Damaged Goods Ch. 03

Chapter 3

Dylan heaved a sigh, his mind was a tangle of scattered thoughts and emotions that tried to coalesce themselves into something communicable.

Delilah waited for a bit, and she broke the ice, "The odds of that event occurring must be astronomical."

That statement cocked his probing mind to attention, "What event?"

She pointed out the windshield toward the southern horizon, "The lightning. That triple strike we both witnessed."

He shook his head in affirmation, unsure of the true answer, "That may be true, I guess."

"The funny thing is I saw the same type of lightning about twenty minutes ago from a window in that old farmhouse back there," she said with a smile as she turned to point out the rear window.

He looked out the back window and the bright bluish light illuminated the house as if it was in the opening scene of some cheap horror film. He heaved another sigh, "You mean the meth house back there?"

"Yeah, the meth house. I saw the first triple strike from a side window there," she stated with a bit of apprehension.

"Why would you go inside a place like that? You could have been poisoned, shot, stabbed or died in a massive explosion!" he replied with a heavy dose of condemnation.

She shrugged, "It is what it is, Dylan. I needed a place to stay overnight and I came out safe and sound."

His lips made the flapping noise of dismay, "Come on, Delilah. You always did shit like that to get a rise out of me."

She just chuckled, "No, Dylan. I never did that stuff to annoy you. I did it because I needed to feel alive, because we needed to feel alive. Somebody needed to be the risk taker in our relationship."

He gaped at her in shock, "Come on, Dee. That's a load of shit and you know it. If I didn't take any risks, I would have run outside of my comfort zone to the playground on the day we met."

She now guffawed, "Wow, Mr. Risky here dodged traffic and left the bounds of his safe zone to go to a different playground. Stop the presses everybody, the world at large must know this earth-shattering revelation!"

Dylan could only take so much razzing. To her surprise, he shut off the vehicle, took the keys from the ignition, opened the driver's side door and leaped out into the raging storm. He unlocked the trunk and procured the bottle of Jack that had been patiently waiting to be imbibed. The look on Delilah's face was of sheer confusion as he sat back in the driver's seat and slammed the door shut.

Even though he was partially drenched, he just smirked and cracked the top off the bottle, "My back tire is blown and the heavens just keep dropping the tears. We aren't going anywhere for a while."

She immediately smirked and tossed her rucksack in the back seat. It was then that she noticed the two-liter bottle of Coke that was still somewhat chilled. She grabbed it and gave Dylan a look that meant that they were on the same wavelength. They cracked the seals on both bottles at the same time. Dylan took a short snort of JD while Delilah took a short snort of Coke, and they passed the bottles between themselves.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Dylan asked rhetorically after a few silent minutes.

"Yeah, plenty for me. Remember the first time we drank this?" Delilah replied with a smirk of her own.

He chuckled at his remembrance of that day as he took another nip of the medication.

"It tasted like burnt ass. Back then you didn't know anything about proper measurement," he answered as felt the alcoholic warmth enter into his blood vessels.

She razzed him some more, "Oh fuck that, neither did you. I remember the next day you brought that Vanilla Stoli shit that you said your mom loves. That crap tasted like melted fried cried mixed with swass."

He gave her a disconcerted look, "Yeah, don't remind me. I don't know why in the hell I made that for us. I must be a glutton for punishment, I guess."

She took a long pull off the JD, "I remember that, your mother was psychotic. I am surprised she had the mental capacity to know that you 'borrowed' some of her stuff."

He took a couple sips of Coke, "That's another thing I'd prefer to forget. She laced into me with the brass end of a belt that night. I mean that woman didn't know what day of the week it was or if I had a teacher's conference, but she automatically knew if I had pilfered her Stoli. She was psychic as well as psychotic."

They switched the bottles around and each took a long pull even though the silence was heavy with despair and they were starting to fly high like a pair of kites.

Dylan heard the voice of Ricky Van Shelton emanate from the radio. He wasn't Roy Orbison by any stretch of the imagination, but the alcoholic spell he put himself under caused him to care less. The words echoed silently in his mind as he turned to the raven-haired beauty. She was more beautiful than he remembered, her face and body could have graced the cover of any high-end fashion magazine.

As Dylan ruminated about her looks, Delilah was contemplating something that bothered her for years. Whenever she had such goofy thoughts, she wasn't one to keep them quiet. She tilted her eyes up and saw him staring longingly at the radio.

"Have you ever wondered how ironic your last name is?" she asked pointedly.

The question surprised him, "No, I haven't because I don't possess a mind as twisted as yours."

These kinds of conversations had been common all throughout their relationship.

She shrugged and smiled, "Come on, Dill. It hasn't bothered you in the least."

He thought about it for a couple of seconds, "I guess it has on some subconscious thought level that I've never probed into. Now that you mention it, it makes sense."

And yet the thought made him more uncomfortable than before.

She continued onward with a hint of disbelief, "Life hasn't exactly been good to either one of us, but the irony of your last name and the state of your life is one that couldn't have escaped your notice."

He felt five inches tall, but he knew she was right.

He gulped and made his thoughts known, "That's why I don't believe in a loving god."

She was taken aback on the surface, but she wasn't all that astounded.

She heaved a sigh, "You can't tell me you've made it this far in life just by chance, Dill."

He shook his head, "I never said that I didn't believe in a god. I believe in a malicious, capricious god. The kind that likes to torture me and you for his own amusement."

But she countered him easily, "Still, you have made it this far and your life has to have changed for the better. I know you and I had to eat equitable amounts of emotional turmoil, and I even question that, but you've managed to overcome some amount of it, at least I'd like think so."

Dylan didn't want to be angry with her, but a large part of his being wanted her to be silent. She didn't know about his past with his bloodsucking ex-girlfriend, nor did she know that his father ran off to Molde, Norway to reunite with a former lover after his mother committed suicide. Dylan stared out the windshield and he noticed that the maelstrom was tapering off. He looked over at Delilah and she'd been sipping on the Jack Daniels as she awaited some kind of answer from him.

"The storm is cooling off. I am going to go change the rear tire." He stated with a heavy, seething breath.

She set the Jack Daniels in her lap and said, "You haven't given me a real reason why you don't believe in a loving god."

Dylan tried to keep his emotions buried as long as he could, but the universe had other plans. Two whiskey, silky male voices had come on the radio and were singing about how they needed somebody to count on being there, somebody who really cared and somebody they could each hold onto.

"Why does the fucking radio always echo my thoughts." Dylan stated as if from nowhere.

Delilah arched her eyebrows in surprise, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Then came the part about how the men had a nasty solitude that needed to be crushed with the help of a lifelong mate.

Dylan grabbed the bottle of whiskey from between Delilah's legs and took a mighty swig. His tolerance had become manly over the past year or so. He then popped the trunk open and got out of the car from there. It suddenly clicked in Delilah's mind as to why Dylan was avoiding her question.

Dylan's head was buried in the trunk as he worked the spare tire out of it's hiding place. He heard the door slam and her footfalls in the soggy grass. He tried to be focused but her presence made that action impossible to accomplish.

She leaned her tight backside against the wet vehicle and had placed the balls of her hand on the rear quarter-panel. He glanced upward and saw her lustrous form against the night sky that was still flashing between blue and black. Even from the diminished angle, he could see how luscious her ass was in those tight blue jeans.

And, like before, his body was starting to betray himself.

But these reasons were hopes that had appeared years before and had been left unfulfilled.

Dylan managed to release the tire from the from its hiding place and he pulled it from the trunk. He placed it by Delilah's feet and retrieved the jack from the trunk. Her lissome figure was blocking the busted tire and he gave her a stern look of displeasure. She blushed as a blast of lightning on the southern horizon illuminated her entire body. The quick flash was enough to erode his façade further. She moved enough to stand by the bumper and she watched him unscrew the jack so the car could be hoisted off the ground. The task was time-consuming and involved a few ounces of concentration. Delilah smirked to herself and played grand inquisitor once more.

"So, why does the radio always echo your thoughts?" she asked as if it was a statement that occurred in everyday conversation.

Dylan stopped unscrewing the jack and glanced up in her direction. Her lovely, stunning figure was bathed in the orange hazard light. As the light blinked on and off, watching her was like watching an odd kind of peep show.

He huffed and stated softly, "I guess it's what I really believe deep down."

She hadn't heard him, "What was that, Dill?"

He huffed once more and stated loudly, "I guess it's what I really believe deep down."

She smirked to herself again, "And what do you believe, Dylan?"

He dropped the tire iron and strolled up to within inches of her face, "I believe in a loving god and the corollaries that follow from it."

And he reached around her arms and shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss that had been waiting in the wings for the last two years. He pressed his lips to hers and her resistance was due only to surprise. Dylan's flame for her that day went from a glowing ember to a toasty campfire to a raging inferno. Despite his brashness, his motions on her lips were gentle, kind and even satisfying. He opened his mouth the shape of a small O appeared every so often to allow his tongue to touch hers. Her movements were truly complementary and congruent, like two forty-five degree angles had been glued together at their adjacent sides. Being playful, he gripped her bottom lip with his teeth for a second or so and she giggled. Her face looked absolutely mythic bathed in the flashing orange light. All she could do was beam with gratitude.

She chuckled a bit, "Wow, and I mean WOW!"

He grinned widely, "I guess I couldn't hide it anymore."

"What is that?" she asked, wondering if the question was rhetorical.

"My feelings for you. My only true reason for holding onto hope," he announced truthfully.

She nodded, "I knew that, otherwise why would you have been fighting with me?"

He stated, "The events from back then basically put my belief in god on life support. I had one reason that helped me hold on."

She completed his thought again, "To see me again."

He augmented his thought further, "To be with you again."

He leaned in again and they kissed with more zeal. Their tongues danced and the lips moved in a perfect choreography, a tantalizing prelude of events to come. At the same moment, Dylan's manhood was beginning to rise to the occasion and Delilah's arboreal oasis was being replenished by her aquifer. After a while, they came up for air.

He gave her a sheepish grin, "I could do this all night."

She replied, "I could too."

And they kissed a bit.

He said simply, "We need to get the tire on."

She stated, "We'll be stuck here with a dead battery too."

And they kissed some more.

He asked, "How long can you hold out?"

She answered, "Until you touch me again."

And they kissed a little longer, preparing their bodies for the inevitable.

He asked, "Do you remember that day?

She asked back, "What day?"

He replied, "The day I expressed my feelings."

She stated, "With crystal clarity."

He said, "You never told me yours."

She countered, "I never had the chance."

He said with a smile, "So tell me now."

Her eyes became pools of delight, "I love you, Dylan. I loved you that day and I've loved you since then."

He cradled her head as she let loose her tears because her feelings had been bottled up for so long.

He whispered into her right ear, "I love you too, Delilah. I haven't been able to say that to you for two years."

She wiped her eyes and stared at him longingly, "Do you believe in god now?"

He smiled back, "Now I do."

And they kissed a bit more before Dylan decided to work on the tire.

Delilah leaned against the rear quarter-panel and tried to see Dylan's assets. All she could see were his toned arms. He wasn't a bodybuilder by any means, but he appeared to have a solid exercise routine. She stood up and rubbed her left hand along his left arm from his wrist to the cuff of his T-shirt. She then took her right index finger and moved it slowly along his neck and onto his head. He flinched as she kept up with the distraction.

"I won't be able to get us back home if you keep doing that, Dee." Dylan stated with irritation.

Delilah chuckled malevolently, "It's called incentive, Dill."

He huffed under his breath as he got the last lug nut off and he pulled the tire off the wheel. He lifted it to his chest as he walked to the trunk. He put the tire into the trunk and he let out a large breath as he rested his head on his arms, which were against the open trunk lid. Even in the orange light, Dylan's white T-shirt could barely hide his core. He was in great shape, which was one of the few positive lessons that his father had instilled in him before running off across the pond.

Delilah wandered up by him and sat on the bumper. As he caught his breath, she reached under his T-shirt and felt along his abdominal muscles. Her nimble right fingers teased each stomach muscle and his body warmed to her loving touch. He pushed himself off the trunk lid and backed a foot or so away from her. She immediately moved herself off the bumper at his sudden motion. He slammed the trunk lid and then grabbed her around the waist, pulling her so her eyes met his eyes. He didn't care if the car battery died anymore, because his human battery was fully charged and ready to loose its juice. He kissed her again deeply, fully and completely. She responded as hungrily as he did as he pushed her against the vehicle and unsnapped the button on her pants. He flipped up the zipper with the middle finger on his right hand and it zipped down by its own volition.

He pushed his right hand in to her panties and found her oasis replenished, ready to satisfy a certain thirst that only a real lover could activate. Even though he hadn't touched her in over two years, he still knew how to her work her button just so. With the very top of his finger, he lightly touched her nub and immediately sent the pleasure she so badly craved to all her centers. Delilah's eyes immediately rolled upward as she moaned. She grabbed onto Dylan's shoulders and neck as he worked his wizardry on her.

She moved her mouth to Dylan's ear and whimpered fervently, "God, Dylan, I have wanted this for so long!"

Dylan stared lovingly into her eyes and kissed her once more. He increased the speed and friction just enough to get her moaning again. He slid his fingers in torturous vertical motions. She became more moist with each passing stroke. She moaned louder and he increased the number of strokes in bursts, first three, then five, then seven and then he suddenly stopped.

She was crying in pleasure, "Don't stop now. Keep doing that to me, studly!"

He chuckled and returned to his sexual finger torture, repeating the same odd-number pattern but not stopping at seven this time. He increased it to nine, then eleven and finally to lucky number thirteen. Each tormenting caress bought her ever closer to having the dam spill over onto the floodplain. After the final rub on the set of thirteen, she finally released a flood of juice onto his hand and her panties, which soaked into her jeans.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaawd!" she howled as she shook from her first true orgasm in so long.

Dylan was not a man who left his lover in the lurch, her pleasure was his prime directive. He raised his hand from her pleasure center and he slurped the liquid off his two forefingers. It tasted and smelled like strawberries and cream honey. Delilah laughed in disbelief at what her lover had done.

Dylan raised his eyebrows and smirked, "You have the sweetest taste, did you know that?"

Delilah laughed and gave him the come-hither look, "Get over here and take these pants off now!"

He complied with her plea by putting his strong hands on the waist of her jeans and panties and he slowly shimmied them down like the ultimate romantic hero might do. She shrieked as the cold metal of the trunk hood made contact with her attractive behind. He dropped her lower-half garments onto the ground and slid her ass just so it was on the verge of falling of the hood. Dylan got onto his haunches and placed his mouth several centimeters away from her love hole.

He looked up into her tantalizing eyes and voiced his intent, "Are you ready for onslaught?"

Delilah didn't say word, she just nodded her head furiously.

Dylan's took his talented tongue and placed it upon her engorged nub. He lightly touched it with the tip and made a slow upward motion. She purred in ecstasy as he did it three more times. Dylan was believer in the multiple-stroke theory of cunnilingus. Some men believed in the practice of spelling words or completing the alphabet as part of their tongue-love repertoire. Dylan's practice was to pick a number and complete that number at varying speeds, usually between turtle slow and rabbit fast. He would then skip count the number of strokes from there on. Dylan decided to count by twos, since two was his preferred numbers as of late.

He licked her nub twice slowly and softly for the first two years they were together.

Then he licked her crease twice quickly and maddeningly for the second two years they were apart.

And every time he licked, she moaned all the more as she awaited even more of his lingual onslaught.

He tongued her button languidly four times for the number of years he had known her.

He tongued her quim furiously four times for the number of years he had longed for her.

She laughed and groaned, "Dylan, you are the best ever!"

He knew she was putty and he became emboldened.

He multiplied his glossal caresses by a factor of four.

He lapped at her clit gradually sixteen times for the age he truly avowed his love to her.

As Dylan moved his tongue into her honeysuckle, Delilah quivered again releasing another strawberry and honey-favored flood into the floodplain. Dylan lapped up the liquid with flourish.

She cried out loud, "God, Dylan. Get up here and plow me! Plow me like you mean it!"

He didn't need to be told twice.