Hitchhiker

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, .

Desc: Sex Story: He saw a pretty woman trying to hitchhike her way to New York. He gave her a ride and found out more about the impossible mission she was going to achieve. She couldn't even afford a room for a night in a big city unfamiliar to her. What's he going to do?

Disclaimer: This story is a fiction. It does not relate to any real incidences or real persons. This work contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity. Anyone who may be offended by such contents, or persons forbidden by law or any regulations, should not read or download this story. Re-distribution, posting, and anything other than for personal enjoyment are subject to explicit authorization by the author.


Franc saw her standing on the paved shoulder, right after he made a turn into William Flynn highway.

"Good luck," Franc muttered to himself, "hitchhike isn't a feasible thing nowadays; it's the eighties, not the sixties anymore." He took a look at the dashboard clock, it was close to four-thirty in the afternoon.

Franc was driving from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back to New York City where he worked and lived. Despite his purpose of going to Pittsburgh was to attend one of his uncle's funeral, he didn't feel sad, not at all. Franc had seven uncles, fifteen if half-uncles were included. Franc had never been close to them, except Uncle Luigi, whom Franc had inherited his wealth.

Franc got out a cigarette, and habitually reached for his lighter from his pocket, although the lighter in his car was equally within reach. His lighter wasn't in his watch pocket. Franc searched all his pockets, he glanced through his car, no sign of his lighter.

"Fuck! Must had been left in that coffee shop I ate the meal," he muttered. It was a Dupont lighter he bought a couple months ago, not very expensive, cost him less than $600, but still upset him for losing another lighter. "May be I'm lucky, may be they didn't know it's a Dupont." Franc told himself.

Franc took the next exit and went back. It was indeed his lucky day. The waitress smiled at him the moment she saw him, and gave him back his lighter. Franc tipped her with a twenty dollar bill and thanked her again.

Franc saw the hitchhiker again when he came back to William Flynn highway. She was still there, same pose with her thumb pointing behind herself. "Since it's my lucky day, I'll make it your lucky day," Franc told himself. He pulled over and stopped his car on the paved shoulder. He saw from the mirror she was joking from behind, carrying a big bag.

"Where're you going?" Franc asked, after the glass on the passenger side window was wound down.

"New York City," she said, "Where're you going?" A pretty face came into his view. She was a typical blonde, long straight hair flowing down beside her face, brown eyebrows, blue eyes, and thin lips.

"May be I'll get even more luckier," Franc told himself. "It's your lucky day, come on in," Franc said, as he pressed the button to release the central lock.

"Seems so, thanks," the blonde opened the door and came in. She buckled up with the bag on her lap.

"You can drop the bag at the backseat," Franc said.

"Thanks," She said, and carefully raised her bag between them and tossed it on the floor behind the front seat.

"How long have you been here?" Franc asked as he merged into the traffic.

"Quite a while," the blonde said.

"It's a Sunday, less trucks, right?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't seen any hitchhiker for ages, it's equally dangerous for the hitchhikers and the drivers."

"I hope I don't look dangerous," she said with a smile.

"No, you don't," Franc said, as he took a look at her. She was wearing a loose tee-shirt and jeans, which couldn't hide her nice figure. She looked like she was in her twenties. "I hope I'm not as well," he added.

"Well, you're driving a Mercedes S-class, you don't need to be dangerous to me," she said, and smiled at him again.

Franc turned around and gave her a complimentary look. "You know car pretty well, huh?" he said.

"Not at all," she said, "Everyone can tell this is a Mercedes."

"But not the model," he said.

"They look a little different," she said, "By the way, I'm Debbie."

"I'm Francesco, but call me Franc," he said. He pulled out a cigarette, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No, not at all," Debbie said, "Italian?"

"Yeah, you?" He said as he wounded down the glass and reached for his lighter.

"Well, I have all kinds of Caucasian gene in my blood," Debbie said smilingly. "Do you mind if I have one... from you?" She asked.

"No, of course no," Franc said, and passed her the pack.

"I can light up yours for you," Debbie offered, as she leaned forward to press on the lighter in the console.

"Okay, thanks," Franc passed her his cigarette and his lighter.

"S.T. Dupont Ligne series. You live a dainty life," She said, grinning at him. With a melodious "Cling" sound, she flipped the cover open and lighted up a cigarette, passed it to him, another one for herself, and gave him back his lighter. She wound the window down on her side.

"I'm impressed, Debbie," Franc said as he put back his lighter, "What do you do for a living?"

"Singer at a club," Debbie said slowly, "You?"

"Real estate," Franc said. Her profession made him pondered a bit. Why would a singer need to travel with hitchhiking. "Visiting friends?" He asked.

Debbie thought for a moment. "Looking for a job," she said slowly.

"You're moving there?" Franc asked, while trying his best to hide his disbelief.

"Yes," Debbie said, looking out the window. She continued after a while, "and yes, this is all I have. I'm broke."

Franc sensed that it wasn't a smart idea to continue talking about herself. "So you have friends or relatives in New York?" He asked.

"No," Debbie said, after a while.

Franc didn't know how to carry on with the talk. He drove on without saying anything. Franc knew he had probably came along a situations he didn't want to hear.

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Debbie said.

"Very true," Franc said. He believed he had underestimated this woman. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-six, you?"

"Thirty-six."

"Married?"

"No," Franc said.

"Girl friend?"

"No,"

"I can't believe it."

"Why?"

"You lead a nice life, you have a nice job, and you look... nice."

"I look nice?"

"Well, you're not handsome, you're not muscular, you have a tummy, but you still look nice," She said with a smile.

He laughed. "Actually I had been dating two sisters separately at the same time. They found out, and I ended up with nothing," he said, "That was around a year ago."

She laughed. "Next time go for cousins," she said.

He laughed. "Sure," He said.

Franc kept on driving until he saw a service area along I-78E. "I need to refill the gas and use the restroom." He said, and then pulled the car into the ramp, found the parking lot, and parked the car. They went for the restrooms.

"Want a coffee?" He asked her when her reappeared from the restroom.

"Thanks," Debbie said with a smile. She switched to look at the menu above the food counter.

"Want something to eat?" Franc asked.

Debbie hesitated for a bit, "No," she said.

Franc started walking towards the counter, but stopped on a flash in his mind. He turned around. "Debbie, I hope you don't mind, do you have your meal yet?" He asked.

She slowly shook her head.

"I'll buy you something, what do you want?"

"Anything is fine," she said, and began chewing her lip.

Franc could tell, from the way she ate, that she didn't have food for, well hopefully, just that day. She ate in silence, and he watched in silence, in the dinning area. He started to feel sorry, or worried, or both, about her. He couldn't imagine how she could survive her stay in New York without friends and relatives, if spending for a meal in a service area meant so much for her.

"Thanks," Debbie said, after she finished her meal. Her eyes were a little wet.

Franc patted her on the shoulder. They continued their trip after refilling gas at the service station.

"I don't mean to be nosy," Franc said after a while, "but where are you staying tonight?"

Debbie inhaled the cigarette that he gave her deeply, and said, "I'll figure out."

"How much money do you have?" He asked. He knew he should not have asked, but he couldn't help.

Debbie finished her cigarette slowly before she replied. "Thirty-seven fifty-five," she said, "and, please don't worry, like I said, where there's a will, there's a way."

Franc had a lot in mind which he had wanted to say, or to ask, but he drove the rest of the trip in silence, except the occasionally offers of cigarettes and her thank-you responses.

It was close to ten o'clock when they saw city lights rising from the horizon. Franc was close to home again.

"Debbie, I live by himself, in an apartment. I have a spare room which you can stay for tonight, if you trust me," Franc offered. He had run this idea in his mind several times during the silence trip, and he knew it wasn't a bright idea, but he couldn't scrap the idea; he didn't know why.

Debbie hesitated for a while. "I trust you. You're the nicest guy I've seen in ages," she said in a low voice, "As a matter of fact, I can pay you if you want."

Franc turned over to look at her. She was looking at him. "No," he said. He knew what she meant. In fact, at the time Franc picked her up, that was his wish; he wasn't a virtuous man. However, offering a room for a night in return for sex wasn't the way he would expect or wanted.

"I'm sorry," Debbie dropped her head.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic /