Copyright © 1998 by Marilyn Jaye Lewis

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

“Safeway” appeared in a slightly different form in Batteries Not Included, edited by Alison Tyler, published by Diva, UK, spring 1999; in Best Bondage Erotica, edited by Alison Tyler, published by Cleis Press, USA, fall 2003;  and in Lust: Bisexual Erotica, published by Alyson Books, USA, fall 2004. 

There’s no better place on earth for a bright red 1968 Cadillac convertible than the wide-open back roads of those barren desert towns south of Reno, Nevada. Or so we thought, until we encountered all the dust. It flew up and pelted us when our wheels hit that unpaved road. It found our tongues and coated them. The dust stuck between our teeth; it stung gritty and sudden in our unprotected eyes. A desert is called a desert for a reason, we discovered. Choking and coughing, we hurriedly groped for the buttons that brought the convertible top back down and raised the electric windows.

Sheila and I were fools like that. We didn’t give much thought to sand, water, wind, or the elements: We just got in a car and drove. That summer, we’d saved up enough money to keep the Cadillac filled with gas for a month as we drove cross-country and back. We had only enough money left over to eat in truck stops and sleep in the cheapest motels. You know the kind: Truckers won’t stay in them for more than an hour at a time. They don’t provide you with a television, or a radio, or a phone; they spend most of their paltry income just trying to keep their neon sign lit, but at least the sheets are clean and they have running water.

This was early on in my relationship with Sheila, when our idea of a vacation together was to get in the Cadillac and drive for hours along state routes or back roads, smoke cigarettes and stop for a cheese burger, then find a cheap motel, get drunk and fuck. Then do it all over again the next day and the day after that, until we’d allegedly seen the country. But we weren’t interested in checking out local color or in visiting any tourist attractions. We were content with finding the next town, the next liquor store, and the next motel room; mostly we were content with fucking.

Sheila was the first woman I’d ever taken up with who could make me feel almost petite. I’m big, but Sheila was even bigger. She stood six feet, two inches in her bare feet and weighed in at one hundred and eighty pounds. She was a strapping blue-eyed, blonde, Irish Catholic girl from the Bronx. If you go by that notion that opposites attract, then we were a very attractive pair: I was a brown-eyed brunette from Ohio, part city slicker, part hillbilly trash. I’d never stepped foot in the Bronx and she’d never been to Appalachia, where most of my favorite childhood memories had been born.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Sheila had snorted when I’d raised a fuss about bringing the dildos. “We’re gonna be gone an entire month!”

But I was adamant: no dildos. I had a phobia about State Troopers. Just the words “state trooper” were enough to make me panic. Flashing lights, sirens, gruff men in Saigon shades. Even though I’d never received so much as a parking ticket, let alone a speeding ticket, in my entire life, I had this irrational fear of the highway patrol. Sheila and I would get pulled over, I imagined, on an obscure highway in the middle of nowhere, for no discernible reason. Our bags would be rifled and the dildos discovered. Suddenly, my hands would be cuffed painfully behind my back, and Sheila would be knocked out cold by the side of the road. Then I would be treated to a forced sexual frenzy in the back seat of Satan’s patrol car, my pitiful asshole penetrated violently by a state trooper wielding my own dildo.

“That means I can’t fuck you for an entire month, what kind of vacation is that?” Sheila went on. “How can I enjoy myself, see our great country and relax, if I can’t watch your eyes roll up in your pretty head every night and listen to you grunt like some animal in heat?”

“Sheila-enough, man. I just don’t like the idea of traveling with them, all right? We can get by on fingers and tongues for one lousy month, can’t we?”

Well, it turned out we couldn’t, but we were too far from the East Coast to find an adult toy store by the time we’d realized it wasn’t going to work. After a week and a half on the road, Sheila and I finally pulled into endless, wide-open Nevada in the late evening. We’d had enough of vanilla fucking and I, in particular, was squirming for something a little more fulfilling.

That’s when we discovered the Safeway. It was a twenty-four hour supermarket: a brightly-lit haven for slot machines, miles of beverages and great slabs of beef. It was stocked with enough Hostess Ho-Ho’s to feed an army; family-sized bags of Chee-tos spilled out of its display racks. But best of all, as far as we were concerned: It had produce; farm-fresh produce in vivid hues, unlike anything we’d seen in Manhattan markets; produce hydrated every fifteen minutes by a gossamer-like mist that showered down gently from the top of the display case. It was enough to make us stare in awe-and get ideas.

“Isn’t Nevada the site of all those atomic accidents in the movies,” Sheila mused, marveling at the enormity of the vegetables. “You know, where those giant grasshoppers ate Peter Graves?”

“I think so,” I answered dreamily, eyeing the phallic cucumbers and a mound of huge, leafy carrots. “Have you ever seen a carrot this-”

“Clean?” Sheila interjected.

Well, I wasn’t going to say clean, but she was right about it, nonetheless.

When another gentle shower misted the colorful vegetables, Sheila looked at the huge, wet, glistening carrots and then back at me. Our eyes locked. “Pick yourself out a nice one,” she said magnanimously. “It’s on me.”

My clit twitched. Sheila had looked at me the same way the night in Ariel’s when we’d first met. She’d offered to buy me a drink, but then had immediately stood too close and whispered unexpectedly, “Why don’t you take off your panties?”

“What?” I’d responded in shock.

“Go in the bathroom and take off your panties.”

For some reason her audacity hadn’t repelled me. “Why?” I demanded curiously, taking a sip of the whiskey and coke she’d paid for.

“Because,” she explained with that look on her face, that look of carefully controlled and calculated lust, “I want you to misbehave, so I can take you home with me and really give you something to cry about.”

Remembering, I moved closer to her now in the Safeway produce aisle. “Maybe I should get two,” I said softly, thinking of the little surprises she’d had in store for me that first night, once I’d finally discarded my panties in the ladies room at Ariel’s and willfully misbehaved.

“You mean one to put up your ass and one for the front?” Sheila asked.

“Uh-huh.”

A woman dressed like a rancher’s wife hurriedly tossed a handful of green beans into a plastic produce bag and moved far away from us.

Sheila and I kept our mouths shut after that. She stood by silently while I selected my two carrots; large, leafy ones, with sturdy rounded tips. On the way to the checkout I stopped short.

“What is it?” Sheila whispered.

“Vaseline,” I whispered back.

“You’re getting to be an expensive date,” she said under her breath, as we walked over to the health & beauty aisle. “You’d better be worth it.”

*     *     *     *

We were near hysterics when we got back in our car in the Safeway parking lot and realized what a conspicuous picture we’d made in the checkout lane: two rather large white women in black tee shirts, black Levi’s, and motorcycle boots, in the heat of the Nevada evening, buying nothing but two large carrots and a plastic tub of Vaseline.

The little mouse of a cashier had pushed her glasses up nervously on the bridge of her nose, not wanting to speak to us or make eye contact with us while we’d paid.

“These carrots were probably her date for Saturday night,” Sheila cracked sarcastically as we drove over to our motel room. “She’s devastated.”

“Well, that would explain her ill-treatment of us. It wasn’t contempt, just pure envy.”

Our motel room was luxurious by our impoverished standards. It had the ubiquitous double bed, bedecked with a brightly colored polyester bedspread, a ladder-back chair, a rickety desk, and a total of three dim lamps with yellowing shades. The pièce de résistance was a side table with two bright orange vinyl-cushioned chairs.

Sheila went to the vending room for a bucket of ice and some cans of Diet Coke, I headed for the shower. The water pressure was surprisingly strong for a cheap motel in the middle of the desert. It was relaxing, so I stayed in there longer than I normally would have. When I finally emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, Sheila was hard at play with my twin dates for the evening.

“What do you think of a puppet show?” she asked, as she introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Carrot. She had torn the leafy greens off of one of them, so that it resembled a carrot with a crew cut, though she had left the other carrot’s top springy and long.

“Didn’t Mr. Potato Head have a friend, Mr. Carrot,” I asked “Back in the Dark Ages, when we were both wee little lasses?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sheila replied, as she fixed me a Wild Turkey and Diet Coke. “I remember a Mr. Green Pepper and a Mr. Cucumber, and I’m pretty sure there was a Mr. Carrot.” She handed me my drink and lit a cigarette for herself. “Come over here and sit with me. I’ve been wanting to see you naked all day.”

Perched on one of the vinyl-cushioned chairs, Sheila motioned for me to sit on her substantial lap. She was still completely dressed; she liked to stay dressed until the very last minute. I was fresh from my shower and completely naked. I set my drink on the table and snuggled up close to her; we kissed, her tongue swirling around and exploring my mouth.

“How can you spoil such good bourbon with that sweet shit?” she complained after kissing me and tasting the Diet Coke on my tongue. (Sheila took her bourbon neat.) “You try so hard to be a big-city girl,” she added, kissing me again, “but you’re just trash.”

“I know.”

“Only white trash mixes Coca-Cola with bourbon-hey, I was wondering, are you gonna be extra-special trashy tonight?”

“Probably,” I confessed.

“Good,” she sighed playfully, running her hand between my naked thighs. “You know how angry I get when you behave.”

But I didn’t know-I hadn’t once behaved since we’d started going out. Our first night together-when we’d met in Ariel’s and I’d taken off my panties in a public place simply because she’d asked me to-was my personal milestone for misbehavior.

I’d let her buy me a lot of drinks that night. I had drunk too much, in fact, because I knew she was the kind of woman who would stay in control. But I think I was a little afraid of her, too, and I was drinking because I was nervous. She did unexpected things. When I’d excused myself to pee, she’d followed me right into the ladies room, right into the stall, then forced her tongue between my teeth while my piss sprayed down into the porcelain bowl. She slid her fingertips between my legs and teased my clitoris while I peed; then she’d pressed a dripping finger to her lips and licked it. “I could drink your piss,” she said softly. “You’re that pretty. I think you’d better wipe yourself off and come home with me. Now.”

I knew then that with a little privacy we were going to go a long way.

She let us into her apartment, flipped on one lamp, and then locked the door behind us. She tugged my hair and pulled my face up close to hers. “I have a roommate and the walls are really thin,” she explained succinctly. “Can I count on you to be extra quiet?”

I nodded my head and smiled eagerly.

“I mean extra, extra quiet. You see this wall?” She tugged on my hair again and led me over to the far wall. I tried to suppress an urge to giggle. “On the other side of this wall is a woman who’s as big as me, and she’s not going to like it very much if she discovers you’re here. Do you know what I mean?”

I studied the wall, which had come up very close to my face, and stole a glance at the rather unnerving expression on Sheila’s face.

“I haven’t exactly broken up with her yet,” Sheila clarified quietly, “and technically, this is her apartment.”

My bowels wrenched. Holy shit, I thought, what have I gotten myself into? I was too horny to consider going home.

“What do you think?” Sheila whispered, pushing the side of my face flush against the wall. “Can you be extra quiet?” She swept my hair aside and practically bit the nape of my neck. Then she slipped a hand under my skirt and lightly rubbed my naked ass.

The wall felt ice cold against the side of my face. I nodded my head uneasily.

“Extra, extra quiet even though you know I have to punish you because you misbehaved?”

I nodded my head again, but Sheila gave my hair a tug. “I can’t hear you,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said softly.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I can be extra quiet.”

She gave my hair another quick yank. “Even though…”

“Even though you have to punish me because I misbehaved.”

Sheila grinned wickedly and let her hand slide up between my thighs.

*     *     *     *

I picked up my drink and took a sip as I got out of Sheila’s lap. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“Where the hell did that remark come from?”

I smiled at her and sat down on the bed. “I was just thinking about that first night you took me home and told me that lie about some huge angry woman sleeping in the next room who was going to want to kill me.”

Sheila laughed out in delight. “You were so gullible,” she said with satisfaction. “You should have seen that look of sheer terror on your face. You were scrunched up against that wall and three of my fingers were up your ass, but you were trying so hard to be quiet. You were priceless.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, let’s do it again.”

“Do what?” I asked guardedly.

“Something really intense where you have to shut up the whole time.”

“Sheila-“

She got out of her chair and stood next to the bed, looking down at me. “Come on,” she coaxed, clicking off the bedside lamp.

“Why?”

“Because I have an idea.”

Against my better judgment I got off the bed. “What’s your idea?” I asked uneasily.

“My idea is this,” she said. She clicked off the remaining lamp and opened the motel room door. It had one of those old-fashioned aluminum screen doors, and even though it was already dark out, it was the only thing between my nudity and the outside world.

“Sheila! Close the door!”

“Come here,” she said. “No one can see you.”

“I don’t care. Shut the door.”

“Shh,” she chided me. “No more noise from now on. I want you to be extra quiet.”

“Sheila-”

“Hey, come on. Be quiet.”

For some reason, I did as I was told. It was an understanding Sheila and I had between us: She came up with the ideas and I went along with them. “What do you want me to do?” I conceded quietly.

“Just come stand over here, in front of the door.”

I let her position me right in front of the screen door. “I think I want my cocktail,” I whispered.

Sheila brought it to me. “Don’t worry,” she said. “This motel’s practically deserted, but let’s pretend there are no vacancies and we have to be real quiet.”

I agreed. I took a sip of my drink, the iced glass sweating in my hot little hand. I stared out the screen door into the darkness. The Nevada sky was clear, beautiful, and boundless. It seemed filled with more stars than I remembered. The night air had cooled considerably and a gentle breeze filtered through the screen and made me shiver. I saw two cars parked in front of two other doors, and light shone from behind the drawn venetian blinds of the occupied rooms. The main office was well lit. I could see inside it from where I was standing. The owner, a woman, was watching a small black-and-white television set.

Sheila pressed close behind me, swept aside my hair to find the nape of my neck. Her hands slipped around the front of me and tugged gently on my erect nipples. I reacted automatically, as I did every time Sheila touched me like that: My breasts arched out to meet her nimble fingers. But when she kissed the nape of my neck, I had another reaction: I arched my ass up high, as if I needed to be mounted.

My whole body squirmed under her deliberate, patient kisses. Her steady tugging on my nipples stirred the blood to my clitoris, and I could feel my entire mound becoming engorged. I pushed my ass back against the rough fabric of her Levi’s.

“Oh god,” I moaned softly. “Let me put down my drink.”

“No,” Sheila replied. She began to kiss her way across the expanse of my naked back, then down the length on my spine.

I steadied myself against the doorframe with one hand. She grabbed my cheeks, then and spread them wide, letting her tongue trail lightly over the crack of my ass and down to my anus. It circled into the tiny hole, licking it tenderly, over and over.

“Jesus,” I sighed. I tried to lean over slightly and set my drink on the floor.

“Hey,” Sheila said sharply, smacking my ass. “I told you ‘No’.”

I leaned over farther when Sheila crouched under me, her tongue dipping into my soaking vagina. I spread my legs wide apart to give her room. As her tongue worked its way closer to my clitoris, I felt her thick thumb pushing into my ass.

“Oh god,” I groaned. Keeping my mouth shut while she probed my ass was the tough part, and Sheila knew it. She spread my labia open with her other hand. Her tongue poked right into my stiff clit and licked it steadily, while her thumb worked persistently at my tight anus, pushing in and out.

My face and breasts were brushing against the scratchy mesh of the cold aluminum screen door when Sheila finally eased up on my hole. “Don’t move,” she warned quietly. “I want you to stay right there.”

She stood up.

“At least take my drink, Sheila.”

“All right,” she agreed, “but only because I might want to tie you to the door frame.”

Was she kidding? I looked up above my head in the dark. It didn’t seem possible; she was kidding.

She was back in an instant with a pair of my nylon panties. She began to bind my wrists together in front of me.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh!” She smacked my ass harder this time. “Be quiet.”

I watched in awe as she lifted my bound wrists up above my head and slipped the panties through the pneumatic tube at the top of the screen door and tied me there.

“If you pull this thing loose,” Sheila warned, “I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

I was still marveling at Sheila’s inventiveness when she came back and told me to spread my legs. When I obeyed her, I felt a glob of Vaseline slicked into my asshole. I’d been so caught up in everything that I’d forgotten about the carrots. But then I felt them, both of them, their tips poised at the openings of my holes.

“Remember to be extra quiet,” Sheila reminded me, her voice close to my ear. Then she pushed both of those enormous, atomic-sized carrots into me at once. Not only were they huge: They were ice-cold.

“God!” I squealed between clenched teeth.

“Shh,” she said soothingly, easing both carrots out, then sliding them in deeper. She worked them in and out, picking up speed, until I couldn’t help but let it happen. I spread my feet apart wider and braced myself against the pounding Sheila was giving me. I started to whimper and moan, losing myself in the lust that was overtaking me, but still trying to keep my delirium to myself.

Then, with a sick realization, I saw some one coming along the sidewalk: a woman. She seemed to be en route to the vending machines and would certainly pass our open door.

“Sheila,” I whispered frantically. “Someone’s coming!”

“Shut up and try to act natural,” she offered, as she hid safe, and fully clothed, behind me.

I wanted to yank my hands down from the pneumatic tube and at least cover my breasts, but it was too late. Here she came. I was quiet as a mouse but it didn’t help; she looked right at me.

“Hi,” I chirped.

In the darkness beyond the screen door, she looked like the rancher’s wife we’d repulsed at the Safeway earlier in the evening, but I knew it couldn’t be true. Surely my eyes were just playing tricks on me.

Speechless, the woman hurried past us.

“Sheila, get me down from here before she comes back!” I demanded. “I mean it!”

Sheila broke out in uncontrollable laugher. Though she obliged me in my state of panic, untying my wrists, she mocked me all the while. “Hi,” she kept cheeping, her imitation flawless.

When I was unbound and once again safe behind the closed door, Sheila switched on the light and lit a cigarette, still chuckling merrily over my complete embarrassment. I hollered at her: “It’s not funny!”

But then I couldn’t even convince myself, because it was funny and I had to admit it. “Oh man,” I choked in disbelief, “what were the odds of that happening? Two lousy people in this run down motel!”

*     *     *     *

Later that night, when we had calmed down considerably, when we’d worn out not only my tender holes, but our carrots as well, Sheila and I lay next to each other in the dark.

“Where do you think we’ll wind up tomorrow?” I asked.

“Let’s head south to Vegas,” Sheila answered.

But we only made it as far as the Safeway.

Copyright © 1998 by Marilyn Jaye Lewis

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