Jerry and I wore looking forward to the long weekend alone. We’d left our small town six years ago and had only been back once or twice a year. Initially, it was to attend college and afterward we’d both landed jobs in the big city. About a year after our graduation, I ran into him at a wine bar and we hooked up. He seemed so different from the little I recalled of him in high school. The hook up led to more dates and not long after we were an “item.”
We had fun sharing books, learning new things from one another and engaging in adventures neither of us would have likely tried without the encouragement from the other. Our sex life sizzled from the start, but together we upped it several levels. It didn’t take long for Jerry to uncover my naughty submissive streak and use it for his own pleasure.
Now we were headed back to our dinky hometown in his baby—a goofy truck passed down from his grandfather that Jerry restored. It took him years, and something he poured his heart into. A 1950 Ford F47, V-8 three speed. He’d drilled that information into me over and over. It had a bench seat, he’d redone in leather and a stick shift. I should say, a modified stick shift. The V-8 was loud, rambled and the stick shift really shook.