Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance (18 page)

Roxy’s
own hand began to move very quickly, almost as fast as the industrial vibrator
she kept at home under her pillow. She moved faster and faster, bucking her
hips, making little moaning sounds. In under a minute, she was coming. She
gasped, and moaned loudly. She covered her mouth with her hand, removing it
from her clit. Her lower fingers were sopping wet. She could taste her own
juices on her hand, as they dripped, sweat and sticky into her mouth. She came
for a full thirty seconds, then fell back into the chair exhausted.

She
looked around. The place was as quite as it had been. It seemed completely
silent. The streetlights outside made the darkness seem even lonelier. She had
to get home. What was she doing here so late?

The next
day, Roxy went to Slotheropes first thing in the morning. She carried a big 32
oz. coffee from the local coffee shop. “It’s black,” said Roxy, feeling
self-conscious about the number of calories Slotheropes might think she was
consuming.

“I can’t
get away from the stuff,” said Slotheropes, leaning back in his elegant chair.
His office was wood paneled and fancy. There were all sorts of artifacts around
the room. There were skulls, old telescopes, ancient “magic wands,” even
dinosaur bones. Old and fading maps were pinned up on the walls.

Slotheropes
looked handsome, with his clean jaw line, and just the right amount of stubble.
He wore a pair of those horn-rimmed glasses that made anyone look intelligent
and academic.

“You’re
so funny,” said Roxy, blushing at the thought of yesterday’s fantasy.

“I’m glad
you came to see me, Roxy. We’ve got to talk about your future here.”

“Well,”
said Roxy. “I wanted to see you because I think I hit something really big.
Something really exciting.”

“Yes,
that’s quite nice. But you know we’ve given you plenty of time to come up with
something. I’m not sure we can wait any longer. In fact, I’ve been talking with
the other tenured professors, and we all agree that...”

“But this
is something that could really connect with the students. It’s not just my
career I’m thinking about. I’m trying to think about the health of the
department too. This is something really crazy. Really different for
archeology. It’s something old but really exciting.”

“...the
administration agrees that we’re going to have to let you go.”

Roxy was
dumbfounded. “But I thought I’d have at least another few weeks. I won’t even
have any time to publish what I’ve found. I can’t go back to 711, I really
can’t.” When Roxy was really nervous, she became very aware of her body. She
could feel herself starting to sweat. Her whole body felt really heavy, as if
her legs wouldn’t be able to hold up the monster that she was. Her breasts
alone felt like weighted pendulums. Even though she was standing still, it felt
like they were swinging heavily in front of her, moving her body from side to
side.

“I’m
sorry, Roxy, but this is the decision we’ve come to.” He leaned even farther
back in his chair, putting his fancy dress shoes on his mahogany desk.

“But I’ve
discovered evidence of a man turning into a bear,” Roxy blurted out. She’d
wanted to present the idea in a better way. It had just come out. She wiped her
brow. Her hair was getting stuck to her forehead.

The image
of Slotheropes’s cock came into her mind. This was the second phase of her
getting nervous. She usually started having sex fantasies at the worst possible
moments.

She
imagined Slotheropes pulling off his glasses one arm at a time. She imagined
him unzipping his dress slacks. And, with his legs stretched out, pulling out
his hard cock, a short but very thick one, that had darker color than the rest
of his skin. He would stroke is fast right from the start. He would stare right
at Roxy’s face, trying to tell her she was fired.

“You OK?”
said Slotheropes. Roxy snapped out of it.

“I’m
fine,” she said, blushing.

“What I
mean is that’s not really what we deal with in archeology. Maybe someone in the
literature or religion department could tell you some more information if
you’re curious about native beliefs.”

“What I’m
saying is I’ve found actual archeological evidence that a human turned into a
bear. I have the footprints and everything. Everyone else must have overlooked
it, because it just seems too unreal.”

“Look,”
said Slotheropes, adjusting his glasses, and looking at a map on the wall. “I
know you’re under a lot of stress with losing your job and everything, but
you’re still an archeologist. This bear stuff just sounds insane. Maybe you
should see a doctor. They can give you something to calm you down while you
look for a new job.”

“So I’m
already fired, then?” said Roxy, beginning to grow angry.

“We
prefer to say that we’re going to look for other options for our department.”

“So you
tell me to take a pill, to make me like a docile housewife? Drug me up so I can
accept my situation?”

“I’m just
saying I imagine it can be stressful for a young lady like yourself. You’ve got
to think of your health, after all.” He gave an important glance to Roxy’s
bulging middle.

“This is
also about my weight isn’t it?” said Roxy, her voice rising despite herself.
“Absolutely not. But we do want to present a fresh, modern image to the student
body. We have to be ‘sexy,’ as the students say.”

Roxy was
already half way out the door. “I’ll show you,” she said, turning around. “I’ll
show you I’m right. There was a human that turned into a bear, and I’ve got the
evidence to prove it.”

She
slammed the door on the way out. She was breathing heavily, practically
panting, as she walked down the hallway to her office. She tried to walk
calmly, but her high heels clicked quickly as her pace hastened. It was too bad
she hadn’t come up with a better retort. What sexist garbage! Look what a young
female professional today still had to put up with.

Roxy went
into her office. She grabbed the book she’d been reading the night before. She
shoved it into her large handbag. Giving the trashcan a kick that toppled it
over, she turned on her heels and walked out of her office, leaving everything
behind.

When she
got home she kicked off her heels. She looked around at her messy apartment.
There were still dishes in the sink from the week before. She opened her phone
to her financial tracking app. It gave her the information from her bank
account.

Roxy had
one week before she’d need to start working again. And there wasn’t any chance
she’d get hired any another university or college, especially the way she’d
left. You needed to have recommendations in order to get another job.

Roxy felt
stressed. The financial prospects were too much for her. She felt like
masturbating. She reached down to feel herself, under her underwear. Perfect,
she was wet. She just needed her tiny travel vibrator. Had she brought it along
to work with her, in her handbag? She stuck her hand into the handbag,
rummaging around. Damn it, her vibrator wasn’t there. She’d have to go looking
to see if her other one was still under her pillow.

But
Roxy’s hand came across something else. It was that old archeology book that
had cost her job. She pulled it out. The binding was pretty thick. Maybe she
could use it instead of her vibrator.

She
pressed the spine against her clit, through her clothes. It felt good. Maybe it
felt good enough to get off on.

As she
was applying pressure to the book, pressing it into herself, the pages flipped,
the book flapping open. The book lay open right in her lap. It had happened to
open to the page with the strange footprints.

Distracted
from her self pleasure, Roxy took another look at the photograph of the
footprints. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind. She was one of the world’s
leading experts (now unemployed, as often happens) on ancient footprints. And
these prints definitely showed a man turning into a bear.

She
should have known her male colleagues wouldn’t accept the evidence. She should
have known they would refuse to even look at it.

Right
then and there Roxy decided she’s prove them wrong. She’d hunt down these
prints in person, if it took going to Alaska herself.

Roxy
looked again at her financial tables. Then she plugged in the web address for a
flight to Alaska. It would cost $1200, for a round-trip ticket. If she bought
it, she wouldn’t have enough for her rent. She wouldn’t have time to get
another job.

Roxy
clicked “buy,” and entered all her information.
An email notification
popped up. “Get ready for your trip to Alaska,” it said. Roxy was headed to
Alaska.

The plane
landed on the runway.

“Welcome
to Alaska, ladies and gentlemen,” said the captain’s voice. “Please keep your
seatbelts fastened until the plane comes to a complete stop and the overhead
seatbelt indicator turns off. Please leave your continental ideas behind. This
is Alaska, the last frontier.” He had a charming, sleepy accent.

Roxy’s
heart was pounding. What had she done? She’d arrived in Alaska with just about
$500. She’d taken what she could from her apartment. When she got back, the
landlord would have reclaimed it, and sold all her belongings to cover the
costs of rent. She wouldn’t have a place to live, or a job. She’d be homeless
without any of her things. She wouldn’t even have a dress to wear.

She’d
brought practical clothing. Jeans, sports bras, plaid shirts and sweatshirts.
She’d left all her makeup behind. She’d left her industrial vibrator behind, as
well as her pocket vibrator. She’d packed all her archeological tools and the
necessary reference books.

She
wanted to remain concentrated on this trip. She had one goal, and that was to
find the prints in person, and to learn as much about them as she could, if
possible.

The
photograph of the prints had actually been a picture of a piece of fossilized
mud, in which the prints had been set many thousands of years before. According
to the footnote in the book, the actual prints were housed in the Anchorage
Museum of Native Artifacts. By the time the book had been written, the prints
had already been wrapped up and put into the museum’s deep storage. That was
almost 100 years ago.

But all
Roxy would have to do is talk to the museum director and explain her situation
and research interests. Having a doctorate in Archeology was sometimes useful.
Especially in situations like this.

They
debarked from the plane directly to the tarmac. Even though it was June, the
air was cool. There was a strong wind.

Roxy
pulled up the collar of her plaid shirt. Maybe she should have bought a warmer
jacket.

She took
a cab into the heart of the city.

The
cabbie was a good-looking guy with some rough edges about him.

“Where
you headed, lady?” he said. It didn’t seem like he spent much time to women.

“The
cheapest bar in town,” said Roxy. She didn’t feel like going right to the
hotel. And she’d need a stiff drink before she had the courage to march into
the museum and explain what she needed.

“Don’t
think you want to go there,” said the driver. “That’s where I hang out, and
trust me, it’s no place for a lady.”

“Just
take me there,” said Roxy. “I need a drink fast.”

“You’d be
surprised how often people arriving in Alaska say that. Hey, if you really need
a drink, here’s something that might warm you up.” He reached into the glove
box and pulled out a beaten and partially rusted flask. He handed it back to
Roxy.

She
unscrewed the cap. Little bits of rust flaked off. She took a long drink.
“Thanks,” she said, handing the flask back.
“No worries,” he
said.
They drove on in silence, presumably to the cheapest bar in
Anchorage.

Roxy
looked out the windows at the streets still lined with some snow. There were
people walking around, still hunched over from the winter. There were drunks
passed out in the snow banks. The sun was up, but it wasn’t high. The light
seemed pale and distant compared to the sunlight in New Jersey.

Roxy
looked at the profile of the driver from where she sat in the back seat. He had
a clean jaw line, but he was partially unshaven. His hair looked like it hadn’t
been cut in a couple months. He had a rough look to him.

He wore
short sleeves, despite the cold. And he kept the taxi windows down in the front

A series
of black tattoos were visible on his bicep and inner arm. It looked a Navy
anchor. He had probably been in military service. He was thin and wiry, very
muscular looking. But not too big. He looked a little like a wild animal, lean
and hungry, ready for anything. Driving a cab seemed like a strange thing for
him to be doing.

“Well,
here we are sweetie,” he said. “The cheapest bar in all of the great city of
Anchorage.”

“Thanks,”
said Roxy, handing him a $20. There goes a 1/40
th
of all my money, she thought. “You
want to come in for a drink?” said Roxy, on a whim, suddenly feeling very
lonely at the prospect of not knowing anyone at all, and at the dim sunlight,
and run-down appearance of the bar.

They had
parked in an alley. The bar looked like it had been built 200 years ago and
hadn’t changed a bit. It was basically a glorified log cabin. A decades-old
neon sign hung crooked on the front, announcing “Bar, cold drinks.” The bar
didn’t seem to have a name.

“Sure,”
said the driver. “Why not? I get tired of driving this thing anyway.”

The two
of them walked into the bar. It was practically pitch black inside. The door
swung closed behind them, stopped the last bit of light that there was.

“First
drink’s on me,” said the driver. “I’m Herbert, by the way.”

Roxy
laughed in spite of herself. She hadn’t heard a name like Herbert for years and
years. It didn’t seem to fit with his persona or demeanor either.

Herbert
seemed completely at ease at the bar. He ordered two stiff whiskeys from the
ancient bartender.

There
were only two other people, aside from the bartender in the bar. They were both
seated on stools, right around the bar corner from Herbert and Roxy.

Roxy
gulped down the drink in one go, making Herbert laugh. “Always liked a lady who
could drink,” he said, removing his taxi company cap that said “Anchorage Red
Taxis,” and slicking his hair back. It was greasy. It looked like hadn’t
showered in weeks.

Roxy took
a moment to admire his body, now that she had a better view of it. She
pretended to be looking at the surroundings. There were all sorts of ancient
little trinkets lined up on shelves behind the bar.

But as
Roxy swept her glance around the dingy bar, she didn’t pay much attention to
it. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked Herbert the taxi driver up and
down.

For the
moment that she was eyeing his physique, she didn’t think or worry about her
finances, her lost job, the loss of her career, the loss of the pictures of her
parents at her apartment, the loss of the sweater her grandmother had knit her
as a kid, or the loss of her industrial vibrator.

Herbert
looked even better away from the taxi wheel. His jeans were grease stained and
torn in places. But his legs looked powerful. He wasn’t compact and burly like
some of the guys Roxy had been attracted to in the past. But despite his
lankiness, he had a good build. He looked like one of those old fashioned men
who worked outside, and who had naturally strong, dense and powerful muscles.

He didn’t
look anything like the models in the men’s underwear catalogs, or the hulking
muscle heads. He didn’t look anything like the big puffy men in the porn that
Roxy watched everyday. She had grown to hate the porn videos. She hated the way
the men looked, so big and sweaty. They looked slimy and gross. Roxy hated, yet
was addicted to, their violent attitudes. She had a hard time justifying her
porn watching with herself and her ideas about strong women. She wanted to be
fucked hard, but she didn’t want to be the subject of that type of violence.

Herbert
sat staring in front of him. What was he thinking about?

How
recently had he been in the military? Had he seen armed conflict? Did he have
PTSD? Roxy wondered as she drank her second whisky.

“I heard
he hasn’t been around much these days,” a burly looking lumberjack type was
saying.

“Not too
much these days, that’s right,” said his drinking buddy, short man, barely five
feet tall. He had at least ten empty beers in front of him at the bar.

“But what
do you think about the new traps? You think they’ll get him this time.”

“No way
to know, you know. If you talked to my grandfather, may he rest in peace,
there’s no way to get him. He’s got powers, you know. He’s not like us. He’s
not like the other animals.” The short man was badly slurring his words.

“But
don’t you think with all this modern technology, they can get him. I mean, they
got him on camera, didn’t they?”

“Sure,
they got him alright,” said the short man, taking a deep drink. “But that
doesn’t mean anything, you know? I saw the pictures myself. Just a big regular
old bear. I mean there’s all that other stuff about him, about how he’s a human
that turns into a bear. Or about he’s a bear that takes the shape of a human.”

“Only the
Eskimos think he’s a shape shifter.”

“I
wouldn’t be sure myself, either way. I’ve heard some strange things.”

“You’re
telling me you’re that gullible yourself. You really believe there’s a shape
shifter out there? That it’s not just some mean old son of a bitch bear that
likes to screw everything up for us, like to wreck our traps and spoil our
hunts.”

“Look,” said
the short man. The Inuit have been talking about this bear for centuries, maybe
millennia. They say he doesn’t die.”

The other
man laughed. “That’s just a bunch of native gibberish. Maybe they’re just
making up something scare us. Or maybe they’re just crazy themselves and really
believe it. Who cares though? You can’t trust what they say.”

“Maybe
I’d say the same thing if I hadn’t seen him in person.” “You’re telling me you
saw a man turn into a bear.”
“Other way around.”

Roxy was
completely fascinated. So there was some kind of legend here about a shape
shifting man/bear? What were the odds she’d hear this kind of thing on her very
first visit, listening to her very first Alaska conversation?

Roxy was
about to ask the short man something about what he had seen, but the big man
stood up quickly, and picking up his stool, he threw it to the ground, where it
splintered into many splintered wooden pieces. “I’ve heard enough of this
garbage.” He said. “Don’t bullshit me. I’m tired of everyone bullshitting me
about this. Some kind of huge prank? Is that what this? An idiotic indigenous
prank? You got some Indian blood in you or something? You 1/100
th
Indian? Is
that it? You feel obligated to pull this prank?

The short
man just shook his head.

“Come
on,” said the big man, curling his hands into fists. “Let’s go. Let’s settle
this like men.”

“Another
drink, Herbert?” said the bartender, not paying the fight any attention. “Don’t
pay any attention, dear,” he said to Roxy. “They get all riled up after a few
drinks.”

The short
man still sat in his stool, concentrating on his drink. The big man was
swinging his fists in front of him, making grunts and threats.

“Sure,”
said Herbert.

The
bartender poured him another one. And he poured another one for Roxy.

“Wait a
minute,” said Roxy, to Herbert. “How does he know your name?” “I come here a
lot.”

“And how
come he doesn’t charge for you for the drinks?”

“Charge
him for the drinks?” said the bartender, shaking his head a little. “Jesus
Christ, he owns the place.”

“You own
this? Why in the world do you drive a taxi then? I mean, there aren’t a ton of
people in here, but I’d think you’d make a decent profit. The drinks taste like
they’re watered down by at least half.”

“Got to
do something,” said Herbert. “Got to keep busy.”

Roxy look
at the tattoos on his arm again. They looked like the very old kind of ancient
prison tattoos that were made with pins and ink, rather than the sophisticated
machines in modern tattoos shops. The black ink bled a little at the edges of
some of the tattoos.

“So you
were in the military or something?” said Roxy.
“Something like that,”
said Herbert.
“Come on, you goddamn son of a bitch,” said the big man,
his fists still swinging.”

“Don’t
feel like fighting right now, Slam,” said the short man. “Just got done a
shift. You know how it is. Why don’t we schedule something for
tomorrow.”
“That’s it, god dammit. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. It’s
not funny, you know.”

“Maybe
it’s time to get you out of here,” said Herbert, just as the big man’s fist
connected with the back of the short man’s skull.

“But...”
said Roxy. She still wanted to ask more questions about this bear legend.

“Come
on,” said Herbert, leading her away from the bar by the arm. “Which hotel are
you staying at? I’ll drop you off in the taxi.”

As they
passed through the door to the outside, Roxy heard another barstool being
smashed behind them. Roxy was surprised, despite herself, to see that the
Alaska sun was still out. She’d have thought it would have set by now. It did
seem a little dimmer. The florescent light shone, advertising beer.

“I don’t
have a place yet.” Roxy took a good look at Herbert. She felt like she could
trust him. He had a relaxing, calming presence. He made her feel safe, and
relaxed, even though she has just met him. She wasn’t thinking about her
abandoned apartment or her abandoned vibrator. She wasn’t thinking about losing
her job, or having to return to work at 711. She wasn’t even thinking of the
human bear prints she was supposed to be looking for. But she did think for a
moment about her vibrator. She took a quick peek at the fly of Herbert’s jeans.
What was underneath? Was he calm in bed too? Or was this calm exterior just a
mask, a disguise?