Saturday Morning Post #87: Until the Thrill is Gone (part 4)

In another story from “24 Exposures,” meet Dan and Sylvia, a couple who can’t quite keep it in the bedroom. Or the house.

The conclusion of the saga of Dan and Sylvia’s ever-expanding search for more exciting public sex. Watch for a character from one of the previous stories to drop in at the end.

A little over a week later, they were standing on an overpass above the 405 freeway, halfway through the mountain pass that separated LA’s rich Westside from the equally rich West Valley. It was five o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and traffic was moving in its usual fashion in both directions, so many blood cells stuck in an artery long since made useless by auteoporosis.

Dan had taken care in choosing this overpass. It wasn’t one of the main roads crossing over the freeway. It was an off-street, one lane each way, an obviously long-forgotten political payoff to some rich residents on either side of the manmade canyon. It was also hard to get to from both directions, narrow twisting roads up through the hills that doubled back on themselves. Dan had stood there for an hour a week ago, and not a single car had driven by.

They had parked as close as possible to the end of the overpass, then walked to the center and stood there, Sylvia’s simple floral print dress occasionally wafting in a sudden, short breeze. They could see the freeway for a mile in either direction, and the freeway could see them.

“Oh, Dan,” Sylvia said when he took the blindfold off of her. “This is… how did you find this place?”

“It took work,” he said. “Just like it would take work for anyone to get to us.” He kissed her and she melted into him, pulling his shirt up, which he quickly tossed off. She was out of her dress just as fast, fingers fumbling as she tore open his pants and he let them drop to the ground, stepped out of them. It was just the two of them up here and hundreds of commuters down there and it was perfect.

She leaned against the chain-link fence that wrapped the overpass and Dan stood in front of her, stooping slightly as he slipped inside. He wrapped his fingers in the fence, kissed her on the shoulder, then looked beyond, at the cars below. Traffic had just slowed to an almost dead stop, and he could see faces looking up at them through windshields. Horns honked, but they were not the angry horns of traffic. They were acknowledgements, admissions. “We see you. Thanks!” Safe in the anonymity of their cars, these people could do what they had mostly refused to do before — admit they were watching.

He saw big rig drivers give thumbs up and flash their lights, saw a convertible full of young women raise their shirts and flash their breasts, caught a glimpse of some guy in a Beamer with a blonde head bobbing in his lap. He saw them all and they saw him, they all saw him, they all saw him —

“They can see me — “ he thought, in time to his frantic hip-thrusting. In out, in out, one two, three four, they can see me, they can —

He threw his head back and almost screamed as he came like he never had before. That’s when he saw the helicopter hovering above them, but he didn’t care. This had been the moment they’d been looking for. He put his hands on Sylvia’s breasts and kissed her right between them and she moaned, “Oh god, Dan…” and then it was her turn to frantically writhe against the fence, like she’d never stop, and she probably wouldn’t have except that the sudden short whoop of a siren right next to them cut through everything, froze them in their tracks.

Two police cruisers, one from each direction, parked at angles across the road, two officers approaching from each. Dan and Sylvia looked at each other. She smiled and came again.

Dammit. Dan wished he had that ability. All he could do was smile vaguely at the nearest officer and say, “Hi.”

* * *

There had been no formal complaints filed. Sylvia’s father’s lawyer had insisted on that point and maneuvered the DA into an absolute interpretation of the law. George was an expert at that sort of thing, so they were only charged with disorderly conduct. Of course, they’d made the evening news, thanks to that helicopter, and although everything was blotted into a video mosaic onscreen, they both knew that the real footage would get out, creep around the world and perpetuate their act for years.

But the terms of their probation demanded that they attend group counseling, one of those stupid twelve-step groups for sexual compulsives. Yeah, that was the best way to treat a bunch of addicts, put them in a room together to talk about what most compelled them. Except that, after listening to their sad, twisted stories for a while, it all got depressing and, for the first time, Dan and Sylvia felt a little bit ashamed about all the things they had done.

They were walking through the mall one weekday afternoon, holding hands and saying nothing, just window shopping, when they heard the calliope tune of the carousel. They looked at each other, smiled.

“Ah, the old days,” Dan said.

“You want to go for a ride?” Sylvia asked him, but there wasn’t even a hint of suggestiveness in her voice. “Just for old time’s sake?”

“Sure,” he said, and they walked down, bought their tickets and got in line. When they got on the carousel, they picked separate horses, next to each other, and held hands as the thing started to turn, hidden mechanisms lifted them up and dropped them down and the world outside spun into a blur. There was something just so… sweet about a Merry-Go-Round. A horse race to nowhere, with no winners and losers, none of the mess or danger of real horses, everything turning in a proper circle until the end was reached. But, since it was a circle, there was no beginning and no ending. You came out where you came in, moved without moving.

Sylvia leaned her cheek against the rod that skewered her horse, looked at Dan, who was staring forward, smiling. He sensed her looking, turned. At the same time, both of them simply said, “I love you.”

And at last the great wheel stopped moving. Dan climbed off his horse, helped Sylvia down and then there was a loud thud, the carousel rocking slightly to one side and turning a few degrees forward. Screams echoed from the mall and people came running. Dan and Sylvia stepped off, walked around and saw the crowd that had gathered. Some poor, dumb schmuck had just taken a header from one of the balconies above and had landed on top of the thing, torso dangling over the side of the main axis, mirror cracked where his face had hit, bounced off and stopped to stare lifelessly at itself.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dan said, and they did.

They didn’t talk about the man who fell the rest of that day, but they both thought the same thing. Maybe it was a warning. At least it was a reminder. They sat very close together on the couch while they watched the news that evening, then they went to bed, Sylvia in a long silk nightgown and Dan in pajamas. Dan reached for the bedside lamp, shook his head. “That poor guy,” he said. Then, he turned out the lights and, in the dark, under the covers, they quietly made love, then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

Saturday Morning Post #87: Until the Thrill is Gone (part 3)

In another story from “24 Exposures,” meet Dan and Sylvia, a couple who can’t quite keep it in the bedroom. Or the house.

The story of Dan and Sylvia continues, as they seek ever bigger sexual thrills.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to welcome your Los Angeles Dodgers…”

The crowd went nuts as the players trotted onto the field, Dan and Sylvia in the nosebleed section of the bleacher seats. It was a bright summer evening, the sun streaking in from the west, making half the stadium glow, leaving the other half dunked in shadow. Neither of them were really baseball fans, but they decided to give this a try and were now sitting high up, away from much of a crowd. It was always like that when the Dodgers played some small town, who cares team. Dan did know enough about baseball to have selected this game for that reason.

But they’d also decided to wait until the first home run to do anything. Their actions would be dictated by the figures dashing around the field below, beyond their control. They held hands tightly in anticipation. It could happen at any second, or not at all.

It didn’t happen at all during the first four innings. There were RBI’s, to be sure, each of which they celebrated with a long kiss, but nothing over the fence.

At the end of the top of the fifth, they were both getting a little antsy. “I wish these guys could hit better,” Dan grumbled as the next batter came to the plate and managed only a base hit after two foul pop-ups into the stands. The next batter struck out and the third took a bean ball walk to first. The fourth batter put one right in the left-fielder’s mitt.

“Aw, shit,” Dan said.

“We still have four innings left,” Sylvia explained.

“We can change the rules…” Dan suggested, but she gave him a sour look.

“That’s no fun now, is it?” she answered. Before he could say anything, there was an enormous crack from the field and the growing wave of a cheer from the crowd. They turned to look as the ball arced into the air, climbing for right field. The batter was already running for first base and the outfielders were going long.

They held each other’s hands tightly as they stood, watching the white dot go, their grip tightening as it reached its summit, seemed to hesitate in the air for just an instant, then began its descent. The journey only took a few seconds, but seemed to last an hour. The ball arced downward, the right fielder ran for the fence as fast as his legs could go. He lept, raising his gloved hand into the air, above the fence, the ball whizzing right toward it.

“Fucker’s going to catch it,” Dan muttered, disappointed.

But he didn’t. The ball sailed two feet over his head, over the wall, out of the ballpark. The crowd went nuts as the three runners came home.

“Grand slam,” Sylvia said.

“No, one runner short of that. But it’s time for us to round the bases.”

The sun had dropped below the edge of the stadium by now, and though the stadium lights were bright, it seemed dim enough and distant way up here. Sylvia eased herself onto Dan’s lap, facing the field, and he ripped open the Velcro on his fly and slid into home. To anyone watching, it would have just seemed like a wife sitting on her husband’s lap, bouncing up and down excitedly at the game’s progress. Thousands of people, and none of them would have known better…

Which was kind of the problem, Dan realized. This wasn’t quite as exciting as he’d imagined. He leaned forward and licked Sylvia’s ear, but he could tell she wasn’t quite getting the thrill she’d hoped for, either. Down below, another batter struck out and a wave went around the stadium and the game went on, everyone oblivious to Dan and Sylvia.

That just wouldn’t do, he thought. As they went into the top of the sixth, the two of them just going through the motions, Dan ran his hands down Sylvia’s thighs, grabbed the hem of her dress. He hesitated, then lifted it, up past her hips, exposing the game already in progress. She realized what he was doing but didn’t stop him. If anything, she started grinding with more fervor.

Dan watched the crowd below, still oblivious, but then he noticed a man a few rows ahead and twenty feet to the right who seemed to have spotted them. As Dan looked over, the man turned away, nudged one of his buddies, and they both looked. Pretty soon, the whole group of them was glancing over, about a dozen of them, smiling and saluting with their beers. Dan smiled back and grabbed Sylvia’s hips, guiding her banging, whispered in her ear, “We have an audience down there.”

Sylvia looked over, saw the men staring at them, felt herself pushed closer to the edge. She looked across the stadium, the distance deceptively vertiginous, the lower stands smearing back forever before rising into the upper decks, colorful dots that were the fans swimming and swarming. Then, they both heard the noise, rising from the crowd while no one was at bat. It was a mixture of cheers and hoots and laughter, a growing muttering.

They both caught a glimpse of the diamond vision screen, before the image changed to an innocuous shot of the bullpen. It was them, the two of them, dozens of feet tall, fucking in living color for an audience of thousands, for just an instant, but that instant was enough and both of them went off in a shuddering, quaking orgasm.

The men in the bleachers applauded as Sylvia pulled her skirt down, got off of Dan’s lap and kissed him. He kissed her back, then noticed the movement far below, the blue blazers starting to climb. “Time to go,” he said. She nodded and they hustled along the back of the bleachers, down the far side and out an exit, into the parking lot, managing to avoid security but getting several appreciative nods and thumbs-up from the peanut vendors and ushers they passed.

Too bad that game hadn’t been televised, but they’d given the fans something to talk about for a long time. As for Dan and Sylvia, the memory was enough ammunition for a short time, a week of reliving it, before things got boring again. Not that they would ever be bored with each other, but they had moved the boundary again, had further to go next time. Always further, but they were both coming up short on ideas. They stopped by the gym again one morning, but the old desk boy had moved on and the woman behind the counter looked too butch and humorless to appreciate a show, so they left after legitimately working out. They rode the subway some more, even performed once for an approving audience of skater boys, but it wasn’t the same.

They banged on a crowded beach, in full daylight, but everyone pretended to ignore them. Sure, everyone was probably staring when neither Dan nor Sylvia were looking, but when either of them glanced at the crowd, it was as if they didn’t exist. They didn’t even finish, just suddenly stopped, Dan rolling off her, pulling his trunks back on. “What is with these fucking people?” he said.

“It’s this town,” she answered, wriggling back into her one-piece. “Everybody is too jaded, thinks they’re too sophisticated to be disturbed. Maybe we should have picked a beach where they have lifeguards, at least they would have noticed.”

“They would have arrested us.”

“Is that such a terrible thing, though?” Sylvia wondered aloud. “What do they do, give you a ticket and send you on your way?”

“With our luck, they probably wouldn’t even notice.”

“We have been lucky,” she said.

“Well, what are we expecting, really?”

They lay there for a while, baking in the sun. Maybe this was the wrong place. The crowd was mostly young, college kids, tweenies, no children, no old people. Half of them would probably have done the same thing if they had the guts. He glanced over, saw a young couple lying on top of each other, making out. They were fully clothed but obviously dry-humping each other silly. Maybe Dan and Sylvia’s performance had been inspiration for that. Maybe it was just hormones.

“Dan…” Sylvia started, then went silent.

“Yes?”

“You remember that night in the park? When the police showed up?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “How could I forget?”

“When I saw them going into that bathroom, knowing you were there… it got me really, really excited.”

“Same here, when I heard their radios. And you’ve never tried to climb out a small window with a hard-on.”

“I want that,” Sylvia said. “How do we get that again? Where can we go, what can we do?”

“I thought this was the place,” Dan shrugged, sitting up, grabbing his shirt and putting it on. “Let’s go,” he said, standing.

“Where?” she asked. He shook his head. He had no answer.

* * *

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