[Castlewood]

*Copyright Protected*


"The Ballad of Sinclair"
by Castlewood

Part 1 of 4


I. Fooling Around. Hit and Run. The Flat.

Getting lost never felt so good. That’s because Bobbi, my girlfriend, was playing with me as I drove my car. She sat in the passenger seat with her left hand tucked in my pants, and well, I got so distracted I took a wrong turn and ended up getting us lost. We were returning to my house from a late movie at the theater, and in minutes I was driving down an old, country dirt road at night while getting jerked off by my girlfriend. Like I said: getting lost never felt so good. At least something satisfying was finally happening that night. The shitty movie starred Sandra Bullock – a romantic comedy about love and marriage. I think I fell asleep twice. But, when we got in the car and pulled out of that driveway, Bobbi’s hand went south and I lost all care of where I was driving. She seemed to think the whole situation was funny, and quite frankly I did, too, regardless of the fact that we had no idea where the hell we were. The moon was as red as blood, and full, like a tomato in the sky. Creepy.

“Bobbi, stop it,” I grinned. My brain said that, actually. My hard-on was saying, “Keep going.”

“No,” she answered. “I’m having fun.”

“This is fun?” I asked. “Torturing me while I drive? At night? I’m trying to get back on a regular road and you’re distracting me, and all you can say is that you’re having fun?”

“Well, I can stop talking if you want me to.”

“Yeah right!” I laughed. “There isn’t a thing in the world that can stop you from talking.”

This is where my girlfriend proved me wrong. She leaned in closer to me, although I didn’t watch her; I was focusing on the road with two hands on the wheel. She unzipped my pants even more and proceeded to lower her head onto me. We were dumb kids – what can I say? Hell, I had only gotten my license a few months ago; we were both seventeen.

In between watching the road and checking the rearview mirror, I looked down and watched Bobbi’s golden hair move up and down on my lap. It was really something. Of course, this would be the highlight of my night; it all goes downhill from here. But at that moment, we could’ve been driving toward the edge of a cliff and I would’ve kept driving forward. My brain’s priority list seemed to figure things out on its own.

Finding out where we were.
Getting a blowjob.
Finding out where we were.
Getting a blowjob.
You do the math.

Ah, Bobbi. Bobbi Wright. My high school sweetie. Hotter than hell. She was the captain of the cheerleading squad, with an ass that made the opposing team miss baskets. She was dumber than a box of nails, but who gives a shit? Is intelligence really the deciding factor? No, getting jerked off in the car and then getting blown two minutes later is the determining factor, thank you very much. I remember hoping that we’d make it all the way to graduation, maybe even through college. I guess things don’t always turn out the way you hope. Sometimes a big fucking cat runs out in the middle of the road, in front of your car.

This is what happened. Maybe I got off track. On that summer night in 1999, when Bobbi was not quite finished giving me head in my Oldsmobile, the whitest cat you’ve ever seen jumped out in front of us and I ran over it. It didn’t cry out, nor did it squeal. We felt a big bump under the car, followed by the loud crunching of bones. I seem to recall dragging the damn thing for about ten yards, and it took maybe two minutes before we could smell blood-soaked fur. I stopped immediately; I didn’t even reach orgasm and this pissed me off. Instead, I zipped my pants back up and looked at the road behind us. All Bobbi and I saw was a big red puddle in our lane. I didn’t feel too bad about it. How stupid would the cat have to be to run in front of a moving car with its lights on? I’ll be honest – I wasn’t really paying attention to the road. Bobbi’s mouth did so many things that my eyes might have closed once or twice in ecstasy. And for Christ’s sakes, nobody was on this dirt road. I took a wrong turn into Bumfuck, Iowa. So, no hard feelings were coming from me.

However, I did lose my erection from the sheer panic of the whole thing. Bobbi got back up and fixed her hair in the visor mirror. As I continued driving, she didn’t seem too pleased.

“Dumb fuckin’ cat,” I said.

She said nothing at first.

“Shouldn’t have been in the road like that,” I added.

Still, nothing.

“I mean, did it not see my lights? How could it not see?”

Ah, here. She finally said something.

“It was a cat, Jeremy,” she said. “Cats don’t know what cars are, okay? It wasn’t the cat’s fault, it was the driver’s.”

“Oh, so I’m to blame for the killing of the cat? Jeremy Jones, in the car, with the screeching tires?”

“The cat didn’t just kill itself.”

“And I seem to recall you giving me head when it happened.”

“Jeremy, a good driver should always be one-hundred percent alert while on the road.”

“Wow, so Bobbi Wright’s a car expert now? The same Bobbi Wright who totaled her daddy’s van on the way to cheerleading practice because she was doing her mascara in the rearview mirror and then knocked out a telephone pole? My mom was taping two shows that day and she was pissed when the VCR didn’t reset itself after the electricity came back on.”

“Poor mom.”

“It was a stupid cat. Probably a stray. I didn’t see a collar, did you?”

“No. My head was on your cock.”

“Fair enough. But it was a big white cat. It looked like a big cotton ball with a tail. Ugly as sin. It’s all good. Now let’s just find a main road so we can get home, for Christ’s sakes. It’s getting late.”

It was around this time that we heard – and felt – the car rumbling in cycles as I drove, and that meant only one thing: a flat tire. I remember hissing at my dashboard, pounding my fist on the horn a few times and letting out three or four irritated honks. I pulled over onto the side of the dirt road and made a complete stop, but I left my headlights on.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yelled. That’s inaccurate, actually; I might’ve said it ten more times. Bobbi put on some lipstick with pissed off eyes that seemed to look at me and say, “Look what you did, you dumbass.”

“So what do we do now?” she actually said. “You got a spare in the trunk?”

Damn it. I didn’t have one. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Now we do.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Truth be told, I didn’t have one. We were about seven or eight miles from where I made the wrong turn, and I couldn’t see a single light in any direction. No cars were coming, and there didn’t seem to be any houses on this road. There was just darkness, a whole hell of a lot of darkness.

“Well, you have your cell phone?” I asked her.

She got the small blue phone from her purse and looked at the screen. “It says there’s no service. We can’t get a signal out here.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“So are we gonna do something? Or are we gonna sit here and wait for coyotes to eat us?”

“Love you too, Bobbi.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be in the papers tomorrow. Jeremy Jones and Bobbi Wright, eaten by wild coyotes. Let’s just figure something out. Is there any way to fix it?”

“Sure, I’ll just patch it up with some duct tape.”

“How did it happen?”

“Don’t know. Maybe the cat? Maybe when its body was being crunched, one of the bones was sharp enough to puncture a hole?”

“Can that happen?”

“Well, something obviously happened,” I answered.

“What the fuck, Jeremy? What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just get out of the car and walk down the road. There’s gotta be a house down here somewhere.”

“Get out of the car? On this creepy road with cat guts stinking up the air?”

“Got a better plan?”

She had no answer, so I turned off the lights and we both exited the vehicle. We walked down the old dirt road, and that‘s when I realized something that wasn’t comforting.

This wasn’t over yet. This was just beginning. And the events that followed are still haunting me today.


To be continued...