take the love from her that she had denied you. The love that she gave to every man with a little folding money or a couple of pills.”

All of the clothes in the world cannot hide the nakedness of the man who has just had his innermost thoughts told back to him. I didn’t even wonder how she could know these things. It was spoken like the fact it was. There was no chance for debate, and no need for an explanation. There was no judgement in her voice. Just love.

“Choose me,” she said, “and I will give you The One. I will bring to you the girl who can make all of your dreams come true. I will sacrifice her to you, and give her body up as an offering. I will deliver her into your hand. I will give you The One who will make you forget about your sins with your mother, and make you whole again. I offer you life as you have never lived it. Choose me.”

She helped me to my feet again, kissed me on the lips, and then she turned around to leave. She looked back over her shoulder as she walked, never taking her eyes off of mine. She opened the door, and disappeared into the Colorado night. Before it could slam shut behind her, the breeze caught it again, pulling it open and sounding for all the world like one last taunting echo before it came back to rest on it’s frame with a bang.

“Choose me.”

Author

Steve Parry
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Tue, 03 Sep 2013 18:12:18 -0500
Rising From The Ashes Part 3 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-6.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-6.html Chapter 6

I half expected that Ashley would pull away from my touch. I could see how devastated she was when she got in the truck, and I had no way to gauge her reaction since this was our first fight. As it turned out, I got no reaction at all. She didn’t pull away, nor did she lean to me in a sign of acceptance of my outreach to her. She just lay there motionless, leaving the whole weight of remedying the situation squarely upon my shoulders. If this situation were to be resolved amicably, I would have to find the way. While I didn’t like this new selfish side of her that I was seeing for the very first time, I felt genuinely bad that we were at this place. All of the closeness between us had vanished. For years now we had been as one. We awoke together, dined together, and slept together. Now all of the sudden, we were a thousand miles apart. Couldn’t she just reach out to me? Shouldn’t she apologize for just assuming that I would even want a baby around? She had caused this disruption, so why should I be reaching out to her?

My mind couldn’t find an easy answer to that last question. I was left to conclude that, after years of forced effort to avoid such a situation, I had let down my guard and given some of my value to her. She now had a place of importance in my life. This thought did not come upon me in a matter-of-fact way. It intruded in a bold and threatening manner, much like a German Shepherd would approach a darkly clothed stranger on the border of it’s property in the early morning hours. It shocked me with it’s ferocity, and I suddenly had an urge to run, much like I did in the restaurant a few hours earlier. Instead, I just lay there with my arm around her… thinking.


Nothing stays buried forever. Nothing. —The Black Dhalia


I don’t know how long the process took, but eventually I came to a temporary conclusion. I didn’t need to find the ultimate answer in this moment. Everything could be resolved in time. For now, I just needed to be careful not to burn bridges. This realization comforted me, and I was able to focus on my thoughts of Ashley again. I was struck with how strong my feelings for her were. There was true passion in them. As I focused on these thoughts, I began to wish that there were a way to make her feel better. But how?

I thought back to the only relationship that I had previously had in my life. My mother would know what to do here. The thought made me miss her. All at once, I wanted so badly to pick up a phone and call her. I could always tell her everything, and she had never failed to find a way to make things better. What would she do now? More importantly, what would she tell me to do?

My mind traveled back in time to a night so many years ago when I was a small child. I was around ten years old then, and one of my Mother’s friends had done something to hurt me. I remembered how she cleaned me up, then got in the bed with me. For hours, she just held me and cried saying “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” My mother’s arms had always felt like the most secure place in the world, and that night they had an additional power. They comforted me, and made me feel like everything would always work out okay.

Slowly, I pulled Ashley towards me. She didn’t resist, nor did she assist. I sat up in bed and leaned against the wall of the sleeper. I pulled her into my arms, and I ran my fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.”

The words sounded strange and distant to me when I first heard them. I resented the way they hit my ears. I wasn’t sorry. I was right, goddammit! She should be apologizing to me. “Bridges” I thought. “Don’t burn the bridges”.

“I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry”. The second time I said it, the words sounded more real. It was as like the previous attempt had been read from a translation dictionary, as if I were in a foreign land and was trying to order lunch in their language, not knowing if they would understand the words and bring me what I wanted or throw me out for insulting them.

“I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” The third time sounded even better. It was more like a second language that I was familiar with. I knew the words, and while the pronunciation might be a bit off, the meaning would not be lost in translation. I began to rock her, and I rubbed her cheek with my hand as I repeated the words again. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.”

This time the words came through to the local with the meaning that had been assigned to them. I could feel her shoulders shake a little before I felt the tear come down and land on my chest. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” She was sobbing now. She muttered something back, probably an obligatory “It’s okay” or “I’m sorry too” but I didn’t hear it. I was mesmerized by the power in my embrace and my words.

“I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” It grew better each time the words crossed my lips. It was in the local dialect now, and even the village elders would swear I had been born and raised speaking this tongue that I had learned just moments ago.

“I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” It was as if I had inherited my mother’s super-power. She began to hug me back. The wet patch on my shirt was slowly spreading as each tear pushed the boundary further onto my chest first, then to my shoulder and on to my stomach. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” She even kissed my neck. Was it just the words? Did they have some magical powers of their own? No, the fuel clerk had said she was sorry earlier that day when she shorted me on my change. I didn’t feel anything towards her. She could go fuck herself. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” The crying had slowed now. She gripped me harder as she hugged me back.

I have no idea how many times I said those words that night. Over and over I repeated them. I remember feeling tired at some point, and shortly thereafter feeling her breath grow heavy and realizing that she had succumbed to sleep. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” Even then I continued saying the words. That night long ago when I had heard those same words from my mother, I didn’t remember her leaving my side. I would not leave Ashley’s. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.”

I woke the next morning still sitting in that awkward position. My back was killing me, and I heard myself utter those words one last time, as if I had continued saying them in my sleep. “I’m sorry, Ashes. I’m so sorry.” Perhaps I had, as she didn’t even stir at the sound of my final offering. I, on the other hand, had to get up. I was dying for a smoke and a cup of coffee.


As I walked inside trying to work the kink out of my neck, I was amazed at how good I felt. I actually smiled at the driver who held the door for me as I approached the truck stop. “Good morning”, I said instead of the typical “thanks” that I would usually mutter. I poured two cups of coffee, then headed back outside. There was a picnic table in the narrow row of grass that separated the store and the gravel lot, so I sat down and took a Lucky out of the pack. As I sipped my coffee and felt the rush of the first morning smoke, I took in the scenery around me. It really was a beautiful day. The grass had a deep green color that one might not expect for another month, as if it were showing it’s gratitude for having escaped the prison of snow that had held it captive for an entire season. I sat there long enough to finish my cigarette, then I crushed it out on the table and walked back to the truck, breathing in the smell of spring. I opened the door and climbed in before I remembered what had caused our fight the night before.

Ashes still had not awakened for the day, so I took a moment to collect my thoughts before intruding into her dreams. I looked over to the table where I had sat, and remembered a conversation we had some time ago. She had asked me what I thought was romantic. That one was easy. I could care less about romance, but you should always answer either "a sunset" or "a walk on the beach." It's bullshit but women think it's deep or something. I went with sunset and tossed the question back to her. You won't believe what she said. She told me that the most romantic thing in the world was “A picnic lunch.” I had never been on one, but I determined right then and there that I was going to make a picnic lunch for her when we got to Colorado.

The smell of coffee must have made it’s way back to her nose as I sat there lost in thought, because she was awake now. She had leaned over the seat and snapped me out of my thoughts with a kiss on the cheek as she took her cup. Yes, everything was right now. Everything except her stomach, that is. At least she got the door open this time before she expelled the sip of coffee she had just taken plus half of last night’s fried chicken into the empty parking spot beside us. Okay, almost everything was right.


My old Ashes was back now. As we drove along that day, it was as if the events of the night before had been completely erased from her memory. She pointed out the things of interest as we would pass them, and even laughed at my mispronunciation “Colorad-da-do” as we crossed the State line. “It always takes my breath away”, she said as the beautiful Denver skyline appeared in the distance, accented by the snow-capped Rockies looming behind.

I stopped on the east side of town and pulled into a department store. She started to get out of the truck with me, but I told her to take a nap. I wanted to get some supplies for our picnic without ruining the surprise for her. Although I had never been to one, I had seen a sign up in a truck stop one time for an American Legion Veterans Day Picnic which said that there would be “food, softball, and beer”. I got some ham, cheese, and bread, a six pack of Coors, a cooler to hold it all, and a softball bat that came with a glove and a ball. I had to run to the gas station across the street to get a couple bags of ice.

Once all of our picnic supplies were safely loaded in the trailer, I awoke Ashes and we went and had lunch at the burger joint next door to the store. We got back on the road and made it through Denver over the Mountains. There was a beautiful little park the other side of Idaho Springs where we would have our picnic lunch. It was a nice, quiet and secluded spot. I figured that since it was getting late in the day, I would stop at the rest area and we could spend the night there. That would leave us about 50 miles or so to drive to the spot where we would have our lunch the next day. It just wouldn’t be right to have such a grand occasion at night, when we couldn’t see the scenery around us, and judging from where the sun was positioned in the western sky, it’s light was not long for this day.

By the time we got parked, she wasn’t feeling that well so she used the bathroom and than laid down. From where we were, the mountains were visible on all sides of us, so I decided to take a walk and watch the sunset as I ran through the plans I had made for tomorrow, and sorted them all out in my head.

The highest ridges of the mountains to the west of us seemed to be on fire as the sun set behind them. The peaks directly ahead of me glowed a bright orange color, which tapered off to a red, then pink, and concluded with a purple outline around the higher peaks. Each point where the mountains would drop lower in defiance of the sun's attempt to hide, the offender would be highlighted in a brighter color. The beauty of it was stunning, and I wanted to go get Ashes so she could enjoy it with me, but I settled for watching the splendor of nature in solitude.

It was completely dark before I vacated my post to return to the truck for a good nights sleep. I wasn’t really ready to abandon my position just then, but the dark sky had ushered in the cold mountain air, and I was beginning to shiver a little. I was thankful for the coolness, however, as it would guarantee that the food that I had purchased would keep until lunch tomorrow, even in the event that the ice in the cooler was to melt.

I stopped by the restroom on the way back to the truck to wash my face and get ready for the night. The trucks that had been there when we pulled in had all left out, their drivers opting for the amenities of a truck stop on down the line over the scenic offerings of this spot. I went inside and took my toothbrush out of my back pocket. I brushed my teeth and washed my face in silence. The door to the bathroom was old and worn out, and a slight breeze would push it open, then relent and the door would close back with a bang.

I walked over to a stall, and pushed the door open to use the toilet. The wind outside pulled the door open again and banged it shut, as if to emphasize the fear that instantly grabbed a hold of me as I saw the figure standing in the stall in front of me. I tried to yell out, but my voice wouldn’t cooperate. My legs suddenly felt weak, and I stepped back, losing my footing. I crashed down awkwardly landing hard on the cold floor. I sat there stunned as my brain tried to process the image that my eyes had sent to it. The cold that I had felt earlier came in like a winter storm that had just mustered the strength to push itself over the mountain and descend on the unsuspecting city below. I shivered violently, and closed my eyes hoping to reset the scene with a new image. I opened them again, but the figure still stood there above me. A gust of wind attempted to push the stall door shut, but the figure swung the door wide open and stepped out, standing directly over me now. No longer partially concealed in the shadows, there was no denying who it was.

“Hollywood?”, I gasped.

Author

Steve Parry
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Mon, 02 Sep 2013 21:36:59 -0500
The Hang Out http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-trucking-zone/hang-out.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-trucking-zone/hang-out.html Hanging out in The Trucking Zone

In July of 1998 I took a job with a small trucking company in Inman South Carolina. They gave me an old T800 Kenworth to drive, as I was one of the new drivers. The owner had a couple of newer W900 Kenworths, but those were reserved for the guys who had been with him for a longer period of time. One week after I started working for him, he offered me one of those trucks... with a catch. The driver who had it had stopped at the I81 Auto Truck Stop in Max Meadows Virginia and gotten a motel room. Some time during the course of the night, he had gone into the bathroom and hung himself. I could have the truck so long as I was willing to take a bus there on Saturday, retrieve the vehicle, drive it back to our shop in South Carolina, and inventory and remove the drivers belongings so they could be returned to the family. I agreed to these conditions.

I arrived at the truck stop with out any complications. I was told the keys to the truck would be waiting at the fuel desk. The clerk provided me with the key and also a small bag containing the personal items that the driver had brought with him into the motel room. I got in the truck and immediately drove down to the shop. As I was tired from the trip, I went home and went to bed, returning on Sunday morning to empty the truck and inventory the contents.

Among the items left in the truck was a small black leather bound journal. Please don't think less of me for this but I felt compelled to read the entries made by the driver. At first I mistook this compulsion for a sheer morbid curiosity. I fought the urge, placing the journal in the first box I removed and adding it to the inventory I was taking. By the time I had finished with the job, I could no longer resist the urge. I felt that the book was calling to me, as if it held some secret that needed to be discovered. The following entries are copied directly from that journal, and do in fact reveal a rather surprising story that must be told. I have not included any entries that were not directly related to this story or any that were not necessary to the integrity thereof. Please forgive my invasion of the decedent's  privacy. I'm sure you will soon understand why I felt compelled to share this information.

  • July 28 1997 Today is my first day on the new job. I'm pretty excited about it. I got a better truck than I was expecting. The driver who had this one must have quit or been fired or something. I asked the boss why I was getting this rig and he said that the other driver who had it was no longer with us.
  • July 31 1997 For the third morning in a row I woke up at 4am. Stupid alarm on the dash goes off at 4am no matter what time you set it for. I was able to remove the battery and disable it so hopefully I will sleep better tomorrow.
  • August 28 1997 I'm still enjoying this job, but maybe trucking isn't for me. I feel like I love driving, but I just haven't been that happy lately. I'll stick it out a little longer. Maybe something else is giving me the blues.
  • September 4 1997 Called the boss for a load today. He answered the phone and I said "What do you know good?" He asked me why I said that, and I told him I didn't know. He said that the last guy to drive that truck used to say that every morning when he called in. Strange, huh?
  • December 10 1997 Can't wait for the 20th. The beer plant is closing for the holidays so we will be off for 2 weeks. I really need the break. Can't seem to kick these holiday blues.
  • January 9 1998 Had a totally weird moment today. Got home for the weekend and dropped my trailer at the yard. I drove home, only I didn't. I pulled into the driveway at this big white house across from the Texaco on Rutherford Road. I have no idea why I went there. I've never lived there nor do I have a clue who does. I was almost in a trance or something. Guess I need to get more sleep.
  • March 13 1998 Had another dream about that girl Linda. I can't for the life of me figure out who she is or what these dreams might mean. Maybe I'm losing my mind.
  • June 27 1998 Good news. I haven't dreamed about "Linda" in a week. Bad news. Got drunk last night and woke up with a tattoo on my arm that says "Linda." What the hell is wrong with me? Called the tattoo parlor and the guy said that I insisted on the tattoo and told him that she was the love of my life.
  • July 8 1998 Dreamed about Linda every night this week. Linda. Linda. LINDA! Who the hell is Linda?
  • July 20 1998 I love Linda. I have to meet her. I feel like I'm going insane. I can't talk to anyone about her because I don't know who the hell she is.
  • July 21 1998 Fuck this. Fuck you. Fuck everyone.
  • July 22 1998 Whatever. I feel a little better today. I'm gonna get a motel room tonight. I don't want to spend another night in this truck. I feel like this stupid rig is the cause of all my problems.

The coroner removed him from that room on the morning of July 23rd 1998. I removed the journal from that truck on the morning of July 28th. Under the bunk I found some items in a bag that must have belonged to the previous driver. In the bag was an envelope from a paycheck. It was addressed as follows.

Charles Heywood
3300 Rutherford Rd
Taylors S.C. 29687

I drove to that address. It was a large white house directly across from the Texaco station. This got me so curious that I went to the local library to search the Newspapers for anything about one Charles Heywood. I found the following entry dated July 23 1997.

Taylors Man Found Dead Of Apparent Suicide

Police officers responded to a request for a welfare check last night and found Charles Heywood hanging in the bathroom of his Rutherford Rd home. Sgt Dan Harmon of the Greenville County Sheriff's Department said that the decedents wife Linda called and requested that officers check on the well being of her estranged husband. "She said that they had a discussion about her moving back in and she told him that she needed more time. She said that he told her that he didn't have more time."
Officer Harmon says that the woman became concerned with the nature of his comment after she got off of the phone. She tried to call back and there was no answer. "She thought that he might have been too upset to answer, so she waited an hour and tried back. She called us around 10pm after she had not heard from him for over 3 hours." Officers arrived on the scene at around 1030, and Charles was pronounced dead when the coroner arrived at approximately 11pm.
Charles is survived by his wife Linda and two sisters. There is no word yet from the family on when memorial or funeral services will be held.

I drove that truck for the first week and I experienced nothing out of the ordinary. That weekend I informed the boss that I liked my old truck better and asked if I could switch back. He scowled at my request, most likely because of the strange nature of it, as this truck was much nicer than the one I was requesting to transfer to, but he granted my request. Two weeks later he hired a new driver for that truck, and that driver drove it for the next year and a half that I was with that company and reported nothing out of the ordinary to me. Perhaps it was all a coincidence, but I was not taking any chances on a truck that had driven that far into The Trucking Zone.

Author

Steve Parry
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Mon, 02 Sep 2013 17:45:59 -0500
Rising From The Ashes Part 2 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-5.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-5.html Chapter 5

When Ashley and I first embarked on our journey together, I suspected that in short order I would get tired of her company. I wasn’t being pessimistic, but I had always been on my own to a large degree. Growing up, my school schedule was in a bit of a conflict with my mother’s work schedule. She was often sitting at the desk naked applying makeup when I got home from school, getting ready to go out on another nights work. And while she would stop in and check on me from time to time, I typically wouldn’t see her until the next day when I got home. After leaving the house, I had been by myself in college, and I had been trucking solo ever since.The thoughts of my impending boredom with my new reality didn’t surface much after my initial assertion. They would occasionally cross my mind only when the seasons would change, or something else would bring to the forefront the amount of time that had passed since we met.

There was absolutely no rhyme nor reason to the two of us. Any standard of measuring the ratios of probable success or failure would have likely predicted a disastrous outcome. Vegas would have given us odds similar to those awarded to the local wife beater preparing to step into the ring with George Foreman. We were a study in contrasts. She had grown up in the country on farms with large houses and sprawling acres, and I had been raised in a motel in the city with single strip parking and a foot wide expanse of grass to play in before reaching the sidewalk. Her choice in music was country or gospel, and I loved Rock & Roll. Time would pass at a more pleasurable clip for her when she was staged behind a book. I, on the other hand, could lose myself for an entire day hopping from flick to flick at a movie theater. If you wanted to see that woman chow down hard, then your best bet was to find a good fried chicken joint. I never met a surf and turf that didn’t have me wanting seconds.


The Devil’s imp has called his bride to put her with child. Will he let your child live, little girl? —Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’


All of these differences however seemed to mesh nicely together for the two of us. She was concerned with keeping her figure, so she only wanted her chicken about once a week, which satisfied me. I enjoyed a few of her favorite Country songs, and she took quickly to some of my Rock. But one of the biggest differences that can often doom a relationship resulted in her nickname. I was a smoker, she was not. And let me tell you, this woman was positively obsessed with ashes. She hated them with a passion. Can you imagine that? I never heard her complain of the odor, nor did I ever see her waft a stray puff of smoke away from her face. But on 3 separate occasions that I can recall, she set my trash on fire by dumping the tray too early after I had extinguished a Lucky Strike. There was nothing on this earth that bothered her more than ashes in an ash tray. She would dump it at her first chance (or sooner) and wipe the bottom clean with a napkin. Even if I awoke in the night and reached for a square, she would wait a few minutes after I was done, then get up and dispose of the remains. It didn’t take a week for me to start calling her “Ashes”.

Not long after she had been dubbed such, she decided that I needed a nickname myself. I know it sounds silly, but that excited me. Since my first name was a one syllable affair, nobody had ever tried to shorten it for me. The idea of a CB Handle had crossed my mind, but I had never bothered to pick up a radio so I had never settled on one. It took her a couple of weeks to pin a tag on me, and I was probably driving her as nuts as she was me in anticipation. She would come up with an idea, then toss it out just as quickly as she had introduced it. “It just doesn’t fit you” she would say.

One day we were sitting at a truck stop just west of Houston, and I thought it would be fun to watch the drivers go by and make fun of their stance in the drivers seat. There are a few basic styles of seating, and every other approach is a variation of the original three. First, you have the “Clincher”. You’ve all seen this guy before. He couldn’t possibly ride any higher in the seat if there were a corn cob perched on the tip of his ass. He grips the wheel hard, and never looks away from the road in front of him. Then there is the “Old Hand”, the tired pro who knows what he is doing and could care less about style. He sits upright, but relaxed, gripping the wheel in a casual yet alert manner, and offering a wave to each driver he passes. The last style is the “Pimp”. You know this guy for sure. He drains all of the air out of his seat, and pushes it back as far as the frame will allow. He rides low and stretched out, leaning forward with one arm to steer and flashing a peace sign at any driver who doesn’t flip him off for being such a prick. He is all style and no substance, and you better hammer down and get around him as quickly as you can, because from where he sits he can’t see shit other than his hood and the side wall of his sleeper.

Ashes was in stitches as I pointed out each style. We would watch a driver walk out to his truck, and I would try to guess the manner in which he would approach his positioning before he pulled out of his spot. I was knocking them down left and right. Once I had milked all the entertainment we could possibly get out of this little game, we headed back out on the road. She looked over at me, observing my style of driving. “What do you call that?” she asked. I told her that she had a better view of it than I did, so she should break it down and give it a name.

“You’re smack dab in the middle of Pimp and Old Hand”, she observed. “Your seat is low, but not to the ground. It is back, but just enough for comfort. You have both hands on the wheel, but one is stretched out much higher on the wheel than the other. You lean forward, but you’re not really stretched out. You’re halfway between Pimp and Old Hand. You’re…” at this point she cut out and broke into playful laughter. I paused in anticipation, expecting the worst. “You’re Half Cocked.” And so it came to be that my shiny black Kenworth found itself in the graphics shop in Fontana California getting “Ashes” airbrushed in pink on the jump seat door, and “Half Cocked” in blue on the driver’s.


I know that when an 18 Wheeler passes you on the highway it looks like a monstrosity, but when you live inside of one of these things it can get pretty small rather quickly. You pair off the wrong couple in one of these bad boys, and it can go south in a hurry. I’ve never been great at keeping track of time, so I had no idea how long we had been together when I awoke one morning to find balloons taped up all over the inside of the truck. They were everywhere. You couldn’t even see the walls of the sleeper. For the life of me, I can’t imagine how she did it all without waking me, but when I awoke, I thought I had died and gone to heaven and heaven had turned out to be a strip club in one of those towns in Nevada that was so small you wouldn’t be surprised to see a sheep in a garter trot out next. I would never say anything to hurt Ashes’ feelings, but it was the most goddam horrific thing I had ever awakened to. She was sitting in the jump seat with her legs crossed, smiling with apprehension. I gave my best attempt to smile through the nauseating swirl of colors that surrounded me.

“Have you ever had a birthday party?” Before I realized it, I had almost begun to tell her about a party I had attended when I was 12 where I had accidentally jerked off on some girls tits, but I caught myself. “No. Not one for me.” Ashes had grown up in foster care after her parents had died when she was 6, so she hadn’t ever had a party either. This information still didn’t explain the vomit of colors surrounding me that was threatening to give me nightmares.

“Do you know what today is?” I may not be a morning person, but even I could follow this line. “Yea, it’s your birthday” I replied. She giggled at my feeble attempt to act as if I knew something that she probably hadn’t even told me. “No, baby. It’s not my birthday.” I should have let it go at that, but my brain was desperately searching for a reason to attach to the decorations that were causing it to begin to ache, in an attempt to isolate the cause and eliminate all chances of such an incident recurring. “Is it my birthday?” This escalated her giggles into a full out laugh. “No!”, her eyes were watering at this point. “It’s our birthday.” My mind was still struggling. “We were both born on the same day?” Now she was in tears, and relayed her idea around fits of laughter.

As it turned out, she had been on the truck with me for one full year on that very day. She decided that this deserved a celebration. And since neither one us celebrated our individual birthdays, we would call the day our birthday. This was fitting enough, since it was the birth of our relationship, so every year on the 4th of August, we would celebrate the birth of our journey together. We had 3 more of those celebrations, and fortune had smiled upon me. This birthday would be the last one that included the balloons.


We made it all the way to April of our fourth year without ever having a fight. And no, I don’t mean no big fights. I mean we had never once argued. That winter had been a particularly brutal one, and spring was late getting to the party. We woke up in the middle of Kansas one morning, and it was the first day suitable for short sleeves. Our summer clothes were in a storage box under the bunk, so I told her to climb up into the passenger seat while I dug them out. I was struggling with the bunk, trying to hold it up and empty it’s contents simultaneously when I heard the most god awful retching sound coming from the passenger seat. She had tried to turn her head to the door, but before she could make it she had vomited all over the dashboard.

I was immediately concerned with her well being. I wanted her to lay back down for a bit, but she decided it would be better to go into the bathroom and cleanup. By the time she returned to the truck, I had the mess cleaned up and the smell was completely gone.

She spent most of that day in the bed, and we hardly talked. I just chocked it up to her being sick, but it did make me feel a bit lonely. My jokes that usually got a hearty laugh now barely elicited a halfhearted smile. She seemed completely lost in her thoughts, and the time that she spent in her usual perch riding shotgun was occupied with counting the telephone poles as they flew by. I began to think that she would rather be out there with them than in here with me. We didn’t cover that much ground that day, as I wasn’t in the mood to drive. I had planned to make it all the way to Denver, but I ran out of energy in Colby so we stopped there for the night.

We went in to have dinner, and they had a special that was bound to cheer her up. All-you-can-eat fried chicken. She ate like a horse. She was halfway through her second order when I decided to test her spirits with a joke about our waitress. I was approaching the punchline of the joke, so I paused for effect, but I never got it out. Without batting an eye, she jumped into my pause and said “I’m pregnant.”

I stopped in mid sentence. To this day, I don’t remember what I was thinking or feeling in that moment of disclosure. I don’t even remember the joke. I don’t have to remember what I said, because I just looked back at her in stunned silence. A smile began to push at the corner of her lips. She repeated her statement. “I’m pregnant. WE’RE pregnant. We are going to have a baby. We’re going to be a family.”

I continued to look at her in stunned silence. I had a numb feeling all over my body. My mind went back to when I was a child, and my mother on 2 occasions had sat me down and told me that she was pregnant. The first time it happened, she had run down a lists of pros and cons to having a little brother or sister. I didn’t hear 90% of it. Like now, I had sat there stunned, thinking of what this meant. I would have to share my bed with it. It would eat my food, and drink my Cokes. My mom would be it’s mom, and it would take much of her time.

Life was much simpler then. My brain was able to quickly find a solution for the problem. “I’ll starve it out”, I had thought to myself. “I don’t care if I have to be the fattest kid on the block, I will eat every ounce of food that comes through that door and starve it out.”

But my mother had been a loving and considerate woman. When I had thought she was forcing this on me, she was not. We were making a decision together. She valued my input, and when I expressed my opposition to the idea, we decided together that she shouldn’t have it. I was young and at her mercy and she gave me a choice. Furthermore, she most certainly did not go foisting the kid on some man. But I was not young anymore. I was not insignificant. Who the fuck was this bitch sitting across from me now to say what “we” were going to be? How dare she just assume that we are in this together without even asking my opinion! How fucking rude and demanding. Didn’t she remember where she was when I found her? I could have sliced her throat and dumped her in the trash like the two bit truck stop whore she was, but I didn’t do that. I took her in. I took care of her. Every stitch of clothing she owned, every morsel of food she ate, and every dime in her pocket… it all came from me. And what thanks do I get for my efforts?

I didn’t even realize that she was sitting there waiting for a response until I heard her say “Well?” impatiently. In an instant, everything had changed. This woman that I had taken in and shared all that I have with had turned on me without warning. It would be a cold day in hell before I went along with this. She could hitch her way back to Texas and work the old lot again for all I cared. It would teach her to make decisions with another persons life. Let her raise the kids off the callouses on her knees and the cum showers across her back. If it was good enough for my mother, it was good enough for her.

“Are you ok?”

I tried to get my emotions under control. My manner reflected a calm demeanor, but my words did not. I pushed my chair back, and fumbled in my pocket for some money. I tossed a $20 on the table to cover the meal. I leaned down and looked her in the eye. “You selfish fucking cunt.” I turned on my heel and stormed out of there. The store was a blur as I made my way through it searching for the exit. A good trucker always has an internal sense of where his truck is parked, and I found my rig instinctively. I opened the door and climbed inside, not even taking my shoes off before laying down in the bed.


I have no idea how long I was there alone. The sun had called it a day, and settled in over the grain fields to the west without telling me goodnight. I was lost in my thoughts, staring at the roof of my sleeper when I heard the passenger door open. The light from the parking lot showed her face as she climbed in, revealing the tired looking skin that had been hiding underneath of her makeup which had all been washed away. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she kept them low to avoid contact with mine as she climbed in. She removed her boots, but left her clothes on as she slid into bed beside me, settling in with her back turned towards me.

So many times we take our lives for granted. We think that our day to day existence will continue on without change. We treat the small decisions as if they were large, and the large ones as if they have no consequences. All of a sudden, we find our world turned upside down, and we become like children, afraid of what this new reality might hold in store for us.

I turned towards her, and I put my arm over her shoulders. I don’t know what made me do it. Perhaps it was the anger that had built up and burst out of me in front of her, or maybe it was the new light I had seen her in, but I know that I did not give it any thought. If I had, things might have gone differently, but I found myself doing it before I even realized what was happening.

Author

Steve Parry
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Sun, 01 Sep 2013 21:40:54 -0500
Rising From The Ashes Part 1 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-4.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-4.html Chapter 4

After Sooner took her swan dive into the after-life, I entered into a new phase of my life. For awhile, I wondered why Hollywood had haunted my dreams so badly leading up to the event, and then appeared to urge me to get rid of the girl. Unfortunately, she had not returned since the incident that she had inspired for me to be able to ask her for clarification, so I was forced to draw my own conclusions. The only answers that I could come to in my mind were inconclusive and often contradictory. For awhile, I simply thought that she could not rest in peace thinking that I had killed her and her alone, as if the thought of being one of several was more akin to her liking than the thought of being the only. Yet this contradicted her philosophy in life, and her religious beliefs, so it could not be that. I entertained the notion that perhaps I had simply imagined some significance to the dreams that wasn’t really there, but that didn’t fit me. I dreamed frequently without looking for meaning in the jumbled pictures, so why would I do that in just this specific instance?

About two years removed from my first kill, I seemed to be able to develop a much clearer picture of what had happened. Hollywood had pushed all of her chips forward on a single bet, and she had lost. The whole incident had been a gamble for both of us. She would push me to kill again, and if I got caught I would pay for what I had done to her. If I did not, I would ride free. It had been merely a case of a postmortem double-down, and lady luck had smiled on the house that night. I had played my hand well, and walked away with the spoils. Being a woman of honor, she had kept her deal. She had left me to my own devices, while she had crossed over to whatever may have been awaiting her on the other side.


It’s best to have failure happen early in life. It wakes up the Phoenix bird in you so you rise from the ashes. -Anne Baxter


The arrival at this conclusion was followed by a very peaceful time in my life. For the next two years, I did my job much like any other trucker on the road. I came and went largely unnoticed, and had little impact on those around me. I was at peace with myself and with my past, so I didn’t look for a relationship with others. Occasionally, I would pick up a hooker and satisfy my sexual needs, but I avoided any type of friendship or companionship. I didn’t realize right away that the feelings of ease were fading away, and laving behind a methodical boredom and loneliness. I was only fully aware of this fact once Hollywood began to enter my thoughts again on a regular basis. I had come full circle to the place where I found myself backed into a corner of my own mind, and forced to accept a reality that I didn’t want to face. I missed her.

I don’t particularly have a problem with the notion of missing someone. After all, I have missed my mother for years since I lost her. But in the case of a maternal figure, this is perfectly natural. It is bizarre to miss someone that you found annoying when their presence was available to you, but miss her I did. I began to have feelings of guilt, as if somehow my longing for her was a betrayal of my mother. When the thought’s of Hollywood would come to mind, I would try to push them out with thoughts of my mom, but it wasn’t the same. Had I allowed this girl that I barely knew to take a more significant role in my life than the only woman who had ever loved me?

My day to day emotional state became very similar to my physical existence. Much as I might sit in El Paso waiting for a load without knowing if it would take me across the border into New Mexico, or keep me there in the State where I sat waiting, small events threatened my state of mind. A dirty look from a waitress, or a snappy reply from the girl in the shipping office would trigger an inner anger that would grip me and not release me until it had drug me down into a spiral of depression that would last for a few days. As time progressed, I began to find myself talking to Hollywood as I drove, as if she were really there. I would point out scenery, or tell stories of things that had happened at “that truck stop right over there”. My life had become a West Virginia highway. There was little joy in the peaks, because each one brought me into a lower valley with an even steeper climb back to the next high. It was on one of these peaks that I met Ashley.


I had just delivered a load of paper in Austin, Texas. It was a holiday weekend, and I knew there would be no freight to be found before Tuesday so I found a Motel and prepared to settle in for the weekend. I was feeling good and the place had a little Country and Western Bar, which really wasn’t my bag but it would work in a clutch. I just wanted to relax and enjoy myself for a few days before I slipped back into a worse place.

Behind the motel was a little shit hole truck stop, but it afforded me the luxury of parking my rig nearby so I couldn’t bitch about it too much. It’s close locale turned out to be a good thing when I got out of the shower and realized I had forgotten to put clean underwear in my bag. Not wanting to put the old ones back on, I just slipped on my jeans and free-balled it over to my truck. I was a bit distracted by the roughness of the fabric as it rubbed directly against my skin, when I came around the corner and saw her standing there looking about as comfortable as a bastard child at a family reunion. Her designer jeans clung tightly to her round ass, and the black casual suit coat that rode over-top of her red v neck shirt made no attempt to cover the cleavage that was poking out in a sexy yet classy way. She startled me a bit out of my thoughts, and I startled her worse.

Once the initial shock of the chance encounter had passed, she began to giggle in a way that made her look young and vibrant. The thin lines across her forehead and around her eyes told me she was probably in her mid forty’s, but the way she swiveled on her curvy hips when she turned towards me spoke to a youthfulness that she had managed to capture and hold prisoner, even as age had left it’s mark on her pretty face. “Hey, you wouldn’t want a blowjob or anything, would you?” she asked. Accustomed to the typical slang of the girls of the night that frequented the truck stops, the sound of her direct approach even embarrassed me a bit, and I felt myself blush and my voice hinted at a nervous laugh when I replied “No, I’m good”.

Despite the rejection, she walked alongside me as I headed towards my truck. “My God, this is so embarrassing to be out her like this, but I really have no other choice. I lost my job a few months back, and I have no family or anything. I just need to get some money to get off the streets and try to start over.” Now she had my attention.


Every hooker has a sob story. Let’s face it. In an industry where competition is slim, and desperation is high, the price of the transaction can be affected greatly by things like sympathy. If a guy feels like he is exploiting her hard luck, he might pay her more than he was willing to pay otherwise. Plus, there are some suckers out there that will fork some dough out to the girl, thinking he is sparing her from the act she will perform anyhow with the guy three rigs down on the row behind him. There is a sucker born every day, but I wasn’t one of them. Idiots like that need to be shot. You wouldn’t pay a grocer for a weeks worth of food without receiving it just because he would rather be a doctor, so why would you pay a prostitute for not having sex with you just because she would rather be a nurse? No, I would not be that sucker, but I have never minded playing an angle, so I developed a plan as we walked and set it in motion. I invited her to come back with me to my room, and she followed willingly.

Once inside, I was able to get a clear look at her without either of us squinting out the sun that had been in the middle of baking the dirt parking lot into a cracked white, blinding mirror when we so rudely interrupted it. As my eyes began to slowly adjust to the dim light of the motel room, I was taken back a bit by her beauty. She stood about 5’7” in her cowgirl boots, and her curves would have elicited a warning sign to truckers if they had been on the back side of a steep downgrade. She had taken off her coat, and her arms were thin and amazingly toned for her age. Her face was also very slim, and the wrinkles that had stood out against her squinting eyes seemed to fade away in her new environment leaving behind a beautifully tanned face with piercing blue eyes. The freckles on her chest reminded me of a girl from my distant past, and I began to feel myself becoming aroused against the fabric of my jeans that suddenly felt rough again. I excused myself to the restroom by telling her to make herself comfortable while I freshened up.

When I came back out, I had cleared the sexual thoughts from my mind, and set out to uncover who this girl really was. I’ll start with the easy part. Her name was Ashley. She was 15 years my senior, weighing in at 46 years of age. She was alone in this world, and I saw genuine tears fighting to escape and trickle out over the slightest sign of crows feet at the corner of her eyes as she told me her story. Her mouth would remember to smile from time to time, but her eyes were too honest to allow the gesture to spread that far up her face. She was truly in a desperate spot, and I was inclined to offer her a way out. How well it would end for her would depend on her level of honesty. But first things first, I offered to allow her to stay with me “rent free” over the course of the weekend, which would get her off of the streets. She passed her first test when she accepted.


The weekend with Ashley flew by, as we got along famously. The first night we didn’t even have sex. This irritated me a bit, but I had made the offer without strings, and it was more important to test her honesty than it was to get my rocks off so I didn’t press the issue. After all, I found myself almost routing for her and her pushing me away as I tried to take our first kiss a step further gave her a passing grade on the second test. The third would be over in an hour or so, and if she failed that one the long weekend would come in handy, as it would afford me the opportunity to hunt her down and cut her fucking throat.

Earlier that evening, we had gone to the bar and had a few drinks together. Not enough to get drunk, but we each had a good buzz when we got back to the room. While we were enjoying the simple taste of the night life that this worn out establishment had to offer, I had gone to great lengths to flash the $2,500 and change that was in my pocket. I wanted to be sure that she knew it was tucked away in my jeans when I hung them casually across the back of the chair that set in the corner of the room. I headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower full blast, allowing her the audible cover she would need to steal my cash and head off into the night.

Once in the shower, I decided to relieve a little of the sexual pressure that was building inside of me. As the warm water ran over my body, my mind was filled with images of her in the bar. The way her hips moved so freely as we danced… the way her breasts seemed to fight at the fabric of her shirt when she would lean forward to be heard over the music… the way her eyes sparkled with life as she offered up a flirtatious laugh at my cheesy jokes… the playful yet stern look she had shot me when my hands went a little too low down her back as we danced. It wasn’t until we were laying in bed that night watching the best show we could find on the 6 or 7 channels that the tv could access that it hit me. When I was glazing a knuckle in the shower, that was my first orgasm without thoughts of Hollywood in some time. But it was immediately after getting out of the shower and slipping on my pants to get a couple of Cokes from the vending machine down the hall that I knew for sure that she had past the 3rd test. Every penny was still there.

By the time that conditions had arrived that would allow the fourth test to play out, I was relatively sure that she would pass it. Although we went to bed that first night with a rather mild kiss and no sex, we fucked like savages in the morning. When I awoke to her gaze from the pillow next to me, the sun was barely beginning to creep over the eastern horizon and our window was to the west. It was still pretty dark in our room, but the long shadows of the Motel sign that loomed high above the structure of the building seemed to stretch out all the way to Odessa. It took me a minute to take in the scene outside before looking back at her and realizing that her eyes were penetrating mine as they had wandered and come back. I didn’t say a word, and she didn’t either. For a minute or two, we just held each others eyes. It wasn’t until she began to smile and point down into the bed that I realized what had awakened her. I was full on erect, and the head of my cock was trying to pry it’s way in between her thighs. I started to pull away in embarrassment, but she threw her arm over my shoulders and pulled me to her, kissing me passionately.


I’m typically not comfortable with a woman taking control like that, but it was such a reversal of roles from the night before when she had thwarted my advance that I laid there and basked in the passion. She began to move her head down my body, kissing my neck, shoulders, and chest. She kissed her way down until her chin had rested atop my erect penis, and she paused there, nibbling my stomach tickling me in sharp contrast to the pleasurable feel of her warm flesh against my throbbing member. Slowly, she moved her head down and took me into her mouth. She was on her hands and knees below me, crouched down like a cat about to leap on its prey. Her bra was struggling to contain her breasts, and her hair fell into her face as she moved her tongue slowly up and down the shaft making her look like a crazed woman wild with passion.

She worked me with her tongue for a minute before taking the head into her mouth, and tickling the back of it with her tongue. Each time she would slowly work her magic, my body would quiver in ecstasy. Ever so slowly, she took me deeper and deeper into her mouth. Each time I though she had gone as far as she could, she would take in more with the next thrust. Her eyes began to water from the corners, smearing the remnants of the makeup that had adorned her face the night before, yet further she went. Her throat tightened, and an audible gargle escaped her, but still she didn’t stop. She took the whole thing, all the way to the back of her throat, and all the while looking up at me with that sex crazed look in her eyes.

Just when I thought that I was not going to be able to hold myself back anymore, she moved her mouth back up my body while crawling over top of me in the bed. As she kissed me, I could taste the mucus in her mouth that had built as she fought back the urge to gag. She put her hands on my cheeks, and looked deep into my eyes as she worked her hips back and forth on top of me, massaging her clit with my meat. I was letting her have control, and she was reading me like a book. It was like she could hear my thoughts begging her to take me into her tight fuckhole, and she opened herself to me and slowly slid her pussy down the length of my manhood.

Once I was deep inside her, she sat upright on top of me with her back arched and her head tilted back, looking down at me from her high perch. She reached back and undid the straps of her bra, allowing me my first look at her breasts. Her hips remained motionless, but my cock was throbbing inside her pussy, giving me the sensation of a slow grind.

The freckles on her chest pretty much stopped above her breasts, although a few smaller ones that were so faint in color that they were hard to see had managed to sneak down below her tan line. Although her breasts had begun to show the signs of gravity pulling on them, they were remarkably firm and full for her age. They didn’t sag, so much as they filled out at the bottom, taking a bit of a pear shape with the nipples set high towards the top of the plump lower portion. They began to move up and down on her chest as she began to grind against me, the slightest moan escaping her lips at first, and growing as she began to move faster.

All of a sudden, she dropped down on top of me. Her face was inches from mine, as she bit her lip to stifle the groans that were coming from her mouth. I could feel her getting wetter as the orgasm started, then rushed through her body. Her eyes rolled slightly back into her head, which had tilted back as her hips moved up and down on my rock hard dick. She was a sight of pure unbridled passion. Her moans became higher and quicker, and I began to groan with her as my dick became sensitive to her wetness. Her orgasm seemed to be falling off as my cock began to pulse in the throes of mine. The growing and throbbing inside of her pushed her back into a full out moan, and we climaxed together.

She gradually slowed her hips, and eventually came to a stop with my dick still inside of her. She leaned down kissing me, and feeling my chest and neck with her hands. I had planned to wait until the weekend was over to ask her, but I got caught in the passion of the moment. “Can I take you with me when I leave here?” I asked her. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You fucking well better”.


Time lost it’s power over us that weekend. It was as if we had found a rift that allowed us to escape to a parallel universe, where the current paradigm had no control. When we wanted to stay in the room and fuck til 2pm, we did. Then we would go order breakfast. The next morning, it seemed like a good idea to go to the bar and drink til we were drunk, laughing obnoxiously and dancing to the jukebox. It took a little coaxing to get the manager to open it early, but at 10am that is where we could be found. Though the plan was to leave on Tuesday, that got pushed out until Friday when the money began to run a little low. Over the course of the week, the senorita from the front desk had to come knock on the door three times and tell us to keep the noise down. Apparently, our neighbors were not impressed with our sexual prowess. The third time, I flung the door open and stood there stark naked in full view of the horrified desk clerk with a towel hanging from my hard-on, and Ashley laid on the bed laughing so hard there were tears streaming down her face.

In a weeks time, we had grown thick as thieves. Our talkative moments would last for hours, and our silent ones were broken up by smiling glances at each other. When we left there, she passed the 4th test without either of us really noticing that it had happened. I had told her that when we got on the road, she could sell her body to make her own money if she wanted. Apparently she didn’t want to, as there was never a moment where she even mentioned it again, even on those times when the money was tight. For the first time in my life, I had a girl who was all mine. For the moment, it was all I needed to drive Hollywood completely from my mind. How long that would last remained to be seen.

Author

Steve Parry
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Sun, 01 Sep 2013 20:18:30 -0500
The Early Years Part 1 http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-3.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-3.html Chapter 3

I was always a loner growing up. I didn’t have what you would call friends. I don’t suppose that I even had acquaintances for the most part. I didn’t stand out, even for not standing out. It was as if I flew completely under the radar. I didn’t get in trouble at school, and I didn’t win awards. I didn’t play any sports, and I wasn’t in the band. I walked in every day on time and took my seat, waiting for someone to tell me what I was doing wrong or right. It never happened, so I just assumed everything was ok. For the most part, is was as if I weren’t even there.

Occasionally, one of the kids would try to befriend me, but I was always suspicious of them so I would hold back and they would move along. I can’t remember ever being picked on, other than a minor incident here and there that wasn’t noteworthy enough to remember specific details. I was pretty much a straight “B” student, with an occasional “A”, but I don’t think I ever got a “C”, and I am positive that I never studied for anything. At home, I would do my homework and watch some tv. When I was 10 (I think) I got a skateboard, and I would ride that around to go wherever I needed to. I never had a bike, and to this day I have never ridden one. I’m frankly not sure that I could.


Masturbation is our first and natural form of sexual activity and if that’s inhibited or damaged, then we suffer for the rest of our lives. —Betty Dodson


Like many kids today, although it was less common then, I was raised by a single mother. My Dad left my Mom when I was 2, and we had to move out because she didn’t work at the time. We had to make our home in a motel that rented by the week, and my Dad was never heard from again. I’m not sure what his name is, but he is probably dead by now anyway. It might have been fun to look him up years ago, but I’ve lost interest now and am not sure that it would serve any purpose.

My Mother didn’t graduate high school, but she made a decent living as a prostitute. We always had something to eat, a roof over our heads, clean clothes, and there were plenty of drugs, although she would have killed me had I got into them. When money got tight, she would buy the cheap cigarettes to make sure we had food money. She used to cough when she smoked them. “You better eat all of that food,” she would tell me. “I’m smoking a horses ass over here so you could have that.

The thing that I hated about growing up in a motel was the lack of privacy. For the most part, Mom went out to get customers and made them take her to a room. There were a couple of motels in town that rented by the hour. Sometimes when the guy didn’t have enough money for that, she would bring them to our place. I hated that. It’s hard to lay there and pretend to be asleep while some guy is fucking your mother in the next bed. I tried not to complain about it too much though, because like she said, “A roof doesn’t just grow over your head.”

One night when I was 9 or 10, this guy that used to come by sometimes and pick my mother up knocked on the door. He was a businessman because he was always wearing a suit. He was in a hurry and didn’t have time to take her anywhere, so she brought him inside. I was awake, but I pretended to be asleep. I heard all of the typical sounds, but when he was finishing I heard him get up and come over by the bed that I was in. I stayed perfectly still and was careful not to blink my eyes at all, thinking he was checking to make sure that I was asleep. Next thing you know, something warm and wet was hitting my face. At the time, I had no idea what it was, and I shot straight up in bed from the shock of it. My mom was fucking pissed. She screamed at him and threw him out of the room naked, tossing his clothes out behind him. That was the last I ever saw of him. My Mom cleaned me up, then climbed in my bed. For hours, she just sat there rocking me saying over and over “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry” as she cried. Even though I didn’t know what had happened, I told myself I would kill that man when I got older for making my Mom cry like that. Ever since then, I have always slept with my head under the covers.

One day at school, a girl came up to me and handed me a small white envelope with balloons on it. I didn’t know what it was at first, but it turned out to be an invitation to her 12th birthday party. I had never been to one before, and I clearly had nothing better to do, so I decided to give it a go. I wasn’t aware of the fact that you were supposed to bring a present, so I felt kind of awkward when I got there and had nothing. I suppose this was my introduction to the bullshit of our society. You invite someone to an event that has the sole purpose of landing you presents. It’s pretty fucked up when you think about it.

At the party, they had cake and ice cream, and I liked that. Both were rare treats, and never before had I been so lucky as to have the two served together. After we ate, we all went into another room to play games. This is where my troubles began. I believe that I have mentioned before that I don’t like to be touched. I’m not a germophobe or anything weird like that, I just don’t like people putting their hands all over me. Well, the kids were playing a game where one of the children would have their eyes covered with a blindfold, then the rest of the kids would spin them around in circles until they were so dizzy they could hardly stand up. Then they would let them go, and the kid would stumble towards a wall with a horses tail in his hand. On the wall was a picture of a horse with no tail, and he would have to try to stick the tail as close to the horses ass as one possibly could while blindfolded and dizzy. It looked pretty fun, but the thought of all of those kids touching me and spinning me around was more than I could handle, so I asked if I could use their bathroom.

I stayed in there until I thought that enough time had passed to allow them to finish the game, and then I headed back down the hallway. I passed a room where the door was partially opened, and inside there was a girl laying on a bed sleeping. I was struck by her beauty, and I had to get a closer look. I slipped through the partially open door, and walked over to the bed. Her hair was blonde, and she was wearing a pink shirt that buttoned up, but the top couple of buttons were undone. I could see down into her shirt, and I was tingling all over.

Her skin was so tan, and her breasts were large. Probably a “C” cup. She had freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and down her chest. A necklace in the shape of a heart was caught by it’s corner in between her tits, and hung there as if it could fall out and land on the bed at any moment. I could feel my dick getting hard in my pants.

I had seen some magazines that had pictures of naked women in them, but up until now I had never seen a real set of breasts, other than my Mom’s, of course. I wanted to see these so badly. I looked over my shoulder to make sure that nobody was watching, then I reached down and undid a couple of the buttons on her shirt. I lifted the pink fabric away from her tanned body and got my first full view of a real set of tits, and wow, were they great! I remember thinking that every girl had these, and they must all look like this. I would learn later in life that it doesn’t exactly work out that way.

The freckles from her chest continued down onto her breasts, but they were so faint there that you could barely see them. Her nipples were perfectly shaped, and such a soft pink color. They stood out against the tan complexion of her skin like somebody had colored them in with a highlighter.

At this point, I was standing directly over her, basking in her beauty and trying to keep my penis from throbbing so hard in my pants. She must have sensed me standing there, because she stirred in the bed and rolled onto her other side. I waited a moment to be sure that she didn’t wake, then I walked around to the other side of the bed so I could get another look.

I don’t know to this day what I was thinking, but I had never masturbated before this point in my young life. I guess it was because my dick was so hard, but for whatever reason I undid my pants and took it out. I was just standing there and holding it, not meaning for anything to happen, or even aware that it could for that matter, but as I stood there I began to feel lightheaded. I looked down just in time to watch my cock erupt, and a string of sperm shot out of it and land right on that beautiful chest that I had been so mesmerized by.

I don’t know if it was the warmth of my load, or the fact that I had already partially awakened her, but when that cum hit her chest she opened her eyes and just looked at me. It wasn’t an angry look, or even one of shock. The best way that I can describe it would be disinterested anticipation, but that seems to be a bit of an oxymoron. It was a look that one would expect to get from the girl at the cash register at McDonalds when they go in there and scour the menu trying to make a selection, as if it were their first time there. She was clearly waiting for me to say something, but skeptical as to what impact it might have. We looked into each others eyes for what was probably about 5 seconds but seemed to me to last for more like 10 minutes. Knowing I needed to say something, but facing the double shock of my first orgasm coming at the same time as my first peeping tom bust, I had no idea what to say. I opened my mouth up, and heard some words come out of it. If I had planned the whole thing out, and had thought that this was the perfect time to say something stupid, I could have stayed up all night preparing a speech and nothing would have worked out nearly as well as what escaped my lips. “I’m just here for the party” is what I heard my voice saying. Apparently, those weren’t the words she was looking for. She began to scream.

I have no hard feelings towards her father, although I did harbor them at the time. I don’t think anything in his life leading up to this point could have possibly prepared him for the moment where he burst in through his 18 year old daughter’s bedroom door to respond to her banshee like screams, and see the scene that he walked in on. If there is a parenting book out there somewhere, or if perhaps somebody who reads this is working on one, then a new chapter on this matter might be a fitting addition.

The girl was now sitting completely upright in bed, her shirt almost completely unbuttoned. Her arms were held out in front of her, bent at an angle that would suggest that she had not quite yet reached a decision in the matter of getting my nut all over her hands as she covered up, or leaving her breasts exposed to whomever might walk through that door. A milky white cum shot that would have made a porn star proud was spread across her perfectly tanned tits, and was making it’s way down her stomach where it was beginning to form a small puddle in her belly button. Standing beside her bed was a 12 year old kid he didn’t even know with his pants down around his knees and his dick still in his hand.

“You little motherfucker!”, he bellowed in a voice that would have scared the shit out of Andre The Giant. Oh, shit. I had done it now. Still weak and unsteady from the orgasm, I began to work at getting my cock back into my underwear and pulling my pants up. As he walked around the bed towards me in a rage, I decided to see if my idiotic line from earlier had found a more receptive audience, so I repeated it. “I’m just here for the party”. No better luck the second time. “I’ll show you a party, you little son-of-a-bitch”. His line was much better.

I had just finished fastening my belt, so I hadn’t even looked up yet to see the punch coming. It landed square on my left eye, and spun me around where I landed in a heap on the floor. I tried to get up, and he kicked me in the ribs knocking what little breath I had right out of me. I had fallen from my skateboard before, so I knew what it was like to suck for air and feel like you were getting any, but that was always at the end of the traumatic experience. I had never been in a fight before, let alone one where I was unable to breathe. I got up and tried to lunge for the bed, as it was my best path to an escape route, by me weak legs failed me and I fell towards him instead. An open handed slap sent me back to the floor before the screaming mom came to my rescue and pulled him off of me.

Once cooler heads had prevailed, I found myself beside the angry man in a station wagon being driven home to my mother. My right eye was completely swollen shut, and my neck was rotating at much less than it’s usual range of motion. We rode in complete silence, until we arrived at the motel where my Mom and I lived. I reached over to open the door, but he said “I’ll get it” as he exited the car.

He pulled me out of the seat by my shirt collar and asked me which room we lived in. I pointed towards our room, and he drug me all the way over to it. He knocked with all of the authority of a cop making a drug bust. There is no doubt in my mind that my mother heard it the same way from inside the room, because it took her a minute to get to the door, and when she opened it I heard the sound of the toilet replenishing it’s supply of water. Apparently the man felt no need for formal introductions, because the second that the door started to open he pushed me through it so hard that I about bowled my unsuspecting mom over as I collapsed on the floor. I don’t think that she said a word as he told her what had happened, and when the door shut she turned around with a look of anger that I had never seen cross her face before.

Apparently, my mother was under the impression that the girl in question was the 12 year old birthday girl, so as I described what had happened she naturally was a bit curious about the size of the tits, and how they had developed so well so young. When she realized that it was her 18 year old sister, she relaxed a bit. “You were wrong for what you did”, she scolded me. “But he totally over-reacted. Hell, if I had a nickel for ever time a guy came on my tits…”. She turned and looked at me, and we both realized at the exact same moment that she had nowhere else to take that. We both laughed so hard that her anger was forgotten.

Since the girls father had threatened to call the cops, Mom was a bit concerned. He never did, but we moved three towns over a couple of weeks later non the less. This got me away from that school before anyone there learned what had happened. My mother did the best she could to give me a good sex talk, and the incident was soon behind us.

The new motel had one bed instead of 2, and Mom hated that. I liked it, however, because I felt safe sleeping beside her. Plus, I doubted that she would bring a man into the bed we were sharing, and I turned out to be right. Still, I had no clue as to the abrupt changes that my life was about to take.

Author

Steve Parry
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Sun, 01 Sep 2013 19:44:29 -0500
Road Kill http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-2.html http://partyrow.com/index.php/the-long-road-to-hollywood/chapter-2.html Chapter 2

Following the death of the little slut from Hollywood, I was riding on a natural high. You could say that everything had worked out pretty much the way it should have, because I didn’t mean to kill her, so it was only right that people saw it as a death by natural causes. Yet I must admit that I did feel like I had gotten one over on the world. I spent the next year and a half with a bit of a superiority complex, and it was hard to knock me off of my game. When people angered me, I would tell myself that they simply weren’t worth my time. I had killed a girl, and they were the kind of people who just sat there and took it when life was fucking them over. Sure, they would piss and moan, but they wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.

After about a year and a half of this, the natural high began to wear off. Within two years I had entered into depression. I was haunted by the image of the dead girl in my sleeper. I would fall asleep and dream of her laying there. Sometimes my mother would be laying in the bed with her, posing her body and laughing at me, but every time I was afraid to fuck the body that had beckoned to me from beyond just a few short years ago. In one of the dreams, the girl herself even taunted me. “Yeah, you’re a big man, aren’t you? Fucking a girl who’s unconscious. Why don’t you fuck me now, daddy? Fuck this little Hollywood whore. What, aren’t you attracted to me? You don’t think I’m pretty?” The vision of her haunted me day and night, and I eventually resorted to taking pills to knock me out and pills to keep me awake. By early summer of the second year, there was not a moment of my life that I was not on some type of drug.

How do we seem to you? Do you find us beautiful, magical? Our white skin, our fierce eyes? “Drink” you ask me, do you have any idea of the thing you will become? —Interview With A Vampire

I was sitting at a truck stop in Bangor Maine later that summer. I had picked up a load of seafood that was headed down to Texas, but I had all the time in the world to get the load there. I knew I had to do something about the drugs, so I decided that this would be the time to do it. Come hell or high water, I would fall asleep on my own and make it through the day in the same manner. I thought it to be a matter of will power, and for a few months after that trip I believed that it was, but I now know better. My salvation came to me in the same manner that the trouble had started… with a knock on the door.

I looked down and I had to do a double-take. Certainly this beautiful girl looking up at me was not a prostitute. I reached in my pocket just in case (in my state of mind I was lucky to know I had pants on, let alone money in the pocket) and I felt a wad of cash. I rolled the window down, and just as quickly as I had gotten the notion she dispelled it. The first words out of her mouth were “I’m not a hooker or anything…” and I had half a mind to roll the window back up. A girl who looked like that and wanted to sell me a 30 minute shot at it had my full attention, but when you just want a favor I could give two shits what you look like.

She was a bit of a timid girl, and she had trouble holding eye contact through our conversation. Here’s the long and short of it. She was running away from home. She was going to be 17 in 3 days, and her sister was attending the University of Oklahoma on a basketball scholarship (who knew a dame could get a free ride for playing a man’s game?) and she needed to get down there to where she was. She told me that when her family had made the trip to Oklahoma City to drop her off, she had met a guy who made her pussy tingle (my words, not hers) and she needed to get down there so he could stuff her cunt like it was a Thanksgiving turkey (mine again).

Well, this was just what the doctor ordered. I’m trying to get off the drugs, and what better to keep my mind off of them then this hot little chunker? She was about 5’5” and probably tipped the scales at around a buck eighty, but she had a set of tits on her that required something along the lines of scaffolding to support them. Her black hair hung around her face like it was afraid to block the view of her green eyes that smiled better than her fat little lips did, and all of this was playing out on the prettiest face I had ever seen on anything within a 5 mile radius of a truck stop. OKC, here we come.

By this time, I had gotten a new rig and I was working under the authority of a guy out of upstate New York. I felt like the king of the road pulling out of that truck stop and heading south down US 1 with the chrome on my ride enveloping us in a halo, as if to alert the passing towns to our arrival. I didn’t care how long it took us to get there, and with any kind of luck I was going to have this chick wrapped around my finger by the time we hit that Oklahoma line.

Some of you guys have no idea what a woman is really looking for. If there was one thing I knew, it was that. You ask a guy what a girl wants from a man, and you will hear a bunch of stupid shit like “honesty” or “respect” or “friendship”. That’s not what a girl wants. She wants value. Plain and simple, she wants some of what you have. You can breed birds around cats and vice versa, and eventually you will get a bird that is not afraid of a cat, and a cat that doesn’t try to eat the bird. Some actions from animals such as ourselves is a learned behavior that we pass on. After generations, it becomes an instinctual part of us, wired into what we now know as DNA. We can add to what is already there, but we cannot take away from it, or make bizarre, instant changes to it. Therefore, no matter how long you keep the bird that is born without a fear of cats, you cannot get him to see steak and eggs as food. That is a sudden, radical shift that he cannot process.

Going back to the time of the caveman, it has been the role of men to hunt and gather. Women were there to breed and nurture. If it were possible to have done so and survived, we would have evolved past the need for the female creatures, but we could not. As we advanced into social creatures, women began to try and find usefulness outside of the breeding roles. This is a slight shift as discussed with the cats and the birds. They took menial jobs or sought part time work in a field that was not too difficult. Their genes could handle this change. However, the feminist movement worked to convince women that they were as good at working and running businesses as men are. This is a radical shift, much like a bird eating steak and eggs. While you will find individual rarities within the species that can handle this shift, the species as a whole cannot survive it. Women are programed to breed and nurture, thus nature has relegated them to the role of mother, nurse, cook, or prostitute. When she leaves that role to run a business or even a Country, the family suffers as it loses the nurturing and the entity that she runs suffers at the hands of second rate leadership.

We could have avoided the societal breakdown that we see today if we had realized early on that all women want is some of our value. They want to be told that they are intelligent, and have their opinions heard, and be treated as if their ideas matter. One would be an idiot to actually give weight to the thoughts and ideas of a woman, but would it kill us to pretend? This way she feels smart, she shuts her yap and goes back to the kitchen or the hospital or the whore house, and everybody wins. Having this basic understanding of women and how they work gives me a bit of an edge. Don’t believe me? I had that bitch eating out of my hand by the time we hit the Massachusetts line. 5 miles before, as a matter of fact. She marked the occasion by saying “I feel like I have known you my whole life”. By the time we got to Hartford, she decided it was way too hot in my truck, and wanted to know if I would be offended if she took her shirt off.


So there we were cruising through Connecticut, with me trying to focus on the road while that set of double d’s were trying to bust through that lacy purple bra every time we hit a bump. All it took was a little bit of effort, pretending that her observations were brilliant and that her life was interesting. I even feigned a genuine interest in her emotions, as if they somehow were deep and original. I even dropped “Girls like you are so hard to find anymore” on that little slut, and I could see her heart melting right through those pretty green eyes. By the time we stopped for the night, the vision of the dead body laying in my sleeper was so far from my mind I would have had to rack my brain to dig it back up.

We had a nice little dinner together, and I have to admit I was starting to dig the way this girl made me feel. The cocky attitude was back, and the depression was a distant memory. When we got back to the truck, I didn’t even have to ask where I stood. When I leaned across the seat and looked her in the eye, she leaned into me with her eyes closed and her mouth puckered, awaiting a kiss that seemed like it would never end. She was so warm, and her mouth tasted like pure unbridled lust. My spirits lifted higher with each passing minute, as if I were some kind of vampire taking her energy out through her mouth. When we finally finished and headed back to the sleeper, she was so wet I could feel it through her jeans as she bent over to climb on the bed.

When a skinny girl strips down, the clothes seem to fall right off of her. But when a chubby girl gets naked, it’s like unwrapping a present. I didn’t have to tell her to take her clothes off, and I stood back and watched as she stripped down to her bra. She looked at me as if for approval before removing her panties, and I nodded.

There was no foreplay that night. Since the Hollywood slut incident, nearly 3 years had past and I would be lying if I said I had gotten laid more than 4 or 5 times. I hadn’t had any since the drug use had ramped up, and my cock was trying to split itself open in anticipation as I lost my jeans and climbed on top of her.

I don’t know how many guys she had been with, but she was prepared. She lifted her arms straight up and pulled me down to her, kissing me passionately on the mouth and neck as I ground my cock against her pussy. She raised her legs up, pushing her fat thighs against my sides and pulling my hips towards her. She would let out a slight gasp as my dick slid over her cunt hole, and the sweetest moan when the head would rub against her clit. She was so wet that I didn’t even have to reach down there to guide my meat inside of her. She let out the sexiest “Oh” I had ever heard as I slowly pushed myself all the way into her sopping fuck hole.

Looking down at that beautiful face as it contorted with varying degrees of pleasure was a very memorable experience. She had left her bra on, but I was dying to see those massive melons, so she lifted up on her elbows to allow me to undo the clasp. I was careful to fumble a bit with it so she wouldn’t think I had done this a lot, although at this point I don’t suppose it would have mattered. Her massive tits were graced with large, pink nipples that seemed to slowly fade into existence. As I sucked on them, they grew firm and erect in my mouth. Her pussy was so flooded that I could feel the skin of my balls sticking ever so gently against her ass each time I pulled back for another dive into her sweet smelling snatch. The aroma of sex was so thick in the truck that it was intoxicating, and that combined with the slow and steady rhythm of the head of my cock against her G spot sent her exploding into an orgasm all over my dick. She came so hard that I could feel her juices oozing out around me as I pushed deep inside of her, and soon my nuts were so wet that they were making a distinctive slapping noise against her plump ass.

And what an ass it was. I had never been with a big girl before, but when she turned over and raised to her knees so I could fuck her like a bitch in heat, I saw what made some guys get turned on by these porkers. I grabbed a hold of her shit pillows and squeezed them tightly with my hands as I began fucking her harder. Her moaning was heavy now, and the truck was rocking so good that it began to creak in rhythm with her audible pleasure. Her cunt juice was thick on the inside of her thighs, and I sopped it up with my fingers to moisten them before sticking two of them into her ass. I thought she might protest, but she screamed “Oh, fuck yea!” as I began working them in and out of her. And when I pulled my dick out to slide it up to her turd cutter, she lowered her back to welcome me in.

I had never seen a girl cum from getting fucked in the ass before. I had never seen a squirting orgasm either. I got two for the price of one that night, and her asshole pulled so tight around my meat as her pussy muscles folded and relaxed in the hypnotic rhythm of her pleasure that I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I began to cum inside of her sewer pipe just as I felt the spray of her fuck explosion hit my thighs. She pulled her knees together as her body racked in spasms of pleasure, lifting her ass high against me as I was draining my load. I leaned my stomach against her fat ass cheeks and arched my back, pushing deep inside of her until my balls were completely drained.

I didn’t realize how much she had turned me on earlier that day until I began to feel the old, familiar onset of blueballs kicking in as I laid beside her. It’s a rare occasion, but sometimes a girl can get you so worked up that the phenomenon occurs even after you fuck. I laid there beside her, her head resting on my shoulder and her huge breasts enveloping my side. In that moment in time, everything was right with the world.


The next night we stopped and took a shower, not that I really wanted to. As sweet as her pussy had smelled the night before, it had begun to sour a bit during the day but I liked it. The heat of the truck made the air thick, and it was permeated with the smell of yesterdays sex. I was like a dope fiend wanting another hit at the pipe. I was surprised at how angry I got when she denied me the opportunity to eat out her sloppy fuck pit, but I was able to conceal it once I fought back the urge to punch her fucking teeth in. She hadn’t seemed at all shy once getting to know me, and her sudden self consciousness was unbecoming. Where I had considered keeping her around for awhile the night before, my mind instantly shifted gears like a trucker topping an 8% grade and I began to think of how I would ditch her. It didn’t even help when she came out of the shower wearing an OU shirt that had no prayer of containing her voluptuous figure. Her huge breasts perched at the top of the v neck like a desperate pair of twins about to leap from a bridge in completion of a suicide pact. In those days, the showers were all in the men’s room at the truck stops, and even the hoots and whistles of the other drivers as she walked through didn’t lift my spirits.

We fucked again that night, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what all we did or how many times. She had sucked the fucking fun right out of it, and the demons had started to creep back into my head, pulling me back towards depression.

That night I had the worst of the dreams yet. I dreamed that I was sitting in the drivers seat smoking a joint as the little angel from Maine slept in the back. I was lost in thought as a knock on the door startled me, but it was less of a scare than looking down and seeing the piercing dead eyes of my little Hollywood slut looking up at me. “If you just hear me out, I will leave you alone” she said, as if the things that had happened between us were long forgotten.

I slid over into the passenger seat, and reached across to let her in. She climbed up and sat down without saying a word, turning her body towards the Sooner slut sleeping peacefully in the back. My gaze followed hers against my will. “This is your chance”, she whispered to me, our heads just inches apart as we looked in on the sleeping beauty. “This is your chance to set things right. Stop living in fear. Corpse fuck that little slut.”

I snapped out of my dream and shot straight up in the bed, startling my fuck buddy awake. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at me, smiling wide. “Good morning, Baby” she said, running her hand down my chest all the way to my shaft that was rock hard in the warm morning air. “Someone’s happy to see me, aren’t they?”

There are few things in this life more rejuvenating than a good morning fuck. The smell of day old sex filled the air as I dumped my morning wood load in her sloppy cunt. She moaned her usual symphony of love, laying with her hair spread across the pillow, her back arched up off the bed and her eyes closed. All I could think about was what it would be like to fuck her dead body. Something inside me knew that I had made a deal with my inner demon that morning, and eventually I would taste the forbidden fruit. Not now, but when the time was right I would.

As it turned out, the time would never be right with her. We made it to Oklahoma, and we stopped in Big Cabin to spend the night before heading down to the City where I was originally supposed to drop her off. The impending end of our little fling hung thick in the air like a 300 pound gorilla looming up on the hood that neither one of us wanted to act like we saw. At some point, she suggested that we take a walk. It was a beautiful night, and it seemed like a romantic thing to do, so we set off hand in hand down the shoulder of highway 69. The sun was setting the sky afire off to the west, and she frankly could not have chosen a better time to reach into the pocket of the jeans that clung so tightly to her full figure and pull out the note that she handed me. While the first line is an exact quote, the rest is pretty close to what it said, the best that I can recall.


Your heart feeds my soul, and it would starve to death without you. My love burns me inside, and I need you to contain the fire. When you are inside me, we are one against the world. Don’t leave me alone and broken. I love you. Don’t kill me without your love.

I had made no plans of keeping the girl around, yet the openness and desperation of the note actually struck a chord with me. I thought about how it would not be the worst thing in the world to have her around. I started to sincerely think about it as we walked. We made it all the way down to the first overpass, and walked up the hill to the adjoining road to cross the bridge and head back. The sun had just lost it’s daily battle with the forces of nature, and only the scars of a few bright pink clouds hung in the blackened sky to tell the story of the fight.

Halfway across the bridge, I stopped abruptly and pulled her to me. I began to kiss her passionately as her ass settled up against the guardrail atop the bridge. She caressed my face with her hands as we shared our passion. Her forehead pushed against mine to get the separation she needed to utter the words “Will you keep me?”. I looked down in the darkness and pushed the note back into her pocket. I said only one word. “Forever”.

She pulled me back to her, and again I tasted the lust in her sexy mouth. The image of that night is forever engrained in my head. Her eyes were closed in passion, her skin pulled tightly against her forehead as she focused all her energy on massaging my tongue with hers. As I reached my hands up under the shirt that clung so tightly to her body, I wondered if she noticed how the excitement was making them tremble. As I struggled to reach up under the bra, she reached her arms behind her to undo the clasp. The bra popped off her tits like a recap blowing off of a trailer tire. She kept her arms behind her back, allowing me to have my way with her. My hands found a firm grip on the sweaty skin that arched up from her chest at the chance to be a part of her magnificent breasts. The night was perfect, and my timing was impeccable as I gave a hard push up underneath her breasts. I heard the crunch of metal and glass before the sound of 18 tires squealing across the pavement reached my ears from the other side of the bridge. She hadn’t even had a chance to scream.

As I walked past the wreck I was pleased to see that not an ounce of her had hit the ground. Her body laid sprawled out across the badly dented hood, and her head had split open as it crashed through the passenger window of the Peterbilt. The driver was in such a state of panic and shock that he didn’t even see me walking by. I could hear his desperate cries for help growing fainter in the distance as I walked. When I neared the truck stop, I heard the distinctive sound of an ambulance siren as it turned down 69. “No need to hurry” I thought to myself. It was curtains for Sooner Slut.

Author

Steve Parry
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Sun, 01 Sep 2013 17:32:02 -0500