The Truth About Blow Jobs
Chapter Three -- The Trap Closes
E-mail: clueseek@swbell.net
Rating: NC-17 right from the get go, but this chapter your mother
could read.
Category: Smutty sex, threesome, bondage, discipline, all that happy
stuff.
Summary: The Untold Story of Mulder's Abduction
Archive: Absolutely
Comments: Thanks as always to Leelee beta extraordinary, and the
only other writer as twisted and kinky as I am.
Feedback: Always welcome with a glass of ice tea.
Jackson International Airport
Jackson, Mississippi
Miss Shurl met me at baggage claim. I was struck again by how petite
and fragile she looked. And of even more concern, she was leaning on
some kind of aluminum cane. How was I ever going to head out in to a
backwoods Southern pine forest with a little old lady? If she got
hurt, I'd never forgive myself.
"Miss Shurl, what happened? Are you alright?" I asked in concern.
"I'm fine, Mulder," was the crisp response. It sounded like Scully
in one of her 'don't go there' moods.
We strolled out to the parking lot and sure enough, she stopped by an
old pick-up truck, one of at least thirty or forty in the parking
lot. No doubts about where we were. A speckled hound in the back
started barking at us.
"Hush up, George." The yolt-yolt racket immediately stopped. "He's
generally worthless, but he will run snakes off." After my
experience with the snake handling religious fundamentalists, I
didn't even want to go there.
No question about who was driving, either. Thank goodness for
adjustable seats otherwise I'd have my knees in my nose until we got
there.
As we got in, Miss Shurl looked me over and asked, "You bring any
other clothes?"
I glanced down at my chinos and loafers. "Well, I did bring a suit,"
I began.
She sighed and said, "Never mind. Before I introduce you to
Mississippi kudzu and squirrel briars, we'll stop at that Wal-Mart
just as we get on the Natchez Trace."
Old Home Place
Southwestern Mississippi
The new jeans, long sleeve shirt and rubber boots were stiff, but
deemed necessary. Otherwise as Miss Shurl said, "the stickers would
eat you alive." Actually I didn't think I'd tell her about the man-
eating fungus Scully and I found in North Carolina.
The road was a narrow two lane with thick pinewoods and water oaks on
either side. George was sitting in the back of the truck with his
nose in the breeze and his ears flying, obviously a very happy camper.
Miss Shurl turned off on what looked like a dirt track and handed me
a key to unlock a rusted gate. We drove on several miles before we
came to one of the eeriest places I have seen, the ruins of the old
Wilkerson plantation.
All that was left of the house was twenty-four Corinthian columns
about three stories high, forming an open square. Here and there, a
twisted piece of wrought iron connected the tops of the posts. At
some point, the house had burned and the scorch marks were still
visible on some of the mortar. It reminded me of some of the
classic Greek ruins outside Athens, haunted, quiet, tragic and
timeless.
Miss Shurl seemed a little stiff as she got out of the truck. I knew
better than to offer her any help, but still wondered how she was
going to manage a hike in the woods. In the sunlight, her hair had
taken on a soft pale red-gold look that I hadn't noticed in
Washington. But one thing I had learned about working with Scully
over the years was not to comment on changes in a woman's hair
color. George immediately hopped out and went to do doggie things.
"It's still quite a place," she said with obvious pride. "But don't
you go getting some romantic notion about Yankees burning the place.
Might make a good story, but the truth is some damn fool cousin was
smoking his pipe in bed. Caught the curtains on fire. Whole place
went up. Broke my Great Granddaddy's heart. He never could stand to
come back here. Marybelle died in the fire but later they found some
of her diaries in an old trunk. Otherwise, we wouldn't be chasing
around down here looking for mystery rocks.
"You might as well get that machete and the little backpack out of
the back of the truck." It was obvious about who was going to be
clearing the path. We walked slowly around the place and towards an
over grown footpath. "The spring's down near the river, about three
or four miles," she observed. I jumped as George flushed a covey of
quail that took off right in front of us. Miss Shurl noticed and
grinned at the city boy as we started our hike.
The Spring
It probably took us two hours to get down to the spring. In spite of
everything, if I hadn't been told it was a spring, I would have
thought it was just another shallow pool of dirty water. George
found it perfectly acceptable to drink and then roll in the mud
though. The thought of riding back with a wet muddy dog made me glad
that Miss Shurl had a pick-up.
There was a compass in the backpack along with water bottles. As
Miss Shurl sipped and dabbed perspiration off her forehead, I tried
to get a reading to coordinate with the map. I had to stifle a gasp
as I looked at it again. The needle was swinging widely back and
forth, and the damn thing was beginning to get hot in my hand. There
was definitely something here that was out of the ordinary. George
cocked his head like he heard something and started to howl like he
was in pain.
"Miss Shurl, why don't you wait here?" I asked. "I'll leave you my
cell phone but I'll just explore a little deeper in down the trail."
The last thing I wanted to worry about was her falling or getting
hurt out here out here. I work better alone as Scully and everyone
else knows all too well. To my relief, she nodded wearily, as she
sat down on an old stump and said, "I do need to rest just for a few
minutes. I'm feeling a little peaked."
"I'll be back before long," I said confidently as I started off in
the direction the compass had pointed.
The Rock
I hadn't gotten to far into the briars when I noticed how silent it
was. No birds, no leaves rustling, not even the sound of running
water anymore. I kept following the wildly swinging compass deeper
in to the brush when I finally broke through into a small clearing.
And there it was it.
The damn rock wasn't that big, maybe as tall as I am, but sonofabitch
it was glowing in the late afternoon light and I swear I heard
humming. I walked slowly towards it when I heard something behind
me. I spun around and oh shit, no. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I'd watched Mulder ever since he entered the clearing. I might have
known once he read that passage in my diary, nothing would stop him.
Most of my ship was hidden underground, but the marker beacon was
clear.
He heard me moving behind him of course. Mulder may not be a
graduate of jungle survival training but he's not totally inept
either. I pointed the neural destabilizer at him as he turned to
face me. It does make a handy walking cane.
He gaped for a moment and tried to say something.
"Really Mulder, all this time you've been looking for little green
men and you should have been checking out little old gray haired
ladies instead."
When he tried to turn and run, I shot him.
The end of chapter three.