It is difficult to tell with hitchhikers. I mean you only get about 10 seconds to suss them out, before you are past and on to the next one. (I do like the way they space themselves out on the slip road, though.) I usually go for a girl. No, not for the reasons you are thinking.

God, when I look back; ten years on the road; hundreds of towns, and thousands of miles. Christ knows how many hikers and how often have I gotten lucky? Two one night stands; you know, great at the time, but the awkward smile and "Don't forget to look me up" the next morning; one complete disaster - how I got away without a court case I'll never know - and one, yes just one, magic meeting.

I remember it still. It was that funny little two star hotel near Sheffield. I don't know why I stay there except it is just the right distance to stop, late at night when I am on the way back up after a pitch in London. I suppose I am an old customer, they could see I liked her, and they pulled out the stops. She had a dress in her bag, and somehow she just needed a touch of makeup and a glass of wine to switch to glamorous and sexy. For me it was the setting. Put me in front of crisp linen and shining silver, and sophisticated but relaxed comes easy. Just for one night we all pretended it was the Ritz.

In bed we could do no wrong. I just took what I wanted, forgetting the considerate bit, and discovered every time it was just what drove her wild. She let rip, indulged herself in that pet fantasy she had never dared touch before, and it was like I had a porn star in my bed.

Even the next morning, the smiles were real. Yes, I could see that she was in her thirties not her twenties. Yes, it was obviouly apparent that I was travelling sales rep not an executive business man, but even then the smiles were real.

So it was a shock when she looked wistfully at my card, then dropped it in the waste basket. "That wasn't really me, you know, last night," she explained gently. "And I don't think it was really you." She turned, on her way out, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I was too surprised to object. "That's the thing with a holiday romance. Keep the pictures, keep the memories, but don't forget to lose his number at the airport."

Was she right, to give up on reality, even an uncertain one, for one perfect memory? I will never know. But up until recently, that memory was the best it had ever been.

So, with hitchers, it is not the chance of sex I am after. It is the company. What I need is someone next to me, a real live person with a different story and a life different from any other person - and the miles melt. The long boring hours on the motorway just disappear. I go for the girls, partly because usually they are less trouble - or there is less risk of trouble. And... well I know I am not going to rape anyone, not even just give them grief. So each girl I pick up is one journey a girl does not have to make sitting next to some stranger, some man that I do not anything about.

Still, it is difficult to pick the right one. It's the clothes the kids wear these days. Just look at that one. Could be a pro on the pull, a fourteen year old on the bunk from the local comp, or some stuck up piece from Cheltenham Ladies College in her latest grunge kit. Same gear would apply - stockings with big carefully spaced holes, short leather skirt, random layers on top. But by now I was slowing, and something in me had decided on that girl. I went with it. I still don't understand my gut instinct, or whatever you call it, but by now I know to trust it.

As she ran up to the door, slung her pack in the back seat and climbed in up front, I wondered what the clues were. Maybe the skirt - it was halfway up her thigh but not a bum freezer - maybe the tops, usual mix of string vest, waistcoat, mans shirt and a wrap - but somehow, the colours went together. No, it was the hair. Hacked, spiky, coloured - but she hadn't hidden that it was healthy and clean. That head had not been on the floor of too many squats.

"Um... Hi. Thanks" she proffered, facing me. I smiled to myself as I picked up speed and slipped into a gap in the middle lane. Definitely Cheltenham not Dagenham.

"So. Going far? I'm Dan, by the way."

"Oh, yeah. Emily. Emily Bradshaw. I'm just aaah... going North. I need to get to... " her voice went blank.

"Nottingham?" I suggested.

"Oh, yes, how did you guess?" she shot back, too eagerly.

Oh, easy enough girl. So, not running to somewhere, but definitely running. Running away from... what? Who? "Just a lucky shot. So, looking forward to the weekend?"

"Maybe."

I sat back and let the silence wait to be filled. But nothing doing.

So, not a talker, then. Maybe a listener?

"Had enough of the big smoke, then? Wanting to get out into the countryside?" I probed for an opening.

"Not likely. I hate the country. Too many trees. Woods give me the heebie jeebies."

I smiled. "Oh, no. I like woods. I first met Chrissie in a wood." I paused, but no curiosity was offered, about the identity of Chrissie, or anything else. "It's quite a story. Do you want to hear it? Might pass the time." She shrugged, obviously unaware of the honour being proffered to her, and I settled down to get my thoughts in order.

I lke woods. I met Chrissie in a wood.

It was maybe six months ago. I remember I had driven up extra early in case the traffic was bad, but there was no problem. So here I was in Nottinghamshire with an hour to kill, and there on the map was a green bit labelled "Sherwood Forest". It had to be worth a look.

The car park was almost empty. Not surprising, at 10.00 am on a Friday morning. Too late for the early dog walkers, and too early for the mums and kids. As I got out of the car I saw the signs to the sculpture park, so, curious and idle, I trundled along. As you walked through the trees, you came across these wacky "sculptures" carved out of stumps or logs. More jokes than art, but fun. I got out my new digital camera, and shot off a few surreal snaps. My favourite was the Axminster carpet carefully laid out like a living room, but with a tree growing out of the left hand corner. So who sweeps the leaves off to keep it looking good?

Then I struck off the track, to explore a bit and work my way back to the car park. I have a good sense of direction in woodland and the sun was bright enough to be a guide. As I pushed into a small glade I saw another "sculpture", and I had to stop and laugh. A big oak had been cut down leaving the log lying there, and all the branches trimmed except one small one, on what was now the top of the trunk. This had been cut short, and carefully carved... into a phallus.

The workmanship was superb. Slightly larger than life- size (for me anyway!) beautifully detailed, proudly erect and leaning away from the vertical a little to follow the line of the original branch. There was even a suggestion of swelling testicles carved into the main trunk at its base. Someone had put a lot of time and care in to this. I bet the artist was gay. My one gay friend, Glenn, has a fascination with phallic objects that I just cannot share. I think he gets as much kick from looking at them as I would from a woman's breasts or buttocks.

I reached to touch it, but drew back. The slick sheen brought out the grain of the wood beautifully, but who knew where it had been? Or rather, what had been on it? However I shot off a few snaps to show Glenn, and then set off to find my car, chuckling. Nice little example of two fingers to the world, and don't we all need that sometimes?

I turned to look at her. Her eyes smiled back. This was the point where I needed to judge how it was going down, whether "X" rated was on the cards or not. Fortunately her grin said it all. This one was going to be game for whatever I wanted to throw at her.

Unfortunately I met a deer fence a few minutes later. I knew I was going roughly in the right direction, but without a map or compass I was going to get lost and there was no point in wandering around hopefully. I decided to retrace my steps back to the main path.

It was easy enough to backtrack, but as I neared the little clearing I saw a splash of colour through the undergrowth. I slowed down, and stepped out quietly. There was a woman sitting astride THAT tree trunk. (I was sure it was the same one.) Slim, brunette, attractive rather than pretty, wearing a red and white summer dress and a slightly startled expression. She was not expecting to see me.

Nodding politely, I stepped across the glade. "Nice day" I suggested, strolling in her direction. There was no doubt about it. She had to be sitting right next to the thing. But I could not see it - it must be hidden under the skirt of her dress! "Unusual sculptures in these woods" I mentioned, making conversation. She glared, silently.

"Have you seen the one with the carpet?" I enquired. The chat was getting a little one sided. In fact she looked rather uncomfortable. The log was much too wide for her to reach the ground as she straddled it, and she had placed an offcut of wood on each side to stand on. Even then she was on tip toes, leaning forward with her weight on her hands in front of her.

I grinned inwardly and stopped to look her in the eye. Of course she did not know that I knew what she was trying to hide. "That looks interesting. New form of exercises?" I smiled disarmingly and tried to spot the shape of the thing in the folds of her dress, without appearing to stare at her crotch.

"Yes. Exercises." she replied. Icicles formed. "Ones that I prefer to do in private."

"Ah. Fine. Sorry to disturb you." I nodded again and wandered off on my way. She twisted around to follow my progress, but I was soon lost to view. Of course as soon as I was out of sight I doubled back, silently. Cautiously, I crept around to a point immediately behind her. Yes, I know, and I am not normally a peeping Tom, but I had to find out what she was up to.

What a sight. Well in fact it was not - UNLESS you knew what was under her skirt. Standing on tiptoe on those little log ends, she carefully raised herself up, leaning on her straight arms, rocked her hips - she had a very nice behind - and very slowly lowered her torso again. Surely not - yes - she must be on it! She had only impaled herself on that oversized carved wooden prick! Maybe she had even had it inside her when I stopped next to her - and I had only been feet away. I could hear the low gasp as she repeated the motion. There was no doubt at all. Right in front of me, a completely decent looking young woman was indulging in a very extreme bit of masturbation.

But after a few minutes, her movements changed. The sounds became almost desperate - there was a distinct "ouch" - and she was wriggling on stiff legs, on tip toe, straining upwards. As if she was trying to get off the thing - and could not quite make it. Wow. She was stuck. I stared in disbelief. This was ridiculous. I could only see her back, and I would see more flesh on any of the girls at the office, but... watching her writhe, and knowing why... Suddenly that carving was not the only wood hard prick around here.

A gentleman would of course, step forward and offer assistance. Or would that be the creep? In my head, good old fashioned embarrassment was fighting the horny desire to get closer.

The decision was made for me. Moving to one side to get a better view past the bush, I stepped on a twig. The snap seemed to echo around the woods, and she gasped in a different tone. "Who's there?" she demanded, twisting around to look over her shoulder.

I stood up and stepped forward. Suddenly I was feeling brazen. After all, she was the one doing the dirty with a tree. And - yes - it was clearly still inside her. I strolled up, wondering whether she was going to admit what was going on.

Now I was enjoying myself. I remembered that time, years ago, when I had visited a clients office ahead of my appointment. Old eagle eyes spotted a pair of skimpy knickers drying on a radiator, and the very pink face on the pretty blonde secretary. I stood poker faced while she explained in embarrassed tones that Mr. what's-his- name would be back soon. I had no idea what was going on but it was a delightful fifteen minutes while I made small talk to the blushing girl, who knew I knew she was not wearing anything under her pretty, short skirt.

"So, how is the exercising going?" I asked nonchalantly as I wandered around to lean against the log in front of her. Her dress, which was probably knee length, had ridden up her thighs and I could see the tension in her thigh muscles. She was gripping the log between her legs, trying to keep her body high. Mmm, shapely legs. Must actually use that gym membership.

"Just... go... away." she jerked out through gritted teeth. I admired her face. Very nice. Restrained makeup and a simple but expensive hairdo. Late twenties or early thirties, I decided, and lower management, not your average secretary. A touch of class, although perhaps not looking her best right now.

"Hey, that's not very nice." I smiled. "I only came back to see if I could help. It sounded as if you were maybe having a spot of trouble." I wanted to give her every chance to ask for a hand.

"Why don't you f... f... f... " she faltered

"Fuck off?" I completed, grinning. She just glared. "Hmm. Not in the habit of saying fuck, are we? Go on, give it a shot. Feels great when things are rough."

If looks could kill.

"Fuck off then!" she blurted out, then, amazingly, looked down as if embarrassed at what she had just said. How could that embarrass her when... I chuckled.

"First time to say the F word. Well done. And first time to impale yourself on an oakwood prick?" She gasped and looked up at me, open mouthed. "Hey, it's okay. I know it's there; I was admiring it myself, only ten minutes ago." I winked. "Me, I don't care how people get their jollies, and it just seemed to me that you could do with some help."

Her head dropped and her shoulders sagged. "Oh, God, I didn't mean to... it was just so... and now... " I saw the tear trickling down the side of her cheek. All right, time to stop playing the bastard.

"Don't worry. Here, grab hold." I reached round her to fasten my hands together under her armpit on the far side, and took her weight. Nice load to be squeezing against my chest. "Hup we go."

But it was not going to be so easy. "Ow!" she gasped as I tried to lift her. The log was too wide and because I was heaving from the side I could not help pulling her sideways. "Oh ow ow... WOAH!" I stop and held her. "Put me -ow- down -ow- put me back -ah" she panted. Really carefully I moved her back but kept one arm around her to steady her.

"Maybe I should take a look to see what's going on" I suggested, and lifted the hem of the dress with my free hand.

She shrieked. "Don't you dare!" She moved her weight, and lifted her right hand as if to strike at me. But it was back on the log and she was wincing in pain before I could flinch. "Just f... f... f... bugger off. You're making it worse!" she cried, and staring at my crotch continued "You don't want to help, you just want to get up my dress!" Okay, caught red handed, the tent in my trousers spoke for itself. But can't a guy be altruistic at the same time? "Now GO AWAY - before I call the cops."

So much for the knight in shining armour. Some people wouldn't say thanks if you pissed on them to put them out if they were on... no, that didn't come out right... well you know what I mean. I disentangled my arm, swung on my heel, and marched off, not even looking behind.

But not too far. Before there was too much greenery between us, my feet slowed down of their own accord. Or more likely my prick had found a way to chat to them without my being involved. This was no time to stand on my dignity. Whether she wanted it or not, that girl needed my help. And then another thought popped into my head. The camera. Pictures! Why I hadn't thought of it before, God only knows. Well, God or my prick. I hesitated, then grabbed it and ventured back.

I had the camera raised before she heard me. Through the viewfinder I saw her look up - and the expression of dismay that filled her face. As I took the first one she cried out "No!". She twisted away as if to hide her face and then screamed, as her feet slipped and both blocks of wood flew away from the log. She was now supported on only the grip of her thighs on the rough bark, her outstretched hands and... the thing in her cunt.

I lowered the camera and walked up to her, considering my move. I couldn't really leave her there, but on the other hand... "Okay. Do want help or not?"

"Ow... oww... owwww " she hissed. She was crying properly now, tears streaming. "No. Go away!... just... Yes, please... please... I'm sorry... oww... I didn't mean it... ohhh... please help me."

"All right, but now there's a price."

"Yes, whatever you like, anything!"

"You sure? You haven't heard what..."

"ANYTHING!" she shouted, turning to stare into my eyes. Wow. She was gorgeous close up. How could I refuse?

I stepped up to her to grab her under the armpits, but the log was in the way and the angle was all wrong. I could support her but I could not lift her. She raised one arm with a gasp and wrapped it around my neck.

"Okay, can you hold on by yourself for ten seconds?" I asked, suddenly sure of what to do. She nodded, wincing.

I slipped out of her arm and leapt over to the pile of logs. Grabbing two decent ones, I jammed first one then the other under her dangling feet. The ones I had chosen were much bigger than hers; taller, wider and more stable. "Try that. Stand!" I commanded, and leant over to help her up.

Now she could get her heels down onto the wood and stand properly. Her knees were still bent, but I could tell her weight was secure as she gingerly lifted her hands off the log. Then she straightened her back and pulled her arms up and behind her to stretch. It was as if the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders. She quickly put her hands back on the bark in front of her, but I could see her groin was now a couple of inches off the trunk. "Ohhh... Christ that's better."

"So, don't you want to know what you've agreed to?" I asked.

She looked me in the eyes. Beautiful big, brown eyes. Time froze, then she blinked. "Oh, yes, I suppose so."

"Well, you have to go out with me." She nodded and shrugged. "And..." I wondered how far I could push it. "You have to have sex with me."