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scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy · 4 years

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Several Times Scully Got Locked Out Of Her Motel Room In Her Scanties (First Time Smut Ensues) Chapter Three

Chapter One here.

Chapter Two here.

Teso Dos Bichos (Season Three)

Scully had been awake for more than forty hours.

It hadn’t been a good forty hours either. The last two days had careened from bad (partial rat body parts littering the car engine of a suspected murder victim) to worse (bloodied entrails dripping from bare tree branches onto Mulder’s oblivious face) to so appalling they competed with only a few choice cases for worst X-File ever (getting mauled in the face by a domestic short hair while negotiating the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Boston Museum of Natural History).

By the time she and Dr. Winters had finished the autopsies on Doctors Horning, Bilac and Lewton, as well as Mona Wustner (conclusion: animal attacks), she’d lost all track of time, and certainly all count of the number of coffees she’d consumed in an attempt to keep her wits about her after an entire night with no sleep.

Killer cats? Sure, fine, whatever. She was too exhausted - and too not Mulder - to even attempt to raise his amaru curse theory with the coroner. She downed one last cupful of caffeine for the drive back to the motel then lifted her weary limbs out of her aquamarine scrubs and back into her trusty gray short-sleeved ribbed sweater and by now slightly limp black suit, draping her purple overcoat over her forearm instead of donning it. It would be better to be a little cold; it would keep her more alert for the journey. She cracked the window and cranked the heating down to the lowest setting she could tolerate on this late-winter north-eastern evening.

Pulling out of the morgue’s underground parking structure, she called Mulder to give him the rundown of their postmortem findings, and to make sure she remained awake. She probably should have called a cab; her brother had cautioned her more than once that her pride would get her killed one day. What a waste to fight tooth and nail for truth and justice, to return from the brink of death after her mysterious disappearance, to achieve the Pyrrhic victory of avoiding the assassin’s bullet meant for her brain, only to flip over into a ditch through plain old fatigue.

She rolled her shoulders and bounced her left knee, turning the heat down another notch. She guided the car steadfastly to the right of the centerline, closed one eye then the other for momentary reprieve, sighed with relief as she pulled into the motel parking lot and shut off the engine, wishing Mulder goodnight and hanging up with a satisfying beep.

She stumbled into the room with her eyes half closed already, leaning down to loosen the laces on her utility boots before toeing them off as she walked, making a beeline for the bed. She flopped backwards onto the comforter, intending to rest for a moment, but her eyes flickered shut and she drifted off unawares.

Dank, dark, echo-filled. Flashlight beams zigzagging off metal walls, the hemoglobin tang of which she can taste in her mouth. A snarling tangle of tabbies and tortoiseshells pursuing the two of them along corridors, dropping down through open vents and scratching viscously at the feeble barrier of an ancient wooden door. Dr. Bilac’s body blocking the only route of escape. Stuck. Turning to face the meowing horde as it descends on her and Mulder, miniature canines sinking into their flesh like a thousand shamanic cuts.

She stands to run and finds herself alone in an abandoned hospital corridor, her reflection staring back at her from the polished, squeaking floors. She inches forward with growing trepidation, readjusting the Kevlar pinching at her waist, too-swiftly reaching the entrance to room 128. The room she has been entering over and over for weeks on end.

The unwitting unconscious participant in the scene lies in a bed to the right, Mulder and Modell sit at the table to the left, enacting the tableau she’s feared since her ever-reckless partner donned the ‘Eyes and Ears’ kit in the mobile surveillance unit outside.

‘It’s designed for bomb disposal work to keep only one officer at risk.’

She’d felt nauseated. Didn’t everyone know that only one of them dying was actually the worst case scenario? She wished neither of them ever had to risk their necks, but if this particular one of them had to, she’d always rather be right alongside him.

Modell talks Mulder into pointing the gun across the table and pulling the trigger. She balks. But nothing happens. No flesh is punctured, no spark ignites the pure oxygen in the canisters by the bed: no bullet in that chamber. She watches in horror as Mulder lifts the barrel to his temple without hesitation. His finger squeezes, and the world goes into slow motion as the bullet sails out of the pistol and through his skull, exiting above his left eye, leaving a volcanic crater that erupts blood and bone and gray matter onto the ceiling, walls, and floor. Onto the underside of her uplifted arms as she shields her face and roars her pain, falling, screaming, to the ground.

Scully jerked awake, her heartbeat pounding in her alternately flushed and arctic chest. She sat up on the edge of the bed and collected herself, rubbing at her sweat-moistened face. She checked her watch: one seventeen a.m. She patted her torso. Still dressed. Her mouth tasted atrocious. She must have passed out before getting ready for bed.

Her bladder was full to bursting; the inevitable after-effect of her overzealous caffeination. She fumbled with buttons and zippers and stepped out of her pants on her way to the bathroom, flinging her suit jacket onto a nearby table, littering the room with rumpled attire. She almost tripped on what might have been one of her boots as she struggled to pull the sweater over her head, finally managing to extract her elbow and shake the top to the ground behind her as she grabbed for the bathroom door handle and yanked it open. God, it’s cold in here, she thought, as the door clunked shut behind her. She tucked her fingers into the waistband of her underwear and opened her eyes to locate the toilet.

Oh, shit. No, no, no, no, no.

She whirled around and hammered at what she now realised was the front door to her motel room. The outside of the front door. Firmly locked shut.

She clawed at the handle in desperation, twisting it uselessly as she clenched her Kegels and cast her gaze about her, checking for any witnesses. No one was about, thank god. She now sported only her underwear, her investigate-the-missing-archaeologist-underwear; not even a matching set, she thought, laughably, as though being trapped outside her motel room in her bra and panties would be somehow more acceptable in coordinated undergarments.

She remembered she’d left her overcoat in the car, and was briefly and euphorically buoyed by the idea of grabbing it to preserve her modesty, before recalling that she didn’t have any keys on her; if she did, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. She had two options here: wake up the proprietor in her underwear or wake up Mulder in her underwear. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. Dashing herself against either lithic precipice did not appeal, but needs must.

She did the best impression of herself she could muster in her current state of undress, and mulled it over rationally. One of these options had already seen her half naked. He’d handled it like a gentleman then; she knew she could trust him to do it again now. Also, he was currently in possession of a bathroom, and she was about to make a puddle on the floor if she didn’t get access to one.

She padded swiftly along the bare cement to Mulder’s door.

* * *

Scully runs a feline gauntlet towards him, advancing along the seemingly endless corridor foot by interminable foot. Every few steps, she is thrown off balance by a squalling creature flying at her face from a novel direction. He watches helplessly while she wrenches each furry attacker from her tattered skin, hurling them behind her as she approaches the barrel of his raised pistol.

Sweat beads on his forehead and cheeks, pooling at the small of his back beneath his white undershirt.

Scully looks at him with wounded disbelief as his forefinger teases the trigger. She is still approaching him, the cats now vanished, her ivory visage inexplicably pristine. “Mulder,” she whispers, “you don’t have to do this.” Tears form on her lower lids, and she stops, finally halting her feet and simply looking at him.

“Scully, run!” he warns her, as Modell grins at him, thumping the tabletop and urging him on. But she just stands there, staring, tears starting to spill down her cheeks.

“Mulder,” she pleads again, and he fires.

The bullet pierces the base of her neck just above her vest; a pointless piece of armour, he despairs, if it leaves the cranium and jugular so exposed. The boom of the gunshot ricochets off the walls and pounds at his eardrums several times. Her eyes go wide and she grabs at her throat in horror, never breaking eye contact as she collapses, gurgling, to her knees. Crimson lifeforce pulses through her dainty fingers as he hears another bullet leave the chamber, and she opens her mouth to speak once again. The word leaves her lips at a strangely loud volume for a death rattle.

“MULDERRR!!!”

Further shots stutter out in the distance.

He looks into Scully’s unrelenting gaze as she finally drops to the linoleum.

Mulder gasped himself awake, perspiring like he was still back at Fairfax Mercy. He pinched his brows laterally with one hand, reaching over to the nightstand for his glass of water, and heard a pounding at his door.

“Mulder!” Scully’s inimitable hiss came from the other side of the wall. She knocked again, sounding frantic. “Mulder, wake up and let me in! Please!”

He turned on the bedside lamp as he launched himself out of bed, throwing back the covers and leaping across the threadbare carpet in his underwear, heading in the direction of her voice and continued hammering, and pulled open the door.

He was met with the sight of Scully on the concrete walkway. Rather a lot of Scully. Scully in white briefs and a light pink, underwired bra, plain but for a satin ribbon rosebud nestled deep in her cleavage. Her considerable cleavage, as shaped by this heroic garment, he thought. He barely had time to register this surprising turn of events before she flew past him, her thighs pressed oddly together as she walked, heading directly for the bathroom.

“Don’t look at me, Mulder!” she chastised, hurtling across the room.

“Scully, what-” he began to query, but she interrupted him before disappearing through the open doorway.

“Grab me a shirt!” she growled, “I need to use the bathroom.” The door slammed shut behind her.

Mulder played with his lower lip, twirling it between thumb and forefinger, and startled. He’d remembered the copy of Hanky Panky he’d left sitting atop the tank. Well, how was he to know he’d have company tonight?

He heard the toilet seat clatter down and, after an interval, a flush, followed by the faucet running. He rooted around in his duffel bag, seeking a spare, clean T-shirt as per Scully’s instructions, and stood awkwardly by the side of the bed in his boxer briefs as he awaited her return.

She soon opened the door with a sigh, drying her palms on a fresh hand towel. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Reading girlie magazines on the can? Nice, Mulder.”

He held onto the shirt.

She finished with the towel and remained in the doorway, holding the terry cotton rectangle to her stomach. She looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head, and he took the brief opportunity to appraise her figure. He knew he shouldn’t, but she was standing right in front of him with more skin than clothing on display, and her curves and bones undulated and jutted so appealingly he couldn’t tear his eyes from her gently leaning form, propped as it was so improbably on his motel bathroom door jamb at one thirty in the morning.

She huffed out a breath, her chin pushed to the side, her eyes locked on the stipple. “I keep having this dream, Mulder,” she announced, apparently not about to address her noisy and insistent arrival, apropos of nothing, at his door in her underwear in the small hours. “Since Modell.”

“Uh huh?” he answered, vaguely, roaming his gaze over the delicate skin and rolling muscles of her upper thighs before snapping his eyeline up to meet hers as she tilted her chin down from the ceiling.

“You aim the gun at your temple and pull the trigger, just like you did, only the gun goes off... and you die.” Her voice jumped an octave on the last three words, a piccolo flute floating on a whisper.

Next, she looked at the floor, her head tilting towards the door frame.

He didn’t tell her about his recurring nightmare of shooting her. Instead, he mumbled at her while taking in the dip and swell of her waist as it dropped down to her left hip, pushed out to one side. She rested one bare foot atop the other, absentmindedly rubbing one arch against the knuckles of her opposite toes. There was something so unguarded about her posture, something he would have found endearing and appealing even if she were wearing a hazmat suit. As it was, with her gracing his sleeping quarters in an as yet unexplained state of semi-nudity in the middle of the night, his body had started to respond in an inappropriate, if predictable manner.

“I thought you didn’t want to let him take up another minute of our time, Scully?” he said, shifting the so far unproffered T-shirt in front of his groin.

She looked up at him then, her doe eyes watery and wide, and folded her arms across her middle, squeezing her breasts together as she gripped opposing elbows for comfort. “It was a one in five chance, Mulder, after you aimed at Modell. You could easily have killed yourself. Without a moment’s hesitation.”

He hung his head in shame, for the ease with which Modell had subdued his free will over his own mortality, and for the growing problem in his underwear that Scully’s little self-hug had exacerbated.

“I couldn’t resist him, Scully. I tried, but I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You didn’t shoot me,” she countered, her voice pure susurration now.

He nodded, holding her gaze. Her dainty face was so open, almost entirely make-up free, with the exception of a few smears of eyeliner around one eye, and the remnants of two-day-old mascara clinging to a few lashes.

“It was easier,” he murmured, “to fight harder. For you.”

She scoffed, lifting her hands to her hips, the towel hanging over one thigh, the new stance offering him an unobstructed view of her taut stomach, the intimate sight of her belly-button punctuating her torso, and his erection twitched beneath its makeshift shield.

“Why?” she pressed, with some disdain. “Because I’m a woman?!”

“No!” he insisted. “Not at all.”

She looked down at herself and seemed to only now recall her sartorial condition. Or lack thereof. She tutted and reached out, gesturing for him to toss the shirt.

He stalled for time, frowning at her as though he didn’t understand; as if they didn’t have four years of honing their unspoken communication under their belts.

“Mulder,” she said, irked by his apparent obtuseness. “Give me the shirt.” She looked at him like he was crazy. Like she wasn’t the one who had burst in here half naked, demanding items of clothing and access to the facilities.

“What happened to you?” he asked, reluctantly throwing the bundle of distressed white cotton in her direction and turning to perch on the end of the bed in an attempt to hide his own indiscretion. With great relief, he surmised from her complete lack of reaction that she hadn’t seen it. He averted his gaze as she turned away from him to tug the T-shirt over her head. Too little, too late, Fox, he thought, ruefully.

“I locked myself out,” she stated, matter of factly.

“In the middle of the night? In your underwear?”

She rolled her eyes, although whether at him or herself, he couldn’t tell.

“I was half asleep, I got disoriented and opened the wrong door. And I drank so much coffee yesterday; I woke up having to pee so bad, and ended up outside. It would have been a complete disaster if you hadn’t woken up, finally.” She placed great emphasis on the last word and eyed him with playful annoyance.

“You surprise me, Scully. Your sleepwear choices are usually a little more formal,” he grinned, risking a look back at her now that she was safely ensconced in his borrowed shirt. It fell just beyond the tops of her thighs, resting on her right leg just where her smooth muscles gave way to soft, rounded flesh.

Her lips tightened into an almost smile. “Yes, well, I didn’t quite make it that far. I pretty much passed out as soon as I got back. I haven’t brushed my teeth or washed my face or anything.”

“Oh, try the top drawer,” he said, indicating behind her into the bathroom with a nod. “I think I saw some complimentary travel toothbrushes in there next to the soaps and shampoos.”

She disappeared into the tiled anteroom for a moment and he heard the sound of little-used wheels rolling along rusted runners.

“Mulder, my hero,” she called out, and he heard a warmth in her voice that didn’t do much to alleviate the situation in his shorts. Listening to the sounds of her nightly ritual, he tried to think of something that would make it go away, but was always terrified to venture into any surefire turn-off territory lest he found himself in the horrific scenario of picturing his mother while sporting a raging hard on. He settled on mentally listing the groceries he’d try to remember to pick up when he arrived home in Alexandria. It worked, thankfully, and he could safely shift to the top of the bed and lie back against the pillows by the time she returned, her smeared eyeliner now completely wiped away.

“So,” he ventured, his fingers interlaced over his bare stomach, one thumb playing with a swirl of hair just above his waistband, “Do you want me to throw something on and run over to reception to find the owner? Get someone to let you back into your room?”

She sighed. “You could, I guess. It’s just so late. I’d hate to bother anyone. And I’m still not really presentable.” She looked down at herself, four fifths of her bare legs still on display.

“I can lend you some pants,” he offered. “You’ll look like Charlie Chaplin. Very fetching.”

She smiled properly now, laughing lazily through her nose. “I’m so tired, Mulder,” she whined goodnaturedly. “Can I just crash here? You already saw me in my underwear; it can’t get any worse.”

Mulder silently questioned her word choice. He was no writer, but he was pretty sure the term he would have used was ‘better’.

“Sure,” he agreed, lifting the covers back and patting the side of the bed he wasn’t occupying. He fluffed the pillow for her and curled over onto his side to face her as she clambered in, demurely keeping her knees pressed together as she slid them beneath the comforter. She turned to face him too, tucking one hand beneath her cheek and using the other to encircle her wrist. She blinked across at him. He took in the claw marks on her face, including a couple of particularly bad ones that had been disinfected and covered with band-aids by a paramedic, despite Scully’s insulted protestations. She’d removed the bandages now, and he could see the cuts were beginning to heal over nicely.

“So why was it easier?” she murmured, her feet rubbing together absently beneath the sheets.

“Hmm?” He’d forgotten what they were talking about.

“With Modell. You said it was easier to resist shooting me.” The particular blue of her eyes always reminded him of his childhood marble collection at this close range: the elegant swoops inside delicate and beautiful, untouchable.

He swallowed, nodding, biding his time. “Well,” he said softly. “It wasn’t because you’re a woman.”

She made a subtle shrugging motion, mostly with her lips; a halfhearted defense of her earlier assertion.

His toes reached out across the cool expanse of linen that separated their feet, and he touched them to her nearest sole, stopping her fidgeting. “It was because it was you.”

She moved her other foot so that she had his toes trapped between her own, and they gripped one another like jungle primates. She held his gaze for a moment then curled her toes even tighter around his as she closed her eyes and whispered, “I could have lost you, Mulder; so easily. Too easily.”

He covered her hand with his own, his fingers easily encompassing her fist as well as the wrist they were wrapped around.

“But you didn’t,” he stated, and rubbed her knuckles with one thumb.

Her only answer was a chaste kiss on his little finger, the closest one to her mouth. She pressed her lips to a phalanx or two and held them there, her eyes clamped shut.

“I know you probably think I shouldn’t have gone into the hospital at all,” he continued, and she opened her eyes and lessened the pressure of her affection, but her lips remained a hair’s breadth from his finger, the warm air from her nostrils tickling and warming his skin. “But I can’t sit back and let others take the risk if I’m the guy who could make all the difference. Someone like Modell, most people just won’t listen to him. I really thought I could talk him down. I’m sorry.”

A subtle darkness clouded her expression, and he wondered if she, like him, was thinking of Duane Barry. “No, Mulder,” she said, disentangling her thumb from his grip and braiding it over his own. She held his eyeline without blinking, her voice hushed. “It’s okay, I understand. I know that’s just who you are. Your stubbornness; it’s why I-” she stopped herself there, her eyes flitting over his face. “I really admire that about you.”

He went to pull his foot back to his own side of the bed, but she tightened the grip of her toes and held him in place. He darted her a look of surprise, but acquiesced, relaxing his heel back into position. Scully continued to stare at him, and he was waiting for her to say something else when he felt her begin to move her feet once more. Only instead of rubbing her own arches together, she was now very deliberately gliding the sole of one foot over his ankle and down to his toes, and back up again. Repeatedly. Without breaking eye contact.

She held his gaze and brushed another peck against his pinky, and that little problem he’d managed to take care of earlier began to reassert itself.

He cleared his throat, growing nervous. “And anyway, you came right into that hospital after me, knowing Modell was armed.”

She nodded, her breathing deep and calm, her expression unreadable. Her eyes slid from his irises down to his lips, as he’d noticed they often did. When they flitted back up, her face had changed, certain muscles contracting and others relaxing, so that he felt eerily like a solitary marsh deer grazing in the brush, head uptilted at the crack of a twig beyond the treeline.

She extracted her hand from beneath his now slightly sweaty palm and placed a cooling caress on his cheek, her fingertips scraping over his unshaven whiskers and down to his lower lip, where she let her thumb rest for a second or two before cupping his jaw. Her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she looked at him with what he could only describe as bedroom eyes.

His straining cock throbbed and pressed against the fabric of his boxer briefs, and he had no idea what to do.

Well, he had some ideas.

But he settled on his old faithful, and made a joke out of it.

“Are you coming on to me, Scully?” he managed to croak out through dry, constricted vocal cords.

She blinked once, took a breath, and pounced.

She was all over him before he knew what was happening. One hand in the hair above his ear, another pawing at his chest, the weight of her torso twisting him awkwardly onto his back from the waist up. Her hot, spearmint mouth pinned him to the pillow, her tongue laving against his, and he sucked in sips of air as he gathered his wits.

Scully was kissing him.

Scully.

Kissing him.

He had to get his act together. He had to take back a modicum of control.

He reached up and held her face in both of his hands, her autumn tresses cascading forward, falling down like an auburn mane over his outspread digits and framing her features twice over.

“Scully, what’s happening?” he asked, checking in, making sure. “You didn’t pilfer any of that yajé from Dr. Bilac’s place, did you?”

She smiled wide, flashing her teeth at her chosen prey. “Go with it, Mulder,” she breathed, and kissed him again.

This time, he matched her intensity, still supporting her skull in his palms. He lifted his head from the pillow, meeting the force of her mouth with equal pressure, and ran one hand down her neck, resting his index finger gratefully at the dip of her clavicle, where he’d watched her bleed out in his dream.

She loomed above him, her breasts rising and falling with her rhythmic panting, their hips side by side, the extent of his enthusiasm as yet unrevealed to her. He wanted to pull her to him, press the hard length of himself against her, show her that he appreciated her with his body just as much as he always had with his mind, but first, he wanted to be sure that’s what she wanted, too.

“Wait,” he mumbled against her writhing lips.

She sat up and away from him, holding herself up with one hand on his pillow. Her lips were pink and swollen, a sheen of mixed saliva glistening in the lamplight.

“What’s the matter, Mulder, don’t you want to?” she asked, but without waiting for an answer, she moved her other hand and delicately peeled back the covers, hunting for a non-verbal response to her question.

Mulder watched her face as she slowly lifted up the sheets, delaying the moment of revelation when she would be absolutely certain that this was an ambush he did not want to outrun. He was the weakest of the herd, separated off to the side, just begging to be taken down, dragged off to the nearest tree and devoured. She drew back the comforter the vital final inches, and knew it. The sizable ridge in his boxer-briefs told her so.

She peered back at his face with a look of lustful delight, practically purring. “It’s back,” she grinned, and he blushed, wincing.

So she had seen it earlier.

It was his turn to shrug, this time half in apology.

“Come here,” he instructed, his flush fading, and she leaned down to kiss him again, lifting her leg to climb on top of him, but he grabbed her behind the knee and rolled her onto her back, settling himself between her thighs.

She laughed, then gasped as he rolled his hips into hers, grinding himself against her sex through layers of thin cotton, feeling the tantalizing soak of desire between her legs. She drew up her quadriceps and pulled him into her froggy embrace, folding her elbows behind his neck and groaning into his mouth as his tumescence rode the wet seam of her panties.

He lifted himself backwards, grateful for his daily discipline of morning push ups, and watched Scully as her eyelids batted open and closed in response to the varying amounts of pressure he was applying to their languid frottage. She peered up at him now, squeezing his hips with her adductors, and tangled her fingertips in his chest hair, trailing down until she reached the elastic banding around his hip flexors. She tilted them both sideways on the mattress and dipped one delicate palm beneath the fabric at his waist, the pads of her fingers grazing the tip of his erection then taking firm hold of his aching girth, stroking him with a fluid twist of the wrist, feathering kisses along his slack jaw all the while. His balls jumped at the sensation of her hand on his shaft, her confidence and dexterity making him even harder.

But this wasn’t right.

Mulder gently reached for her arm and stilled her movements. She pulled away from his face, frowning.

“Mulder, I thought you wanted-” she began, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

“I do,” he assured her. “But ladies first.”

With that, he guided her onto her back again, and took advantage of his position at her side to trace his right hand up beneath the hem of his loaned T-shirt and down into the soaked valley of flesh beneath her plain cotton briefs. It was nothing he hadn’t done before: it was high school and college and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, it was back row at the movies and spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven; it was kid stuff, really, to slide - yes, slide, he was deliriously happy to note - into third base and pleasure a woman manually.

But tonight, it felt like a revelation.

The heat of her engulfed his third and fourth digits, the rest of his hand brushing against soft curls and cushioned by flesh and liquid yearning, and she spread her knees to allow him room to work. His wrist stretched the fabric of her panties, and he circled his buried fingers within her, polishing the smooth roof of her inner walls and tugging upwards with each carnal circumference.

Scully rewarded him for his efforts with heavy panting and the occasional muted whimper, her mouth falling open and her right hand creeping up his back, her nails scratching at his rhomboids. Her other hand fussed at the top sheet, and she flexed and stretched her legs as he worked.

She turned her face towards him to resume their kissing, and he covered her mouth with his own, lifting his thumb from its position limply resting against her upper thigh, and applying pressure to her clitoris, matching the circles of his fingers within. Scully moaned now, an open throated release, the sound of her pleasure reverberating down his larynx, and he felt his own need begin to drip out of his sensitive tip, marking the inside of his underwear.

“Oh my god,” she rasped, lifting her hips to draw him deeper inside her, and the angle gave him the chance to slip his index finger alongside his working digits, all three now soaked to the third knuckle.

Scully thrust her head back into the pillow, ceasing their heavy petting in order to tilt her chin up and frown, crying out. Her right hand scraped the skin of his shoulder blade and she threw her left elbow over her eyes, covering her face as she mumbled and moaned and tossed her face from side to side, bucking her hips to the rhythm of his insistent pumping.

“Oh god,” she shuddered, “I’m gonna-”

But she didn’t need to tell him that, because she froze beneath him for a divine moment, a curse on her lips and a breath caught in her throat, and convulsed and flowed around his hand, his knuckles trapped in a pleasurable vise, and then she was panting and twitching and clutching, feral, gasping his name and seeking his mouth with her own, and he saw that seven minutes was the real kid stuff: this was a heaven he wanted to lock himself inside forever.

Their mouths fumbled for one another in her post orgasmic melee of limbs and spent lungs, and she held his mandible like a precious archaeological find, treasuring his nearness, weak with gratitude. He laid down beside her and gingerly removed his hand from between her legs, but she grabbed his retreating arm and rested his palm over the top of her underwear, cupping her lust-warmed sex. She started at the renewed contact with her apparently still sensitive clitoris, and nestled her forehead against his cheek on the pillow. Her eyelids drooped shut.

“Hey, Scully,” he teased, “You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?”

But she already had.

He looked down upon her scratch-marked face, her proud but delicate nose curving gently above her lips, which were slightly parted and dewy. A soft snore rippled her tongue.

What a time for a cat nap, Mulder mused with considerable regret.

He tucked an errant strand of red hair behind her ear with his little finger, and went off to solve a problem in the bathroom.

Scully needed her rest. He could only hope she’d be on the prowl again tomorrow night.

I wrote a whole cat-based smut fic, and not once did I manage to make a pun on the word pussy. I’ll show myself out.

AO3 link here.

#xfsmut2020 #x files fanfic #the x files #x files #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #smut

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spiderfacilities · 3 years

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The health of the watershed can be harmed by dirty septic tanks

People have lived near water sources such as rivers, lakes, streams, and coastlines from the dawn of time. However, a growth in the number of activities in these bodies of water has contaminated our water. The river Ganga, for example, is still regarded irreparably harmed. We believe that we, as humans, have caused enough harm and that it is past time to build stronger preventative methods to rescue our waterways.

How to keep your STP tank cleaned?

Septic systems are sensitive, but if you follow a checklist, you can keep a careful eye on them. Check out the list of things you'll need to perform for your sewage tank cleaning.

· Every 2 to 3 years, get your septic tank inspected by specialists.

· Use water wisely by just filling baths and sinks with the quantity of water you use and firmly closing the faucet.

· All out-dated toilets and faucets that might leak should be repaired or replaced.

· Hazardous garbage should not be flushed.

· Parking or driving around your septic tank is not a good idea. Keep it small and secure.

· A few wastes might cause your septic tank to get blocked.

Choose a water tank

The first step is to choose a tank that is accessible, easy to clean, and safe. Check to see if you can clean your tank normally. It must be easily available for you to do so. The tank's position should be secure enough to allow for self-cleaning. Otherwise, you'll need to hire a professional ETP tank cleaning services to handle the task. Due to accumulated dirt and water pouring from the tank, there may be moss and mud, making the surface slick and dangerous. The most important consideration is safety. Another thing to bear in mind is that the tank should be free of sharp edges or damaged pieces.

Prepare to begin ‘Cleaning'

Drain any remaining water in the tank. To clean the filth in the tank, use your water pipe or tap. Repeat this process twice or thrice or more. Check to see if the water tank has been completely drained. If at all feasible, acquire a clean rod, attach a scrubber to it, and clean the tank by removing the dirt and muck that has accumulated at the bottom. To clean the filth and debris from the bottom of your water tank, use ordinary dishwashing liquid or soap and hot water.

Disinfect the tank

After you've finished cleaning the tank, ensure sure it's disinfected. However, avoid using any harsh chemicals that may come into contact with you through the water. Chlorine is a fantastic choice for tank cleaning. It destroys bacteria and disinfects the area. However, leave the tanks taps open afterward to allow the chlorinated water to wash out.

It's time to clean up the mess

Now that you've disinfected and removed the dirt, it's time to clean it up. Spray the water onto the tank using a normal water pipe. While cleaning the tank, keep an eye out for any nooks and crannies.

Conclusion

Cleaning your tank in yourself is dangerous and only a professional can handle the task. You do not need to be concerned about that! We're here to help you with this with our STP tank cleaning services. We'll put you in touch with our top cleaning professionals. Our service technicians not only clean your water tanks, but they also guarantee that they are neat and satisfy hygienic requirements. They make certain to clean your tanks as they've never been cleaned before.

#ETP tank #sewage tank cleaning #ETP tank cleaning #STP tank cleaning services

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destinationstravelguide · 3 years

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12 Spectacular Camping Spots in Northern California- Bring the Whole Family Northern California is a top destination for outdoor lovers! With its varied terrain of mountains, beaches, and rivers, Northern California has something to offer every type of camper. You can reconnect with nature and spend quality time with family surrounded by the sights and sounds of the great outdoors! From cozy cabins, perfect for that family getaway you’ve been planning, to rustic campsites off the beaten path for those seeking an escape from civilization. Northern California has it all and your family is sure to love it! (Be sure to check out these 15 camp spots for even more California camping fun!) This article will highlight 12 spectacular camping spots in Northern California for you and the whole family to enjoy! These campgrounds range from mountainside campgrounds to state park tent sites to gorgeous lakeside locations. The variety of Northern California’s amazing campgrounds will have you feeling closer to nature in no time! Enough waiting- let’s get started! Here are 12 family-friendly destinations that will have your loved ones talking about the camping trip long after it’s over! 1. Shasta-Trinity National Forest Feeling adventurous? How about a camping trip to the Northern reaches of California at Shasta-Trinity National Forest! The Shasta-Trinity National Forest is the largest national forest in California and offers plenty of camping, stunning views, and tons of outdoor recreation. Here you’ll find over 20 developed campgrounds, along with plenty of dispersed camping along the way. Shasta Lake is one of the most popular destinations in Shasta-Trinity National Forest, admired for its shimmering beauty and water-skiing potential. The Shasta-Trinity National Forest is full of pine, oak, and fir trees, as well as spectacular views of the potentially active volcano, Mt. Shasta. What a thrill, right? And, if you’re hoping to ditch the crowds and find a little extra peace and quiet, be sure to check out the McBride Springs Campground! You can listen to the chirps and tweets of the birds. This forested area provides the perfect backdrop for an adventure-filled camping trip! This scenic camping site is just one example of the many camping options available in Northern California, but it’s absolutely perfect for those wanting to pitch a tent and escape into nature for a while! 2. Redwood National and State Parks If visiting the giant redwoods isn’t on your bucket list, it should be! Redwood National and State Parks offer a wide range of outdoor activities, from hiking to scenic drives to wildlife viewing- not to mention they’re home to the tallest trees on Earth! This stunning park includes diverse ecosystems and a vast array of plants and animals! You can camp under the rare redwood trees and point out the beautiful new and old growth all around you! You can also enjoy fishing, swimming, and sightseeing! One of the best campgrounds and most talked about riverside destinations within the redwood grove is the Jedediah Smith Campground. You’ll find this campground nestled alongside the Smith River, shaded and protected by towering redwoods. It also offers easy access to picnic tables, restrooms, a dump station, and hot showers. You can choose to pitch a tent, bring your RV or trailer, or even spend the night sleeping in your car. You are sure to find that whatever camping style you prefer is welcome at Redwood National and State Parks. Your camping experience among the redwoods will be one for the books! 3. Lassen Volcanic National Park For an unforgettable California camping experience, check out Lassen Volcanic National Park! This park is located on the southern end of the Cascade Mountain Range in Northern California. It features a wide range of volcanic geological wonders, striking scenery, and plenty of waterfalls! Lassen Volcanic National Park covers more than 100,000 beautiful acres of land and offers camping at seven different campgrounds. Each campground varies in size and accommodations; however Manzanita Lake Campground is one of the more popular sites. Additional campgrounds beloved by campers include Summit Lake South, Butte Lake, and Warner Valley Campgrounds. While you’re there, don’t forget to check out some of the more unique parts of the park like Bumpass Hell and Lassen Peak. They’re sure to impress! 4. Big Basin Redwoods State Park Big Basin Redwoods State Park is one of Northern California’s most stunning destinations, as well as its oldest redwood state park. Located in the Santa Cruz Mountains and set against a backdrop of old growth forests, this park offers visitors a natural escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. This Northern California camping destination is perfect for families with children. There are plenty of tall redwood trees and cascading waterfalls to play around! The state park is filled with plenty of family-friendly activities including picnicking, swimming, hiking trails, and mountain biking! In fact, there are over 80 miles of trails to explore together! You can choose from a number of campground options when it comes to camping at this Santa Cruz Mountain destination. From Upper and Lower Blooms Creek, Huckleberry, Sempervirens, and Wastahi Campgrounds. You’ll find adequate space to pitch a tent, a picnic table, and a fire ring for campfires. 5. D.L. Bliss State Park Campground This waterside campground is a beautifully located camping destinations located on the west shores of Lake Tahoe. The campsites on the beach may be small, but they are wooded and surrounded by some truly stunning scenery! The lake can get fairly busy, especially during the summer, so it’s recommended to make a reservation in advance. Feel free to bring your RV or trailer, but make sure it isn’t larger than 18 feet or it won’t fit in the campsites! If you’re looking for a bit more space for your tent and family to gather, check out the upper campsites that may feel a bit roomier than the lower beach sites. The D.L. Bliss Campground is known for its beautiful and expansive beach, as well as the easy swimming access to the refreshing waters of Lake Tahoe- perfect for families! And be sure to bring your camera for all the gorgeous picture-perfect moments! 6. Peninsula Campground This California camping destination is a favorite among families as it features a super fun lake- Folsom Lake! Peninsula Campground is known for its family-friendly atmosphere, plus there are plenty of nearby activities for kids to enjoy. Think about all of the family-friendly adventures you can have while camping lakeside! From biking to hiking to picnicking by the water, you’ll have a blast playing and making memories all day and night! Reservations are accepted, so plan ahead and reserve one of the 34 large tent campgrounds. Each campsite features a picnic table and a fire ring. There are also flush toilets and potable water available. 7. Oh Ridge Campground The Oh Ridge Campground makes the perfect spot to set up base camp for exploring the impressing Eastern Sierra Mountains! It’s a very family-friendly camping location with excellent access to crystal-clear June Lake! Pack up your tents and paddle boards and get ready for a great mountain getaway! The campsites at Oh Ridge Campground are within walking distance to the water. This lake is perfect for swimming, fishing, kayaking, and paddle boarding. If you’re looking for a more relaxing time, bring a blanket and a good book to read alongside the shoreline. This is a larger location with the majority of campsites offering fire rings, grills, and picnic tables. You’ll also find flush toilets and drinking water readily available. Not all of the campsites have shade, but the ones that do feature beautiful pines and aspen trees. It’s a great place for families and friends to gather round and get to know each other better! 8. Kirby Cove Campground If you’re looking for Northern California camping with a view, check out Kirby Cove Campground! This beach campground is a bit of a hidden gem, tucked away on the north side of the Golden Gate Recreation Area. There are just five available campsites at this campground, all of which are only available by reservation! You’ll definitely want to plan ahead and reserve a spot here early. Camp on the beach alongside the water and enjoy. breathtaking views of the Golden Gate Bridge! It’s a gorgeous location for a little getaway if you’re not looking to travel too far out into the woods! Bring some games, a good book, and your favorite people for a memorable camping experience! 9. Gerstle Cove Campground Are you big into beach camping? Because if so, this is another wonderful beach campground destination! You’ll love taking a relaxing stroll by the water and exploring the State Marine Reserve. Gerstle Cove Campground is located along the coast of Northern California and offers 30 secluded campsites. You’ll love the privacy you get, even if the campground is actually full! It’s the perfect place for tents or car camping. Although it’s not the usual tree-lined camping scenery, the views at this campground are simply breathtaking! Take in the jaw-dropping beauty and beach camping at Gerstle Cove Campground! It’s definitely worth a visit! 10. Minaret Falls Campground Are you enamored by the idea of hiking? If so, Minaret Falls Campground might be just right for you! Located in Red Meadows Valley in Northern California, this is a great choice if you’re looking to get outside and explore some of California’s natural beauty. This camping destination is big with anglers and hikers who hope to explore Rainbow Falls and Devil’s Postpile. It’s a rather small and scenic campground, but it has everything you’ll need including the San Joaquin River flowing nearby. You’ll enjoy amenities here like vault toilets and drinking water, as well as fire rings and picnic tables. One more thing to keep in mind when planning your trip! Minaret Falls Campground is only available on a first-come, first-served basis. So, get there early to claim your spot. It’s definitely worth the spectacular view of the Sierra Nevada landscape! 11. Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Parks These two National Parks are absolutely beautiful! There are so many things to see and experience within each one. From giant sequoias to massive canyons, every inch of it is breathtaking! Every type of camper is welcome here, whether you enjoy staying in a tent, TV, trailer, cabin, or car. There are a total of fourteen campgrounds available to choose from in the Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. You’ll love sleeping among the sequoias, hiking to high mountain peaks, and camping under the stars! Each park is quite large, so be sure to give yourself plenty of time to explore and get around! Many campgrounds are also first-come, first-served. If you have a specific site in mind, you’ll likely want to try and get there early! 12. Pfeiffer Big Sur Campground You’ll enjoy miles of beautiful camping here at Pfeiffer Big Sur Campground! It’s located in the scenic Big Sur, a sight to behold in and of itself. Spring, summer, and fall are all excellent times to camp at this popular outdoor destination! This campground caters to all sorts of campers. You’ll have access to showers, restrooms, and drinking water. Even better, dogs are allowed here as long as they are kept on a leash! Camp along the Big Sur River or frolic through the meadow campsites. Either way, you’re sure to have an amazing time! Be sure to bring your binoculars and a camera- you never know what type of wildlife or nature phenomenon you may encounter while out there exploring! Adventure is Out There Camping in Northern California truly is an excellent way to get back to nature and enjoy the breathtaking views of pristine wilderness. This list provides all sorts of locations and campgrounds, catering to a variety of needs for every type of camper. Whether you’re looking for secluded beach camping or want easy access to lakes and hiking trails, Northern California has it all! Be sure to visit Destinations Travel Guide for more dream camping destinations! We offer travel guides for all of your exploring needs- happy adventuring! [/et_pb_blurb

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travelingtheusaandeurope · 3 years

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Best Camping near Santa Cruz California

With bird's- eye sights of Monterey Bay as well as the Pacific Ocean, camping websites near Santa Cruz are additional specified by the quick altitude gain of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Surfing in the early morning, checking out redwoods throughout the mid-day, in addition to seeing the sunlight established over dynamic hillside ridges can all be carried out in a day in Santa Cruz, with numerous excellent camping areas nearby to invest the night. With many things to do in Santa Cruz, a solitary outside camping weekend break just offers an image of all there is to see.

Sustaining camping tent as well as Motor Home camping, a few of the absolute best camping websites near Santa Cruz are world renowned, including Henry Cowell Redwoods along with Huge Container Redwoods State Parks. Camping bookings are very suggested for these around the world traveling areas, along with the industrial camping sites close by, like Santa Cruz Redwoods Recreational Vehicle Resort. Coastal outdoor camping locations near Santa Cruz truly frequently have a tendency to gleam come dusk, in addition to camping locations like the one at New Brighton State Shoreline provide the sound of churning waves as an outdoor camping soundtrack.

Discover the most effective locations to oversleep the wild with our listing of the leading campgrounds near Santa Cruz.

Large Basin Redwoods State Park

The golden state's earliest state park, big Basin Redwoods State Park is much less than a hr drive from Santa Cruz. This globally preferred outside camping and likewise treking area is best recognized for the towering, 300-foot seaside redwood trees expanding within its borders. The park's 80 miles of tracks, stretching from water level to 2,000 feet, similarly often tend to get a great deal of attention, consisting of the Skyline-to-the-Sea Path that gets in touch with various other state parks in the place.

Camping options are plentiful in Large Container Redwoods State Park, with an option of internet sites offered that suit different experiences. With virtually 150 private camping websites spread out in between 5 different outside camping places, Big Container likewise features separate group outdoor camping sites, outside camping tents cabins, as well as specialized hiker/biker websites.

Conveniently available services like hot showers, Motor Home links, and also closeness to treking trails differ from one exterior camping location to the numerous other. Camping reservations are basically essential at Big Container, specifically on summer season weekends.

Henry Cowell State Park Redwood

Put right into the Santa Cruz Mountains much less than 5 miles from the Santa Cruz Coastline Boardwalk, Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park is a global site visitor location as well as camping location. Consisting of over 4,600 acres of hilly terrain, this basically 90-year-old park acquires its eminence from the 40 acres of old-growth redwood trees within its boundaries. The highest tree at Henry Cowell stands concerning 277 feet high as well as is approximated to be over 1,500 years old.

A two-mile walk from the Redwood Grove Loophole, one of the most effective hiking tracks near Santa Cruz, the park's outdoor camping site has greater than 100 websites for outdoors tents as well as additionally Recreational vehicles. Distributed throughout an underhanded forest, the camping areas have all-natural individual privacy as well as additionally availability to flushing toilets and also coin-operated showers. The acme in the park, a monitoring deck with large views of the Santa Cruz Hills, is a half-mile walking from the camping site.

Containing the winding banks of the San Lorenzo River, the surface area at Henry Cowell supplies enough destination for a whole weekend break without leaving the park. The day-use Fall Creek System of Henry Cowell, just north of the camping area, has more than 20 miles of treking trails to check out. Among one of the most efficient swimming openings in the state can be found at the Yard of Eden furthermore within the state park. Appointments are extremely advised along with offered 6 months beforehand.

Sundown State Coastline

A half-hour drive from Santa Cruz, as well as a mile south of the tent-only Manresa State Coastline camping area, Sundown State Coastline has practically 90 internet sites that can fit Mobile homes roughly 31 feet in length. In the shade of seaside yearn and also cypress trees along with safeguarded from the sea wind by towering dune, Sundown State Beach is likewise famous for exterior tents outdoor camping. It's a short drive to the shoreline from the camping area, or a gorgeous quarter-mile trip on the Shoreline Path.

Neglecting Monterey Bay, Sundown State Coastline has a generous seaside, perfect for year-round activities like angling, picnicking, and likewise piloting remote-control gliders. For huge household occasions close to the sea, 2 large color ramadas can be scheduled alongside the coast. Around night site visitors at the campground have accessibility to flushing commodes and also coin-operated showers.

A recommended day-use destination and RV-only outdoor camping site, Seacliff State Beach consists of over 60 parking areas ignoring the sea, split in between total connection along with non-hookup websites. Site visitors park their Mobile homes appropriate close to the sandy two-mile coast and also take pleasure in the landscape from right here. This state coastline projects for angling, swimming, as well as suntanning, as well as its most popular attribute is the half-sunken S.S. Palo Alto at the end of the pier.

A concrete oil vessel originally created for Globe battle, the S.S. Palo Alto was never ever before used in armed forces solution. Instead, the ship was used along with travelled to Santa Cruz, where it had a brief walk-on amusement standing with dance halls and also galleries. Complying with bankruptcy as well as additionally the Wonderful Anxiousness, the ship started the slow-moving procedure of sinking into the sea. Today, the concrete remnant is well photographed however unattainable, as well as additionally far more recommended than ever before with the area bird populace.

Beside Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park, this RV-exclusive camping area and additionally resort urges holidays in addition to extended remains. Reservations are advised at this Motor Home camping location, which is within a brief drive from the sea, surrounded by California redwoods in the Santa Cruz Mountains. On-site services consist of a kid-friendly clubhouse, neat washrooms with cozy showers, as well as free of charge Wi-Fi throughout the camping website. For extremely easy solution for the summer season sunshine, the outdoor camping website also uses access to a slow-current section of the San Lorenzo River.

Castle Rock State Park

Much less than a hr north of midtown Santa Cruz, Castle Rock State Park incorporates a high ridge of the Santa Cruz Mountains and also over 5,000 acres of challenging surface. Popular for hiking, hill biking, in addition to horseback riding, over thirty miles of tracks weave throughout Castle Rock State Park.

Attaching to other state parks in the area, including Big Container Redwoods State Park, tracks like Skyline-to-the-Sea Path in Castle Rock State Park make it possible for over night backpacking opportunities.

The Castle Rock Path Camp at Castle Rock State Park is hike-in just and likewise features 20 first-come, first-served camping areas easily accessible through a 2.5-mile walking. It's liked with backpackers on the Skyline-to-the-Sea Course. Campers are required to bring in all their tools as well as likewise water to the Course Camp, where pit washrooms are offered. A ranger or camp host is on a routine basis operating at the camping area to collect over night costs as well as likewise offer fire wood.

New Brighton State Beach

Adjacent to the RV-exclusive Seacliff State Coastline and likewise the sunken S.S. Palo Alto, New Brighton State Coastline is a camping area famous with camping tents as well as little camper trailers. Consisting of over 100 internet sites, lots of within earshot of the sea, the outdoor camping area rests atop a bluff with sights of Monterey Bay.

The Pacific Migrations Site Visitor Facility at the park highlights previous inhabitants as well as citizens of the area. All over night visitors at the outdoor camping location have access to flushing commodes as well as coin-operated showers.

Manresa Uplands State Shoreline|Photo Copyright: Brad Lane

Fifteen miles down the coast from Santa Cruz, Manresa Uplands is a tent-only camping area secured from the ocean wind by huge dune. Over night visitors at the camping location park their truck in a top large amount and likewise make a short hike to their appointed outdoor camping area. Every outdoor camping site has distance to flushing restrooms in addition to coin-operated showers, together with fast access to the vast and also welcoming beachfront of Manresa State Coastline.

Santa Cruz/Monterey Bay KOA|Picture Copyright: Brad Lane

Providing simple access to the sea and likewise redwoods of Santa Cruz, the Santa Cruz/Monterey Bay KOA gives a finest basecamp to explore the outdoors. Including outdoor tents and also pull-thru Rv websites with full links conveniently offered, this KOA Vacation outdoor camping site likewise focuses on a big variety of camping cabins. Ranging from luxurious cabins that rest six as well as consist of complete washrooms to relaxing two-person cabins with an outdoor patio area, it's not just the resting locations at the Santa Cruz KOA that make the camping website preferred.

Kids have a tendency to be drawn in the direction of the large home entertainment area at the Santa Cruz KOA, consisting of a massive bouncing pillow in addition to sandy play area locations. The KOA Express Enjoyable Train has a tendency to be preferred also, offering kids to different backyard in the outdoor camping location, consisting of a banana bike rental terminal and also outside cinema for post-sunset films. Other solutions contain a new swimming pool and park area built to supply a journey experience without leaving the camping site.

A brand-new enhancement to the state park system, Little Container is a 500-plus acre camping area adjacent to Large Container Redwoods State Park. Previously a special firm hideaway room, and also presently possessed by the state as well as additionally run by an independent concessionaire, Little Container is a surprise treasure for camping in the redwoods. Visits are required for any one of the 38 outdoor camping outdoor tents sites or whole lots cabins conveniently offered, all with distance to a recognized network of trails, together with close-by flushing shower rooms along with showers.

For a solitary exterior camping experience bordered by redwoods, the West Ridge Path Camp at Forest of Nisene Marks State Park supplies on a real wild experience. It's around a six-mile walking to get to the course camp at this state park on the borders of Santa Cruz, with 6 backcountry internet sites used by appointment simply. Primitive washroom centers along with barbeque tables are readily available in this remote place surrounded by redwoods, however campers need to bring in all required gear, including water.

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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Riding Shotgun With My Mom

On my first road trip up north with my mother in years, a drive to Northern Michigan feels like being alone together at the end of the world

Jenny G. Zhang is an Eater staff writer currently isolating at her childhood home in Michigan.

The worst part of going anywhere is usually, irrefutably, humiliatingly, needing to pee.

Rest stops can be few and far between; gas station facilities are almost always occupied by fellow travelers; stopping at restaurants and fast-food chains usually means buying at least a beverage, which then gets consumed, which then necessitates a bathroom all over again. Now multiply these difficulties by a factor of “pandemic” — in which many public bathrooms are closed, as flushing a toilet can create a potentially infectious plume of coronavirus aerosols that linger in the air — and your options whittle down to basically zero.

“What if we wear diapers?” I suggest to my mom four months into our COVID-19 crisis, as we consider this potential hurdle to our embarking on a weekend road trip. I’m joking, sort of, but the thought is apparently mutual — she has the same idea. It makes sense, in a way: After all, we already have a stockpile of adult diapers in the basement, left over from my mom’s previous road trip emergencies and my grandmother’s usage when she lived with us over than a decade ago. Moreover, it would just be me and my mom on the trip, no need to feel shy or embarrassed at the prospect of pissing our pants in each other’s presence. And at this point, what other alternatives are there?

Still, it is with some trepidation that I pull on a diaper one Saturday morning in July.

It is with some trepidation that I pull on a diaper one Saturday morning in July.

“Are we really going to just ... pee in the diapers?” I ask again as we pick at the last crumbs of our breakfast (frozen Costco croissants, warmed and eaten with strawberry jam, highly recommended). Soon we’ll begin double- and triple-checking our bags before loading the car.

“Of course,” she replies in Mandarin. “It feels strange at first, but I’m telling you, you don’t even notice it after.” She is speaking from experience, as a user of adult diapers on journeys past. I remember, when I was younger, feeling both envious of how my mom seemed so liberated from the tyranny of road trip potty breaks, as well as scornfully pitying that she had to resort to such tactics (as if I was somehow enlightened for holding it in for as long as I could).

But time makes fools of us all: Here I am, poised to follow in my mother’s footsteps — starting with discreet fit and maximum absorbency.

Our plan is simple: head 250 miles “up north,” a phrase that virtually everyone in Michigan knows. I heard it for the first time in elementary school, where, every June, my classmates would talk about their plans to summer with their families in their cabins “up north.” The precise geographic delineation is a bit fuzzy — in one Detroit Free Press article, a reader described “up north” as more of “a mindset” than a specific location. My north has always meant the northwestern edge of the state’s mitten, where pale yellow sand dunes meet the cerulean waves of Lake Michigan. My family drove four-ish hours up there, to the Sleeping Bear Dunes and Traverse City, every few years when I was a kid. Sometimes it would be just for the day; sometimes we would spend the night in a cheap motel, the four of us crammed in one room. We always returned to our home in the Detroit suburbs a little tanner and grittier, our shoes and the crevices of our car lined with sand that lingered for weeks.

Neither my dad (who lives and works in China) nor my older brother (on the East Coast) are here with us now, separated by the coronavirus and lives that diverged from ours years ago. But my mom and I can’t shake the desire to trace the path my family followed so many times back when we all lived under the same roof. To get out, to escape. To see anything beyond the walls of our house, from which we have rarely ventured since mid-March, when I returned home from New York for my birthday and never left.

The Arcadia Scenic Turnout, one of our eventual destinations

Escape: a word of longing, and a temptation that has proven irresistible lately, judging from the prevalence of beach visits and shared cabins in the woods documented on my friends’ and acquaintances’ social media feeds. CNN reports that Americans made 32.2 million trips of more than 50 miles during the week before the Fourth of July, 300,000 more than this time last year, per Maryland Transportation Institute data.

But there are obvious risks. My mom and I have seen the notorious flesh-against-flesh footage from Michigan’s Diamond Lake; we have tracked the peaks and valleys of COVID-19 cases in the state and across the country. To avoid becoming two more tallies on a graph would mean meticulously planning each detail of the trip, mitigating as much risk as we could: masks on indoors or near other people outdoors, sanitizing constantly, no crowds, no dining inside (or outside of) restaurants, and for the love of God, no public restrooms.

Driving a cool 77 miles per hour, the radio blasting Hot 100 pop, it feels like nothing has changed. But outside the sanctuary of our car, everything has.

Some attractions, like our first stop, the Dow Gardens — 110 acres in the city of Midland — are now appointment-only, with reservations made online to limit the number of visitors at any given time. Supposedly we came here once long ago, when we lived in nearby Saginaw, but I have no memory of the lush greenery or the ponds thick with scum. (The garden also has a restroom that we use with some apprehension, thus breaking our “no public restrooms” rule within just two hours — but appointment-only means it isn’t really public.)

My mom and I can’t shake the desire to trace the path my family followed so many times. To get out, to escape.

Meals, once opportunities to experience the local dining scene — or at least to wash your hands, sit still, and recharge — have become a largely vehicular matter. After Dow Gardens, lunching on takeout in the front seat while parked outside Basil Thai Bistro in Midland, I comprehend anew the one-handed appeal of fast-food staples like burgers and fries. Attempting to eat long noodles and loose rice straight out of plastic to-go boxes, using flimsy disposable utensils, is a game of trying not to splatter grease with each lift of the fork. I find myself missing tables with a passion I have never before mustered for basic furniture items.

Gas stations are a crapshoot of mask usage, despite Gov. Gretchen Whitmer’s impending executive order requiring face coverings indoors and in crowded outdoor spaces. I grab bottled drinks and junky snacks — Cheddar & Sour Cream Lay’s, Sour Punch Bites, Gardetto’s, the more mindlessly processed the better — and check out as quickly as I can. One clerk, standing behind a clear barrier, moves lethargically, his bandana-mask slung around his neck like a scarf. At another station, the cashier is bagging my purchase from behind the countertop shield when the door’s bell jingles and then stops. An unmasked woman stands on the front step, reading the sign on the door requesting that customers wear masks inside. “Need a mask,” she mutters, before letting the door fall shut again and returning to her car.

“They always forget,” the clerk, a woman with a dyed-red ponytail and her own mask, comments as she hands me the plastic bag from under the barrier. “The new normal.”

Escape is apparently on everyone’s minds. I reserved our hotel, located across the street from the lakeshore in Traverse City’s East Bay, a few days ago online, and it was one of the last I could find in the whole city. We drove past at least a dozen hotels on the lakeshore road, most bearing signs proclaiming, “NO VACANCIES.”

“Has it been busy this summer?” I ask an employee standing behind an enormous sneeze guard that stretches across the reception desk. I’m using a pen to sign the receipt confirming the night’s stay.

“Oh yeah,” she replies, directing me to dispose of the pen in a basket on my side of the barrier. They have been completely booked almost every week, she says, and recites their new COVID policies: no pool, no breakfast buffet, no housekeeping unless requested. The hotel has a strict mask-on rule for public areas, like the lobby and elevator. Floor decals mark the appropriate six-foot distances to stand apart from other guests.

A scenic view at Dow Gardens

Takeout in the front seat from Basil Thai Bistro in Midland

Our room upstairs has been vacant for a day, long enough that we probably don’t need to worry about virus droplets suspended in the air. Still, upon entering, we immediately open the window and set to cleaning all visible surfaces, using disinfectant spray and wipes we brought with us from home. It’s that mindset, more than anything, that will linger long after SARS-CoV-2 becomes an unpleasant memory in the minds of the living: no longer being able to trust that anywhere outside home can be safe.

The modern road trip, in the American imagination, is inextricable from the idea of the past — the glorification of nostalgia for a different time, whether rooted in childhood memories or the fantasy of an idealized nation. The archetypal image is one of a white family in the postwar prosperity decades, cruising down the newly paved Interstate, stopping at roadside diners and motels, enjoying a freedom epitomized by open roads and mass consumption, whether of material goods, fuel, experiences, or the nation itself.

The whiteness of this vision cannot be expunged; as Candacy Taylor wrote for the Atlantic in 2016, “every mile was a minefield” for Black Americans, who were regularly denied access to food and lodging across the country’s crisscross network of highways. Up north, I can’t forget about the historical underpinnings of the road trip, as well as the so-called “blinding whiteness” of Northern Michigan. We pass by huge “TRUMP: KEEP AMERICA GREAT” banners — one surrounded by barbed wire on a rural lawn, and one on the back of a pickup truck — and my anxiety heightens, as I think of the anti-Asian attacks taking place across the U.S., fueled in part by the president’s blatant displays of racism and assignment of blame for the pandemic on Chinese people.

But despite the quintessential road trip’s origins in a white Americana, immigrant families like my own have continued to gravitate toward this mode of travel, lured by its comparative affordability as well as its promises of freedom, of openness, of the American Dream — all things, real or imagined, that have drawn immigrants to this land in the first place. The cracks in that myth have always been visible, but I didn’t recognize them for what they were when I was young. Maybe this trip, back to a place I loved so much as a child, is just my own manifestation of nostalgia for the way things used to be, before I knew any better.

The Sleeping Bear Dunes

The Sleeping Bear Dunes are a 45-minute drive from the hotel, located on the northwest curve of the Lower Peninsula, between lakes Glen and Michigan. It’s evening by the time we arrive at the famous Dune Climb, but the sun still blazes overhead, baking the sand till it’s hot to the touch. One of the best sensations, as a child, was burrowing my feet deep into the sand, seeking the cool beneath the surface.

Back then, the dunes seemed to stretch upward like mile-high walls, slippery and impenetrable. My family and I would climb them, our bare feet sinking into the sand, racing and stumbling and sitting and turning around to behold the expanse of blue that was Glen Lake in the distance. I was 2 or 3 the first time we went, my mom tells me, so young that my dad had to carry me up the dune on his shoulders. My brother was old enough to squirm his own way up; we have a photo of him crawling in the sand, shrieking with laughter. It was always so beautiful back then.

I want to walk to the coastline in search of some clarity or epiphany or at least a new sight, but my mom stops me.

The dunes are just like I remember, in some ways: the public restroom and the vending machines at one end of the parking lot; the soft sand, still shifting beneath my feet; the grasses that inexplicably sprout from nothing in this dry landscape. The parking lot is half-filled with cars: people like us, seeking solace in the outdoors. We begin our journey to the top. The breeze is strong, and the dune wide enough that we can ascend and descend without bumping into anyone else.

But some things are different from the scenes in my memory. The dune feels so much shorter, for one. Was it ever a vast desert, or was that just in my mind, a scale from the eyes of a child? Today it takes just 20 minutes to trudge up the main face, and that is at the leisurely pace of an admittedly out-of-shape mother-daughter duo. We pause intermittently to catch our breath and pass back and forth a handheld misting fan. Below us, children scream and sprint down the dune as their parents play the indulgent audience. Ahead, endless dunes rise before us; two miles beyond them lies Lake Michigan, invisible from here.

The shore of Glen Lake, on the road to the Sleeping Bear Dunes

In all our visits, we have never followed the trail that leads from this dune all the way to the coastline. I want to, this time, in search of some clarity or epiphany or at least a new sight, but my mom stops me, says there’s no point in going further. She, with her chronic lower back strain, likely won’t be able to walk the four-mile round trip, and I have a cut on my foot that probably isn’t faring well buried in gritty particles. We are both overheated and tired, our pores leaking sweat. The bulky diaper, already uncomfortable after a half-day drive, even unused, feels like a damp furnace on my skin.

I’ll take you somewhere better, my mom promises, as if placating a sulky toddler. Another beach, a five-minute drive away. She says we used to wade in the water there, years and years ago, although I have no recollection of it.

“Okay,” I give in, and we slowly start making our way back down.

On Sunday, there’s one more place I want to go before we leave town: Frenchies Famous, a breakfast spot near the West Bay that I had found after scrolling through recommendations online. The restaurant is tucked away a few blocks inland, its small dining room closed for the time being. A path lined with daylilies leads to a to-go window on the side of the building, where we pick up an order of egg sandwiches and some truly stellar buttermilk biscuits with jam. We take our breakfast to a beachside park, wiping grease off our fingers and enjoying the lakefront view one final time from our car.

There are ducks. Not just one, but two broods. On the sand, near the water, five ducklings roost around their mother, nestling in close for a nap. She, too, tucks her head into her wing to sleep, but remains standing on one leg, alert to sudden movements. When I crouch down for photos, attempting to edge nearer, she whips her head up and gives me a look that is best described as “sentient.” I stop myself from going any further; when I was younger, I was once chased by a surprisingly buff mother goose for getting too close to her goslings. (This was when I discovered that geese have very sharp teeth). Since then, I’ve learned that it’s sometimes best not to tempt fate.

The second brood of ducklings is a little bigger, maybe older. Teenagers in the midst of hormone-driven rebellion, perhaps. As their mother shepherds them across the park’s greenery, two escape and waddle over a bicycle path, enticed by a roadside shrub. The mama duck quacks, like she is calling them back. But, again, teenagers — what can you do? She’s left with no choice but to take the rest of the brood across the path to join their unruly siblings, standing guard as bicycles and cars zoom past on either side of the shrub.

Point Betsie Lighthouse on Lake Michigan. The lighthouse was closed to visitors, but the beach was not.

“Naughty little ducks,” my mom remarks fondly in Mandarin. Not like my brother and me as kids, she says. Unlike these ducks, we generally did as we were told.

It’s a little on the nose, certainly, encountering these mallards — children clinging to their mother until they outgrow the reach of her embrace — on this mother-daughter trip of ours, taking place four months after my indefinite move back home. Sometimes I feel like I’ve regressed back to childhood, living with my mom again at 20-[REDACTED] years old. She washes most of the dishes, brings me bowls of cut fruit, presses her fingertips to my forehead when I have headaches. Other times, I suddenly find myself feeling more like the adult in the room, wanting to take care of her as I notice her memory slipping more, how she tires more easily. I cook. I clean. I buy her new pots and pans, a vacuum, a printer, like throwing money will help reconcile the reality that my mom is growing older, and I won’t always be here for it.

We’ve had more arguments lately, I think, related to this tension. I know I can respond childishly, giving her a version of the silent treatment when I’m upset, like I did as a temperamental preteen. She thinks she knows better than me, which is often true, but not always. I still don’t know how to justify why I came home to Michigan during this pandemic, except: This is my mom. Sometimes it feels like we’re all each other has, together alone. I want to shield her from the danger carried in each new breath out there, just as much as I still want to be protected by her. As if I’m 3 years old again, hiding from a scary world behind my mother’s skirts.

After leaving Traverse City, we go to places we’ve never been before: the exceptionally unadulterated waters of Crystal Lake; the tiny, tourism-rich city of Frankfort (population: 1,288); the Arcadia Dunes’s scenic overlook, with one of the most breathtaking views I’ve ever seen.

“咱们都是走新的路,” my mom says as we drive down a country road, largely empty in the late afternoon. We’re traveling a new road, is one translation. Or another: We’re all taking new paths.

She’s yawning nonstop, exhausted after driving all 350 miles of this trip so far. “Let me drive,” I offer repeatedly, until she finally acquiesces and pulls over. She’s dozing within 15 minutes of my taking the wheel.

I think I feel something for a second, but nothing happens — I just can’t let go of myself.

It feels good to drive on these long stretches of road, hurtling past trees and farmhouses and pastures dotted with grazing cows. The only discomfort is the aforementioned worst part of going anywhere: needing to pee. Yesterday I could barely go three hours without looking for a toilet; today, by some miracle or curse, I have not peed since 11:30 a.m. Now, six and a half hours later, I feel the telltale signs that usually indicate either a full bladder or a UTI.

My mom — whose last bathroom break had taken place in her diaper when we were leaving the Arcadia scenic turnout, she informed me nonchalantly as we pulled out of the parking lot — finally stirs. At her request, I stop at a Sunoco off M-10 near Mount Pleasant. To put it in polite terms, we are both in need of relief.

“It’s easier if you stand,” my mom advises, so we get out of the car and walk to the back of the gas station. I’m hoping no one is around to witness my big moment, but nearby there are truckers sitting in their 18-wheelers, a gas station employee taking trash out to the dumpster, a couple getting out of their car. It’s hard to concentrate. My mom tells me that she has already peed again (“just a little”) in the time it took for me to survey our surroundings. No pressure.

I try my best, my back to the wall, my mom standing in front of me like a shield. Clenching, unclenching, I fix my gaze on the American flag mounted from a pole in front of the Sunoco. Gusts of wind beat at the fabric, rippling it against the blue sky. I think I feel something for a second, but nothing happens — I just can’t let go of myself.

As always, my mom tries to comfort me: it’s easier for her because she’s done it before; my older brother didn’t know how to go inside his diaper, too, as a newborn; go on, I’ll barely feel a thing. I have a vision of myself in the driver’s seat, speeding as fast as I can down the highway, unleashing a torrent into the adult diaper, warm and golden and free.

But despite all my mom’s coaxing, I know that it won’t happen. I still have so much left to learn from her. For now, though, I give up the driver’s seat, my bladder still full. We get back into the car, turn onto the highway, and head home.

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