Author's Note: This is a new version of one of my earlier stories, Bump... and She's Mine. Andy, the middle-aged businessman, narrated that story. This is Christine's version - same events, but seen through her eyes.
It was another crappy night at the club. Every week I wondered why I let my friends talk me into going out on Monday. Then after the first day of the week at the stupid sub shop where I worked I was so bummed that pounding some beers sounded great. And that week I had a brand new pair of really cool jeans that I was dying to wear. They were cut so low that I had to put a sweater on when I left the house or my dad would have had a shit fit about my butt crack and panties showing. Well, duh. Like that wasn't the plan?
As soon as I started up my car, I tossed the sweater into the back seat. I love that car. It's a blue Chevy Cavalier that I got for my eighteenth birthday and it makes me feel cool and independent because it's all mine. My dad still pays the insurance and gas, but I do everything else.
I didn't have time to do anything with my hair, so I just left it in a ponytail. That was better for dancing anyway, because it kept it out of the way. My hair is pretty thick, and down past my shoulders. It's kind of a reddish blonde and it's my natural color.
I raced over to the club, which was at the big conference hotel by the highway. I got there about nine and checked my reflection in the car window before I went in. I looked hot in the jeans and my favorite little sleeveless top, white with sparkly pink lettering across the front. Perfect, it said, because they were. My boobs, I mean.
The rest of me was okay, too. Well, except I thought that my butt was too big, even if my mom said that thirty-four inch hips were nothing on a girl my size. I'm like 5'5". But I've got great boobs. They've been my ticket ever since I turned fourteen and they all of a sudden sprouted. About the same time I got my boobs I grew about five inches and went from a pudgy, quiet nobody to a girl who made boys at school have to untuck their shirts to cover their boners.
Guys are all alike, even my dad. Once I developed I could get anything I wanted and I never got into trouble. What was daddy going to do, spank me? All I had to do is flash him a little bra, or cry if it was something really expensive. Then he'd get so flustered he couldn't cave in fast enough. I mean, I love him and all, but a girl has to look out for herself sometimes.
Anyway, once I got to the club it was the same-old same-old. Trent, the guy I was kind of seeing, kept hanging all over me and wouldn't let me dance with anyone else, which was the pits because he dances like he has someone's finger up his ass. That was better than sitting at the table with him, though. Then he spent all his time chugging beer and burping and trying to shove his hand into my panties.
I hadn't done it with Trent yet and I was planning on making him wait at least another week, even though I wanted it pretty bad. A girl has to be careful, especially since I'd gotten kind of a reputation in high school. And it wasn't like it was a huge thrill with most guys my age anyway. First they'd squeeze my boobs like they thought they were popping a zit or something, and then when they got my panties off, their idea of foreplay was seeing how many fingers they could get into my pussy at the same time.
And the main event - woo, woo! Sometimes the only reason I knew they were in me was because it hurt from me not being wet enough yet. And they never wanted to wear a rubber, so it lasted like twenty seconds instead of thirty because they had to pull out before they shot off like a freaking rocket with a really short fuse.
After a few hours I had a pretty good buzz on and was starting to change my mind about making Trent wait. But then he just took off with his friends to play stupid foosball, so I left. Plus if I made it home by twelve-thirty I'd score some points with my parents. I got into my car, turned on some tunes, and dug in my purse for some mints to cover the smell of the beer. I started backing out of my parking spot and all of a sudden this horn was honking like crazy. It was some guy in a big SUV, making a big deal out of it - like he couldn't have just stopped and let me out!
So I let the butthead go by and then pulled out. I was still kind of pissed off about Trent. All night long he'd been like trying to lay this guilt thing on me because we weren't doing it, talking about the girls who liked him and crap like that. Like he was some kind of hot catch or something. And then when I got the itch and kind of wanted to do it, he was more interested in some dumb game whacking a little ball around. Plus my stereo was all screwed up, and I couldn't get the CD that was in there to eject no matter how hard I pushed the button...
The next thing I knew my forehead was bouncing off the dashboard. Shit! I ran into a car that was sitting in the middle of the freaking road. Damn! My dad was already pissed off because the insurance company raised my rates. I rubbed my forehead and waited for my vision to clear. It was the butthead in the big SUV again, and I had hit him pretty hard.
I got out of my car and went up to check on the damage. My headlight was broken, and the grill and bumper were kind of crumpled, but the SUV didn't look too bad. Maybe the bumper was bent a little. I heard a car door close and saw the guy walking toward me. He was an old guy, like my dad. He was at least forty, and he looked pissed.
"I didn't see you," I wailed. "It was so dark and you like slammed on your brakes!"
"Whoa. Hold on little lady," the guy said. "I was completely stopped when you hit me. Didn't you see that stop sign?" He was definitely pissed.
He glanced at the back of his SUV, shook his head and then looked at me. I was used to guys checking me out, so I knew the feeling. His eyes roamed down to my chest and stayed there for a while before taking in the rest of me. I started to get my confidence back. He was a man and I knew how to get my way with men, especially the old ones. The little miss innocent act always worked way better with them than with guys my age. I got my grandpa to buy me like five pairs of really cool shoes the last time he visited.
As he continued to look me over, I slumped against the front fender of my car and buried my face in my hands.
"My dad is going to kill me!" I sobbed. " I'm going to be so grounded." I looked up, checking the guy's reaction. Tears always worked. "Do we have to report it? I mean, it doesn't look that bad."
He nodded. "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 information."
Crap! I was right first time. This guy was a total butthead. I got my purse from the front seat of my car, and then pulled the insurance card out of the glove compartment. I gave him my license and the insurance, and he moved over until he was under the big parking lot light and could read them.
I leaned against the fender of my car again, tugged my jeans down a little, and straightened my top. The guy finished reading, and as soon as he started checking me out again I looked away like I didn't notice him leering.
"Look, Christine," he said. "This isn't my fault. Reporting the accident is the law." He didn't sound as mad any more, so it looked like my plan was working. I nodded and bit my lip, giving him my best poor-little-girl look.
"You've been drinking, haven't you?" he asked.
I nodded again.
"Damn. That's a problem," he said.
"You think the cops will be able to tell?" I asked. I hadn't even thought about that. I had a girlfriend who got picked up for a DUI and it was horrible. They really jerked her around and she had to spend a night in jail and then like hundreds of hours picking up trash and shit like that.
"You were coming out of a bar. If I can tell, the cops probably can, too. What's the drinking age in this state?"
Like he didn't know I was underage. He had my freaking driver's license, my real one, and he knew I was eighteen. I had a fake one that said I was twenty-one that I used in the bar. All of a sudden this mess was getting really serious.
"Hey, do we have to call the cops right away?" I asked, thinking fast. "I mean, I only had like four or five beers and I was here a couple of hours. If we waited an hour maybe I'd sober up enough to fool the cops."
The man shook his head. "I've got to work in the morning, Christine. I can't just stand around here for an hour."
Now I was crying for real. It was really stupid of me to even be at this dumb bar, and I should have let one of my friends drive me. And I shouldn't have been playing with my stupid stereo instead of paying attention to where I was going. My hands were shaking and it wasn't cold outside. My friend who got arrested told me that the cops were really mean to her and they put her in a cell with these really tough dykes who scared the crap out of her by saying all kinds of gross stuff. None of them like touched her or anything, but they could have.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guy, and he looked kind of flustered. Like my dad looked when I cried... except my dad usually didn't stare at my boobs, not like this guy was doing. He even moved over a little like he was trying to get a better angle. I leaned forward and tugged my top down some more, and looked away like I didn't know he was staring. I wiped at my eyes and did this shrugging thing that made my ponytail bounce a little. Guys love that.
.... There is more of this story ...