It was going to be a long week, and it hadn't started off well. The conference room my company would be using for management meetings was booked for a wedding reception, so I couldn't get in to set up until ten o'clock. The hotel staff said not to worry, they had all of our requirements and I'd been over the layout we wanted with the assistant manager a dozen times. But it wasn't their ass that would be on the line if it got screwed up. So I spent two hours supervising their crew and finally got the chair count right and the sound system and video working properly around midnight. The hotel was really spread out, with the lobby and conference center near the highway and the rooms in clusters of two-story units. My room was about a quarter of a mile from the conference center so I'd driven over; my Yukon jammed with boxes of brochures and other gear.
There was a bar off the lobby, and since I needed a beer I wandered in. The place was really hopping, but it was apparently popular mainly with the local younger set. The music was too loud and there was no place to sit. So I bought a beer at the bar and watched the action on the dance floor. At forty-two I was about twice the age of the rest of the patrons. Most of the boys wore baggy jeans and muscle shirts, with lots of tattoos and two-tone hair. The girls all had pierced navels; you could tell because they were wearing those jeans with no waistband or pockets, cut so low you could see the tops of their panties. The dancing was energetic, with plenty of grinding, crotch to crotch or better yet with the girl leaning over and rubbing her ass all over the front of the guy. I'd paid big money for lap dances that had less contact.
It was obvious that I wasn't going to get in on any of that action, so when I finished my second beer I made my way back out to the parking lot and my now empty Yukon for the short drive to my room. I'd only had two beers but was still being careful, which was why I saw the back-up lights flash on a sporty little blue Chevy coupe just before it started to jerk out of its parking space directly into my path. A blast from my horn stopped it in time, and I eased around its rear bumper experiencing that little rush you get when you narrowly avoid an accident. At the end of the aisle I eased over a speed bump and then stopped at the entrance to the ring road around the complex, trying to remember which way my room was. Left, I decided and started to pull forward as I felt the impact. Bamm! Someone had rear-ended me; not hard but bad enough to make it a big damn problem that was going to keep me up for an hour of police reports and other crap I sure didn't need.
I looked in the rear-view mirror and started to curse silently. It was that damn blue Chevy again, like warning that asshole once wasn't enough. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, reminding myself about all the people killed every year in road rage incidents. Then I grabbed a pen and some paper out of my console and climbed out to confront my tormentor, hoping they had insurance.
The other driver was already out of the Chevy. I relaxed, it was a girl and she was by herself so a road rage confrontation was unlikely. She was leaning over her front bumper, studying the damage. She looked up, all teary and frantic as I approached.
"I didn't see you. It was so dark and you like slammed on your brakes!" she wailed.
"Whoa. Hold on little lady. I was completely stopped when you hit me. Didn't you see that stop sign?"
I was starting to get angry again. The girl looked like she might be twenty; I looked at her outfit and figured out what happened. Low-slung jeans that barely covered her crotch, a little sleeveless top that said "Perfect" in pink cursive across her tits, and eyes that weren't focusing very well. This bitch was from the hotel bar, and she'd had more to drink than I had. As I looked her over, the girl slumped against the front fender of her car and buried her face in her hands.
"My dad is going to kill me! I'm going to be so grounded," she sobbed, then looked up. "Do we have to report it? I mean, it doesn't look that bad."
I nodded my head. "I'm afraid so. Just the damage to the bumpers will cost more than five hundred bucks so we've got to have a police report. First things first though. I need your license and insurance card."
She went over and retrieved a tiny purse from the front seat of the Chevy and rummaged in her glove compartment. There was plenty of light from a big overhead mercury vapor lamp to see the cards she handed me. A current insurance card from a reputable company and a license that said her name was Christine Swanson, nineteen years old last December, five foot five and a hundred and ten pounds. She looked taller, but the open-toed sandals with the two-inch soles accounted for that. She was slumped against her fender again ignoring me, so I took the opportunity to study her more carefully. Christine had thick reddish blonde hair that was pulled into a ponytail that fell past her shoulders. There was about a nine-inch gap between the little white top and her jeans, revealing an ever-so-slightly-pudgy midsection and the glint of the jewelry she wore in her belly button.
"Look, Christine. You understand that this isn't my fault. Reporting the accident is the law," I said. All the anger I felt earlier was gone. She nodded, biting her lower lip.
"You've been drinking, haven't you?" I asked. She nodded again.
"Damn. That's a problem," I said.
"You think the cops will be able to tell?" she asked, this new threat suddenly dawning on her. The punishment from her father paled next to a DUI conviction.
"You were coming out of a bar, and if I can tell the cops probably will too. What's the drinking age in this state?" Christine didn't answer, her eyes wide.
"Hey, do we have to call the cops right away? I mean, I only had like three or four beers and I was here a couple of hours. If we waited an hour maybe I'd sober up enough to fool the cops," she said, mind racing. I shook my head.
"I've got to work in the morning, Christine. I can't just stand around here for an hour."
The tears started again, and I began to feel guilty about the trouble the girl was facing. And then it hit me. I had always been a little slow on the uptake where women were involved. I studied Christine again in a completely different light. The little top was cut low enough to reveal some impressive cleavage, and her midriff wasn't really pudgy. There was just a tiny little roll at her hips, probably because the jeans were so tight, and the bulge below her navel was a normal vestige of teen babyfat. Her legs were slim, thickening just a little at the thighs. Her shoulders showed a hint of muscle at the biceps, tapering to long slender arms. Christine wasn't what you'd call a classic beauty but she had big eyes, green according to her driver's license, a slim little upturned nose and very nice cheekbones. Add in a nice set of full lips and a mouth that was maybe a touch small for her face and the overall effect was very pleasing.
"Umm. On the other hand, maybe we could wait a while," I said. The girl looked up hopefully, wiped a hand at her eyes and worked up a smile.
"Really? You'd do that?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure. But it's kind of chilly out here and if we're standing around too long someone's going to think there's a problem." I glanced around; our cars were already at the curb and there was plenty of room to get around them. Besides, it was the back way out of the lot and it didn't seem to get much traffic this late. Christine was frowning; puzzled by the problem I'd raised.
"We could wait in my car," I said, my voice sounding huskier than I'd intended.
"Well, okay. If you think that's better," she said, and started to walk around toward the passenger side.
"No!" I said, a little too loud. Recovering, I smiled reassuringly. "I mean, we're not driving, so just get in here." I reached for the rear driver's side door. "There's more room in the back seat anyway."
Christine's eyes clouded a bit, feeling threatened, but then she smiled as she started to catch on. I opened the door and she stepped up on the running board and ducked to climb in. When she leaned over, the top strap of her panties peeked up over the waist of her jeans. White against her tanned lower back, the fabric glistened in the light. A thin band from hip to hip, and another narrow strip tucked into the crack of her ass. God, I loved thong panties. Christine sat, then scooted over to the passenger side to make room for me. I followed her, settling in with my right thigh pressed against her left leg.
"Well, that's better," I said. The smell of Christine's perfume filled the confined space. I let my eyes drift from hers, down to her mouth.
"You're one hell of a good-looking girl, Christine," I whispered. She smiled awkwardly, and before I lost my nerve I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were incredibly soft, and moist with a lip-gloss that tasted of strawberries. Christine sat perfectly still, responding politely but not enthusiastically. I reached around her and put my right hand on her slender shoulder, my breath catching as I felt the smooth, firm skin, a degree warmer than mine. I stroked up and down her arm, which hung slack at her side, and enjoyed the kiss. Her ponytail lay across my arm, hair thick and silky. After a minute or so, Christine pulled back and looked into my eyes.
"Is this okay? I mean, is this good enough so we don't have to call the cops right away?"
.... There is more of this story ...