THE DRIVER
by Valen (valen_thyan@hotmail.com)



- 3 -

He lay in her bed, considering how to tell her the 
truth.  She was busying herself with her morning 
toilet in the bathroom.  Sighing, he folded his hands 
behind his head and waited for her to come out.

The bathroom door opened and Chantal padded out 
in her white terrycloth bathrobe.  She looked clean.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

"Good morning to you to," he said, trying not to 
look too guilty.

As he climbed out of bed, she noticed that he had 
already dressed.  She thought his shirt had been 
black, but today it was white.  Obviously she had 
been mistaken in the dark of the previous evening- 
maybe blind with lust, she thought, blushing 
internally.

"So what do you want to do today?" she asked, 
pulling some casual clothes out of her dresser.

"Well I was thinking..." he began, stopping 
confused as she gave him a pleading look.  "What?"

"Um, would you mind, you know, turning around or 
something?"

He chuckled at her modesty this morning, after how 
she'd acted the night before, but turned to face the 
window anyway.

"Go on," she prompted, voice muffled by a shirt.

"Right, well I was thinking we could just go for a 
drive, and maybe if we see something that looks 
like fun, we just go for it."

"Ok," she sounded a bit hesitant, "drive where 
though?"

"Just around, I guess."

"Sure, why not.  Oh, you can turn around now, 
thanks."

He turned to see her dressed in fresh khakis and a 
baby blue cotton shirt.

"Cute."

"Thanks, are you hungry?"

"A little, how about we go out for breakfast to start 
things off?"

"Pancakes at Perkins?"

"You read my mind."


The day was a lot warmer than yesterday had been, 
and the air smelled like spring.  Some melting snow 
lingered on the lawn in front of her building, and 
the sky was clear and bright.

Chantal walked out to the street arm in arm with her 
lover, her heart feeling twice its size with joy.  
Maybe now her life would really begin.  She could 
get married, have kids, and she'd start by finally 
getting a jump on her career.  She felt like she was 
just awakening to a whole new world of 
possibilities, filled with meaning and purpose.

She was on top of the world as she climbed into the 
bluish-silver sports car- nothing would bring her 
down.



She smiled, admiring his profile as he pulled the car 
out into the street.  As they drove, she noticed 
something about the way he was driving- it was 
more like cruising.  He sat low in the leather seat, 
one hand on the gear-shifter, and one at the top of 
the wheel.  He wore that same serene expression 
that she remembered caught her attention outside 
the shop.

Just as she was filled with joy at her situation, so he 
felt the calm wash over him as the engine purred.  
The stereo in his car was impressive, and at the very 
least, expensive, but he seldom turned it on.  
Preferring to let his mind drift and become one with 
his car, the road, and the other drivers.

Chantal was just about to ask which Perkins he was 
headed for, when she glanced away from him and 
noticed that they'd already arrived.


"Your server will be here right away, can I get you 
any drinks to start off with?  Coffee?"

"Sure," he replied, looking over to Chantal.

"Yes please," she said to the hostess that sat them.

He turned to watch the hostess run off then looked 
back at Chantal.

"So you like pancakes?" he began.

"Yeah, well they're good breakfast food, you 
know?"

"Definitely, but- do you ever wonder why you like 
pancakes?" 
	"Because they taste good?" she offered.

"Ever take philosophy when you were at 
university?"

"I took Intro in my first year I think, but I couldn't 
really get the hang of it."

"Well have you ever heard of determinism?"

"I don't think so... what is it?"

"It's pretty much the opposite of free will.  
Determinism says that everyone's actions are 
always determined by antecedent conditions, and 
that free will is just an illusion."

"That's pretty messed up," she chuckled.

"Is it?" he asked, "Let me ask you this then, you 
said you liked pancakes because they taste good-"

"Don't forget the syrup, it helps," she interrupted.

He smiled, "-but why do you like things that taste 
good?"

She mulled this over for a moment, and figured she 
had come up with a pretty clever answer when her 
train of thought was derailed by the arrival of their 
coffee.

The hostess set a bowl of creamers, two cups and a 
carafe of coffee on the table and apologized for the 
wait, assuring them that their server would be with 
them shortly.

He burnt his tongue sipping some steaming coffee 
and nodded an acknowledgment to the hostess.

"Ok, I give up, what's the answer?" she conceded 
while dumping four creamers and four packets of 
sugar into her cup.

"The answer is that you can't help but like things 
that taste good.  You see, the question itself is 
nonsense, in that you would obviously consider 
what you 'like' to be 'good'.  My point is that you 
will order the pancakes, and can do nothing else, 
because you can't help liking them, and that's the 
antecedent condition."

"You're beginning to turn me off pancakes," she 
said.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to overwhelm you."  This was 
going to be harder than he thought.

"Don't worry about it, it's just a little too deep for 
breakfast-talk.  How about you tell me about your 
job instead?"

And so the time had come.

"Yeah, about that," he began.



Out on the highway, he played a little game he 
made up to amuse him.  He would see how fast he 
could get the car going before a cop would pull him 
over.  It was a relief to get out of her life for a 
while.  Maybe she'd develop a bit more on her own.



The coffee shop closed early on Sundays, so it was 
still daytime when Chantal went around cleaning up 
the last few tables.  She had almost had a heart 
attack the previous week at breakfast with Greg.

Everything had been going so well up to that point.  
She thought she'd finally found Mr. Right, and that 
her whole life had been about to change.  They were 
on such a similar wavelength; it was like he could 
read her thoughts.  But then he told her the truth.

She had heard guys start with the phrase 'Yeah, 
about that...' in the past, and it never led to anything 
good.  Her breath had caught in her throat and her 
eyes widened like a frightened doe.

She had been prepared for anything, but as it turned 
out, the news wasn't quite as bad as she'd thought.

He'd told her that he actually lived in another city, 
and only came to this city now and then on 
business.  He said that they could never have a 
proper relationship, but that he still cared deeply for 
her.

Feeling used, but otherwise intact, she reluctantly 
admitted to herself that she should have asked him 
more questions about his life rather than dominating 
the conversation.  Really, it was her own fault.  She 
had probably scared him off just by thinking about 
the future.

He'd promised her he would write, and visit when 
he was in town, but she'd heard lines like that before 
as well, and they've never made things any better.  
In the end, she'd just asked to be taken home.  
They'd skipped breakfast, and she'd watched him 
drive away before going in to- reflect.

Reflect, not cry.


Chantal finished the rest of her closing duties at the 
shop and caught the bus home.  She tried, yet again, 
to keep herself from thinking about Greg, but he 
filled her thoughts.  She wavered back and forth 
between missing him- odd, since they were together 
such a short time- and hating him for leaving her.

By the time she arrived at her apartment, Sunday 
bus schedules being as bad as they are, she had 
managed to get herself under control again.  She 
made herself some vegetable stir-fry for dinner and 
didn't think of him for the rest of the evening.

When she was getting ready for bed, however, 
standing in the bathroom about to take her pill, he 
stole into her thoughts.  An image flashed in her 
mind of him laying on her futon, shirt open and 
eyes deep and sexy in the candlelight.

Angry with herself for indulging, she looked at the 
tiny pill in her hand and took her rage out on it.  She 
squeezed the pill to no effect, instead throwing it in 
the garbage, followed quickly by its brothers in the 
little dial case.  She vowed never to have sex again.  
It always ruined things.

They had been having a wonderful time, talking in 
her living room, until she had to go and drag him 
into the bedroom.

"Well no more", she thought, and stormed off to 
bed, falling asleep very slowly in a tempest of 
emotion.



But in sleep her dreams betrayed her.

He was standing in the coffee shop, looking out the 
window- ignoring her.  She was upset, had tears 
streaming down her cheeks and was pleading with 
him.

"Please, I need you."

No answer from Greg, not even a clue that he heard 
what she said, just that stupid, placid look on his 
face.

"I don't want to be alone anymore, why did you 
leave?  I hate you!" she screamed at him.  There 
was an eerie silence, like the eye of a storm, as she 
waited for any kind of response from him, but he 
remained motionless.

The silence crashed into resounding sobs, like a 
roomful of children crying it seemed, as she felt 
broken, desperate.

"I'll do anything," she sniffed, after calming down a 
bit, "anything you want.  I'll be your servant, do 
whatever you want, if you come back.

"You just want to use me for sex?  Fine, use me for 
sex, just don't leave me alone," her hand dropped to 
her crotch at the idea of sex.

"I'll be your private dancer if you want, I'll give you 
shows every night," her fingers curled between her 
legs, pressing against her lips through the crotch of 
her jeans.

"Look, I can be sexy," she started rubbing her hand 
over her mound, bucking her hips.  She pulled her 
shirt off and cupped her breasts with both hands, 
"this is want you want, right?"

Letting go of her chest, she opened her pants and 
slid her hand down, her middle finger coming in 
contact with her dry clit.  The shock of it made her 
gasp and she pulled her hand back up.

She put her fingers in her mouth and drew out some 
saliva.  Moving back down to her cunt, she spread it 
all around the area of her clit.

"See?" she paused, drawing in a laboured breath, 
"I'm your little sex-toy, and we can be happy 
together."

Her fingers worked faster, making little circles 
around her clit.  Her knees grew weak and her 
speech became thick with lust.

"Oh god, see how horny you make me?" she cried, 
and then she was on a table, with her knees in her 
armpits and Greg's cock sliding into her cunt with a 
wet, squishing sound.  She grunted loudly and tried 
to pull her legs further back to open herself wider.

As his cock pounded her relentlessly, it occurred to 
her that she'd stopped taking her birth control, and 
that she might get pregnant from this.  If she had his 
baby, he'd be forced to stay with her.  He could 
never leave!

"Oh yes, cum inside me, lover, fill me up," she 
pleaded, now desperate to get knocked-up.

His noises became more audible after a bit, and 
sensing that he was getting close, she grabbed his 
tight ass and pulled him in deeper with each stroke.  
She could feel her own orgasm building up at the 
thought of getting pregnant, and of trapping her 
man forever.

Just as she was about to climax, his cock came a bit 
too far back on one of the strokes and it popped 
right out of her pussy.  She looked down in time to 
see his cock jerking and cum shooting out on to her 
belly.

"No!" she cried in anguish as the precious sperm 
was wasted.

She reached down and tried to force his already-
softening cock back into her body.  The head of his 
cock was still coated in cum, so maybe there was 
still a chance.

She tried to scoop as much cum as she could off her 
belly and out of her pubic hair to push into her cunt, 
as a long shot.

Frantically fingering herself to push the cum deeper, 
she was about to give up hope when she felt a little 
sperm sneak into one of her eggs.  She smiled 
triumphantly and looked up at Greg's calm face.


Chantal awoke, sticky with sweat, to the sound of 
her alarm.  She had to go to work in an hour.

Turning of the alarm, she jumped out of bed and 
went to her bathroom to shower.  Vague feelings 
were bothering her- floating just past her 
consciousness.  She couldn't remember exactly what 
she'd been dreaming about, but it had been 
degrading and shameful.

Thankfully, though, showers can be good for 
cleaning more than just the body, and the hot water 
beating against her back focussed her thoughts on 
the day ahead and what she would wear.

She got dressed and headed downstairs to catch the 
bus to work, and stopped by her mailbox to check 
for mail.  Sorting through the stack she found bills, 
junk mail, and a letter- from Greg.

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comments, questions, adulation: valen_thyan@hotmail.com
other stories can be found at: /~valen