Drug Run: Chapter 12 -Getting to the Good Part

The alternative to a naughty photo
Even GT couldn’t run the photo. You’ll have to read it.

by Dr. Rocket with Ms. Gonzo

(Publisher’s note: OK, we could write a book about why it took so many years to get to this latest chapter. After countless requests, we can finally oblige your prurient interest. If you want to refresh your memory about the first 11 chapters, or find out for the first time what happened with Suze, Billy, Rob and Imants to get them to this point, simply enter “DRUG RUN” into the GT archives search box. Sheesh.)

Even in the best of times, Rob was an impatient sort, and the time he’d wasted on the “tire shit,” as he now thought of it, had pushed him into a smoldering rage. The surly ancient Texan tire guy he’d dealt with had finally gotten him some new rubber and a wheel for a spare to replace the shredded remains of the blowout on Rob’s now bent-up useless wheel, which he’d tossed into a reeking trash bin with a loud clang, causing the junkyard dog behind the rusty chain link fence to bark furiously. Startled, Rob jumped backwards.

Rob’s long hair had been tucked carefully, he thought, up into his Stetson hat, but it seemed a few wisps always escaped if he moved his head, spoiling the clean-cut effect. The tobacco-chewing old hick had chuckled with sneering contempt at him. Rob was convinced most of the Lone Star’s older straights instinctively detected his automatic disdain for “redneck peckerheads” anyway, which made him angry. His thoughts raced in circles like a dusty whirlwind.

Assholes blame me for losin’ Vietnam. Pissed off failed high school coaches now sellin’ tires and hatin’ life. Screw it. Thought I’d get lucky with a fast spare, but it took this wrinkly ol’ geek forever. Ok, all right. I’ll just go into town, find the van with Billy and Suze and we can start fresh for Cally tomorrow morning.

Rob paid the frowning aged yokel for the overpriced tire and wheel and punched his car out of the dirt lot and headed north on the highway. The expensive new wheel wasn’t aligned properly, if the steering wheel shudder was any indication. Rob groaned deeply.

And to make things worse, the airco was acting up in his Olds, and now emitted a distressing gurgling sigh of tepid air instead of reassuring coolness. Why this, he grumbled, fumbling with the dashboard settings. The air conditioner had been somewhat weak for the last few days, but he’d thought the cool air would last till they got to L.A. The oppressive heat now hammered at him, making him even madder. Screw this, screw it.

He needed a cig. Swore off a couple months ago, but need the smoke. Soothing. The emergency pack, in his glove box. Yes, but goddamn it, probably stale. He went ahead and lit one anyway, and hacked. Yep. Fucking bullshit.

By the time he had motored to the outskirts of Wichita Falls Rob was toxic with rage. In an illogical switch of emotion, he blamed Billy for the predicament, even though Billy had warned him to get an extra spare. Deep down he knew Billy was hardly at fault, but his anger had nowhere else to focus. He could be mad at their dad for rotting in federal prison, but what would be the point. Poor ole Dad.

He stopped at the first several motels on the highway, but didn’t see the van. They were supposed to stop in Wichita Falls at the “first decent motel” as Billy had said on the CB radio, so they could meet back up. Suddenly he wondered if Billy’s definition of “decent” and his were similar.

This thought further destabilized Rob’s mood, and when he was cut off by a couple laughing rednecks in a pickup truck, he was distracted and missed seeing the prominent motel sign for the Triple D, a half block off the main drag. He drove on, wondering when he was going to catch a break.

Five blocks further a cop glared at him from the side of the road. Rob checked his speedometer and let his foot off the gas. Damn. Where was the van? He groaned, eyes on his rear view mirror.


Back at the Triple D Motel, Billy was also groaning, but for him in disbelieving pleasurable shock. He stood in the shower near the spraying nozzle, water running down his back, as Suze gleefully soaped his chest with the motel giveaway bar. This had to be a dream, and if so, he hoped fervently he wouldn’t wake. He had admired, hell, outright lusted for Suze for almost all his sexual maturity. Now here she was, voluptuous body glistening in front of him, taking charge as she kept up a running commentary.

Not much chest hair yet, but that’s a turn on. Nice nipples, yeah girls can say that to boys, too. Let’s turn you around and rinse ’em. Duck aside and give me some water on me. Ah yeah. Now let’s see here. She rubbed his little nubs playfully, then on impulse licked one, flicked it with her tongue, and mouthed it with her grinning lips. He groaned again, rumbling in a low register.

Suze looked up at him. “Like that huh? You sound like a kitty purring.” He nodded in bewitchment. She pressed the nipple flat with her tongue, then licked it like a cat drinking milk. Her chuckles filled the bathroom.

She grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it back, sending water all over as she leaned out and grabbed the flask of tequila from the sink. Once back in the shower she opened it, took a swig, and then tilted it towards his gaping mouth. He compliantly opened wider as she poured, spilling a bit onto his belly. “Oops,” she said brightly, “I better clean that up.” Crouching down, she traced a line down to his navel. “Hmmm. Then there’s this thing.” She grabbed it and looked up at him as he moaned, then studied it critically, marveling again at the girth. It throbbed in her palm like a captive bird.

Suze soaped it, causing a predictable outburst of grunts, gasps and deep moans. “Here, turn sideways.” He obeyed, allowing the soap to be rinsed off, and incidentally spraying Suze’s face with shower water. She spluttered, pulling him back around by the engorged protuberance, and then gleefully poured a splash of the tequila from the flask onto it. She again laughed. “Hah!” Damn thing’s still growing. She sank down. Ok let’s try. Woah. It’s unnatural. She could barely fit it in her mouth.

Billy was close to orgasm but was absolutely determined not to go over the edge. He fell back on his only defense, thinking about pro football and the new ‘75 season. Cowboys, gotta beat Rams. Tough team but they can do it. Oh Gawd. Feels too fucking good to believe. No, think Cowboy defense. Good bunch. Gotta win the season opener, oh shit, what’s she doing? Ahh, she stopped. Man, that was close.

Suze took another gulp from the flask. Hmm. She handed it over to Billy who unthinkingly guzzled, as the member in her left hand swelled and stiffened another notch. She let out a shriek of surprise and delight. But would this colossal tube actually fit inside her? It might hurt more than be fun. She let go, rose up and pushed her damp hair back.

Billy, freed from her mind-blanking grasp, handed back the nearly empty flask for her to finish off, and as she quaffed, he kissed her ears and neck. She made little cooing sounds while she drank. His hands were busy on her fabulous breasts. Bigger than I thought, and they jut. He had a fantastic image of them sticking out into the world, crossing county and state lines, across the oceans, nipples big as mountains, causing tidal waves, crushing millions. It’s the damn pot. Stuff is too freaky, too strong. Still, what a gas. Whatta groove.

His turn to mouth her nipples, tongue-flick them, gently bite down on them with lip-covered teeth, and was rewarded with more appreciative noises. Ok good. Getting back into my head. Ah she’s an innie. Outtie belly buttons are gross. He cupped her breasts with his hands, head working downward. Tongue that innie. Tease her now. Make her wait. Blow in the belly button. Suck it. Love it.

Suze was indeed raging with desire, weak in the knees. He was taking over, making her tingle everywhere. What’s he doing? So different from the bastard ex-husband. Gentle, inventive. Fuckin’ erotic. Ok enough of this damn shower. Bed now. Oh god yeah. She reached out and shut off the water. He looked up in surprise as she spoke. “Towel.”


Imants’ heart beat rapidly. He felt the familiar burning pain in his stomach and something else he couldn’t identify. He jumped to his feet. Had to do something. What to do. Dunno. Pain. I’m under attack. The Devil. I’m a pawn in his larger game. As is Suze. I could grab her, take her away. If I just had some time to be with her, make her see.

But no. That’s kidnapping. Can’t do that, get arrested. Years of jail. Cold, lonely. Dad hating me. His FBI co-workers mocking him. No, no.

He could hear Suze’s voice on the other side of the wall. But the sound was indistinct, fuzzy. As was the other voice. The deeper voice rich with evil. A Devil’s Servant. There were many such. This one had his dear Suze in there. She might be in danger, needing his help. She would be delighted to be saved.

Or, would she? She had lacked warmth at the 7-11 when they talked. Had rushed off to be with that freak with the hair. Now this kid. All so wrong. He felt a hopeless despair. Everything was lost forever.

But wait. Perhaps this is perfectly innocent. Something that is rationally explained. But the drug. Imants slumped back onto the bed. He had found it in the van. What was in those big cases? Why was Suze involved? What was she doing right now?

The towel was big and fluffy, and Billy had dried her off slowly and deliciously in a dazed state of pleasant excitement. He felt like telling her that this was the best thing that had happened to him in his entire life. But he instinctively knew that would be wrong to say right now. He dropped the towel and began caressing her hips, her outer thighs, fingers trailing teasingly. She wiggled her hips for a second, his pace only inches from her pubic curls. Then she grabbed him by the hair and pulled. He obligingly stood from his crouch.

“Come,” she commanded. As they walked to the bed, she turned up the TV. Gary Cooper ran to hide, gun in hand.

Billy understood she wanted the TV to drown out their lovemaking. “Yeah, good idea.”

She plastered her body up against his. It felt deliciously wicked yet innocent. I need this. Way too long. Let’s do it. Now. Now. But he pulled away and looked at her seriously.

“Suze. I have to ask. Are you on The Pill? Cuz if not, I…”

She was laughing. “Awwww… That is so sweet. No, you don’t need a condom. Not at all. Yeah, I’m on it. C’mere, damnit.”

She advanced on him and they kissed in a fiery naked embrace. She felt like she was spinning on a funhouse turntable, but instead of it making her dizzy, she was becoming part of everything in some multidimensional fusion. Ecstasy, she decided. Effortless ecstasy.

Imants put his ear to the wall. The voices lacked definition. The airco in his room, must shut off. After doing so he rushed to the bathroom, grabbed the drinking glass, ripped the paper covering off, and stood by the wall and pressed the open end of the glass against it. Was that better? Maybe a little. But that music…. TV, he supposed.

What was that, what was that? Had he really heard that? It sounded like…. His mind shied away. Couldn’t be; he was hearing what the Devil put into his ear. But, had she really said that? No. No! But there, again over the sound of the TV. Oh God. Oh God. Was she saying, “Fuck you?”

Or was it, “Fuck me?”

Tune in next time for Drug Run: Chapter 13 – Motel Mess

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