Unspoken Pleasure

"Oh ffffffFFFUCK!"

*

The highway patrolman strode up to the SUV like he was walking a runway rather than the crumbly shoulder of a sleepy, two-lane highway. He was dressed in all tan with a broad brimmed hat and mirrored sunglasses. He rapped on the glass, hard, and glared inside.

James rolled down the window, sheepish. The whole car reeked of dick and pussy -- sex, cum -- and James swore he could see the scent seeping out the window like sultry smoke.

"You were swerving pretty bad back there," the officer said, not even waiting for a greeting. His nose twitched ominously.

"I'm not drunk," James said, feeling like a teenager again in all sorts of upsetting ways. "Or high."

"I need to see your license and registration," the officer said. Molly reached over and popped open the glovebox. She rifled through it and gave everything to her father. James looked down at the pile of papers, almost shocked at how it had all ended up in his hand so neatly. He handed it to the officer.

The patrolman looked down at the stack of cards like James had given him a pile of used condom wrappers. "What are you doing out in these parts?" he asked.

"Just, you know, a regular old family trip," James said, "Camping at the lake. Good old wholesome fun. And the like."This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

"Uh huh," the officer said. He moved his jaw like he was chewing, but James didn't see any gum. Then suddenly the cop froze and stared right at Molly. Everything turned dead silent. Even the wind went still. "I'm going to need to take a look at these." He stepped away.

The cop strutted back to his car. James stared after him, still gripping the wheel like they were going somewhere. "Hey Dad, can I have a tissue?" Molly asked.

The doting father looked over at his youngest daughter. His jaw dropped. The blonde girl's face was practically dripping with her Daddy's cum. Her pink lips were lined with white and a thin stream was actually leaking down her chin. Molly smiled back at him, happily, strands of semen stretching across her mouth.

James quickly dug out some old napkins he'd stashed in the door and gave them to his daughter. He passed another handful to the backseat. Christine, Austin, and Lexi were dressed (somehow), but they were clearly still sticky. The whole family wiped down, frantically, as if it mattered at this point. Maybe I can convince the cop we've been glazing donuts together, James thought to himself. In the car. While going 80 miles per hour.

This was bad. This was worse than bad it was awful. A ticket for reckless driving and a court summons was the baseline scenario and they'd be lucky to only get that. Every other possibility was far more likely and a straight up disaster.

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James had told the cop it was a family trip, like it was so normal and banal. Meanwhile his family was covered in sperm and other stuff and stinking of sex. James had a career, and a high profile one at that. He could see the headlines now. Pharma Exec Caught in Incest Orgy. Pharma Phamily Phucker (That was the NY Daily News one). Even if he didn't end up in jail for corrupting his kids, his career was over. His life was over.

James was so lost in the horror of it all, he didn't even notice the officer had returned. The cop was leaning into the window, a strange smile playing across his face. He handed James his cards back. Then he straightened up and looked at the whole family very seriously.

"Pay a little more attention to the road," the officer said, "And enjoy your family vacation."

He clapped the door and strode back to his car. The whole Campbell family eyed each other. In a weekend of unbelievable events, this one was good enough to make the top three.

As soon as the shock wore off, James fired up the engine and raced back onto the highway, praying he could get away before the patrolman changed his mind.

*

Dr. Pulisic pulled up a chair and eyed the family sitting around him. There wasn't enough room in his office for all of them, so they'd agreed to meet in his waiting room. It had been a long day, and while his watch said it was only 8:30pm, it felt more like midnight. His shirt was untucked, his tie hung limply halfway down his chest, and there was a bright yellow stain from an earlier egg sandwich on his lab coat. He looked like hell and felt far worse.

Looking at the Campbells, however, made him feel energized and clean cut in comparison. The fact that they all seemed like legitimately nice people made it even upsetting. Their hair and clothing were askew. They were all wan, like someone had dropped their opacity slider in the Photoshop program of life. Their eyes were hollow. Their bodies thin.

Christine Campbell was an old friend. They'd met in medical school so long ago, Dr. Pulisic swore they'd graduated alongside sentient pterodactyls and woolly mammoths. She'd kept contact with him over the years, mostly over e-mails or when a medical conference crossed over both their fields. He hadn't seen her in person, though, for nearly five years.

He had to admit, through the exhaustion and the heartache was tattooed across her body, Christine looked good. Thinner and more toned than he remembered. Almost too healthy, in the way that suggested a kind of mania he was used to seeing in models and TV personalities. Her family (this was the first time he'd met them) was also magazine attractive. James Campbell with his silver-threaded hair and defined arms. Their children were all quite different, yet equally good looking. The Campbells could be the stars of a new drama on the CW. Although, after everything he'd heard, Dr. Pulisic feared he was more likely to see them on the next FOX reality show.

When Christine had called him -- frantic, weeping -- he hadn't known how to react. She was so emotionally overwrought, yet also completely nebulous about what she needed, he could barely understand a word of it. But the few remaining strands of their friendship and his overwhelming sense of professional responsibility had driven Dr. Pulisic to open his office on a Sunday morning and see the distraught family.

He'd run them through every test he could think of. Even brought in a colleague for full psych evals. He found an amazing amount of evidence to confirm what the family had gradually revealed over the course of the day, except for one thing:

answers.

"I do not know for sure what happened," he admitted to the family, breaking the silence in the waiting room. He still had the remnants of a Croatian accent, and even he could hear it coming through as he spoke. It was hard for him to admit that he'd reached an impasse, but at this point all he could offer was a way forward. That would have to be good enough. "Whatever was in your bloodstream that caused this behavior is gone." "What was it?" James asked.