The Armadillo motel, on County Road 3325, has seen better days.
Skeeter enters the motel office, silhouetted against the blinking, green Armadillo sign.
Lorene’s eyes tear up when she sees he has his canvas bag. Same old shit.
“What?” he says. “Jesus H, you look like someone shit in your grits.”
Lorene wipes her eyes. “Skeeter, those docs say my cancer’s back. It’s in my brain.”
“Shit,” he says, then immediately brightens. “They give you some more OxyContin?”
Lorene leans across the counter and says, “Yeah. And I’ll give you some, if you’ll just make love to me tonight.”
“That,” Skeeter says, grinning, “is why I’m here, you wench.”
Lorene takes the canvas sack away from him. “Not that kind of lovin’,” she says. “Just you and me tonight, Skeet. No paved meat.”
Skeeter looks uncertain.
A short time later, they lie side by side on the bed in room 23, staring up at the ceiling. Stiff as two corpses.
“Couldn’t you, just this once, Skeeter?” Looking over at his flaccid dick, she breaks down, blubbering. “Am I too human for you? Or just too alive?”
“Hell, Lorene. I would if I could, you know that. Why you wanna make the world all wacky?” He gets up on one elbow. “You got any more Oxy’s?”
She gives him a few more tabs then retreats into her own thoughts.
She’s seen it all with this man. He’s out there—way the fuck out there. But with a kind heart, as she sees it. And she has no one else. No one else on God’s green fucking earth.
First time he came in to rent a room, he was carrying that canvas bag. She thought he was good looking, if a bit scruffy.
She peeped in on him that first night, expecting him to be jerking off to cable porn. But there he was, cornholing some poor, dead antelope. He seemed so alone. Like her, somehow. And her heart went right out to him, the poor fuck.
And, through the years, it had just brought them closer and closer together. Paved meat, he called it. It was the best he could do, and she’d shared in it, because he was a constant in her life, she needed that. And fuck all of them who’d judge.
But now Skeeter’s passed out. Too many Jack-and-Cokes on top of all that Oxy.
He’s mumbling in his sleep, but he has a blue diamond boner, and Lorene wonders if it would be a violation of their trust if she just rode it for all it was worth. She’s decided it’s the last night of her life, anyway.
But she knows Skeeter’s all about the paved meat—the kink defines the man.
In his Oxy dream, Skeeter is on a deserted highway beneath a gigantic, orange moon. He crests a small rise and downshifts when he sees a black mound in the middle of the road. Already he can feel the anticipation building in his groin. A large doe quivers in a pool of moon-blackened blood, its head twisted completely around. He’s out of his truck almost before it stops, running for the dying animal.
This is the pinnacle of paved meat love: to get a large mammal right before death—shuddering, writhing. Oh, this is so special, and he cannot think what he might have done to deserve it.
He positions himself on his knees behind the deer’s haunches and releases his cock. As he thrusts himself in, headlights suddenly flash and he sees the doe has become Lorene. The backward-facing Lorene head says, “I’m gonna pave my meat for you, baby.”
Skeeter sits bolt upright in bed, stiffer than his rapidly deflating erection. What the hell?
“Come, Skeet!” It’s Lorene’s voice in the real world.
Skeeter swings his legs out of bed, stumbles wide-eyed to the window and peeks out from behind the chintz curtain. The Armadillo sign is off. Dark. Lorene stands naked in the parking lot.
“C’mon now,” she says, as if speaking to a dog
She steps out onto County Road 3325, lays down along the center stripe. Her body is pale against the pavement’s blackness. Skeeter throws the door open and races out to her.
“Lorene, what the fuck?” He tries to lift her, but she bats him away.
“If you want to comfort me so much, then let me be the paved meat tonight.” She looks him in the eye. Tears catch starlight, and become silver streams down her cheeks. “Six months, Skeet. For what? OxyContin? Hospital bills? I don’t have that kind of swag, you know that. Just let me go out with the thought that I got you hot just once in this lifetime.”
Skeeter is silent, staring at her. His eyes bulging.
“That’s not the way it works, godammit! There are rules. I can’t let you kill yourself then fuck you, Lorene. It’s…it’s…immoral!”
“Ho, now! Listen to the big man talking about morals! Skeeter, I’ve seen you with your dick so far up a dead weasel’s ass that its eyes bulged out with every thrust of your skinny hips.”
“OK. Ha ha. You’ve had your fun. Now come on up and we’ll go back into the room and I’ll try again. I swear. But this? This is just wrong, Lorene, and you know it. Even if it is only six months, why, I’ll take care of you til the end.”
Lorene reaches up and lays a palm against his cheek. “I know, dear. This is the end. And I need you to take care of me now. There’s still good traffic even at this hour. Any driver will welcome the chance to haul ass out of here and let you handle the body, if you’re convincing enough. They won’t want any trouble. Just send them on their way after I get paved, and then bring me over to a room.”
“Give me a break, Skeeter. You owe me, after all these years. You’re my only friend in this fucked over world. I’m a lonely suicide, and you fuck dead things. We’re the perfect couple, so just spare me, will you? Let me go to my grave with the knowledge I gave one person some joy in this world.”
Skeeter rubs a tear out of his eye and squeaks, “I’m gonna miss you.”
There is no wind to rustle the trees lining the road. It’s quiet enough for them both to hear tires speeding in their direction.
“Don’t lie to me, you old pervert.” She sits up and kisses him, nods her head up the road toward toward the headlights threading through the trees. “Here comes our first contestant. Go on and get out of here.” She pushes him away. “And when you start in on me, just try to be gentle and loving. No weird stuff, okay? Okay?”
Skeeter mumbles a half-hearted assent and slumps off into the trees.
The headlights are attached to a semi that comes barreling down Country Road 3325. Just as in Skeeter’s earlier dream, Lorene is hidden below a small rise in the road. The trucker will never see her until it’s too late.
Lorene lays on her stomach, her arms stretched out in front of her like a sphinx. Facing the truck. Head on.
From the roadside, Skeeter, agog with fascination, watches the semi bear down on her.
As the truck’s bumper reaches Lorene’s forehead, she screams, and Skeeter instinctively seizes his cock and weeps for this wacky, wacky world.
A couple of week ago, Chuck Wendig asked for story titles as prompts for a flash fiction challenge. He chose 13 favorites for participants to choose from to write stories from for this week. One of the chosen titles was mine: Paved Meat: A Roadkill Romance. I had no idea where this title came from, nor did I have a clear story to go with it. However, one night in a dream these characters came to me and, well, here you go. At first I thought I may be guilty of overplaying my hand for effect, but a google search on ‘sex with roadkill’ delivered over two million hits. Frightening and hilarious. Check out this one. Who knew there was a burgeoning field of ‘necrobestiality’? We all might laugh, but I have a tender spot for Skeeter and Lorene and I can only imagine their first coupling was…interesting.
Perfect Lorene paved meat image by David Siu