The Layover: Wilder Things

For David’s next trick, he decided not to work so hard on a scenario. For this one, he simply wanted to place himself in one of his favorite movies, Wild Things, in the role of Sam Lombardo. With a happier ending, of course. He hardly wanted a fantasy life where he ended up being double-crossed by Suzie Toller, as much as he could agree with the sentiment of the many who’d written “murder me, Neve Campbell” online.

He printed out the script and went through it with Wite-Out, substituting his own name for that of the character Kevin Dillon had played. When he got to the end, he crumpled up a few pages entirely, writing in his own corrections. He put in the last slugline, then capped his pen and sat back, waiting to see if it would work.

***

All Kelly Von Ryan could think of was how horny she was. Her high school teachers droned on about history, math, economics, like any of those mattered. She didn’t need to know any of it. She was young, beautiful, rich. She had a winning lotto ticket in one pocket and another winner in the other. She should be enjoying being this good a fuck, not listening to David Lombardo drone on about English Lit because the guidance counselor was playing substitute teacher.

She wiggled her ass, frustrated, at her desk, liking his looks, fantasizing about the huge cock hidden in his khakis. He wasn’t even that old, barely thirty, but she could tell he had plenty of experience.

That afternoon, she got into her convertible without saying a word to anyone. She wanted to be home, touching herself for as long as she could be at it before her mother got home. How many times could she fingerfuck herself before the old hag walked through the door and started lecturing her about something?

Her car didn’t start, no matter how emphatically she twisted the key in the ignition. “Fucking bullshit,” Kelly swore, slamming a fist into the dashboard. It was supposed to be a classic, but what they really meant was fucking old. She could afford a new one, she deserved a new one, but everything was locked up in her trust. Do not disturb until she turned 21, went to an Ivy League school. As if she wouldn’t end up just marrying a doctor anyway. Who did Sandra think she was fooling with this second chance at youth bullshit?

Behind her car, a jeep slowed to an idle in the parking lot. She turned around, nostrils flaring as she tried to see who would dare slow down to ridicule her bad fortune, when she saw it was David in his own beat-up ‘classic.’ He wasn’t bad as teachers went, but he only took the stick out when he was off-duty. Like now. In his Izod polo shirt and boat shoes, he looked like the After photo to the Before of all the cute, piddling, amateur boys of Blue Bay School.

“Car trouble, Kelly?” he asked her. Even his voice sounded like he could sing out a romantic ballad or something at any moment.

Kelly felt slightly dazed with lust, but it didn’t take long for whatever inadequacy she felt to transform into aggression. That was how Kelly operated. When something hurt her, scared her, fucked with her, she didn’t wilt like some shrinking violet. She got turned on. In her experience, most problems could be solved by fighting, fucking, or getting someone to do one of the above for her.

“Nuh-uh,” Kelly replied, getting out of the driver’s seat with her backpack in tow. 

She’d listened to just enough of David’s English class to appreciate the symbolism of going to his jeep and perching her arms on the door to the passenger seat, looking inside to his stretched-out khakis like they were her own private peep show. She was a modern woman—she didn’t need to be on top, so long as whoever was on top knew what they were doing.

“Because I’ll be getting a lift in your car. And your car works just fine.” She glanced down at his khakis again, saw the crotch move like an engine revving up. “Doesn’t it?”

David hadn’t talked about cars representing cocks in class, but he didn’t have to. A girl like Kelly knew about it from junior high.

He unlocked the door for her. “Get in,” he said.

Kelly smirked, sin written on every curve of her lips, as she opened the door up. With it out of the way, she hung in the doorway, letting him see how her long legs continued out from under her skirt, while her creamy white blouse was knotted at the bottom to reveal her flat, toned belly and open at the top to reveal breasts so good even plastic surgery couldn’t improve on them. Once he’d had a good look, she climbed inside.

“Get in,” she chimed in teenage mimicry of his masculine voice, good-natured. She looked deep into his eyes to make the double meaning apparent.

David took hold of the stick shift between them and shoved it into place with violent force. Kelly buckled her seatbelt. She had a good feeling that David would be getting her home in no time at all.