Road Trip - Jim Mellon's Erotic Journey Across AmericaChapter 28: Washington-Oregon free porn video

Time stopped. I watched in horror as a maroon sedan in front of me drifted onto the shoulder of the highway, suddenly and violently dug the right front tire into the soft dirt, and abruptly slewed the back end of the car around until the car was broadside to the road. I could see a blonde female inside frantically trying to regain control over the careening vehicle, but I knew it was too late. At seventy-five or eighty miles per hour, the car started to roll over onto the passenger side, and then the car flew through the air.

The woman disappeared, carried upward as the entire car left the ground after a quarter-turn in the roll. In that flash of time, I could see that the car's roof didn't even make contact with the ground as the car flipped over, angling off the road into a fallow field. After hitting the ground again and kicking up a shower of dirt, the car barely brushed the ground as the car completed its first complete rollover, and kept rolling.

On the car's second roll, the rear of the car dug into the potato field ensuring that the car would rotate again. This time the roof of the car slammed into the ground obliterating the passenger side roof of the vehicle. The right front tire tore away from the car and adopted its own strange trajectory up and away from the car. The windshield shattered into a thousand pieces of glass as if someone threw a shower of glistening raindrops into the air.

On the third and fourth rolls, the front of the car rose in the air in a complex twist, left the ground again, plunging back to earth on the nose as the wheels spun eerily without anything to touch other than air. In the fifth roll; the remaining kinetic energy dissipated as the car slid two hundred feet backwards on the crushed roof before rocking to a stop well off the roadway.

I pulled onto the shoulder opposite the vehicle, parked in a millisecond, and raced to see whether the driver had survived the horrendous crash. I shed my helmet as I ran, and tossed it aside. Other cars had stopped behind me, and other people were running to the disabled car. The three wheels on the car were still spinning when I reached the car. I could smell gasoline. I threw myself onto the ground and peered into the upside down car through the shattered driver's side window. An unconscious woman hung suspended in her seatbelt. Her head rested against the crushed in roof, but I saw no blood.

Instincts drilled into me as a Green Beret came back – training I'd had as a backup medic: assess for life, assess for injury, assess for extraction, assess for transport, and so forth. I wiggled partway into the car on my back so I could look up at the woman, thankful that I wore a thick leather jacket so the ragged glass edges didn't injure me. I found a pulse on the woman at her carotid artery. Only the seat belt held her body. Amazingly, the empty passenger compartment had taken the brunt of the various impacts as the car flipped; had anyone been there, they would be dead.

I ran my hands down the woman's arms; one caught in the seatbelt and the other limply hanging to the roof of the upside down car. I used both hands and carefully moved her head around feeling for a neck injury. I ran a hand down her spine, not an easy task given the angle of the vehicle and her seat. I felt ribs and chest, ignoring the intimacy that might have been implied. I felt thighs and lower legs as they angled out from under the shattered dashboard.

She seemed whole and unbroken, but I wrapped a jacket that was lying beside her head around her neck to immobilize it in case she had suffered neck injuries. I couldn't imagine how she could have escaped injury. I released the seatbelt with one hand and cushioned her drop with my own body. The smell of gasoline became stronger. I backed myself out of the car, maneuvering the woman with me. Another pair of hands tried to reach in to help pull her out.

As I got myself nearly clear of the car, I heard a 'wooft' from under the car's hood. Fire! I rolled onto my stomach, reached inside the car, and hooked my hands under the woman's armpits and pulled, making sure her head and body didn't drag across the jagged glass where the side window had broken. Other rescuers had vanished when the engine fire erupted. The heat from the fire singed one side of my face. A quick glance confirmed we were in grave danger. I doubted the gas tank had remained undamaged and the odor of gasoline still filled the air.

I looked for other help, but there was none nearby. Just as the blonde's body cleared the car, flames erupted inside the car, consuming the interior in seconds. Blinded from the acrid smoke, I picked up the woman's body and ran, tripping over the uneven ground but not falling.

Two men intercepted my path and helped me lay the woman on the ground on a blanket a safe distance from the vehicle that had rapidly become completely engulfed in flames. A thunderous 'whoompf' made us all duck momentarily; fire had breached the gasoline tank. An immense orange ball of flame rose skyward amid the existing plume of black smoke. The heat from the explosion touched everyone.

Voices yelled from a vehicle on the road that 911 had been called. I took off my chaps, rolled then up into a makeshift pillow, and put them behind the woman's head. I removed my leather jacket and wrapped her upper body under the fleece lining. I felt the blonde's pulse race as her body dealt with shock and the surges of adrenalin discharged into her system. I did another brief external examination, seeking broken bones, blood, bruises, and other signs of trauma. All I found was an enlarging lump on her head and a superficial scratch.

A gray-haired woman knelt by the head of my unconscious ward. She stroked the young woman's forehead as only a grandmother could. I had learned in my medical training that unconscious people, even people in a coma, can 'hear' what's going on around them. They processed these 'subliminal' messages, sometimes evaluating whether to die or live. I leaned in close and talked calmly to the pretty woman, assuring her that she was in good hands, in the arms of people that would protect her and take care of her, and who would let no further harm come to her. The grandmother-type also talked to her in positive words too. I explained to the unconscious girl that she was healthy and fit with no signs of serious injury.

I talked in low, soothing tones to her for five minutes before she stirred slightly, her body shuddering once as the first signs of consciousness reappeared. A gasp of relief went through the small crowd that had now gathered. I glanced up to see the highway lined for a great distance in either direction with stopped cars and trucks. Flames and acrid smoke still leapt skyward from her car. The woman's eyes flew open, and I saw at once the fear she felt. Grandmother and I both kept speaking words of calm. She gasped in a panicked voice, "What happened? Where ... Oh ... my car ... couldn't steer."

I said calmly, "You've had an accident, and I think you're all right – a little shaken up, but OK. You've got a bump on your head that probably put you 'out' for a few minutes. Help is on the way." I could see her trying to focus on my face as I talked. She tried to sit up, but I urged her to just lie still until her body had a chance to recover from the stress of the accident. I gently pushed her shoulders back to the blanket.

"How did I get out of the car?" she asked in a worried voice.

Grandmother spoke nodding in my direction, "This young man pulled you out of your car. You are lucky you found a hero like him. He saved your life."

The blonde digested that information.

I asked gently, "Is there someone close to you that we should call – that you'd like to have know about your accident and where you are?"

She shook her head slightly, and then spoke, "No. No one near here. No one now." After a long pause, she added, "I'm from Oregon. I was heading home from a bad experience."

"What's your name?"

"I'm Elizabeth Catriona, and everyone calls me Liz." I introduced myself to her as 'Jim' now that she was conscious. I got a polite smile from her.

In the distance I could hear the wailing of the emergency sirens heading in our direction, probably from Pasco. I held Liz's hand, and told her help was seconds away. In a pleading voice, she locked eyes with me and said in a near state of panic, "Please don't leave me. Stay with me – hold my hand – even when they take me to the hospital." This wasn't a question; it was a plea I couldn't turn down. When a pretty woman in trouble begs, I give in.

A fire truck pulled up opposite the burning car, still aflame with dark smoke pouring from the hulk. A large ambulance arrived nearby. Two EMTs rushed to Liz's side with their gear. On the highway, two highway patrol cars screamed onto the scene with sirens and lights flashing; one officer came to work the gathering crowd around us, and the other took control of the traffic.

One EMT examined Liz carefully, checking her neck, throat, eyes, nose, and ears. As he worked, I introduced myself and explained getting her from the car and my initial check of her health. The EMT asked who had wrapped Liz's neck and I told him that I had incase she had a neck injury. The EMT praised my work. He wired Liz up and did an EKG, transmitting the information to a nearby hospital. Eventually, they retrieved a gurney, and with my help put Liz in the ambulance. I retrieved my helmet, chaps, and jacket, when an EMT shouted from beside the ambulance: "Jim, can you come see us for a moment."

I jogged over to the flashing ambulance. Inside I could hear Liz screaming. The EMT shook his head, "She's hysterical because you're not in the van with her. Can you leave you car ... err, your motorcycle, and come with us to County Medical? Talk to her. Calm her down. She's hysterical."

I got in the large ambulance and told Liz I had to arrange transport for my bike, but that I'd be right back. She relaxed slightly. At the moment, most of what I owned was tied to the bike in some way. The EMT read my concern and said, "I'll have someone take your bike to the hospital." He hailed a man in a blue jumpsuit – a wrecking truck driver who'd arrived on the scene. We arranged for him to transport my Harley. He quickly lowered the ramp to his truck, and with the EMT's help, we rolled the Harley onto the flatbed and anchored it in place with multiple lines. I gave him my cell phone number and noted the name of his company.

I got in the ambulance, and sat next to Liz. She put her hand out and commanded in a sweet voice, "Jim, please hold my hand – hold my hand tight and please don't let go." She broke into tears for minute. I held onto her as I buckled into the jump seat. The ambulance started up with siren wailing and the wrecking truck behind us, until we pulled away at high speed. Liz closed her eyes on the way to the hospital, but opened them every minute or two to be sure I remained at her side. She had the prettiest blue eyes.

Liz got cleared out of the emergency room three hours later. I hadn't left her side, except to help unload my motorcycle from the wrecker, and for one moment to talk to an older ER doctor. He said, "Your girlfriend had quite a scare. Physically she's in amazing shape given the nature of the accident. Usually, when we get someone like this, they're in small pieces. Also, the shock symptoms are dissipating, but mentally, she'll be in shock a little longer. This explains her neediness and dependence on you. She needs some TLC, and someone who'll help keep her grounded in reality until her mind can process what happened, and until she knows that it's past, and that she came through it all right. One minute she'll think she's about to die in her car, and the next she'll feel safe. She needs you to help her through it. It might take a day or two, or maybe just overnight. Call me if it's any longer than that."

A receptionist at the hospital's front desk helped us arrange for a small suite at the Cedars Inn in Kennewick, just across the Columbia River from Pasco. She also arranged for a taxi. Liz didn't want me to leave her side. I negotiated that I would ride my motorcycle right behind the taxi all the way to the inn, and that she could see me and know that I hadn't left her. I worried a little about the dependence she showed, but once we got her situated in the taxi, she calmed enough for the taxi ride, although she watched me out the back window the whole trip.

I checked us in, and helped Liz get situated in the suite I'd rented. She immediately lay down on the bed, but watched me as I shuttled the gear from my motorcycle into the room, clearly worried that I wouldn't return from some exit to get my stuff. After one trip outside, I came back and found her holding onto my leather jacket like a security blanket. I went and smoothed her shoulder to show her I knew she was working over what had happened.

We talked for a bit, particularly about her belongings. She told me everything she'd had with her burned in the car fire, including her wallet. I asked whether she wanted me to go somewhere and get her a few belongings, but she panicked about my leaving her alone for more than a minute.

I called the front desk and after explaining the situation I arranged for a friend of the young desk clerk to make a shopping trip for Liz. A half-hour later a teenage girl about eighteen knocked on the door; she introduced herself as Marci. With Liz's help, I'd written out a shopping list for clothing and sizes – even colors, and cosmetics and feminine products. I suggested a large purse and suitcase too. Marci took the list and four hundred dollars I gave her.

Two hours later, Marci returned with a suitcase and eight large bags from Wal-Mart. She'd made good selections. Liz and Marci bonded, so well that I left them to the purchases and went into the other room to do emails. I'd no sooner sat down, than Liz appeared in the doorway biting her lower lip. In a little girl voice she asked, "Jim, could you sit in the other chair? If you sit there I can see you from in here." I changed seats, sympathetic about Liz' security needs.

Marci got Liz to laugh at some of the things she told her about teen life in Kennewick. She had a natural compassion for Liz' situation, particularly her loss of her car and everything she'd been traveling with. When Marci left, I paid her a hundred dollars for her time and effort, and she gave me a large smile and promised to help again if we needed her. I could tell it wasn't the money that motivated her, but her compassion and desire to help someone in need.

After a trip to the bathroom to change into her pajamas, Liz begged me to sit on the bed with her. Marci had bought Liz a semi-shear nightgown with a scoop neck. The nightie hung to Liz' thighs, but through the material I could make out the matching bikini panties and Liz' pretty body without using any imagination. As Liz moved about on the bed, her clothing increasingly revealed more and more about her pretty body.

I brought my laptop into the room and stretched out next to Liz to do emails and my journal as she napped. She liked that arrangement, I guess because she could remain in constant touch with someone after her harrowing experience. Several times, Liz jerked awake and looking around the room in an agitated way. I'd patted her shoulder or rubbed her back until she quieted down and went back to sleep. At one point, she wrapped her arms around me, a situation that made it impossible to use my laptop. I held her arms in place, hugged her, and just allowed myself to doze off as well.

Liz woke up hungry for dinner at nine-thirty that evening. We ordered in some Chinese food based on a recommendation from the inn's front desk. After the delivery, Liz and I sat at a table in the room and ate, and talked about her accident and introduced ourselves a little more completely. I tried to focus on the food and Liz' face, instead of the revealing clothing she wore. Eventually, I turned on the TV. She'd asked how I got her from the car, and I gave her an abbreviated version, not mentioning the hazards. She asked my background, and I'd told her I was a musician kicking around the country on the way to my sister's home in San Diego. Liz told me she worked in radio and TV in Portland,

The local news on KNDK-TV came on at ten o'clock, and to my surprise the accident, Liz, and I were the top news items. I hadn't even noticed a camera or reporter at the accident scene, but they had vivid pictures of the burning car, Liz, and me in the field as the EMT personnel administered to her, and a shot of the ambulance leaving the scene followed by my motorcycle on the back of the truck.

The announcer's voice over said, "Country singer Jim Mellon rescued a woman from her single car crash on the highway north of Pasco this afternoon. Jim braved the damaged car, a close fire, and the threat of exploding gasoline to pull the woman from the car. The woman has been identified as Liz Catriona, a television personality from Portland. Mellon is on a personal sojourn across the country on his motorcycle. The car exploded in an immense fireball only seconds after Mellon pulled Catriona from her car, picked her up, and ran with her to safety just before the car exploded in what could have been a deadly experience for both Mellon and Catriona. Units from Pasco Fire Station Eight and Washington Highway Patrol responded to the crash. Catriona was transported to County Medical, where amazingly she was found to be in good shape with only minor bruises. She has since been released. Links to several videos that show more details about the accident, the fire, and rescue have been posted on the KNDU website."

The TV shots continued to pan around the accident scene, mostly focusing on the burning car after we'd left the scene, and then the next news item came on. Liz stared at me in silence. I put my computer on the dinner table and in a minute I'd found the videos. The first was entitled 'Celebrity Jim Mellon Rescues TV Star From Burning Car.' The video ran a little over eight minutes, and must have been taken by someone with a cell phone that had been nearby the entire time I'd helped rescue Liz. The video started as I ran to Liz's upside down crushed car, and showed the narrow escape we both had from the fire and explosion. A second video showed the same scene from a different point of view; however, the camera angle revealed the fire as closer and more threatening to us. In both videos, I could be seen close-up once I'd started to ensure Liz hadn't been injured. The grandmotherly lady who had helped me also appeared in the video. In both videos, I'd been identified as 'Jim Mellon, a hero.'

Liz jabbed me in the chest with one finger partly in anger but she had tears in her eyes. Her voice croaked, "You almost died saving me. We were seconds from being engulfed in flames, and you stayed ... and saved me ... and you're some kind of famous person?" Liz's voice started to choke up and she cried. She hadn't realized until those videos how close to death she had come.

Slightly embarrassed by the news coverage, I shrugged. "Yes on all counts, and I told you I was a musician part of the time."

Despite her teary eyes, Liz rolled her eyes in an unforgiving manner. She kept touching me, not at all in an annoying way, but so that she could be 'in touch' as often and for as long as possible. Given her trauma and her emerging personality, I found her need sweet and not alarming.

"So, what do you sing?"

I offered, "I'll show you." I walked to my pile of luggage in a corner of the suite and got my small travel guitar. I walked back to the sofa and sat beside Liz, tuned the instrument, and then sang 'Texas Dawn' to her in a soft voice. As I got halfway through, she started singing along in a low tentative voice.

When I ended, she reflected, "So, you're that country singer. You sing with Crystal Lee."

I nodded and sang her two more songs, and then put the guitar aside. She watched with rapt attention, as though she'd set out to memorize every word I said or sang, and every move I made. We chatted a little about singing and my getting into the music business. Eventually, she yawned a couple of times, and I suggested she go to sleep. I explained that I'd take the couch in the adjacent room, so she could have the large bed.

Liz shook her head, "Oh, no. I want you right next to me. Please! And leave a light on in the other room – please don't make it dark!" She pulled me to the bed. She got in under the covers. I was allowed a trip to the bathroom before I lay down beside her atop the blanket in my running shorts. My chivalry seemed to be acceptable to her. She snuggled up against me and drifted asleep in a few minutes. I followed close behind. This had been a long and exciting day.

I had some wild dreams before I finally settled into a deep sleep. I replayed the car flipping over and over through the air, and then the fire. I thought about what would have happened if I hadn't been willing to get in the car and work to get Liz extracted, or if the gas tank had exploded fifteen seconds earlier. Finally, it seemed, I could put the accident I'd witnessed to rest so it didn't continue to haunt my dreams.

In its place, a sexual dream materialized. I could feel the warmth of a female body against me – a naked body. A bare breast and erect nipple went by my cheek – even stroked my cheek. The woman to whom they belonged fondled me, and then started to fellate me. I felt waves of pleasure coursing through my body as she worked on my cock. My dream woman knew what she was doing. The touching, stroking, sucking, tonguing were all so real...

My eyes flickered open. I guessed the time to be around four or five in the morning. Liz moved beside me, her naked body so seductive in the light from the other room. Her energies were entirely focused on my erection. I whispered cautiously, "Liz, don't do that? I don't want you to do this as some kind of return payment for what happened yesterday."

Liz hummed a 'Yes' and a string of hums that defied translation, but made some kind of comment about the last part of my statement. She kept fellating me – a great blowjob actually.

I pulled Liz up to me, "Liz, come here. Let's talk." She threw her body on top of mine, making sure that my erection frequently rubbed against the exterior of her naked sex.

I started, "If you do this, I feel you're trying to repay a kindness. We've never even kissed."

Liz's face appeared in front of mine instantly, and a tender and loving kiss resulted. We kissed some more, our kisses rapidly becoming more passionate and wet. I couldn't recall having a first kiss with someone, as they lay nude against my body. What a nice way to start a relationship. Liz nibbled on my ear and ran her tongue inside; "I need a few orgasms to help me get over the accident. You're the person I elected – by unanimous vote – to provide this valuable service to me the rest of the night."

Liz lay on me and squeezed her legs together, trapping my erection against her labia. She thrust her hips a few times in simulated intercourse. She went on, "This is not repayment sex, although that idea did cross my mind. It's not sympathy sex; I've given and received that, and that's not good for either party. No, this is just man-woman, boy-girl, lusty, likeable, physical, erotic, enjoyable fucking that will make us both feel good. I want this. 'I' need this."

I remember thinking hours earlier, 'When a pretty woman in trouble begs, I give in.' We melded together perfectly and the sex was wonderful and went on a long time with many orgasms.

I lay awake in the morning as Liz's nude body slept peacefully with her head against my chest. The twitches and groans she'd emitted early in the night's sleep seemed to have given way to a more restful slumber, except for our middle-of-the-night sex. Although we had the curtains on the windows closed, I could hear rain beating against the side of the building and the glass. The morning was not good for travel; all good motorcycle riders should find a nice warm, sexy, and naked body to snuggle up with.

Liz stirred, and I let her rouse herself from her sleep. Her beautiful blue eyes opened and looked at me, studied me, and then I got a loving smile. I kissed her forehead and started to stroke her back to express my appreciation about her closeness. Liz purred and snuggled her naked body more closely to mine.

I said, "Last night, I had this beautiful dream. This gorgeous, young blonde woman about five-foot-five with blue eyes came onto my side of the bed, and she did ... well, sexual things to me."

Liz said in humorous mock surprise, "Oooouuh? Sexual things?"

I reached out and ran my fingers across the area immediately around her exposed breasts, feeling the curve and heft of her well-shaped bosom. My mind paused; 'bosom' is a word you don't hear too often these days. My mother and grandmother used to use that term. I liked it; it's softer and more gentile than 'tits, ' or 'boobs.'

Liz said, "If you do that you'll get me all horny."

I said just before I kissed her, "I detect that you're horny already?"

After a silence, Liz acknowledged, "Yes, I discovered that last night too. Would you like to make love with me again? I'd really like you to."

"I'd be delighted."

Liz dressed in some of the clothes that Marci had bought, and we took a taxi to a nearby restaurant that served brunch. I noted that the weather had already started to clear from the morning shower. By way of starting our conversation over breakfast, Liz told me about her work. She had a three-hour weekday afternoon television talk show on Portland's KPLD-TV with a wide range of guests: dogs up for adoption, health care, women's issues, clothes, weather, insights into current scandals, a light touch of local politics, and even outdoor and recreation features – almost anything. At a young age, she had started up the media ladder, ultimately hoping for a permanent network job at a 'big' station in California. I thought she had the poise and assertiveness to accomplish her goal, although she admitted that Portland was a really pleasant place to live and that now she wasn't sure whether California was still her goal.

Liz lit up at one point when an idea occurred to her: "Jim, will you come to Portland with me and be on my show. It's about four hours that way," she pointed, "and I'd be forever grateful. You can stay with me ... and I promise to be the 'perfect' hostess and extend to you every 'courtesy' of the house." Her emphasis on a few words left no doubt about the sexual nature of my stay with her.

I'm a sucker for begging, I said with a smirk, "Yes, of course."

After ordering, I asked Liz, "OK, we know we're compatible on one front, but short of a few facts about you. Tell me about yourself other than your work; for instance, yesterday you said something about coming from a bad experience – is that anything you want to share?"

Liz squirmed a little, and I could tell the question made her uncomfortable. I wondered why I'd pushed into that personal area; I guess I could be nosey at times. She said, "I'm running away ... running away from an unfaithful husband who I caught fucking my best friend."

"Where were you going yesterday?"

"Actually, back home. John, my husband, is probably still at our vacation home near Mount Rainer with Ellie, my ex-best friend. I caught them in flagrante delicto; I ran away and started driving full of anger and didn't care what direction I went – at the time east seemed good. Eventually, I stopped overnight up by Moses Lake, and this morning decided to go home."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that ... I didn't know..."

Liz interrupted, "I was to drive up and meet John after I finished yesterday. I would have gotten up there about midnight, but I got a good replacement for my time slot at the TV station, had the entire afternoon free, so I started driving to our cabin for some unexpected R&R time about seven hours ahead of schedule. When I arrived, Ellie's car was at our cabin along with John's. I walked in and found them in bed fucking ... my husband and my best fucking friend from Portland!" Her voice had an angry edge.

"So you ran?"

"While they were still fucking – hot at it, a few seconds before they saw me, I walked right through the bedroom – right past the bed, took his car and house keys off the dresser, turned around and walked out. My girlfriend dashed from the bed to hide in the bathroom – what the fuck was she doing two hundred miles from home fucking my husband? My husband jerked on his underwear and started following me out of the cabin in his boxers, apologizing and blubbering 'I'm sorry'. I took Ellie's car keys too – they were next to her purse on the kitchen counter. I got in my car and started driving. Ugh! I got a motel room last night, but I didn't sleep much." I sympathized with her problem.

Liz nodded and launched into another rant, talking about how liberal she thought she was, even sexually, until she found the pair screwing. She said, "John and I had never been swingers or anything like that, but we shared our fantasies and some of those went in the direction of involving others. If either of us had wanted to do that, the other of us would have probably gone along, if nothing more than out of curiosity if we'd talked about it ahead of time." After pausing, she asked, "Have you ever been a swinger or done anything like that?"