The Hitchhiker
(MF toy reluc)
You would never guess what a girl can get stuck on if she is
not careful.

DISCLAIMER: This work of fiction contains sexual situations not 
suitable for children. It may not be reproduced in any way where 
readers are charged for it. Copyright reserved. 


It is difficult to tell with hitchhikers. I mean you only 
get about 10 seconds to suss them before you are past and 
on to the next one. (I do like the way they space 
themselves out on the slip road, though.) I usually go 
for a girl. No, not for the reasons you are thinking. 

God, when I look back; ten years on the road; hundreds of 
towns, and thousands of miles. Christ knows how many hikers 
and how often have I gotten lucky? Two one night stands, 
you know, great at the time, but the awkward smile and 
"Don't forget to look me up" the next morning; one 
complete disaster - how I got away without a court case 
I'll never know; and one, yes just one, magic meeting. 

I remember it still. It was that funny little two star hotel near 
Sheffield. I don't know why I stay there except it is just 
the right distance to stop, late at night when I am on the 
way back up after a pitch in London. I suppose I am an 
old customer, they could see I liked her, and they pulled 
out the stops. She had a dress in her bag,and somehow she 
just needed a touch of makeup and a glass of wine to switch 
to glamorous and sexy.  For me it was the setting. Put me in 
front of crisp linen and shining silver, and sophisticated but 
relaxed comes easy. Just for one night we all pretended it 
was the Ritz. 

In bed we could do no wrong. I just took what I wanted, 
forgetting the considerate bit, and discovered every time 
it was just what drove her wild. She let rip, indulged 
herself in that pet fantasy she had never dared touch 
before, and it was like I had a porn star in my bed. 

Even the next morning, the smiles were real. Yes, I could 
see that she was in her thirties not her twenties. Yes, it was 
obviouly apparent  that I was travelling sales rep not an 
executive business man, but even then the smiles were 
real.

So it was a shock when she looked wistfully at my card, 
then dropped it in the waste basket. "That wasn't really 
me, you know, last night," she explained gently. "And I don't 
think it was really you." She turned, on her way out, and 
kissed me lightly on the cheek. I was too surprised to 
object.  "That's the thing with a holiday romance. Keep 
the pictures, keep the memories, but don't forget to 
lose his number at the airport." 

Was she right, to give up on reality, even an uncertain one,
 for one perfect memory? I will never know. But up until 
recently, that memory was the best it had ever been.

So, with hitchers, it is not the chance of sex I am after. 
It is the company. What I need is someone next to me, 
a real live person with a different story and a life different 
from any other person - and the miles melt. The long 
boring hours on the motorway just disappear. I go for 
the girls, partly because usually they are less trouble - 
or there is less risk of trouble. And ... well I know I am 
not going to rape anyone, not even just give them grief. 
So each girl I pick up is one journey a girl does not 
have to make sitting next to some stranger, some 
man that I do not anything about. 

Still, it is difficult to pick the right one. It's the clothes the 
kids wear these days. Just look at that one. Could be a 
pro on the pull, a fourteen year old on the bunk from the 
local comp, or some stuck up piece from Cheltenham Ladies 
College in her latest grunge kit. Same gear would apply - 
stockings with big carefully spaced holes, short leather 
skirt, random layers on top. But by now I was slowing, 
and something in me had decided on that girl. I went with 
it. I still don't understand my gut instinct, or whatever 
you call it, but by now I know to trust it.

As she ran up to the door, slung her pack in the back 
seat and climbed in up front, I wondered what the clues 
were. Maybe the skirt - it was halfway up her thigh but 
not a bum freezer - maybe the tops, usual mix of string 
vest, waistcoat, mans shirt and a wrap - but somehow, the 
colours went together. No, it was the hair. Hacked, 
spiky, coloured - but she hadn't hidden that it was 
healthy and clean. That head had not been on the floor of 
too many squats.

"Um ... Hi. Thanks" she proffered, facing me. I smiled to 
myself as I picked up speed and slipped into a gap in the 
middle lane. Definitely Cheltenham not Dagenham.

"So. Going far? I'm Dan, by the way."

"Oh, yeah. Emily. Emily Bradshaw. I'm just aaah ... going 
North. I need to get to ... " her voice went blank.

"Nottingham?" I suggested.

"Oh, yes, how did you guess?" she shot back, too eagerly. 

Oh, easy enough girl. So, not running *to* somewhere, but 
definitely running. Running away from ... what? Who? 
"Just a lucky shot. So, looking forward to the weekend?"

"Maybe."

I sat back and let the silence wait to be filled. But nothing 
doing.

So, not a talker, then. Maybe a listener?

"Had enough of the big smoke, then? Wanting to get out 
into the countryside?" I probed for an opening.

"Not likely. I hate the country. Too many trees. Woods 
give me the heebie jeebies."

I smiled. "Oh, no. I like woods. I first met Chrissie in 
a wood." I paused, but no curiosity was offered, about 
the identity of Chrissie, or anything else. "It's quite a story. 
Do you want to hear it? Might pass the time." She shrugged, 
obviously unaware of the honour being proffered to her, 
and I settled down to get my thoughts in order.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Well it was maybe six months ago, I remember I had 
driven up extra early in case the traffic was bad, 
but it was fine. So there I was in Nottinghamshire with 
an hour to kill, and there on the map was a green bit 
labelled "Sherwood Forest". It had to be worth a look.

The car park was almost empty. Not surprising, at 10.00 
am on a Friday morning. Too late for the early dog 
walkers, and too early for the mums and kids. As I got 
out of the car I saw the signs to the sculpture park, so, 
curious and idle, I trundled along. As you walked through 
the trees, you came across these wacky "sculptures" 
carved out of stumps or logs. More jokes than art, but 
fun. I got out my new digital camera, and shot off a few 
surreal snaps. My favourite was the Axminster carpet 
carefully laid out like a living room, but with a tree 
growing out of the left hand corner. So who sweeps the 
leaves off to keep it looking good?

Then I struck off the track, to explore a bit and work my 
way back to the car park. I have a good sense of 
direction in woodland and the sun was bright enough to be 
a guide. As I pushed into a small glade I saw another 
"sculpture", and I had to stop and laugh. A big oak had 
been cut down leaving the log lying there, and all the 
branches trimmed except one small one, on what was now 
the top of the trunk. This had been cut short, and 
carefully carved ... into a phallus. 

The workmanship was superb. Slightly larger than life-
size (for me anyway!) beautifully detailed, proudly erect 
and leaning away from the vertical a little to follow the 
line of the original branch. There was even a suggestion 
of swelling testicles carved into the main trunk at its 
base. Someone had put a lot of time and care in to this. 
I bet the artist was gay. My one gay friend, Glenn has a 
fascination with phallic objects that I just cannot 
share. I think he gets as much kick from looking at them 
as I would from a woman's breasts or buttocks.

I reached to touch it, but drew back. The slick sheen 
brought out the grain of the wood beautifully, but who 
knew where it had been? Or rather, what had been on it? 
However I shot off a few snaps to show Glenn, and then 
set off to find my car, chuckling. Nice little example of 
two fingers to the world, and don't we all need that 
sometimes?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
I turned to look at her. Her eyes smiled back. This was the 
point where I needed to judge how it was going down, 
whether "X" rated was on the cards or not. Fortunately 
her grin said it all. This one was going to be game for 
whatever I wanted to throw at her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Unfortunately I met a deer fence a few minutes later. I 
knew I was going roughly in the right direction, but 
without a map or compass I was going to get lost and 
there was no point in wandering around hopefully. I 
decided to retrace my steps back to the main path.

It was easy enough to backtrack, but as I neared the 
little clearing I saw a splash of colour through the 
undergrowth. I slowed down, and stepped out quietly. 
There was a woman sitting astride THAT tree trunk. (I was 
sure it was the same one.) Slim, brunette, attractive 
rather than pretty, wearing a red and white summer dress 
and a slightly startled expression. She was not expecting 
to see me.

Nodding politely, I stepped across the glade. "Nice day" 
I suggested, strolling in her direction. There was no 
doubt about it. She had to be sitting right next to the 
thing. But I could not see it - it must be hidden under 
the skirt of her dress! "Unusual sculptures in these 
woods" I mentioned, making conversation. She glared, 
silently.

"Have you seen the one with the carpet?" I enquired. The 
chat was getting a little one sided. In fact she looked 
rather uncomfortable. The log was much too wide for her 
to reach the ground as she straddled it, and she had 
placed an offcut of wood on each side to stand on. Even 
then she was on tip toes, leaning forward with her weight 
on her hands in front of her. 

I grinned inwardly and stopped to look her in the eye. Of 
course she did not know that I knew what she was trying 
to hide. "That looks interesting. New form of exercises?" 
I smiled disarmingly and tried to spot the shape of the 
thing in the folds of her dress, without appearing to 
stare at her crotch. 

"Yes. Exercises." she replied. Icicles formed. "Ones that 
I prefer to do in private."

"Ah. Fine. Sorry to disturb you." I nodded again and 
wandered off on my way. She twisted around to follow my 
progress, but I was soon lost to view. Of course as soon 
as I was out of sight I doubled back, silently. 
Cautiously, I crept around to a point immediately behind 
her. Yes, I know, and I am not normally a peeping Tom, 
but I had to find out what she was up to.
 
What a sight. Well in fact it was not - UNLESS you knew 
what was under her skirt. Standing on tiptoe on those 
little log ends, she carefully raised herself up, leaning 
on her straight arms, rocked her hips - she had a very 
nice behind - and very slowly lowered her torso again. 
Surely not - yes - she must be on it! She had only 
impaled herself on that oversized carved wooden prick! 
Maybe she had even had it inside her when I stopped next 
to her - and I had only been feet away. I could hear the 
low gasp as she repeated the motion. There was no doubt 
at all. Right in front of me, a completely decent looking 
young woman was indulging in a very extreme bit of 
masturbation.

But after a few minutes, her movements changed. The 
sounds became almost desperate - there was a distinct 
"ouch" - and she was wriggling on stiff legs, on tip toe, 
straining upwards. As if she was trying to get off the 
thing - and could not quite make it. Wow. She was stuck. 
I stared in disbelief. This was ridiculous. I could only 
see her back, and I would see more flesh on any of the 
girls at the office, but ... watching her writhe, and 
knowing why ... Suddenly that carving was not the only 
wood hard prick around here.

A gentleman would of course, step forward and offer 
assistance. Or would that be the creep? In my head, good 
old fashioned embarrassment was fighting the horny desire 
to get closer.

The decision was made for me. Moving to one side to get a 
better view past the bush, I stepped on a twig. The snap 
seemed to echo around the woods, and she gasped in a 
different tone. "Who's there?" she demanded, twisting 
around to look over her shoulder. 

I stood up and stepped forward. Suddenly I was feeling 
brazen. After all, she was the one doing the dirty with a 
tree. And - yes - it was clearly still inside her. I 
strolled up, wondering whether she was going to admit 
what was going on.

Now I was enjoying myself. I remembered that time, years 
ago, when I had visited a clients office ahead of my 
appointment. Old eagle eyes spotted a pair of skimpy 
knickers drying on a radiator, and the very pink face on 
the pretty blonde secretary. I stood poker faced while 
she explained in embarrassed tones that Mr. what's-his-
name would be back soon. I had no idea what was going on 
but it was a delightful fifteen minutes while I made 
small talk to the blushing girl, who knew I knew she was 
not wearing anything under her pretty, short skirt.

"So, how is the exercising going?" I asked nonchalantly 
as I wandered around to lean against the log in front of 
her. Her dress, which was probably knee length, had 
ridden up her thighs and I could see the tension in her 
thigh muscles. She was gripping the log between her legs, 
trying to keep her body high. Mmm, shapely legs. Must 
actually use that gym membership.

"Just ... go... away." she jerked out through gritted 
teeth. I admired her face. Very nice. Restrained makeup 
and a simple but expensive hairdo. Late twenties or early 
thirties, I decided, and lower management, not your 
average secretary. A touch of class, although perhaps not 
looking her best right now.

"Hey, that's not very nice." I smiled. "I only came back 
to see if I could help. It sounded as if you were maybe 
having a spot of trouble." I wanted to give her every 
chance to ask for a hand.

"Why don't you f... f... f... " she faltered

"Fuck off?" I completed, grinning. She just glared. "Hmm. 
Not in the habit of saying fuck, are we? Go on, give it a 
shot. Feels great when things are rough."

If looks could kill. 

"Fuck off then!" she blurted out, then, amazingly, looked 
down as if embarrassed at what she had just said. How 
could *that* embarrass her when ... I chuckled.

"First time to say the F word. Well done. And first time 
to impale yourself on an oakwood prick?" She gasped and 
looked up at me, open mouthed. "Hey, it's okay. I know 
it's there; I was admiring it myself, only ten minutes 
ago." I winked. "Me, I don't care how people get their 
jollies, and it just seemed to me that you could do with 
some help."

Her head dropped and her shoulders sagged. "Oh, God, I 
didn't mean to ... it was just so ... and now ... " I saw 
the tear trickling down the side of her cheek. All right, 
time to stop playing the bastard.

"Don't worry. Here, grab hold." I reached round her to 
fasten my hands together under her armpit on the far 
side, and took her weight. Nice load to be squeezing 
against my chest. "Hup we go." 

But it was not going to be so easy. "Ow!" she gasped as I 
tried to lift her. The log was too wide and because I was 
heaving from the side I could not help pulling her 
sideways. "Oh ow ow ... WOAH!" I stop and held her. "Put 
me -ow- down -ow- put me back -ah" she panted. Really 
carefully I moved her back but kept one arm around her to 
steady her.

"Maybe I should take a look to see what's going on" I 
suggested, and lifted the hem of the dress with my free 
hand. 

She shrieked. "Don't you dare!" She moved her weight, and 
lifted her right hand as if to strike at me. But it was 
back on the log and she was wincing in pain before I 
could flinch. "Just f... f... f... bugger off. You're 
making it worse!" she cried, and staring at my crotch 
continued "You don't want to help, you just want to get 
up my dress!" Okay, caught red handed, the tent in my 
trousers spoke for itself. But can't a guy be altruistic 
at the same time? "Now GO AWAY - before I call the cops."

So much for the knight in shining armour. Some people 
wouldn't say thanks if you pissed on them to put them out 
if they were on ... no, that didn't come out right ... 
well you know what I mean. I disentangled my arm, swung 
on my heel, and marched off, not even looking behind. 

But not too far. Before there was too much greenery 
between us, my feet slowed down of their own accord. Or 
more likely my prick had found a way to chat to them 
without my being involved. This was no time to stand on 
my dignity. Whether she wanted it or not, that girl 
needed my help. And then another thought popped into my 
head. The camera. Pictures! Why I hadn't thought of it 
before, God only knows. Well, God or my prick. I 
hesitated, then grabbed it and ventured back.

I had the camera raised before she heard me. Through the 
viewfinder I saw her look up - and the expression of 
dismay that filled her face. As I took the first one she 
cried out "No!". She twisted away as if to hide her face 
and then screamed, as her feet slipped and both blocks of 
wood flew away from the log. She was now supported on 
only the grip of her thighs on the rough bark, her 
outstretched hands and .. the thing in her cunt. 

I lowered the camera and walked up to her, considering my 
move. I couldn't really leave her there, but on the other 
hand ... "Okay. Do want help or not?"

"Ow ... oww ... owwww " she hissed. She was crying 
properly now, tears streaming. "No. Go away! ... just ... 
Yes, please ... please ... I'm sorry ... oww ... I didn't 
mean it ... ohhh ... please help me." 

"All right, but now there's a price."

"Yes, whatever you like, anything!"

"You sure? You haven't heard what .."

"ANYTHING!" she shouted, turning to stare into my eyes. 
Wow. She was gorgeous close up. How could I refuse? 

I stepped up to her to grab her under the armpits, but the 
log was in the way and the angle was all wrong. I could 
support her but I could not lift her. She raised one arm 
with a gasp and wrapped it around my neck.

"Okay, can you hold on by yourself for ten seconds?" I 
asked, suddenly sure of what to do. She nodded, wincing.

I slipped out of her arm and leapt over to the pile of 
logs. Grabbing two decent ones, I jammed first one then 
the other under her dangling feet. The ones I had chosen 
were much bigger than hers; taller, wider and more 
stable. "Try that. Stand!" I commanded, and leant over to 
help her up.

Now she could get her heels down onto the wood and stand 
properly. Her knees were still bent, but I could tell her 
weight was secure as she gingerly lifted her hands off 
the log. Then she straightened her back and pulled her 
arms up and behind her to stretch. It was as if the 
weight of the world lifted off her shoulders. She quickly 
put her hands back on the bark in front of her, but I 
could see her groin was now a couple of inches off the 
trunk. "Ohhh ... Christ that's better."

"So, don't you want to know what you've agreed to?" I 
asked.

She looked me in the eyes. Beautiful big, brown eyes. 
Time froze, then she blinked. "Oh, yes, I suppose so."

"Well, you have to go out with me." She nodded and 
shrugged. "And ..." I wondered how far I could push it. 
"You have to have sex with me."

She stared, frowned, and then, amazingly, snorted in 
amusement. "I don't believe it. So this is what it takes 
to get a decent man interested!" I must have looked 
puzzled. "Do you know how long ... I mean, why do you 
think ... well, anyway, yes. Whatever you say." She 
wriggled her shoulders, and then (lovely to watch) the 
rest of her. "I'm okay now for the moment" ... another 
wriggle  ... "So what now?"
 
My heart banging, I reached out to touch her smooth 
cheek. She jerked her head away but then, looking me in 
the eye, brought it back. I smiled as I stroked her face 
with the back of my hand. She did not move her body. Of 
course not. I shifted around, and sat down on the log, 
this time behind her. She gave up the effort to follow me 
over her shoulder, and dropped her head down. As I 
touched her shoulder, it jerked back up. "What ... what 
... ?"

"This is quite interesting. You can't move, can you?" I 
pointed out, gently, stroking her bare neck. "Shushhh. 
Relax. It's all going to be alright" I murmured, running 
my hands over her shoulders. They tensed instead and she 
winced as she tried to twist her head round. I carried on 
down her back. Christ, she was gorgeous. Warm skin and 
smooth firm back muscles beneath the cotton under my 
fingers. 

"Hey, I didn't say ... What do you think ... OH!" I undid 
the top button at the back of her neck, and then carried 
on down with the others. It seemed natural to undo the 
bra strap as it offered itself up on the way past. Oddly, 
she stopped protesting and by the time I undid the last 
one, at her waist, she was just panting quietly. Nice 
tan, and the back muscles gliding under her skin felt as 
good as they looked.

"Now, let's see what's going on under here, shall we?" I 
murmured as I lifted the hem of the dress.

"NO! You're not ... you wouldn't ..." she cried and 
twisted, but of course it was completely useless because 
by the time she had the words out the dress was up and 
over her head. She shook it, almost as if to help and I 
dragged it off her shoulders and down to her hands. 

Wow. Except for her shoes, she was completely naked. The 
bra was mixed up in her dress, but where ... ? Then I saw 
the knickers, on the far side of the log, draped over her 
abandoned handbag. I leaned down to collect them. 

"Well, well, well. " I mused, as I extricated the bra 
from her dress and then laid the two undergarments out on 
the bark in front of her. " Such a polite young lady, who 
would have thought it?" I stepped back to admire the 
view. It was certainly worth it. Very nice breasts; not 
overly large, but the way she was leaning forward made 
them hang out just perfectly. Nipples very erect. Tight 
waist, an athlete's torso. Good legs; long, slim, nice 
muscle tone, and tanned like her back. Bikini shadow in 
the tan on her body, so it wasn't a sun bed job - where 
had she been on holiday in March?

But wait. Eyes shut, she was blushing. Not just her face 
but all down her chest. I stepped up  to her and, leaning 
against her shoulder, reached round to brush my fingers 
along her lips. Groaning something unintelligible she 
kissed and sucked my fingers. All by themselves, two of 
them just slipped right into her mouth. The feel of her 
urgent slippery tongue writhing on them was so intimate 
it was intoxicating.  I dropped the other hand down to 
tug at the nipple waiting there. She gasped and leant 
against me. 

Pulling myself off her, I stepped back. Wow. What did I 
have here. First I just had to let my cock out. I could 
not help smiling at her expression as her eyes fastened 
on it. "Hey, look what you do to me, eh? But that's for 
later, girl," I said. She shuddered and blushed again, 
but looked up into my eyes. Still gazing into hers I could 
see she had started a slow rocking motion again on the 
prick that *was* in her. "So," I murmured casually "you 
going to try and get off right in front of me?"

"Oh, no ... but ... Pl ... please ... don't ... d ... " 
she groaned, her eyes still locked in mine. I reached out 
with both hands and just brushed both nipples with the 
backs of my fingers, then drew them back as she tried to 
push her front at me to increase the contact. She was 
panting now. "Oh ... hah ... please ... hah ... pl ... 
please ... you mustn't ... " I drew back again and once 
more moved around behind her, while her eyes dragged her 
head around to follow me. The two halves of her bottom 
were so soft, so spherical, delightfully split and 
stretched out by the enormous log between her thighs. 
With one hand I caressed her back before sliding my touch 
down and around the curves of her bottom.

As I bent down to let my hand slip under her backside, I 
leant my face against her shoulder blade. Mmmm, the warm 
salty smell of aroused woman-skin. I slowly ran the tip 
of my tongue along the bottom edge of the shoulder blade 
and felt her back quiver at its wet touch. With my 
left hand I could now feel the wooden shaft under her. My 
fingers wrapped around it while my thumb just naturally 
lined up against the soft pucker of her asshole. My right 
hand I let drift around to her front, and dragged my 
fingertips along the insides of both her thighs before 
feeling gently for the cunt lips between them.

It was amazing. I could feel them stretched tight across 
that wooden pole I began tostroke them against the timber. 
Now she was moaning - what must she be feeling? Gently 
grazing her shoulder with my teeth, I lightly stroked her 
cunt lips from behind with the forefinger of my left 
hand, and pushed softly against her rosebud hole with my 
thumb. The top of it just popped in, and now I could feel 
the hardness of the thing inside her as I pushed against 
it. She groaned more loudly, and shook her head from side 
to side. My other fingertips, now wet and slippery, found 
the clit at her front. It was way out of its hood, hot, 
proud and swollen, as if pushed out by what was inside 
her. 

Carefully, teasingly, I slid one finger around the little nubin.
She was making little high pitched moans now, "Aah ...
aah ... aah" as I slipped my finger up and down in time with 
her panting. And each stroke, her whole body flexed and 
slid up and down, just a fraction, on the wooden stick 
stretching her. She was part sitting on the fist of my left 
hand under her, and ... God, I could feel the taught 
slippery lips of her cunt slide on the smooth wood each 
time.

I had meant to toy with her more, but it was as if I 
could not stand it any longer either. Somehow holding her 
to me, I slowly ground her clit into her, squeezing 
against the pubic bone, pushing that against the inhuman 
prick in her, while pushing the other way from the back. 
Her flesh was trapped, there was no where to go except 
explosion, and explode she did. Every convulsion must 
have been agony and ecstasy. I could just feel the 
implacable hardness of the unyielding wood as her 
internal muscles spasmed in involuntary constrictions 
around it. 

She had collapsed. Somehow her arm was around my neck, 
there was a noise ... "Ahhhhhh .... ahhhhhh .....  " It 
was her moaning quietly, in discomfort now. 

"Come on, straighten your legs," I encouraged her, and 
wrapped both arms right around her. "You can do it .." 
and we were off. Sitting on the ground, her in my lap, my 
back against the log and I think neither of us quite sure 
how we got there. 

It was ridiculous. I felt as if I had cum, not her. I had 
a rock hard prick, I had not got any action, and all I 
could think as I sat there with that soft form in my lap, 
was the beautiful feel of the load in my arms. After a few 
minutes she stirred and looked up at me. " ... you going 
to f ... fuck me now?" she asked, as if this was a formality. 
I nodded, wordlessly, and for some reason she gave a happy 
sigh as I stretched her out on the damp grass.

Rose petals. Rose petals and whipped cream was what her 
cunt felt like, as I delicately stroked in and out of 
her, so careful not to hurt the bruised flesh inside. I 
softly kissed her eyebrows, her nose, keeping my weight 
off the tender body laid out beneath me, as the  pressure 
built. I came in seconds, it seemed, as she gazed up at 
me and I pumped months of frustration and lonely nights 
into her softness.

When I came to my senses I was lying back, spent, and her 
face was glowing as she gently moved over me. She 
murmured and hummed, softly kissing parts of 
me now and then, touching my clothes and my body with 
tentative fingers, and all the while gazing at me with, 
well frankly, adoration. 

So, what do you do? Break the spell or keep dreaming?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

And there was the sign. East Leicster Services, half a 
mile. That is the magic of having an audience - one and 
three quarter hours gone, effortlessly and now we were 
nearly there. 

"I'll drop you at the service station" I told the silent 
girl next to me, as I searched for a gap in the traffic 
in the inside lane. There, in front of that blue van. 

"I don't understand. What ... what happened to her?" 
she asked. "Did she fall for you, then?" Count down 
markers, and I put the indicators on. 

"Fall for me?" I mused. "I suppose so. Who knows how a 
woman's mind works? Or her heart? Hell if I knew how my 
heart worked it would be a good place to start." It is 
funny how the slip road and the entrance stick in your 
memory and become familiar. It's only trees, a bit of 
road and some signage. Yet if you drove me into any 
service station on the M1 I could tell you which one it 
was, instantly.

I carried on talking, as I picked my way around the car 
park. "She refused to get dressed when I took her back to 
my car, and we left hers there. I cancelled my 
appointment, and I never did find out where she should 
have been. Nine times we did it that weekend, at her 
place, even though she was so sore we had to use every hole in turn. We did not get dressed until Monday morning."

The girl was looking at me quizzically now, half turned 
in her seat. "You're joking. After doing that to her, she 
let you  ... you're pulling my leg."

"So, it's her birthday next week." I carried on, 
regardless. "It has been six months, and we are going out 
to celebrate at a nice little place she knows. It is my 
treat, but I let her choose - she is good with stuff like 
that. And I am heading back to Sherwood forest, to get 
her a present - with a chain saw in the boot. You see, I 
bet I can find the log again. I think I need to cut out a 
piece about six inches deep and two feet long, to make 
the whole thing portable but stable. I might even tie a 
pink ribbon around it, you know, just for effect."

Stunned silence for a minute. Then "You mean ... you mean 
you're together? An item!"

I shrugged and wound around the parking lanes "Yep, I'm 
as amazed as you. Hell, I am good at the chat up, and I 
get on with people but I know my limits. If I had met 
Chrissie at some do and made a play for her she wouldn't 
have looked at me twice."

That space there, I thought, stopped the car, and twisted 
round to reverse in. I switched off the engine, and the 
car ticked as things cooled down somewhere inside. The 
silence seemed so loud. "Look, it's like this. She loves 
being with me, she says, because I respect her in public, 
and control her in private. Well, what is there not to 
respect? She is good looking, smart, and  I can see she 
is going to be head of that personnel department in a 
year. Way out of my class."  I shrugged, and looked out 
at the grey sky. "Yet apparently every man she has tried 
before, ended up putting her down, or screwing her 
around. She excuses them, thinks it was because they felt 
threatened by her, but I reckon she just chose shits in 
the first place. Some girls instinctively go for the 
arrogant prick every time, especially if they have a 
subconscious need to be dominated."

I faced my hitchhiker, and watched her mouth the word to 
herself. Dominated. "And in private? What guy would not 
hang on to a girl who basically gets off just on doing 
what he says, the more extreme the better? You better 
believe this - I fuck her senseless every weekend, and 
every weekend I thank my lucky stars, and the stupidity 
of the jerks she seemed to be attracted to before."

She was studying my face. "What do you mean, gets off on 
doing what you say? What, like, submissive?"

I wondered whether to explain, or fob her off. I returned 
her gaze, levelly. "Before I get to her flat this 
evening, I'll give her a bell, to warn her ten minutes 
earlier." I sat back again, and held the wheel, talking 
to the windscreen as the image formed in my mind. "When I 
open the front door, I will go straight through to the 
living room. She will be there, kneeling on a silk 
cushion in the centre, facing the window, facing away 
from the room door. Naked."

A pause, for effect. "Well, maybe some jewellery, usually 
a necklace or a waist chain."

The silence was so hard you could feel it and I realised 
the girl was holding her breath. "She won't raise her 
eyes from the floor. I will wander around, make myself a 
whiskey and soda, and stretch out on the sofa. Maybe I'll 
kick my shoes off, and check the newspaper headlines."

In a voice you would use in a cathedral she whispered 
"And she ... just sits there?"

I grinned to the windscreen. "Oh yes. And as I walk past, 
perhaps my trouser cuff brushes the curve of her 
backside. Or I toy with the lock of hair on her shoulder. 
Well, how I long I hold out varies. " My voice dropped an 
octave "And then I pick her up and put her on the bed 
... or across the back of the sofa .. or on her back on the 
kitchen table" now I was growling "and I slam into her. 
God, I fuck her so hard."

She was frozen, her eyes down and her hands holding the 
sides of the seat. No, not quite frozen. Her knees, which 
were perhaps six inches apart, were swaying. Each breath, 
they moved out, and then back in. I could not pull my 
eyes away. The hem of her skirt was pulled tight across 
her legs with each wave, and then relaxed back into a 
valley. The shadow cast on the inside of her thighs swept
up and down, the only movement on her smooth pale
skin. Some where I could feel an animal, breathing.

Not looking up she muttered into the silence. "They do 
rooms here. In the Holiday Inn, over there." I looked at 
her face and she turned, to gaze up into my eyes. Nothing 
is so intimate, so scarily vulnerable, as eyes lost in yours 
that reveal their hunger, that hold on for too long, that 
tell you she will do anything. I had to look away first. 
In the aching pause she whispered "I'm not ... I mean ... 
you know, I wouldn't expect any money."

I sat back.

One of the secrets of being a good sales rep is an eye 
for the deal that is the real winner, the one that no-one 
should refuse. The gift of knowing a good thing 
when you see one - it is amazing how few people have it.

"Sorry love" I said gently, putting one hand on hers. She 
sagged. "You don't want me. You want a boy who will 
actually like you. Maybe love you." Her head was waving 
from side to side in denial. "Come on, get your gear. 
This time of day it will be easy to get a lift from 
here." Eyes glistening, she started to move around, 
collecting things, avoiding looking at me. 

I wondered about money. She wouldn't have enough, but 

there was no way I would get her to accept anything, not 
even a tenner.

With her stuff on her lap, and her hand on the door 
handle, I reached out to stop her. "Hey, will you do me a 
favour?" She glowered, but then relaxed, shrugged and 
nodded. "You don't sleep rough. You're from a place where 
they looked after you." She stared ahead, unresponsive. 
"I won't ask what got screwed up, but you know that 
somewhere deep down they love you. Someway, you love 
them. When you get in there, just give them a ring. Don't 
explain, or apologise, or even say where you are. But let 
them know you breathe."

Slowly, very slowly, she nodded. Then twisted, reached 
over the back of the seat to grab her pack, opened the 
door and stepped out. She was five paces away before she 
stopped, and waltzed back to me. Oddly, she was looking 
cheerful again. I dropped the window and she leaned in to 
look at me.

"In the boot" with a shake of the head towards the back, 
"is there really a chainsaw?"

I smiled as I had an idea. "Guess." She frowned in mock 
disapproval. "Go on, make a guess. Tell you what. You get 
it right, you win ... " I twisted to fish out my wallet, 
and poked around to flick up a note "a twenty. You get it 
wrong, I win a kiss." 

She rolled her eyes and teased "Wow, surprise surprise. 
You dream that up all by yourself?"

"Never mind that. You game or not?"

She stood up out of sight and I could hear her fingers 
drumming on the roof. She leant back in again and stated 
"In. It's there. There is a chainsaw."

I laughed softly. "Well done. You win." and held up the 
note. "And, where ever you go, whoever you're with, never 
think that it's only the jerks who are exciting. Every 
good guy has a dark side if you know where to dig." She 
looked at me in surprise, and then unexpectedly, grinned 
back. 

"Sod it" she said and leaning right in, twisted around to 
kiss me delicately on the lips. Her hair brushed against 
my face and the smell of her shampoo filled my nostrils - 
then was gone. 

"Goodbye Emily Bradshaw" I called out, as she stepped 
away from the car, away from me. 

She slowed but did not stop or turn. "Goodbye, Mr 
Woodsman. I hope she likes it." she called, over her 
shoulder. And then she was gone, tousled head getting 
lost over the car roofs as she skipped towards the 
McDonalds.

And was there a chainsaw? Of course not, although you 
might say some of the characters were based on real life. 
Good story too, for an improvisation. Chrissie will love 
it. I might even try it out on the ASSTR site. 

The bet? I'm a salesman. I have to know how people will 
jump. Of course she thought it was a bluff - don't forget 
she didn't ask to check - but she was always going to 
guess that I was after the kiss. 

So what had we won, she and I, and what had we lost? In 
the end, nothing that matters. An hour older, maybe an 
hour wiser. Nothing else.

Now I'm swinging out of the carpark and remembering that 
it's quicker not to go past the petrol. Twenty minutes if 
I don't get held up on the A52. I will give her a buzz 
when I get to J25. Or maybe a mile after the junction. 
That will give her about eight minutes - say two to 
change, three to arrange the living room, three to wait. 
It's been two weeks and I don't want to have her hanging 
there too long. 180 seconds is along time when you are on 
tenderhooks. I can tell when it is just right from the 
damp patch on the silk cushion. My body remembers and 
parts of it start to wake up in anticiation. Impatient, 
my foot presses down on the accelerator and I swing out 
into the fast lane. 

Oh, yes, I know a good thing when I see one. One day I 
might tell you the real story of how Chrissie and I met.

THE END

I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Drop me a line to 
'oldsofty  @  hotmail.co.uk' (don't forget to remove the spaces)
let me know where you liked it
let me know why you hated it
and let me know what *you* found in the woods.