Dream, Inspire, Visualize, Expect (DIVE) Publishing

Setting: An expansive farm field right outside Atlanta, GA.  A lone red barn sits across the old style plantation with no house within sight. 

CLAIRE 

What the hell have I done.  Waking up in an open field, laying naked from the waist up on top a blanket with some dude whom looks like he is fresh out of the pages of Playgirl.  

“Wake up Jason,” I say however to no conscious response as he is still lying with his head propped against a tightly rolled up pair of blue denim jeans and a white t-shirt.  To be honest, I can lay here all day just staring at this hot bod, abs so firm, and thighs so lean he would put everyone else to shame that I’ve ever slept with.  He sure the hell ain’t gay.  

Sure Jason is definitely out of my league, as if I’m with some A list actor and I’m just an extra starring in some low budget porn scene for some fast money.  

JASON

“Oh hey babe.  What ya doin up so early.”  Sunlight is just now breaking below the horizon, as if slowing pulling the blanket from its face to expose the restful eyes of a sinfully gorgeous one night stand.  How did I net a girl like this.  I can notice Claire shyly looking away with a slight smirk on that angelic face of hers-her long, blonde hair flowing playfully across her still bare breasts and teasefully covering the most sought after foreplay spot on a lady.  

I quickly position myself up to retrieve my white t- shirt then reach for my boxers which were under Claire’s shapely  legs the entire night.  I stand up to pull on my jeans as Claire fumbles around for her bra.  “Isn’ t that it over there,” I say pointing to the dirt road 100 feet away.  I guess you just couldn’t wait to feel the cool Southern breeze I say; her pink tanktop is also next to her lacey white bra.  

“Last night was a blast.  You are one bomb-ass babe.” Little does she know all about those vanilla chicks I used to date from these conservative, Baptist meet-ups in the South.  The dancing was ok and I could hang with some Brad Paisley and Clint Black but the dating scene was more like the rehearsal for the next Footloose sequel.  The preacher preaching a fire and brimstone sermon on the consequences of dancing with your partner too closely.  It’s as if the unwritten law was to maintain a space cushion of five feet between you and your partner or else you risked getting the girl pregnant out of wedlock-you’d get nailed to the cross for that one.  

CLAIRE 

“So where to now, uh by the way where the fuck are we.”  My next question was did we have sex however my panties, though worn with a tear across the front, were still on me.  There were no condom wrappers around nor any used rubber so if we did do it, no safety net was there.  

Here comes the big announcement a few months down the line as people awkwardly gawk, stare, or talk amongst themselves whether she is with child or just gaining weight like some forgotten American Idol runner-up star.  Maybe I’ll just hide her under my loose fitting Baptist dress that goes down to my ankles, wear an oversized floppy hat, and a pair of wide-framed Gucci sunglasses.  I can go incognito like Selena Gomez trying to evade the paparazzi or worse yet, ewwww Justin Bieber. 
My head is fucking killing me.  “I just hope you don’t have sex with every hot girl you see.  I sure the hell don’t want one of those diseases or viruses I remember reading about in my Sex Ed course.”

JASON 

“Trust me baby, I don’t have HIV, herpes, or whatever viruses are out there.  Besides I didn’t cum inside you, like I need that baggage right now.  I don’t even know what will happen with tomorrow.”  I know that was not the answer she was expecting or looking for but the last thing I want is a clinger.  

CLAIRE 

“I sure the hell hope you are telling me the truth.  I am not a slut and don’t sleep around with every guy I see.”  Ok, I lied.  I love sex.  I love giving and receiving oral sex.  I love having my clothes torn off, my panties ripped off my thighs, and tied down with ropes or handcuffs; a slave to the rhythm of the night.  

Sacrificing my innocence early in the game, losing my religion, losing my virginity in middle school after a Homecoming football game by several Senior jocks.  I was only 14 at the time-a novice to kissing, let alone crude foreplay, then forceful fucking in the locker room.  Gang banged-raped while the noisy celebrations and fireworks went off out on in the stadium, drowning out any loud moans or screams emanating from the steamy showers.  Maybe it was a fantasy of my subconscious to be handled and touched so roughly by strong arms and hands in such a manner.  
I’m addicted to having this hurricane of a sexual thrill with guys that can have their way with me in more ways than just one.  I crave the experience like an ice cold Sierra Nevada Pale Ale-in fact the six pack is what started this whole shit.  Ok, maybe I’m a junkie whore needing my deep penetration fix; my protein shake from a ‘fucking 20K marathon.’  

Now I see him eyeing me up and down; it hits me.  I am still naked from the waist up except for my skimpy lacey Victoria Secret panties.  I gather up my clothes, slowly putting my bra back on, then pulling my tank top over me.  
The sun has now crested the horizon spreading it’s golden light across the field.  A few cars can be seen glistening off in the distance on Interstate 20 and a lone tractor is approaching their car off, a long trail of dust clouding up the path directly behind…

To be continued…