The Road Trip to Reality

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 2 (v.1) - #2- Get a tatoo on my ass

Submitted: March 09, 2012

Reads: 99

Comments: 4

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Submitted: March 09, 2012

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Telling my parents I wanted to go on a road trip to fulfill my bucket list was like trying to tell a guy I was going to chop off one of his balls. I thought their eyes were going to pop out of their heads.

"There is no way, I am letting you go on a road-trip, by yourself, you could get kidnapped!" My mother said looking for my step-father for support. He nodded, and looked back down at his newspaper.

"I'm going, I'm 18, and I should be able to make my own decisions." I said crossing my arms and watching my mothers enraged face.

So I went up to my room, packed a bag full of enough clothes for a month, and some necessities. I ignored my mother as she yelled at me, threatening to call the police. Then I got in my car and drove off into the sunset, which basically meant I drove to the tattoo parlor.

"You sure this is what ya what kid?" The beastly guy with monstrous tattoos said as he turned on the ink needle and I pulled down my pants.

"Yah," I said closing my eyes and curling my toes. Burning pain shot through my butt cheek and I winced.

An half an hour later, I had a grand spanking new four leaf clover on my right ass cheek. I poked it tenderly and the tattoo artist chuckled at me.

"Impulse right?" I shrugged, not feeling like explaining. I payed the thirty dollars and left, limping a little as I got into my car. My old Neon sputtered as I turned the key. I glanced down at the gas, I running on fumes, I decided I needed to get to a gas station as soon as possible.

Now I don't think I've told you this, but I live in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Dirt roads, barely 3,000 people population, it isn't like there was a gas station every few blocks. I drove, hoping to make it the 7 miles to the next station.

"C'mon Babe, I know you can make it." I muttered, stroking the leather steering wheel. The engine made a noise, and the 'Babe' rolled to a stop. My head fell into my hands. I was only 2 hours into running away, I had already screwed up. I checked my cell phone, which, was dead. "Great. Well, hitch-hiking is on my list..." I said, trying to be optimistic. I got out of my car and started walking, sticking out my thumb every time a car passed by. No one stopped, which made me feel bad for all the people I had refused a ride to in the past few years.

Suddenly there were headlights pointed right at me and I threw my thumb out lazily, not expecting anything. It was a banged up 1950's Chevy truck. It pulled up next to me. I looked at it, confused, and reached up and pulled on the handle. Inside there was a guy, probably in his early twenties, smirking down at me.

"Hey sugar, need a ride?" He gestured for me to get in. I took a good long look at him, debating whether he was a rapist or not. Well, lets be honest, I wouldn't have minded getting raped by this guy. He was wearing a short-sleeve blue t-shirt which showed just the right amount of his toned, tan muscle. I hoped up in the truck and put on the ripped up seatbelt. "Where you headed?" He asked.

"Anywhere." I answered. He smiled and put the truck in drive.


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