Impossible! The dense Florida rain and the truck noise drowned the CD music. I barely saw the overpass in time to hide and wait the storm out. Relieved, I let my shoulders down and sighed. My headlights caught the cyclist, in her bright yellow and blue outfit, standing near the back fence looking distressed. I walked toward her and she put out her hand and shook her head "No! No! Don't come near me!" She held out her bicycle to fend me off.
I yelled at her, "I will be right back." I grabbed my hunting knife in the leather sheath. When she saw it, I guess she thought I was coming to kill her. Holding it out to her in the sheath, I shouted, "This is my hunting knife. Take it. I will walk with my arm out and you grab the handle. OK? It will keep you safe."
I slowly approached her with my arm out as far as I could reach. She looked panicky, but she grabbed the large handle like a saber. Her eyes showed fear and her leg was bleeding. "Now, give me your bike and get in the cab. I will put it in back and get you a blanket.
"I'm going to reach behind your seat. Hold your knife." I put the blanket over her and turned on the heater.
With the cabin lights on, I saw her head poke out of the blanket and her right hand holding the knife. Her lips were full like Norah Jones'. "My name is Brian. Your leg is bleeding. You have the big knife. I am not going to harm you."
She replied loudly. "I thought I was going to die when the sleet hit me. I was freezing and slipping. Thank God I was close to the underpass. I lifted my bike over the fence and then I cut my leg when I climbed over the barbed wire. It really hurts. Brian, there is a convenience store in about a mile. I am dying to pee. If you weren't going to harm me, would you go there now? You are going to get a golden shower if you don't hurry."
I smiled at her plight. The rain had slowed just enough to see the other side of the freeway, so I drove the mile cautiously and parked close to the door. She took the knife in the store, saw the clerk panic, and then she ran back to give it to me. She turned and ran back inside. Her tight yellow bike shorts showed off her shapely hips and butt. When she climbed back in the truck several minutes later, she laughed, "I almost made it. That damn knife did me in. I had to rinse out my underwear and bike shorts."
"You could have escaped when you went inside. Why did you come back?"
With her helmet straps framing her face, she looked utterly panicked. It took her a long time to answer. I think she sensed danger. She was not at risk. She unlocked the door to get out and turned around, "Will you give the knife back?"
She could cut her eyes like Norah Jones, too, but they were green. "Take it. May I see your cut?" She held her leg up with the knife bared and removed her hand from the jagged cut on the inside of her thigh that had turned her right leg bright red.
"Would you let me take you to a walk-in clinic for stitches? You can have a small scar on your pretty leg, or a large jagged scar if they don't sew it up. My ego is far too huge ever to consider rape. I need to be begged."
She looked confused, "I don't have money. How would we pay for the stitches?"
"If you will have stitches I will pay for them. Why did you climb the fence?"
"There are weird people under that overpass every day when I ride by. I took a chance that being on the freeway side of the fence was safer. Why would you pay? Is this some kind of ruse?"
"Yes. You are injured and you need care, but I don't know where 'care' is."
"If you take exit 362A, it is about five miles on the right."
"What happened on the bike?"
"The weather girl forecast good weather for four hours. I rode halfway through a 30-mile loop when suddenly, this horrible cloud came up and a hard rain stung my skin. Lightning cracked, then little hailstones hurt even worse. I hoped I could make the underpass. As soon as I could, I climbed over the fence. That's when I cut my leg."
"Doesn't sound like we're having fun yet. Malicious people roam the freeway side of the fence, too! However, the clinic will stitch your leg even if your pants are wet.
"Meanwhile, I got you some ice while you were doing your laundry. Would you like some Scotch? It might warm you from the inside out. There is a flask and a napkin for your cut in the glove box."
My monologue seemed to relieve her. She put the knife down and poured. "Thank you. I like Scotch. It will help."
When we parked, I said, "You probably shouldn't take the knife into the clinic, either. Leave it on your seat and you can reclaim it when we come out."
She took off her helmet and pulled down the vanity mirror, "Oh, God, do I really look like that?"
I put my arm around her to take her in. The place was empty. Amazing. Her cycling shoes made a clatter as we walked across the tile floor. I went to the desk, "My girl friend needs stitches."
"What is her name? May I see your insurance card?"
As I handed her my credit card, she said, "My name is Cecelia Norton," and gave her insurance card and driver's license for the clerk to copy. She filled out the endless forms, and then she looked up and smiled at me.
The Aide said gruffly, "Come with me," and showed her the table. "Lie down."
I went with them. No one objected.
"You'll have to take off those shorts for me to clean you. When was your last tetanus shot? Did he do this to you?"
"No. I climbed a fence and cut it on barbed wire. I had a shot last year."
The paper sheet on the examining table crackled and I could see the imprint from her perfectly rounded wet butt. Cecelia looked at me and I put my hands at her waist and hooked her bike shorts. She put her hand under her shorts to protect her wound, nodded approval, and I removed them. She wore no panties. I observed the wet hair that usually concealed her, but didn't. Lush brown hair covered her delta. The wet curls made a perfectly straight line between her vulva. There was a little butterfly tattoo on her butt. I put a paper towel over her crotch and tucked it in.
She then realized her nakedness and pointed to her fanny pack. I reclaimed her wet Jockeys and put them on her legs. I closed my eyes as she removed the towel to pull them up. When I looked again, her face was brilliant crimson.
She smiled at me with her luscious green eyes, "So, I'm now your 'girl friend?'"
As the aide cleaned her leg, she yelled, "Ouch! That hurts."
I leaned over her chest and held her arms over her head.
The nurse said, "The stitches will hurt. We will give you Novocain. That will help, but it will still hurt. I need to do five-maybe six."
Then, she held on to me, "I don't know how, but I will make it."
I put my head against her cheek and held her as best as I could. "You may hold or hit me if it helps. I know it hurts." She was sweating. I was ready to pass out. Her perfume was strong. "You were brave, to climb over that fence. Stay with it. Only two more. You look beautiful lying there." I noticed the tears. "What incredible eyes. You have beautiful toenails."
She giggled a little and released some tension. "You like my toenail polish, do you?"
It was finally over. She kissed my cheek lightly.
"You made it, girl. Put on your shorts and then hold on to me when you stand. Just in case."
The nurse released her. "That cut is not likely to be stressed, so I think you don't have to come back. Call me if it gets red, bleeds, or hurts for more than two days. I don't want to give you antibiotic pills if I don't have to. Oh, and no shower or bath until tomorrow. Take the bandage off then. If the stitches don't dissolve in a week, take them out with tweezers and cuticle scissors. You should not have a large scar."
She was still shaky and put her arm around me as I walked her to the truck. She found the knife and picked it up. Then, she moved to the center seat. "Before you start, I want to thank you." She pulled my head toward her and gave me a sensational wet kiss. She smiled teasingly, "If I'm your 'girl friend, ' do I still need this knife?"
I handed her the sheath and she put it away. "Forgive the 'girl friend' remark. I was confused. I didn't know what to call you. Pretty as you are, I didn't think you could pass for my daughter.
"Cecelia, I don't know where I am taking you."
She looked baffled, and gave me another Norah Jones smile, "I'm CeCe. Of course you don't know. Go to exit 356B and go south. I will tell you."
She put her arm around me and her head on my shoulder. She was toying with my neck and hair. After a mile, she put her warm hand on my bare leg. Gradually, she moved it up until she came to the hem of my shorts. With a beautiful smile, "Did I thank you for saving my life? I could still be out there riding home wet. How did you know that I wouldn't stab you?"
"Easy. Cyclists don't do that kind of thing to each other."
She nodded knowingly. "You held me down on that table so I couldn't move. I hated you, and then I treasured what you did. I even fell for the blarney. Toenails, for God's sake! If I had not been so embarrassed, I would have laughed at the way you closed your eyes!" At 356B, she said, "Left at Arlington. Right at Ashland. I'm at 1647. Condo on the left. Park there."
"Where do you hang your bike?"
"There are hooks in the basement. I never had anyone hang my bike. I'm not a wimp. Thank you."
"I try to help the handicapped."
.... There is more of this story ...