Hey Everyone! Thanks for stopping by. This is my first time publishing online so take that as you will.
This is going to be a slow burn story but not to worry, I won't keep you waiting too long to get to the sex.
Hope you enjoy!
He peeled his face from the dewy glass window, blinking the haze of sleep from his eyes as pearlescent beads of sweat shimmered on his forehead. The Greyhound rumbled steadily onwards, filled with the heavy golden glow of the sunset beyond the rolling orange groves. He sleepily looked around at the other passengers, feeling a dull ache in his neck from the uncomfortable position he had slept in, the bus was packed. Sweating bodies, young and old, some sleeping and some reading, some stared aimlessly out of the windows, wishing away the time until their journeys end.
It was one of the hottest summers the West Coast had ever seen, and Los Angeles was at the hight of its golden age. Thousands upon thousands of stary eyed dreamers, from far and wide, travelled to the land of the silver screen, hoping to catch a break and become a star.
Amongst those wishful souls sat Peter, sitting patiently with his suitcase by his side. Only twenty years old, it was his first time away from home, the furthest he'd ever been from his families little midwestern farm was three towns over and even then, that was by accident. One of his buddies from high school managed to get a crate of beers and after a few bad decisions later they ended up with his truck stuck in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. Peter had to walk two miles in the dark to find a payphone, his dad wasn't exactly pleased when he heard the news to say the least.
Peter smirked to himself at the memory. He found himself reminiscing a lot about home throughout the journey, he knew he would miss it, he'd miss helping out his dad around the farm, he'd miss his moms fussing and the smell of pancakes and syrup on Sunday mornings before church. He'd miss his friends and his small town, meeting up at the baseball field to drink stolen beer and smoke Lucky Strikes.
The memories were good, they gave him something real to hold on to. He knew he was a cliché, the smothered boy destined to be more, running away to the big city to make a go of it. He almost liked the cliché; it was as if he had a script to follow on his grand adventure. It bolstered his confidence, his beloved cliché and the memories of home, sedating the nerves building in the pit of his stomach as the city grew larger and larger in the distance.
* * * * *
By the time the bus crawled into the greyhound station, the sun had disappeared behind the horizon turning the sky bruised purple in colour. The passengers began to resurrect around Peter as they all breathed a collective sigh of relief at the promise of fresh air and the opportunity to stretch their cramped legs. One by one, they slowly disembarked the bus, pulling their luggage in tow, until it was finally Peters turn. He supressed a groan as the pins and needles burned through his leg muscles but soldiered on, hauling his suitcase off the seat and shuffled down the aisle until he stood facing the doors. He hesitated briefly, eyeing the sidewalk below, a multitude of people streamed in both directions beyond the threshold. It was the most people Peter had ever seen in one place and he couldn't deny how intimidating it looked.
"C'mon kid, you're holdin' up the line!" grumbled the driver from behind him.
Peter jumped slightly at his words, looking back down the aisle to be met by a dozen or so scowls from the remaining passengers. He took a deep breath, clutching his suitcase tightly in hand before he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
He was immediately struck by two things; the broiling heat was first. It was almost dizzying; the air was dry and almost choking to breathe. Uncomfortable heat emanated from the walls and pavement after being baked in the hot sun all day. Next was the sheer volume, the cacophony of voices, shouting and laughter. Motorcars tore down the boulevard, sounding their high-pitched horns. Glasses clattered from inside the many bars that lined the sidewalk. It was almost deafening, but the hesitation Peter felt a moment before was now replaced by an exhilarating excitement. The boulevard was alive, and Peter felt himself come alive with it.
"
Now what?"
he thought to himself, his mind racing with possibilities. He wandered a few paces down the sidewalk, his vision blurred with the dazzling lights on the theatre marquis.
There was a sudden clunk and he felt something briefly tugging at his suitcase.
"WATCH IT!" shouted a suited man, brushing off his pinstriped pants dramatically.
"I should find a motel..."
he decided, beginning to feel the weight of the suitcase on his arm.
* * * * *
