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.