Dan Johnson who lived out in the Midwest had long accepted his routine of Saturday night sex was as exciting as waiting for a storm to disappear toward the next county.
After four or five beers he'd tap the shoulder of one of the bored-looking women grouped together and looking at if they were waiting for today to pass. He'd drive Debbie, or Roxy or Skye or whoever to her home, usually at one of the trailer parks, where she'd lay on her back and close her eyes.
Occasionally he'd be rewarded; his woman of the week would actually move her ass.
Whatever.
He'd leave the money on the table and walk off thinking at least the ejaculation had been satisfying.
Closing the door of his beloved 1994 regular cab Ford pickup - red of course - he'd drive off and begin moaning to Dolly about another lackluster Saturday night. Although he accepted Dolly was a vehicle he felt the need to unbundle and Dolly was always there and the perfect listener.
"Well Dolly tonight's babe has a bit more money for herself and the kid or kids. She was well scrubbed up and had a new or near new dress but of course when her eyes were open she had that familiar expression of hopelessness."
"You know some of those women might turn out to be tops if given the chance to rise out of their despair. They weren't born sluts and most probably weren't scraping a living from the bottom of the barrel until things went wrong for them whether it be booze, drugs, running out of money or teaming up with the wrong type of man or woman."
"I'm not much better off of course but at least I'm better off. Mum died of influenza when I was only eight and dad has needed me more than ever to help him scratch a living off the land. If he died I'd be set free and could find a rich bitch to move in with. But she'd have to enthusiastically move her ass all the time when did you-know-what two or three times a day otherwise I'd be out of there."
"Yeah, yeah. I know and I'm always beating the same drum. But as I say Dolly it's the thing I call hope, my vision."
It was an hour's drive home. Dan's father had schooled him into never chase a bit of skirt in your home patch because it can lead to repercussions.
Dan was young at that time and was puzzled by his father's comment because like his pals they didn't understand what older guys saw in females and it took him even longer to learn the meaning of the word repercussions.
As the trusty 5-speed vehicle was turned on to the dirt track Dan grinned.
Their housekeeper would have heard the sound of his arriving vehicle and would have leapt from his dad's bed.
Widow Wilson would leave by the backdoor and scurry off to her home where she lived with her invalid mother seven or eight hundred yards away. He'd often thought he should say to Mrs Wilson he'd drive her home but accepted he wasn't meant to know what she and his father got up to.
"What's this," he pondered aloud. "The lights are on and two vehicles are parked outside the front door."
Mrs Wilson charged out of the house, holding up her long skirt as she ran or it seemed almost stumbled toward him.
Dan stopped and leaned out of Dolly's already open window.
"Dan, Dan. You're father died in my arms two hours ago."
"Oh darn," said Dan and got out and held the trembling Mrs Wilson and began calming her.
Two months later Dan and Dolly left the farm for the final time.
He now had a fortune banked, the first time he'd had had anything but spending money.
Three of the neighbors had completed to buy the land and Hank Owens got it when he said to Dan he'd like to find the way to tempt Dan to accept his best offer.
"Double it or my property goes to auction."
Hank turned blue in the face and snarled, "You greedy piece of excrement."
Next day Hank sent his wife over with a check that made Dan's eyes water and he decided he now believed in miracles.
* * *
Dan headed Dolly to Clinton 150 miles away. That was far enough from the farm to make him feel he'd left his old life behind him.
He'd thought of going to Springfield as he'd spent a few days there and for two nights was fucked into exhaustion by a female drinks server he'd met in a bar. She was at least ten years his senior and it was the first and only time he'd come close to what he fancied was wall-to-wall sex.
God Dallas really rocked.
He'd left clutching her address and wrote to her several times but she never replied.
Dan felt like a rich man now and his wallet was fat, packed with $2000.
His mind was inflated by his concept of person wealth. The almost $90,000 he received after the bank recovered its two mortgage advances and other jackals had taken their entitlements, he'd been left with more money than he'd even dreamed of having. However he accepted it wouldn't be enough to buy a city home outright unless it was a near-shack.
He'd like to buy a pre-owned RV and tour the country and perhaps beyond but then Dolly wouldn't like that and he couldn't do that to her.
No he had to find a place to stay, a good job and a great girl who's become spectacularly energized in bed. He was only thirty-two and felt entitled to a great sex life.
A month later Dan was settled. He'd found a studio apartment that cost him and arm and a leg to rent, although he had to admit he could afford it and it gave him the freedom of living alone and yet being in touch with near neighbors.
He'd found a female aged twenty-four, or so she said, called Michelle who worked at the restaurant he frequented. He didn't much like her as she was bossy and talked too much, but she sent his eyes popping when she gave him what she called her 'blow job special'.
Oh wow, it certainly was special.
Dolly had been re-painted beautifully with a lacquered finishing coat and had new tires and underneath rust dealt with, and the motor and running gear and interior had been renovated and the guy taking big bucks for that work had said the upgrade would make the owner proud.
