The Scenic Route

She'd try her luck along this track. Perhaps, bypassing Dixie Valley by traveling a bit beyond the paved portion of 121, along the unpaved portion of the route that connected, well over a hundred miles to the north, with Battle Mountain and Interstate 80, she'd put herself well past any point to which anyone else would want to journey and would have the whole land to herself, just as she'd planned.

As she drove along The Loneliest Highway in America, her thoughts drifted to Kevin's hard body. He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, and well-toned limbs; even a suit and tie couldn't disguise his Adonis-like build. She wondered what he'd look like naked. Would he be as bronzed of body as he was tan of face? Would he have a firm, tight ass? Would his cock be big or small, cut or uncut, and would he have cute little balls or giant low-hangers? Would he fuck like a stallion or make the half-hearted humping thrusts of the hesitant neophyte? Rose guessed, by his easy manner and his obvious comfort in his own skin, that Kevin would be everything she'd want and expect in a man and then some--if they ended up as a couple. She wasn't planning to rush into anything, that was for sure, not after Bruce.

She remembered Kevin's smiles as he'd told her about the wildflowers and described the scenic route she was taking, right now, without him. Just as he'd promised her, the scenery was gorgeous. So was Kevin, she thought. He had the cutest dimples! When he smiled, long, deep, Clint Eastwood-like creases appeared in his cheeks. He was a handsome cuss; there was no doubt about that. She was just as sure that he was attracted to her, too. Maybe, in time. . . .


The road was paved. Sort of. It meandered quite a bit more than its representation in the road atlas suggested, and, it was more that a little rough at times, with big, jarring potholes to avoid and shoulders that, without warning, crumbled away, victims of the tireless, eroding forces of wind and sand, assisted, on rare occasions, by heavy rains.