Read Carsick: John Waters Hitchhikes Across America for Free Online Page B

beside him on his bed in what would have been Divine’s bedroom. I refuse the cash he offers to share with me and tell him how much I appreciated such a romantic night. He blushes and then sheepishly asks, “Wanna watch some porn?” “Sure,” I say, curious to see his cinematic fantasy tastes. Fumbling under the bed, Lucas takes out a DVD with a homemade label, inserts the disc, and pushes play. But instead of regular porn, I see a compilation reel of demolition derby accidents much like the cumshot reel would be if it were normal gay smut.
    “I usually only get horny when I’m racing,” Lucas whispers with lust, “but tonight I’d like to return the favor, especially for someone who has brought me such good luck.” “Okay,” I say in excitement as he eases over and unbuckles my belt. “Check out this next heat,” he says with touching sexual vulnerability as he lowers my pants. “BAM!” I cry as I watch in amazement vintage amateur 8mm film transferred to digital of three derby cars backing into each other at the exact same time and flipping over in unison. “Show me more,” I whisper as he begins stroking. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” he purrs back with a newfound sexual gusto. Lucas, more and more aroused, fast-forwards to another notorious demolition disaster. “Okay, John, here you go,” he moans as I see a 1975 Cadillac Coupe de Ville get broadsided in reverse by a ratty but rare 1970 Monte Carlo Chevrolet. The driver of the Caddy goes berserk, forgets all the rules of the race, and accelerates forward toward the attacker and smashes head-on into the Chevy. Both vehicles explode in flames on-screen, and in one escalating movement of Lucas’s wrist we become one; sexually united in affection, deviant excitement, and demolition lust. We fall asleep instantly.

 
    GOOD RIDE NUMBER FOUR
    OFFICER LADDIE
     
    The next morning Lucas makes me a delicious homemade breakfast of corned beef hash with a poached egg on top before giving me a ride to the entrance ramp of Route 70 headed west. Always a sweetheart, he bashfully presents me with a belt buckle with the word W-H-I-P—L-A-S-H split into two levels of letters. Lucas can see how much I love his gift just by the way I hold it in my hands. I give him my best mustachioed sneer, jump out, and simply say, “Thank you.” Maybe being a human four-leaf clover for a crazily rugged but tenderhearted and slightly deviant demolition derby driver only comes once in a lifetime. “Give my love to the Simpsons,” he shouts good-naturedly, then peels out in his truck perfectly so the gravel shoots up all around me but not on me.
    Uh-oh. Here come the cops. When the officer steps out from his vehicle, he looks mean. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarls in an unwelcoming way. “I’m hitchhiking to San Francisco,” I explain politely, “and I know it’s illegal to do that on the interstate so I’m hoping to get a ride here on the ramp.” “ID!” he snaps without comment on my legal position. He looks at my license. “You homeless?” he demands without the slightest bit of sympathy. “No … I’m a film director,” I announce haughtily as I start to take out my Directors Guild of America card. “Freeze!” he yells as he pulls out his gun and aims it right at my head. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I say with alarm but still try to keep my cool. “I wasn’t reaching for a weapon,” I cry, “I just wanted you to look at my directorial credits.”
    Suddenly another cop car comes speeding up with the light flashing. Officer Fuckhead seems relieved. This cop, also overweight but kind of goofy-looking, jumps out with a cheerier expression on his face. “Okay, Officer Bradford, what’s the problem here?” he demands. “We got a vagrant with an attitude problem,” the first cop snorts. I don’t say a word. The second cop lowers the first cop’s hand with the gun away from my head and I let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll