A/N: Some of you may remember this story. I was experimenting with a style of writing. I had read a book by an author called Philipp Meyer and liked the way he wrote. I decided to try and see if I could emulate his style. I am a lover of contemporary American literature, even though I am from the UK. I like the GI episode, 'The Second Ginger Grant', and was intrigued by the attempted seduction of Gilligan by the fake Ginger, aka Mary Ann, when she was trying to make him act as a person called 'Scott'. Knowing how Gilligan dreams, I decided to write a kind of 'lust in the dust' story. Gilligan is dreaming he is actually this 'Scott' person.
I uploaded this story something like two/three years back. I then took it down because someone whose opinion I valued didn't like it. I have grown since then, and have decided to re-upload this because personally, I always liked it. I am proud of it. I think it's decent enough writing. I want it in my portfolio for when I'm gone. YOLO, right? Thank you for reading. Sincerely. Life's too short – don't hide the things you love.
Disclaimer: Rated M.
Rebel Without A Clue
It was early morning, and already it was shaping up to be another hot day in the land. The sun, big and golden, rising over the trees, turning up the heat, the smell of warm grass drifting over the porch and into the kitchen where he sat, looking out towards the horizon.
How far away is that? Maybe I could make it in a day.
From upstairs, the sounds of someone clattering across the bedroom. He pulled in a breath and closed his eyes, feeling muscles clench in his jaw.
Can I not get a moment's peace to myself. Not even at this time of the morning. Oh well- it'll soon be over. Today's the day everything changes.
"Scott! Honey, where are you?" A woman's voice. Plaintive and pleading, and not even breakfast time. Hurried footsteps down the stairs, bare feet. Briefly he pictured her toes, small and perfect.
Stop it. You're done with all that.
The smell of her arrived before she did. Perfume, bed hair. Panic. She came into the kitchen like a mini whirlwind.
"There you are! I was so worried you'd gone off somewhere without saying goodbye!"
Another couple of minutes and I will be. Forever.
He turned to face her. She must have rolled over in the bed, seen he wasn't there and not even bothered to check herself in the mirror. Her tangled hair fanned out around her face, a thick forest of lustrous dark waves. A man could happily suffocate in her hair. Still, there was no denying she was beautiful. A gypsy, a woman who had a certain way with men. But she wasn't for him- he'd made up his mind a long time ago. He said nothing.
"Scott, sweetheart, don't you know I love you?" Her voice rose.
Please. Not the begging. I can't stand it.
"I told you," he said. "We're done."
Her face crumpled like a child's doll flattened into the dirt. That's what she was- a doll. She looked tough but she wasn't. She played him, but no more. He was gone. Out of here.
"No! Scott- you can't. I need you. Don't you know?"
"No, Ginger. I don't know. You've had things your way long enough. I'm not a toy for you to play with. I'm not your child. From now on, there's no us. There's just you. I'm leaving, before you take everything."
She threw herself against him, clutching his T-Shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it and raking his chest with her nails. "Scott, you can't leave me! I love you! Please! Think about what you're doing to me!"
He stared at her in contempt. He grabbed her hands and disengaged them from his shirt where she had clawed it and stretched it. He pushed her away in disgust.
"When are you going to realise I have important things to do, and you don't fit in my plans...baby?" He used her pet name for him and twisted it in his mouth, spitting it out through a sneer. She looked like she was about to cry. He smiled. She deserved no more sympathy. She'd used him for too long. The tears, the games, the helpless-little-girl act. He could see it all now. Clearly.
"Scott! No- please! You can't!" She grasped at him as he pulled away, heading for the screen door and freedom. His holdall was already on the porch, his battered leather jacket on a chair by the door. She lunged at him again, wailing like a baby. He flinched away from her, grabbing his jacket, the feel of the leather a comfort.
"I can, and I am." He made it to the door, but he was still fighting her off.
"Scott, listen to me! I love you! I need you! You set me on fire- don't you know? Don't you know?"
He looked at her for what he hoped was the last time. She looked frightened, but at the same time her eyes were bright, focused, glittering. She wasn't as helpless as she made out. That made it all easier somehow.
His expression softened slightly, but not out of any real feelings for her. Those were all gone. He had to escape before he vanished into thin air.
"Goodbye, Ginger," he said. He banged the screen door shut behind him, trying hard to ignore her loud cries of anguish. He walked fast. Across the porch, grab your bag, get the heck outta here.
There was a bear standing on the porch steps. A bear wearing a Park Ranger's hat and smiling. He glanced at the bear in surprise, then jerked his thumb towards the house.
"The fire's back there," he said.
"Remember," said the bear. "Don't play with matches, and always ask an adult for help."
He ran across the yard to his car and threw his holdall through the open window onto the back seat. She was already on her way running towards him, her dress wrapped around her thighs, bare feet kicking up clouds of dust. He yanked the driver's door open and his ass landed on the seat with a thump. The whole car rocked. He slammed the door shut, fumbled for his keys.
Don't look at her. Don't crumble. Eyes ahead. Turn the key. Do it. Drive away. Do it now, before she gets to you. She's strong- remember that. She's stronger than you. You need to get out.
He turned the key and gunned the engine into life, relief washing over him as the throaty growl became a roar. His car was a beast untamed. His ticket to ride. His only means of escape. His car wouldn't fail him. He saw her in the rear view mirror. Her hair had become snakes. Writhing. She scared him. The transmission complained loudly as he ground the gears and pushed his foot hard to the floor. The tires spun and found a purchase. His car shot forward, pushing him hard back against the seat. He headed for the highway. His eyes returned to the mirror, two panicked blue marbles. She grew smaller behind him, her arms waving in the air like a puppet's. He watched her shrink. Become diminished. Look how small she is.
She'll be fine. There's a whole bunch of guys waiting to take my place. I give her a few days to make a meal out of this. She'll cry and stop eating and they'll feel sorry for her and want to kill me. Then she'll find someone. Dwayne, or Eddie, or Clayton. She'll be back on top. There's no need for me to come back. Not ever. I'm free. I'm free!
The car purred along the dusty highway. There was no other traffic. Unusual. The sky went on forever, a perfect blue ceiling. He relaxed, twisted the radio dials. Found some music. Who were these guys, he kept forgetting. She liked one of them. Bingo? Bango? Heck. She liked all of them. They were okay- he wasn't fussed. He preferred the older stuff. He liked the greats. Dean and Frank and Sammy. Those guys knew where it was at.
It Had To Be You.
He tapped his fingers against the wheel as he drove on. No idea where I'm going. Just heading West. Or South. I don't even know. Directions were never my strong suit. But anywhere's better than where I just came from. The pioneers did it. They just pointed their wagons towards the sun and they went. Of course, they didn't all make it, but the strong ones did. And the lucky ones. The ones who just kept going, even if they got hopelessly lost.
He was singing along to something or other when he saw a shape up ahead, a shape on the edge of the highway that looked odd, out of place. A hitch hiker, most probably. Maybe the guy needed a ride. Maybe I should just drive past him, ha ha. I can choose now. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.
He got closer. Someone was walking along the road.
Jesus, it's a girl.
He began slowing down. Two reasons. One, he didn't want to scare her with speed, make her think he was going past her. Two, she looked good from behind. In fact, she looked great from behind. She had a perky little rear clad in a tight pair of blue denim shorts that left little to a man's imagination. He squirmed in his seat.
What have we here.
As he got closer behind her, he gave a little rev on the engine. He hoped it sounded friendly. A greeting. The car likes what it sees. The car says hello. She didn't turn around. He liked that. He imagined her thoughts. Takes more than that to impress me, mister. He looked at himself in the rear view mirror. He grinned. You can do this. She always said you had what it took. Trouble is, she was always the one doing the taking.
Stop thinking about her. She's gone. Keep your eyes on the prize.
He drove up alongside her at last. He slowed right the way down to walking speed. He accompanied her a while, waiting for her to look at him or say something. The window was open, she had every opportunity. She kept walking, staring straight ahead.
So. It's like that, is it?
"Going my way?" he said at last, smiling at her audacity.
"No," she said, simply.
""Sure seems like you are."
"And how would you know?"
"Just by looking." He grinned, watching her legs.
"Maybe I'm just out for a walk," she said.
"Sure. I believe you." He didn't. There was nothing out here. No place for walks. Out here you were going somewhere or you were dead. No life support out here. Nearest truck stop twenty miles. Buzzards were waiting. Big, hungry birds. Take your chances, Miss.
"Do you want to get in?"
"Okay. Well. Mind if I keep you company for a while?" He carried on driving at her pace. His foot was barely touching the pedal, his calf muscles already aching.
I can keep this up as long as she can.
"You look familiar," he said pleasantly, craning his head towards the passenger window. "What's your name?"
"None of your business."
"That's your name?"
He laughed briefly. Pushed his fingers through his short, dark hair. He was glad he'd gotten it cut. The sun was hot on the back of his neck, the car smelled of warm upholstery. The radio sang softly, he'd turned it down when he first saw her.
"Last chance," he said, finally.
"I'll live," she replied. She still hadn't looked at him.
He leaned towards the window, eyes darting to the road then back. He was fixated on her ass. It rolled like two grapefruits in a bag as she walked.
I could bite that, right now. I'll bet juice would run down my chin. Manna from Heaven.
"Have it your way." He sat back in the driver's seat, revved the engine. He pulled the car back out into the middle of the road. He glanced back at her. She wasn't looking at him. He pushed his foot down, increased his speed. For the second time that morning he watched a woman grow distant, shrink and go away from him.
Lone Wolf. That'll be my new name. Scott Lone Wolf. Like an Indian. I come from this land, and to this land I will return. I take nothing from it other than what I can use. Well- that and my car. The modern horse. Hi ho, Silver. Away!
He ate a mile of road. A little more for good measure. Then he pulled over and stopped. He climbed out into a dust cloud, pulled up the collar of his leather jacket. He fished a pair of shades out of his pocket and slipped them on. Now I can look directly at the sun. The power of Man. Your nuclear fireballs can't stop my progress. He leaned against the hood and propped one foot against the front wheel. Overhead wires sang in the heat. He folded his arms and waited.
She appeared out of the shimmering heat like a mirage. Her feet floating high above the tarmac.
Funny how it looks like she's in the air. An angel, coming to save me from certain doom. Coming to save me from myself.
As she got closer, she descended. Her feet returned to earth.
She's mortal, like the rest of us. An angel with her wings clipped. My beautiful salvation.
"Oh." she said. "It's you."
He raised one hand and slowly removed his shades. He made a point of looking her slowly up and down. He sized her up, but good. She wasn't in the least bit impressed.
"Are you done looking?" she said at last.
"Never," he replied, his gaze lingering somewhere in the middle of her, between her heavenly ankles and her delicate eyebrows. Her curves in the periphery. He felt his lips twitching. He wanted to grin like an idiot. He wanted to pull her against him.
"Think you'd never seen a girl before," she said, bored.
"Not one like you."
"Save your breath."
He allowed himself a smile then.
"I know you," he said. "I've seen you before. Your name is Mary Ann Summers."
That made her look at him at last. She pinched her lips together. Suspicious.
"I am not."
"Sure you are."
"I am not."
"Sure you are."
"I am not!"
"Sure you are."
She huffed impatiently, put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Fond of repeating yourself, aren't you?" she said.
"What can I say?" he answered, turning his shades over in his hand as though he were shuffling a deck of cards. "I have a genius IQ, but I lack certain social skills."
Finally she smiled. "And you're arrogant beyond words," she told him.
"Some might say," he agreed.
A freight train hooted mournfully in the distance. They both raised their eyes to it, momentarily distracted. They watched it crawl across the landscape, a silver centipede. Sunlight winked off its back, a sudden glare. They looked away at the same time. Back to each other.
"Tell me you're Mary Ann Summers," he said.
"I've never heard of her." She was adamant.
He pushed himself off the hood, stumbled briefly on his cramped leg, regained his balance quickly, hoped she hadn't noticed. If she had, it didn't show. "Have it your way," he said. "You gonna get in, or not?"
She sighed. Made a point of it. "All right," she said at last. "But I'm not happy about this."
He showed her to the passenger door, pulled it open for her. He was proud of his car. The only decent thing he'd ever owned.
"It's okay, I won't bite," he smiled. "That is, not unless you ask me to."
She climbed in, as demurely as her short shorts would allow. He watched her thighs press together. He wanted to be between them, to feel that heavenly pressure.
"Then I won't ask you to," she said, running her hands down her legs as if she were ironing creases out of a non-existent dress.
He closed the door on her, crossed around the front of the car, all the while trying to suppress a stupid grin. He wanted her to look at him. To find him pleasing to the eye.
Here are the goods- we hope you find them to your liking.
He slipped into the driver's seat, slammed his door shut. "Well. This is cosy," he said.
Immediately her fingers were on the door handle. "I'm getting back out."
"No," he said. "I'm not letting you walk."
She regarded him warily. "I don't even know you," she said.
"I'm Scott," he said. "Scott Lone Wolf."
"Lone Wolf?" It made her laugh. "You're no Indian!"
He felt offended. "Who says I'm not?"
She shook her head. "With those blue eyes? What are you, a half-breed? A mongrel?"
"Don't say those things." He turned the key before she could get out, but she seemed to be settled now. She was smiling at him.
"I'm teasing you," she said. "Breaking the ice."
He checked his mirror and pulled out into the road once more. "It's about time," he replied. They squared off against each other for a moment, then he glanced over and winked at her.
"Don't flatter yourself, Romeo."
"Feisty, aint'cha?" he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Give me a break."
He needed something to do. He reached for the radio dials. Her knees were right there, still pressed together. His knuckles grazed her skin before she quickly moved her legs aside. He swore she gasped- a little catch of air in her throat.
He found a station with some music. His knuckles burned with the memory of that one, brief touch. His groin ached. He sat back and gripped the wheel a little too tightly.
"So, where are you headed, Scott Lone Wolf?" she said. Making conversation. Getting over that hurdle. Forget he touched you.
"See over there?" He indicated the horizon. "That's where I'm headed."
"There's nothing there."
"There's the future. I don't know beyond that."
She shifted imperceptibly in her seat. Turning towards him. "Are you running away?"
He looked at her. "Are you?"
"I asked you first."
"Yeah," he said. He put his shades back on. "Kind of. Now you answer mine."
"Honestly?" She appeared to slump a little. She deflated, losing a small amount of air. A child's balloon. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm running from, or running to. I don't even know who I am. Mary Ann Summers? I don't know her. I don't. I honestly don't."
He was concerned now. "Really?"
She nodded. "Something happened to me. I must have bumped my head. There's a lump, back here." She lifted her hand to her head, turned in her seat, her back to him. She wanted him to feel. Slowly, he threaded his fingers into her thick, dark hair and ran the tips gently over her scalp. There was an egg sized bump. He was shocked. He stroked it. It was firm, rounded. Fresh, probably.
"That's not good, Mary Ann," he said. "That's a nasty knock you got there. You need to see someone. I'll find you a doctor."
"Are you sure I'm this Mary Ann?" She sounded hopeful now. She had a second opinion. "Maybe I fell over. Maybe someone hit me!"
"If anyone hit you, I'll kill them," he said grimly.
"I think I must have fallen," she said, quickly. "My hip feels bruised, too." She leaned forward. He glanced at her back. She was wearing a sleeveless gingham blouse tied off under her breasts. In the gap between her top and her shorts, her bare back was damp with sweat from sitting against the warm upholstery. He watched a single, opaque bead of perspiration trickle down her spine. He wanted to lean over and catch it with the tip of his tongue. It would be salty. He could taste it. He had a sudden urge to suck on her skin. His mouth filled with water. He wanted to close his eyes. He forced himself to watch the road, squeezing his fingers around the wheel until his knuckles went white.
Look at me. How quickly I can dismiss one woman and feel such longing for another. Am I that heartless?
No, he told himself. You thought she used to feel this way about you, too. But she didn't. It was always just a game to her. You were an amusement. She wasn't even real. She had me calling her Ginger, and for why? She was fake, a phony. Her feelings weren't real either, and yours may just as well have not existed. You may just as well have not existed- except for when she wanted you.
He was aware that she was watching him. She was studying his profile, trying not to be obvious about it.
"Do I know you?" she asked, when she finally found her voice. "Am I meant to know who you are?"
I want you to know who I am. I'd give anything- anything for it.
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
She laid her hand on his arm. "It does matter," she said. "I think I ought to know you."
The car must be moving on its own, he thought, vaguely. I'm not aware of any part of my body that's in contact with any part of it.
"Pull over," she said.
"What?" Was she going to try to get out again?
"Pull over. Please. Just for a minute."
He did as she asked without further question. The car veered gently to the right and eased itself onto the dusty shoulder, rolling a little way on before slowing to a halt and stopping. He killed the engine and they sat there in the sudden silence, listening to it ticking over, cooling down. The air around them smelled of car and engine and each other. Small insects came in through the windows. Tiny fluttering things. The air felt charged. He felt the sweat on his own back, coursing in rivers down into his jeans. He stared straight ahead, afraid to look at her. His heart bumped into his ribs. Let me out.
She reached up and removed his shades. He felt her fingers brush his cheekbone. She folded the shades carefully and put them on the dashboard next to his little Snoopy figurine. Joe Cool. She slipped her hand on to his neck. His pulse beat against her palm. She pulled his head to hers. He offered no resistance. They sat with their foreheads touching, breathing quietly. Her eyelashes fluttered. She looked at his mouth.
"I do know you," she said. She parted her lips. She pulled him to her and their mouths fit perfectly together. He groaned. She wound her arms around him and lifted one leg up over his. He moved his hand up the length of her thigh, onto the curve of her rump. He had his hand on the prize. It was his. Glory, Glory Hallelujah. He kissed her in a way he had never kissed anyone before. Her mouth was a whole universe to him, he explored it gratefully, he explored her. With his mouth and his hands and the hard pressure of his body on hers. He devoured her. He owned her. She pulled him down on top of her. She pulled at his jeans, he pulled at her shorts. It was awkward in the front of the car- things dug into them, there wasn't enough space. He couldn't straighten his legs. Something was restricting him. He didn't care. He wanted to possess her. She moved under him and he got on top.
He found her.
"I know who you are," she whispered, clinging to him, pressing her lips to his between words. "You're not Scott Lone Wolf. You're not Scott anyone."
"Who am I?" he asked, frightened of the answer.
I just want to do this to you. With you. Forever and ever and ever.
"No," he protested. "I know Gilligan. Gilligan's nothing like me. Gilligan could never be me."
"But you are him," she said. "You're Gilligan. Don't you know?" She looked deep into his eyes, willing him to believe her. "Don't you know?"
"No! I'm not Gilligan. I'm not Gilligan..."
I'm not Gilligan.
I'm not Gilligan.
I'm not Gilligan.
"I'm not Gilligan!"
His eyes snapped open. Who said that? He blinked. No sky above him. Just palm fronds and bamboo poles. No car around him. Just his hammock. No...oh no...no. There was no Mary Ann in his arms. No Mary Ann under him and around him, holding him inside.
Oh no...oh no. A dream.
And not only that. He squirmed with shame and grabbed his pillow, holding it over the front of his jeans.
This is the last thing I need.
The Skipper's voice came up from the sack below. "Gilligan, you know...I really don't like to ask, but...are you okay, little buddy?"
He winced. "I'm fine, Skipper. Sorry if I woke you up."
"It's no problem," the Skipper replied. "I was almost ready to get up anyway. But you seemed...well, distressed." The big man cleared his throat. There was obviously something he wasn't saying.
"Was I talking in my sleep?" He didn't want to hear the answer. He guessed it would be bad.
"Not so much talking, as..." the Skipper broke off. "Never mind, Gilligan. As long as you're okay."
Gilligan sighed. "I'm okay, Skipper. Thanks."
The Skipper smiled. Gilligan could hear it in his voice. "Gilligan?"
The Skipper chuckled. "It sounded like a good one this time."
Gilligan groaned loudly. His humiliation was complete. "This time?" he moaned.
"Happens to us all," the Skipper chortled. And this time, it was Gilligan who leaned down into the lower hammock and hit the Skipper with his hat.
When Gilligan got up at last, it was with a heavy heart that he washed and shaved and carried out his ablutions. Took care of some unfinished business. Smartened himself up, dusted himself down and went out to meet the world.
The first person he saw was Mary Ann, setting the table for breakfast.
"Hey," he smiled. His heart lifted straight away. Funny how she did that to him. Just the sight of her, first thing.
"Hey," she answered, smiling back. A happy smile.
"And who are you today?" he said, easing into the little game they'd started playing after the whole fiasco of thinking she was Ginger.
"Today, I'm Mary Ann Summers," she laughed, flicking at him with her hand towel.
"And who am I?" he grinned, ducking away from the towel.
"You're Gilligan," she replied. "Same as you were yesterday, and same as you'll be tomorrow. Don't you know?"
"Yeah," he laughed, grabbing her in a bear hug, swinging her round until she squealed. "I know, I know."