Nights at the Gas Station Ch. 05

"Wait!"

"Aw shit!" Floyd said, withdrawing his hands. "I am sorry. Did I go too far? I am stupid. It's just that, well, I'm high and I was like...I dunno...go for it."

I didn't say anything. Floyd had a sincerely guilty look on his face, and he couldn't even look me in the eye. He was red-faced with shame.

"Maybe I should just go." Floyd said and started moving towards the door.

"No! Wait!" I said, jumping in his path. I tried to think hard about how to stall him without going any further. Nothing was coming to mind, when it finally did. "Just wait here. Don't go anywhere. I just..... need to use the bathroom!"

"Huh?" he said, that moronic look of confusion reappearing on his face.

"I need to use the bathroom. But promise me you'll stay here. Don't go downstairs, OK?"

"Okay."

I went to the bathroom, shut the door behind me and heaved a sigh of relief. Then I called up Troy's cellphone, and when he answered, whispered,

"Troy!!! Are you done??"

"No. We got the body in the car and all the other stuff. We're just trying to figure out this camera system." he said.

"How long will it be? I don't know how much more I can stall him here." I whispered.

"I don't know. Maybe another 10 minutes or so. Look, I'll call you when we're done. Just do your best." he said and hung up.

I stood in the bathroom, and glanced in the mirror. What had I become? How had I let this happen? Just a few days back, I was a perfectly respectable and faithful wife in a loving marriage with the perfect husband. And here I was, barely dressed, in the bathroom of a cheap motel, trying to stall a 19-year-old with an erection by kissing him, while a big black guy I had made out with, disposed the body of an old man who had stripped me naked and felt me up and made me suck his dick.

And yet, even as I felt the expected pangs of regret and self-loathing, I could not deny one thing. This whole experience had made me feel alive in a way I never had. I had led a very staid and conventional life, going from my parents' house to my husband's house. Virgin on wedding night. And living the typical middle class Indian life with the middle class Indian sensibility, even for a while after coming to America.

These incidents, as ghastly and dangerous as they were....I mean I killed a man for god's sake...a man who had blackmailed me into having sex with him....these incidents still fed and stroked a side of me I never knew existed. The rush of all this, the wrongness of it all, made me feel like I was a heroine in some drama thriller. And my being in a state of partial undress for such a long time, first in front of Troy when I was dressed in two motel towels, and now this nerdy kid, just a t-shirt and a bra, made me feel more turned on than any roleplay with Vinit ever had. And yet, something was missing.

"Key run, you okay?" I heard Floyd's voice say. Key run? Oh yes, my fake name.

"Yes, I'll be out in a second." I said, still staring at the stranger in the mirror who seemed have fire in her eyes. The stranger said something to me very silently. And I nodded. And opened the door.

"Listen, I really should go now. Been here too long." Floyd said nervously. I noticed his erection had subsided.

"Are you sure?" I said, poking him in the chest, and walking past him towards the bed.

"Well, I mean. Gee, I'd love nothing more than to kiss you. but the front desk.."

Floyd froze mid-sentence. As he was talking, I had casually, but in one smooth motion, pulled up Troy's t-shirt and taken it off. My back was towards him, so I am sure that gave him a great view of my naked ass as I came to a stop near the bed. As I turned around and saw the look of sheer hungry helplessness in his eyes, any qualms I had left about what I was doing vanished from my head. It felt intoxicating, having this kind of power over a man whose last name I didn't even know. I smiled at the way his mouth was wide open, and his eyes looked like they had seen a ghost...a rather attractive ghost.

Enjoying the rush I felt with the power, I put my right hand behind my back, and unclasped my bra. I let it hang on my arms for a few seconds, relishing the anticipation in Floyd's eyes, and then finally let it drop to the ground. And there I stood, as naked as I could be. Naked in the way only my husband had seen me. Even after all these events, it was not the imposing and alluring Troy or the dominant and merciless Pareshbhai who got to see me completely naked, without a thread on my neck, but this skinny 19 year old, no taller than me, with the nervousness of someone younger than his age.

Floyd and I stood there, looking at each other purposefully, like Clint Eastwood and his adversaries in spaghetti Westerns. Him gawking, with his mouth open for so long, I expected spit to start dribbling out any second. And me, fully naked, feeling as if I had shed not just my clothes, but also a disguise that my society and upbringing had put on me all my life, hiding who I really was, who I really should have been.

Finally the standoff ended in a rather odd manner. Floyd charged me, almost like a rugby player. In the blink of my eye, he had gone from staring at me open-mouthed, to rushing towards me with his shoulders crouched. He was a thin guy, but still, I felt the impact as his right shoulder hit me in the stomach and I flew, falling on my back on the bed, with him on top of me. I felt a mixture of amusement and arousal as Floyd attacked my body like a lovesick puppy who is teething.