Swingin' Road Trip: Georgia / Chapter 2

The exit ramp raced closer and closer, and she said it one more time, hoping Mike would respond: “Are we turning? Mike, are we turning?”

“Yes—no, I don’t know . . . Maybe . . .” Even his hands were hesitant, jiggling the steering wheel like he would turn off the highway but too fearful to commit.

“This is the point of the trip,” she said to herself, shaking clawed hands in her lap.

“So you want to?”

She whipped around to look at Mike’s anxious profile. “No! No, right? I mean . . .”

Mike shrugged his shoulders up higher than she’d ever seen him shrug them—and the man was an accomplished shrugger. His eyes were as wide and wild as if they weren’t hurtling along a sunny stretch of lonely highway but instead through a rain-black night, straight into the headlights of a loaded logging truck, whammo.

She said, “We shouldn’t, right?” Instead of shrugging her shoulders, she lowered her head like she was in a WWI trench with machine gunfire zipping above. It was the same effect: two kooky, married idiots freed from the world’s chains to do whatever they wanted, and here it was presented, and they were both like, nah, we shouldn’t, with their shoulders on their ears.

“It would be crazy,” Mike hissed toward the windshield. The exit was seconds away.

“We wanna be crazy,” she said and grabbed Mike’s forearm. Mike yanked the wheel, and the convertible screeched to the right, tires chirping on the sun-hot pavement. The rumbly old muscle car swooped the looping exit-way, and she sat back in the passenger’s seat, looking out the window, wide-eyed and panting. “We are crazy,” she whispered.

“We sure are,” Mike said, quiet and dry-mouthed, coming around the loop and onto the main drag, an obvious right turn up ahead, a gravel road heading into a grassy field and disappearing around a raised mound. The place where the cop took his break.

Mike slowed the muscle car, looked aside at Millie, who said nothing, indicated right, then pulled off the main drag onto the gravel road. He stopped on the road, looking ahead, the road heading straight before veering off to the right. The grass was maintained here at the road, but longer about a half mile beyond. There was a tree-line on the horizon, the grassy hill on the left. Mike said, “We’re just going to check it out is all.”

Millie agreed. “Right? We’re not committing to anything. We’ll just see what’s up with him. Talk, you know, maybe, whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever. Whatever happens, well, it happens.” He let his foot off the brake and the tires crunched on the gravel, rolling into the unknown.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Millie said assuredly.

“No. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re just making friends.”

“Everyone needs friends, Mike.”

“That’s right, Millie. And a friend in law enforcement could be a valuable thing.”

“Oh, you’re right about that,” Millie said. “We could be in trouble some time, maybe need some legal advice, or . . .”

“Right, or, or like muscle. You know, like I could call him up and say some guys are bugging us and you know . . .”

“It’s good to have friends.”

“Better than enemies, Millie,” he said, harrumphing.

They both busted up laughing, then Millie flinched as they rounded the road’s bend. “Oh shoot, there’s his car.”

“Guy’s on his break, Millie. He’s just chilling.”

“We like chilling.”

“Who doesn’t like a good chill?”

  *

The cop cruiser sat by the tree-line’s edge, sun glinting off the windshield. The road ended here in a circular patch of beaten down grass and earth. Mike drove to the cruiser, saw the cop with his hat off, copper head of hair brushed back from his face, nodding to acknowledge their arrival. 

Millie covered her face with both hands and breathed into them, sighing, “Oh my god.”

“We’re just chilling with a new friend, Millie,” Mike said, eyes wide and buggy, trying to stay calm.

“That’s right,” Millie whispered, then checked her reflection in the mirror behind the sun visor.

“You look fantastic,” he told her.

“Thanks, baby.”

Mike shut off the car and faced Millie. “You ready?”

Millie nodded. “Willing and able.”

They both showed timid smiles to each other.

  *

The cop said, “Didn’t think you guys would show up.”

Mike said, “Think we’re chicken?” He and Millie stood outside the cop’s cruiser door.

“No. Just thought since I let you off the hook you would high tail it out of here before I changed my mind.”

“You can still change your mind?”

“No,” the cop said, shaking his head. “You’re off the hook, like I told you. And I’m on my break now.”

“Yeah,” Millie said, rocking on her feet, her ankles rolled so the soles turned up and inward. Her large breasts swayed against the soft cotton shirt she wore, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jean shorts. Her nipples raised in humps under the shirt’s palm tree artwork. She looked around at the landscape, the sun-baked grass on one side, the forest on the other side of the cruiser. “Nice spot to take a break.”

“Yup,” the cop said.

Millie looked at Mike, biting her lip. Mike said to the cop, “You like that Barracuda, huh? You should come take a look at it.”

The cop nodded. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Mike led the way, waiting for the cop to catch up, Millie trotting alongside and grabbing his arm. She whispered, “Is he into this or not?”

“It’s just chill time, babe. Remember? Whatever happens—”

“Happens,” she said, letting go of his arm, then turning to extend a hand to the following cop, saying, “Hurry up.”

The cop laughed and trotted a step or two, put out his hand and took Millie’s. Mike’s heart beat harder. One thing was for sure: Millie was horny right now. The prospect of some crazy, lurid scenario playing out had got her in the mood. She said, “The car was Mike’s idea. I wanted a truck or something safe, but I really like the convertible. It’s great having your top off.”

The cop laughed at that, and then Millie acted like she hadn’t said it that way on purpose, playing up her ditzy act and covering a hand over her mouth and acting embarrassed. It got Mike hard.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, opening the Barracuda’s door, then bending, showing off her butt in her too-short jean cut-offs, levering the driver’s seat forward. She extended a long leg into the backseat and scurried over to the far side of the white vinyl bench, inviting the cop to come sit with her, patting the empty spot with her wedding-ring hand. “What’s your name?”

“Pete,” the cop said, stepping into the back seat, careful not to scratch the paint with all the gear and accoutrements on his big cop utility belt.

Mike paused at the open door, saying, “Your body cam’s off?”

The cop nodded. Mike got into the driver’s seat facing backward on his knees, closing the door behind him, then leaning elbows on the headrest.

Now all three of them were in the Barracuda, engine off, top down, sunshine on their skin and making them squint. Millie and Pete the cop sat together in the rear bench, Mike hovering above them on the front seat. The cop looked at Millie, afraid to meet her eyes, then looked up at Mike, not knowing what to say. He looked back at Millie again. “You guys are swingers?”

“Not really,” Mike said.

“Not yet, anyway,” Millie said. “You’d be the first.”

“Huh,” the cop said, nodding, eyes turned down to Millie’s knees. “And you’re heading to the swinger’s resort to kick it off?”

“That was the plan,” Millie said and shifted to sit closer to the cop, their hips touching. When their hips touched, the cop’s expression slackened and his eyes went heavy. He stared at Millie’s chest now like in a daze. Ten minutes ago the guy had been half asleep, probably on the end of an overnight shift, just dozing in his cruiser, and then he sees this convertible hot rod zip past with a beautiful woman and her naked tits out. Guy must think he’s still dreaming.

  *

Pete had beautiful eyes when he looked at you. They were green and wistful, soulful maybe even. His eyes darted from her eyes to her lips. Quiet, he said, “And your husband watches?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, cocking her head, showing him a softer smile. Then before he dwelled too long on Mike watching, she eased her mouth closer to his, closing her eyes as they drew near enough to touch. Pete smelled like an old-style cologne smell, like a bay rum or something. His uniform smelled like synthetic fabric, so the bay rum was a nice distraction. 

Their lips connected; they mushed together, gentle, tentative, but Pete trembled with the effort to control himself, wanting more likely to lay her back and go to town on her, stick his tongue in her mouth and fuck her.

But they didn’t have condoms. They didn’t have condoms, and Mike was right: this wasn’t the way they’d planned this. It was supposed to be controlled, lots of parameters and agreements. But something about the way this opportunity presented itself made her decide she wanted to go ahead on a green light. 

Her hand went to Pete’s neck, traced a finger along his stubbly jaw to his chin. She bet he was at the end of a long shift and probably thought this was all a dream. She smiled and eased back from him. His eyes were heavy and hooded, his lips plumped and full of blood. She bet it wasn’t the only part of him engorged right now.

With a quick look around making sure they were still alone, she crossed arms and lifted her top over her head and showed the cop up close what her naked breasts looked like. His eyes went to them like they were magnetized. That hoodedness left and they widened. She asked him if he liked them. Pete nodded, his eyes not losing track of her bounty.

She said, “You can touch them if you want.”

Pete brightened, remembering that he wasn’t a voyeur in the back seat, he was a participant. Mike was the kinky voyeur around here. Everyone had to know their part. Pete lifted a hand to her chest, hefted her right breast, handled it, rubbed his thumb over the nipple. Her nipples were fluffed right up and eager for an unknown highway cop to suck on them.

Mike had never watched her with another man. Not for real. This was his fantasy, and she raised her eyes to his, Mike clutching the back of the driver’s seat, looking like an owl or something the way he looked down on her and the cop with his expressionless face and his round eyes. She reclined on the bench, leaning back into the corner, pulling Pete along to follow, encouraging him to suckle. Her eyes met Mike’s and she raised her eyebrows and showed him a cute grimace. Can you believe this is really happening? Mike couldn’t believe it. His cheeks hollowed and his face oscillated to follow Pete as he got over top of her and put his mouth over her nipple. She gasped and bit her lip. Mike clutched his heart and smiled.

  *

This highway cop sucked on Millie’s tits. It put the strangest feeling in Mike’s belly. The look on Millie’s face sealed the deal. All fun and pleasure, making eyes at him, sharing how wild it was to have a strange man suck on your nipple while your husband watched. It looked like Millie liked it. Watching them kiss had been a wild ride too. 

Yes, one night not too long ago—before the money came—there had been a night where he and she and an old friend had too much to drink, and at Mike’s unexpected prompting, Millie kissed said old friend. All playful, all passed off as “getting a little crazy.” No one had taken her top off, no one had sucked her nipples. 

Somehow seeing Pete the cop kissing Millie put his sex drive in high gear. It was the knowing. That night she’d kissed Patrick, well, nothing more would happen. But right now it seemed like the road to much more happening post kissing was freshly paved and showed zero potholes. The kissing today was the spark of a match, and the backseat of his pristine Barracuda was filled with sexy tinder.

Millie guided Pete up from her breasts to look at her. Mike fixated on Millie’s blushed nipple, shining with another man’s saliva. Millie said, “Let’s make some ground rules, okay?”

“Yeah,” the cop agreed, nodding, eyes hazy, his hand taking over where his mouth left off, thumbing Millie’s hard, rubbery nipple. “Good idea.”

Millie kissed the cop’s mouth again, and an unstoppable groan creaked in Mike’s throat. It was the most delightful dread he could ever feel. The cop kissed her back. His hand swept from Millie’s big soft melon, onto her trim tummy. Stroking her skin. Feeling what she felt like without a shirt. The man’s hand slipped under her shorts waistband by a pinky finger, but Millie stopped him, putting her hand over his. She didn’t tell him no, only guiding his hand between her open legs and onto her crotch—not under her shorts, but on top. Pete gripped a handful of Millie’s denim crotch and Millie gasped and turned her face up to the sky. The cop’s four fingers rubbed hard on where her pussy hid behind the fabric, and Millie’s thighs trembled and her breath caught in her throat. 

Mike exhaled a long shaky breath, watching this lurid sight that spiked his adrenalin and made his dick hard as a rock. Millie sunk into the white vinyl bench, like her body lost its strength, and as Pete rubbed, Millie humped her pussy against his touch, squeaking and gasping with extreme pleasure that Mike knew she wasn’t faking. Millie was a bona fide nymphomaniac.