© Copyright 2003
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If you're not both of those, don't read it. Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe. The fictional characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.
If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.
This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
I had just pulled out of the dirt track that serves me as a driveway, intending to go into town, when a reflection of sunlight off of unmoving glass, glimpsed through the woods in the other direction, caused me to turn that way. I could think of no reason for that reflection unless someone was parked, trespassing on my property, or someone was in trouble. In either case I wanted to check it out.
I had just eased around the curve when I spotted a yellow Honda pulled off the side of road. An athletic-looking girl with fiery red hair was kicking it, repeatedly.
In these hills, you don't leave anyone stranded, since it's miles to anywhere, and there are still carnivorous predators that prowl the woods, so I pulled in front of the little car and got out to see if I could help.
As I approached the car, the red-head, who still had up a good head of steam, turned to glare at me.
"Just look at this piece of shit!" she yelled, "My dad just bought it for me last weekend, and now the son-of-a-bitch won't even turn over!"
"Miss." I said, quietly. When she ignored me and went back to kicking the tires, I said it a little louder, putting some sharpness in my voice, "Miss!"
She still ignored me, continuing to kick the tires, as if it were their fault.
I said nothing more, just turned and walked back to my truck. I made a U-turn and headed back toward town. As I passed her, she yelled, "Hey! Wait! Aren't you going to help me!?"
I slowed and said out the window, "Not if you're going to continue being rude to me and acting like a maniac."
She had to trot alongside my driver's door to keep talking. "I'm sorry! Please! I was just mad! Please help me!"
I stopped the pickup and said quietly, "I can understand your being angry. That's no excuse for taking it out on the stranger who stopped to help, and it does no good to keep kicking a part of the car that, from all appearances, still works!"
She threw up her hands in frustration, "Are you going to help me, or lecture me on manners?!"
I looked around to call her attention to her surroundings, before replying, "Since I seem to be the only help you're likely to get for a while, I'm going to lecture you first, then, when you're sane again, I'll help you."
She, too, looked around, and seemed to realize for the first time just how isolated this stretch of road was. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed suddenly tired. "Geez, Mister, I'm really sorry! It's been a really bad day, but you're right, I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
I smiled, put the truck in reverse, and backed it onto the shoulder across the road from the little yellow compact. I got out and walked across to where she had just arrived back at her car, holding out my hand.
"Mike Brenneman, Miss?..."
"Molly, Molly Pierce!" She blushed very nicely under a healthy spattering of freckles as she shook my hand with a good, firm grip.
"Hi, Molly!" I grinned, "nice to finally meet you! Do me a favor and pop the hood, will you?"
I could already smell burned wiring insulation, and sure enough, when she opened the hood, the primary battery cable had shorted out against the body of the vehicle because somebody having a bad day at the factory routed it wrong. I was surprised it took this long to wear through the insulation.
I closed the hood and retrieved my cell phone. Frank answered on the second ring.
"Hey, Frank. It's Mike Brenneman."
"Oh, yeah! The new guy! Hey how, ya doin'!" Frank had been to my house to play poker many times, and still called me 'the new guy'. Probably would, until some other 'new guy' came along.
"I'm doing all right, Frank, but I've got a young lady here that's got a problem."
"Always willin' to help out the young ladies, New Guy, what's she look like?"
"Well, she's about five-six or -seven. Fiery red hair," I motioned to Molly to wait, as I could see her temper cranking up again, "and enough muscles to kick your ass up between your shoulder blades, you old letch!"
"Hmmmm," Frank replied, "Sounds like just my type, but I reckon if I come home with any more bruises, the Missus'll put me in the hospital! So how can I help the poor young thing?"
"I just took a quick look, but it looks like the battery cable and part of the wiring harness are fried on her new Civic."
"Wall, I c'n bring the tow around and get 'er off the road, but a repair like that'll have to go to a dealer, either in Spokane or mebbe Seattle. Can't get loose to haul it that far 'til early next week. Don't s'pose she's got Triple-A, does she?"
"Hold on!" I held out the phone and spoke to Molly where Frank could hear the exchange. "Your car needs to go to the dealer in Spokane or perhaps Seattle, and Frank can't take it that far 'til next week. Do you happen to have Triple-A or some other roadside assistance program?"
She nodded, "Yeah, my Dad got me a roadside assistance plan, hang on..." she reached into the front seat and started rummaging through her purse, pulling out a wallet. The card she extracted had an 800 number on it.
"Do you have a phone, Molly?" I asked.
"Yeah," she shrugged, "but it doesn't work out here."
"Hang on, Frank, I'll call you back."
I dialed the number on her card and let her talk to the person on the other end.
"Yeah, but... Uh, huh. Uh, huh." I could see her getting frustrated as she talked, "That long? But I can't wait out here that long! Hang on! Uh, huh, yeah, just hang on for a second, OK?"
She put her hand over the phone and said "They can't get a tow truck out here 'til next week, either. It's free, but they don't usually have to go this far. They'll tow it into Seattle, to the dealer where Daddy bought it, but I don't even know where I am, much less how I'm going to get home or where I'll stay tonight."
I wrote my land line number on an old business card that Frank had given me and I had stuck in my billfold. "Ok, tell them to pick it up at Frank's Garage..."
I finally had to get on the phone and give the person on the other end of the line directions on how to get to town. When we had that straightened out, I called Frank back and told him to come get the car, and bill me for the tow, then I handed the card and the phone back to Molly.
"There's an old hotel in town, Molly, but if you'd like, my place is just up the road, and you're welcome to spend the night in my guest room. Tomorrow, I'll see that you get wherever you need to be. In any case, you should call whoever's expecting you, and let them know what's going on. That's my number in case you or they need to contact me, and the other side is Frank's card."
She looked at me speculatively for a bit. "If I stay with you, you won't try to rape me or anything, will you?"
I grinned lasciviously at her, waggling my eyebrows like Groucho Marx, while tapping the ashes off an imaginary cigar, "Only if you want me to!"
She laughed and said, "Well, I don't want you to!"
I turned serious again. "Molly, it's a hard thing to trust a stranger, though in these parts we sometimes have to. I'll see to it that you're put up safely in the hotel, if that's what you want, but I would greatly appreciate the pleasure of your company at my table this evening. I was planning smoked salmon, a salad, and home-made apple pie a la mode!"
"That sounds delicious!" she beamed "Ok! Let me just call my Dad and let him know where I am!"
I wandered away to keep from eavesdropping on her conversation, and when she punched the 'End' button, she was looking upset again.
"Daddy has to go to Europe tonight! I've got my whole spring break ahead of me, and I'm just going to spend it sitting alone at home, talking to mechanics and people who want to tell me it was my fault that the car broke down!"
I helped her get her duffle out of the Civic, and followed her to my pickup, taking time to study her for the first time. She wore her wavy red hair in a ponytail that looked as though it might shake out to about shoulder length. Her clothing consisted of a pair of short cotton gym shorts and a T-shirt that hung straight down from the shelf of her prominent, but not overly large tits. Both garments bore the WSU Athletic Department logo. The shirt was cut short, showing a bare midriff that, though it seemed a bit thick, was flat and smooth and unadorned with navel jewelry. Her legs were muscular trunks covered in smooth tanned and freckled skin, through which the outlines of her muscles played as she walked.
.... There is more of this story ...