Arriving home after a long shift, I almost don't notice a slightly bulky envelope among my mail. I glance at the return address and smile. Brushing aside my bills, I slit open the envelope. Out falls a single paper cocktail umbrella. I pick it up and twirl it around in my fingers. The sight of it brings a rush of memories. I tuck it behind my ear, sit down in my favorite chair, and let my mind wander.
~~~~
I remember clearly the first time I saw a cocktail umbrella. As a child, my family lived in Las Vegas. On Sunday mornings, when we had house guests, the entire family would attend brunch at one of the biggest casinos in Vegas at that time. I was allowed the privilege of ordering a Shirley Temple. I wasn't fond of the flavor, it was the kitschy little cocktail umbrella that I loved. I would happily play with it for most of the meal, while staring into the adjacent casino floor.
I was especially drawn to the cocktail waitresses. They were beautiful, but it was the costumes that held a fascination for me.
After living in Vegas for a while, I’d collected quite a few cocktail umbrellas. My obsession with those waitress outfits also continued. It eventually culminated in announcing my life's ambition to my parents. I was going to be a cocktail waitress in a casino when I grew up.
My father wanted to retire and settle in Las Vegas, but after my announcement, my mother would have none of it. No child of hers was going to become a cocktail waitress. Acquiescing to her wishes, he took another assignment and we ended across the country in suburban Virginia.
Over the years, I continued to collect cocktail umbrellas. I finished high school and went off to college. The first two years went fine. I did my share of drinking, dabbling with drugs, and delving into some questionable sexual behavior. But I just wasn't happy. After another year, I was failing, so I returned home with the current semester unfinished.
I told my parents that I would not be returning to school. They were not thrilled. They were less thrilled when I told them my plans. I wanted to return to Las Vegas, work, and then decide on a career choice. My parents pleaded and cajoled, attempting to persuade me to return to school. We fought off and on over the summer. My mind was made up, but they refused to help pay for my dream. Angry and hurt, I planned my escape from boring suburbia and other people’s rules.
My grand plan was to hitchhike back to Vegas; get a waitress job in a casino, and maybe take some classes at a community college…
**
I decide to leave while my parents are on a short day trip. I get a small suitcase from the attic and throw a few things into it. I even toss in a few cocktail umbrellas for good memories. My brother comes in while I’m packing. He’s a few years older and we’ve always had a good relationship. He’s a little too fond of practical jokes and taking my mother's side, but we care for each other.
He watches me pack and laughs. "Hey, Sis, if you really want to piss off Dad, why don't I get his favorite suitcase out of the attic? What do you think? You know you're mad at both of them for not supporting you.”
He’s right, I’m still mad and hurt. “Sure, that's a great idea. Go ahead, get it down for me.”
I imagine the look on my Dad's face the next time he goes to the attic and discovers his prize suitcase is missing. It’s nothing special; just an old-fashioned, battered plain brown case.
My brother brings it down and I start to transfer my meager contents from one case to the other. As I’m finishing, the phone rings and my brother goes off to answer it. He returns fairly quickly, breathlessly announcing that our parents will be returning sooner than planned. That evening, in fact.
Panic sets in. I still need to get to the bank, empty my account, and get out of the house. I want to be gone before they return. My brother offers to finish packing while I drive his car to the bank. I hurry off. I’ve arranged for an old boyfriend to give me a ride for a few hours out of town. After that, I will be on my own.
I arrive back at the house to find my father's suitcase packed waiting by the door. I run upstairs and put on an outfit that I think will help me on my hitchhiking journey: a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a tight white tank top that shows off my tits, heels, and fashionable sunglasses. As a last touch, I toss my head back and forth to dishevel my long, wavy dirty blond hair. I take a last look in the mirror and I’m pleased with what I see. I hurry downstairs to meet my friend in his car.
Mike has been a good friend and, for a time, we were lovers. We joked that we were each other's stress relievers. If either of us was between relationships and needed some human contact or raw, down and dirty sex, we could pick up the phone.
I get into the car and we look at each other. We both have the same thought at the same moment. In unison, we utter the same thing, "One for the road?"
I laugh. It was our 'catch phrase' when I would leave each semester for school. We'd hook up one last time. "Let me guess? You'd like a parting gift, maybe my lips wrapped around your cock?” I try being serious but Mike is laughing and already unzipping his jeans.
"You might want to wait until we’re out of my the driveway, Mike."
“Oh, right. Now I remember why you were the one who went to college," he jokingly agrees. Zipping his pants, he backs the car out of the driveway and we head away from my life.
Mike and I ride in silence for a while. It doesn't last. "Are you really sure this is what you want?' he eventually asks.
“Yes, I've thought about it and I know what I'm doing. I will miss you, you've always been there for me, whenever I'm home. But I need to get away."
After about an hour, Mike pulls onto a dusty road. It looks like an unassuming, not well-traveled road. It's actually known among locals as a way to cut out time on the main congested roads. It gets a fair amount of travel during the day but it's currently quiet.
Mike pulls over to the side under the shade of some trees and unzips his pants again.
"Men, you really are all alike," I laugh.
I scoot over and look longingly at Mike's cock. I will miss that. Putting my head in his lap, I get to work. He is semi-erect and, as my mouth engulfs him, his cock springs to a full erection. Deep in my throat is Mike's favorite place for his cock. I give him what he wants. I need something too, so I slide down my stupidly tight shorts and work my fingers between my wet lips to my clit. If Mike is going to get off, so am I.
I work Mike's cock into my throat, bobbing my head up and down. Each time it hits the back of my throat, more and more saliva pours out of my mouth along his velvety smooth shaft. I know how much he enjoys the wetness as it drips out and the gagging sounds I make. The thought of my uncertain future and being independent excites me more than I realize. It’s when my hands make contact with my sopping, dripping pussy that I realize just how aroused I am.
I wish I could take more time but I need to get on the road. I work my mouth more deeply down Mike's shaft and rub my clit faster. I feel his balls tighten ahead of his orgasm, so I give my clit a good pinch and let myself cum. Mike's cock jerks and begins emptying its load down my eager throat. I coax my clit into one last orgasm and swallow the rest of Mike's last gift to me.
I raise my head, smile and give him a kiss. Hugging him one last time after cleaning my hands and mouth with a paper towel, I exit the car and wave goodbye as he pulls away.
It’s a hot sunny day and the trees are thick with green foliage. Several cars come but they don't stop. After two hours, I wonder if what I’m doing is such a good idea. The heat is getting to me, too. I sit on Dad’s suitcase but sweat continues to drip into my eyes. Runny mascara and smudged makeup are not much of an enticement for anyone to stop.
I decide I’d better clean my face and I open the suitcase to retrieve my cosmetic bag. Flicking open both latches I lift the lid and reveal the suitcase contents. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I curse my brother under my breath. The suitcase is full of cocktail umbrellas. It looks like my entire collection is in there. So, now I am stranded on the side of the road with only the clothes on my back, money I have saved, and a suitcase full of fucking cocktail umbrellas. Giving in to tears, I sit down and start to sob.
How can I start my new life like this? Maybe it was my brother’s plan all along: I'd discover the contents of the case and return home.
Going over my options, I alternate between crying and laughing. I really should have known better than to trust my brother. My near-hysteria almost drowns out the sound of an approaching car. It isn't until I hear a voice that I realize a car has actually stopped.
'Great, a car stops and I look like a clown with smeared makeup and wild hair. A clown sitting next to an open suitcase full of silly cocktail umbrellas.’ I can only imagine how the whole scene looks.
"I'm sorry, but I insisted my driver stop. I usually don't stop for hitchhikers but I must say I have never seen a sight quite like you.”
I look up to see the car and the owner of the voice. To my surprise, it's a limousine, black, not new, but elegant. The man speaking is much older than I. Perhaps older than my parents. His hair is graying, but he has a youthful looking face. Maybe his smile makes me think he’s younger than he actually is. I'm tongue tied, still trying to not laugh and cry, while striving to think of something witty to say.
"So young lady, do you need a ride somewhere? I promise I'm just offering a ride, nothing more.” He offered a reassuring smile. “Truthfully, I just had to stop; you must tell me your story. It's not every day I come across a beautiful young woman stranded along the roadside, crying, laughing and staring into an old suitcase full of what looks to be a very large number of paper cocktail umbrellas.”
Brushing my tears away, I gather up what little courage I have left. "I could use a ride, but I’m not sure what direction to take." I figure honesty is best now.
"While you decide, why don't you get in the car? The AC works and you can tell me your tale of woe. Then, I can take you in any direction you wish."
'What the hell,’ I think, ‘things could be worse.' I close my suitcase, pick it up and head to the car.
"No, not yet. I have a request before I take you anywhere."
Oh great, here it comes. I figured it would be some sort of sexual request. I was used to the effect my looks had on men.
Hearing him laugh loudly surprises me. It's as if he’s read my mind. “No, nothing like that. I just want to know your name - and then your story, of course.”
My mouth opens in surprise. "I'm Anna,” I tell him. “And, if you give me a ride, I promise I'll share my tale of comical woe."
He opens a door and beckons me over as his driver gets out to put my suitcase in the trunk.
“It's very nice to meet you, Anna. I'm Spencer." I shake his hand and get into his car. It’s blissfully cool in there and Spencer gives off a quiet calmness. I feel inexplicably safe with him. His driver gets in and we begin our journey.
I slowly roll out my tale and Spencer nods and laughs in all the right places. I gradually relax, and even feel drowsy. I don't want to fall asleep but I am both emotionally and physically tired. Spencer must sense my weariness and hands me a blanket, telling me it's okay to sleep.
"Anna, just rest. We'll keep driving west. When you wake, you can decide what direction you and your life want to go."
My eyelids drop heavily and I give in. The last thing I remember is Spencer tucking the blanket around me and smiling calmly.
When I wake, I’ve no idea what time it is or where I am. My brain slowly sorts out that I’m still in the car but it’s now parked in front of a very large house. It sits on a hilltop and, through the car window, I see the vast sloping grounds surrounding it. Spencer is sitting quietly beside me, apparently watching me sleep. Finding that a little disconcerting, I sit up abruptly and push the blanket onto the car floor.
"What the hell is going on? You promised to take me where I wanted to go." I am trying not to shout.
"I did promise you that and I have every intention of following through.