O'Toole dropped into third and put his foot down, accelerating hard.  The rising pitch of the Chevy's V8 made him feel
good.  He had contemptuously cut off a biker half an hour ago, shoving the Harley into the path of a semi.  It had
been a near thing, and the biker wanted retribution and was hot on the Chevy’s tail.  He grimaced and snarled, and
powered the Harley closer.  O’Toole could hear its deep-throated roar coming up from behind.  Suddenly the bike was
alongside him and closing and O'Toole realized that the moll on the back had pulled a pistol.  It was a big Smith and
Wesson.  In a well practiced movement, he swung the wheel.  The Chevy veered violently to the left.  There was a
shriek of rubber, a thump, and the bike disappeared from view.  O'Toole expertly swung the car back on course and
relaxed.  There was no longer a problem.  He didn't bother glancing back. The highway patrol would clean up -
sometime.  

He needed a drink.  He needed more than that.  He swung off the highway towards the Red Razor Motel.  You could
get everything there.  He wondered if the woman with the big mouth and the comforting thighs was still working the
bar.  A tight-lipped smile creased his face.  'Magnum man' she'd called him, and she wasn't talking about his gun!  At
one glance at his powerful body the tip of her tongue had slid over her lips in anticipation.  She knew this was the
sort of man who could make a woman feel like a woman.  His hard was coming on strong.  He gunned the Chevy and
its tires left a long black streak round the bend of the freeway exit road!

She was there alright, wearing a red dress and leaning on the bar looking in the other direction.  She didn’t see him
walking in.  He had time to look - time to remember.  His eyes ran hungrily down her body, and lingered on the round
swellings of her ass – a beautiful rhyming couplet.  He mentally pulled the dress off her.  It took him to the limits of his
imagination - it wasn’t far to go.  His breath came shorter and sharper.  The tempo of his pulse was rising.  

He stopped behind her, and stood, hands on his hips, feet apart, and let his cold, gray eyes feast on her body.  “What’
s on the menu, Babe?”

“Depends who’s askin’!”

She turned from where she stood leaning on the bar and looked him straight in the eye. Her eyes were dark and
challenging, the kind of eyes that said, “Come and fuck me – if you’re man enough!”  Her hair was black and shiny –
long curls.  Her lips were full, red and moist, her shoulders bare and firm.  She was beautiful, but hard.  Too many
truck-drivers had treated her like a trailer.

The low-cut red dress hung on two fine shoulder straps.  O’Toole’s eyes fell straight down the deep cleavage that
opened up as she turned.  She didn’t have much on.  It was hot.  He watched a bead of sweat trail smoothly down
between her honey-brown breasts and disappear into the deep, dark valley between them.  That valley was where
he wanted to go.  It was where he needed to go.  She was all woman.  

“Ahhh…action man!  Whatta you lookin’ at?”

She knew what he wanted!  It was obvious!  She came closer, arching her breasts towards him, her nipples pushing
tightly through the thin fabric.  She held his gaze.  She seemed to look straight into him in a way that exposed him
completely.  Not many things scared him, but this woman went close.  He started to sweat.  He got harder, a lot
harder.

“Just checkin’ the special’s board”.

Her eyes narrowed. “And whatta ya see, cowboy?”

“A cuppla well-cooked dishes.”

“It’s expensive eating!”

“That’s OK!  I give big tips!”

“Yeah, I remember!  Last time I had to breathe in deep to get that big tip of yours into my purse. That tip just took my
breath away, it did.”

It was almost too much!  He wanted her there and then.  He wanted to spread her on the table, the floor, anywhere,
and get into her.  He was throbbing, and the heat and closeness of her body was driving him mad!  “Ya wanna take
me to the dining room? I’m ready for the first course!”

“You sure are hungry…chill out and buy me a drink, cowboy, then you can eat all you want!”  His eyes followed her
swaying hips greedily as she went behind the bar.  She threw ice into two glasses and poured whisky.  He put the
money on the counter, managing to keep his face hard and impassive, but his hand was shaking – a giveaway!  It
wasn’t like him.  This woman was unhinging him.  She handed him the drink, her fingers brushing his.  The drink was
neat and cold, her fingers hot!

“Where ya bin, handsome?”

“Around!”

“Yeah, me too!”

They stood opposite one another across the bar, looking each other in the eye.  Her gaze unnerved him!  He needed
to break the tension.  He threw down his drink quickly – seeing this she did the same, making sure she looked more
casual than he did.  She wasn’t!  

Her room was one of the motel units – nice but small.  She opened the door and they went in.  She hastily kicked
something that was on the floor out of sight under the bed.  He grabbed her shoulder and swung her around and
their mouths met fiercely, open and wet.  He pulled up her dress and she fumbled with his belt loosening his pants
and pushing them away so she could get her hands around his big, hot cock.  She had nothing on beneath her dress
and he grabbed her, sliding his fingers into her pussy to get the feel of her again.  Her yielding wet openness was too
much for him - delayed gratification had never seemed a useful strategy.  He pushed her roughly down onto the bed.  

She gasped as the energy and weight of his body overwhelmed her, spreading her legs.  With an expert movement
he thrust himself into her.  He was good at that!  She was already slippery and he slid in easily!  She was only half on
the bed – her backside on the edge, and her thighs went around his body pumping him vigorously.  She needn’t have
worried, it was happening anyway - the physical power of him was overwhelming, even for a woman with a CV as
comprehensive as hers.  Then he came, suddenly, and with such a burst she felt it, and after a moan and some deep,
convulsive hip movements it was over. He sank down on top of her as if he’d been shot.

She lay under his weight wondering what had happened – he wasn’t so pumped up last time they had done this –
the first time it had taken nearly twice as long.  Something was going on.  After a while, breathing became difficult and
she pushed him off her and lay there, panting.

“Subtle aren’t you”, she gasped, “can we get undressed now?”  

“Uhhh…yeah…sure?”   He crawled up onto the bed and lay still.

She stood and slid out of the red dress, then leaned over him unfastening his shirt.  “Talkative sort of guy – you a
professor or something?”

He opened his eyes slightly.  “Yeah…that’s it!”  He closed them again.

“For a moment I thought you might be one of those religious freaks.  You know, the one’s that think foreplay’s a
mortal sin.”

Foreplay…he’d heard of it somewhere.  She pulled off the rest of his clothes and looked at him.  He had a great body,
a six-pack that had been worked hard, bulging pecs, muscular shoulders and arms, a hairy chest – she liked men with
hairy chests, they reminded her of Sean Connery in a James Bond film she had seen sometime.  She saw some
bruises and wondered.  He was big.  She liked that too!  After a while, she leaned over and put her lips over the end
of his cock and worked her mouth and lips around the tip.  That woke him up!  He murmured something inarticulate.  
She moved her lips back and forwards over the ridge and felt him stiffening and expanding again.

When he was hard enough, she straddled him, bent forward, and slid him into her.  She was wet enough, but barely
warmed up – she needed more, a lot more.  As she started moving up and down on top him, he hardened more.  He
had amazing recovery.

“You a Buddhist or something?”   

“Yeah…something like that!”  

“I had a feeling you were the religious type.”

The breasts swinging above him were sweaty and full.  They fell into points that looked good.  He sucked at a long
hard nipple – he liked doing that for a reason he would never understand.  A psychologist could have told him, but he
didn’t visit psychologists.  Up till now he’d solved his own problems.  Up till now!

She liked it also, for reasons that didn’t need explanation.  It felt good, damn good!  “You learn fast’’ she panted, “I’m
impressed.”  She was warming up, her pelvis picking up the pace.  It was feeling good in there, somewhere deep
down a good feeling was expanding quickly and rising to the surface.  He was big and this gave her the resistance
she needed.  It was coming.  She put her head down and went for it hard and fast, grinding vigorously against him,
her face contorted with pleasure.  He was interested again and beginning to go for it himself, clutching her and pulling
her into him hard.  They were wet and slippery – the smell of sex all over them!  Then she came, in a series of blinding
pulsating contractions.  

It was a revelation! It was her first orgasm - an epiphany!  She knew in that moment that God existed!  In that
instant, she fell in love!  

With a smash the door burst open!  She screamed as he brutally shoved her off him. Two men in black leather with
sawn-off repeat shotguns had kicked the door in!  They were roaring like animals.  But the kick that smashed the door
off its hinges robbed them of momentum.  O’Toole had just enough time.  He hit the floor, grabbing the Magnum from
his discarded shoulder-holster, and rolled, firing.  A slug hit the first of the men between the eyes before he could
level his shotgun.  It knocked him backwards in an explosion of red.  The second reeled backwards out of the
doorway clutching at a big hole in his chest.  There was the sound of his body crumbling to the ground and a long  
groan that faded into silence.  

His ears ringing from the shots, O’Toole got up, slowly and carefully, ready for anything.  He stepped over the first
body then kicked the second body over.  They were bikers.  He knew this one instantly.  It was Rodrigo, lead rider of
the Devil’s Kiss!  That meant trouble!  It meant big trouble!

“Damn!”  He had to move quickly!  He started pulling on his clothes.

“What the fuck is happening?”  She was picking herself up from the other side of the bed where she had ended up.
“Jesus,” she said when she saw the blood and the mess.  “Holy Jesus!”

“Get your stuff,” he snapped, “we’re getting out of here!”

She didn’t stop to argue.  She was in shock and she was in love.  There was only one thing to do.  She pulled her
dress on and threw some clothes in an overnight bag, fumbling on her shoes.

The shots had been heard.  People were coming, wide-eyed and careful.  Violence wasn’t unusual here but shooting
was trouble anywhere.  

O’Toole and the girl ran past the manager, looking startled and shaky near the reception desk.  He grabbed her by
the shoulder. “Hey Clara, what’s going on?”  

She tried to shrug him off, but he grabbed her arm in a way that hurt.  “Where ya going? He said insistently, “Who’s
he?”  

O’Toole gave him a shove in the face that sent him cartwheeling backwards over the reception desk.  He grabbed her
hand and they burst through the front doors and ran.  

The Chevy kicked into life, and the wheels churned a spray of gravel around the driveway as O’Toole gunned the
engine.  The car rocketed through the gate and screeched on two wheels out into the road, cutting across a truck
that swerved into a pole trying to avoid them.  The radiator burst in steam and rusty water and the driver waved his
fist and swore black oaths, but it was way too late.  The Chevy had already left town.   

O’Toole powered down the highway.  The Chevy was beginning to fly.  He began to calm a little, and to enjoy the
reassuring sound of the engine as the revs wound up and began to resonate into the kind of rhythm that’s all V8.  
The Chevy was smiling - this was what it was built for.  At a hundred and ten miles per hour, he leveled it out.  The
deep harmonic drone of the engine calmed his nerves.  He started to feel in control again.  It was also distancing him
from something that was turning nasty.

Clara was acting cool and composed, her arm flung across the back of the seat as if they were going on holiday.  But
inside she was shaking!  She was tough, but she was only human.  The events had left her confused and shocked.  
The moment that she had had a sexual experience equivalent to a visit from Jesus, and fallen in love with a man
whose name she didn’t even know, he had shot two men dead in her bedroom.  On top of that, she’d left with him
and had no idea where she was going.  She’d run from the only real job she’d ever had, and from what was her
home, and was now likely to be a murder suspect on Police wanted lists.  And who was this guy anyway?  And what
the fuck was he involved in?  She felt entitled to a little more information!

“You wanna talk about it?”  There was a slight tremor in her voice.

“Later maybe!”

“Later?”

“Yeah!  It means ‘not now’!”  His voice had the kind of tone that suggested it was wise to drop the idea.

She sank back into anxious and dark thoughts.  After a while she turned to him again, trying another angle. “What’s
ya name, cowboy?”

“Why do ya wanna know?”

She felt a flash of anger!  “Hey!  In case ya didn’t notice, we just been through something major together!  Anyway,
you know mine – Clara!  Clara Rutwell!  So what’s yours?”

He looked across at her and a tight smile creased his face.  She was gutsy, and he admired that.  He also liked her
eyeball-to-eyeball directness, the way she met him head on.  In fact, he was beginning to realize that she had broken
into a place inside him where no woman had gone before – he had never let anyone in there.  He realized he liked
her a lot!  

“Call me Lucky!”

“Lucky…yeah, right!  OK!   

“Whatta ya do…Lucky?  What are ya?”  

“A poet.”

“A poet!”  It was so ludicrous she burst with laughter.  It came from deep down and released all the raw feelings she
had been holding on to.  She wept with laughter, and the shaking that had been held tightly inside her now shook
her entire body.  What a nerve this guy had!

“Yeah!  Right!  she spluttered, “And I suppose those guys with the shooters were rivals trying to get hold of your
latest hexameters?”  It was one of the few long words she had remembered from high school.

“You got it!”  His eyes were back on the road, but his mind had closed for business.

Still chuckling, she looked back to the road, wiping the tears off her face.  She smiled wryly.  The release had made
her feel better – she could settle a little now.  She watched the white lines of the road stream past in long, hypnotic
curves.  She liked speed and she liked the open space of freeways.  She liked Lucky, if that was really his name.  
Something about him made her feel safe.  Right now, she needed to feel safe!
Trouble at the Red Razor
Motel
by: David Champion