It was a rainy spring night as I drove home from the Nighthawk dance club.
I had danced a few fast ones with a couple of girls tonight but, as usual, didn't hit it off with any or have a girl to take home or waiting when I got there.
In fact, in my 20 years on Earth I had never even come close to getting laid, my whole sexual life being occasional, quick groping and make-out sessions with a chubby or homely girl here and there. But, so far, I had never fully dipped my wick into a real, live, pretty female.
As I drove along in the night, I realized that the rain had stopped but the lonely, shortcut road was still wet and slick. I turned the windshield wipers off and stared ahead into the night, thinking of nothing but how my cock ached and yearned to be satisfied into something better than my own fist.
What was wrong with me? I asked myself. I had a car and a job. I wasn't rich and I did still live with my parents. But I wasn't advertising that fact to the girls I met.
I wasn't such a bad looking guy. I was no muscle-man. I was tall and thin with brown hair and eyes. Some say I look like a young version of George Harrison. But he wasn't the most popular Beatle, was he?
Well, apparently neither was I ... the most popular, I thought, through the slight buzz of the many drinks I had consumed tonight.
God, I wanted a girlfriend! I so NEEDED one to hold and kiss and ... let's face it ... fuck. But again I had struck out and was driving home alone.
Straining my eyes into the darkness, I was aware of how desolate this stretch of road really was at this time of night. I hadn't seen even one car coming the other way since I turned off of the main road about ten miles back. There were no streetlights or any lights from any houses nearby. I figured it was because this area was mostly farmland and woods until you came to near town.
Suddenly a yellow warning sign with a black, right pointing arrow, appeared dead ahead. I had to brake hard and turn the wheel sharp to the right to make the abrupt turn in the road. After that, my heart still racing, I saw the red tail-lights and the double white beams of headlights shining into the woods about five-hundred yards ahead.
It was a car and it looked like it had swerved, after the curve, skidded on the gravel shoulder and impacted into a small tree at the other side of a shallow ditch.
Slowing down, I pulled over to just behind the light blue Chevrolet Impala sedan, looking for signs of anyone inside.
The car looked empty but, as I could see from the wisp of exhaust from the tailpipe, it was still running.
I was nobody's idea of a hero and the thought of someone hiding behind a seemingly distressed car and jumping out to rob me crossed my mind as I sat there for a time, just looking at the vehicle and its rear window.
With no sign of anything for a while, I decided to step out and investigate, turning my car off but leaving the headlights on for safety and illumination. Grabbing the flashlight from the glove compartment, I opened the door and got out.
The night air was cool but not cold. It must have been in the upper 60's as I walked cautiously toward the car, hearing the sounds of the engine idling and the loose gravel crunching beneath my shoes.
As I reached the side of the car I shined the light into the back window and could see that the back seat was empty.
Moving slowly to the driver's door and looking in I wasn't sure what I was seeing. There was someone inside but the window was a bit fogged so all I could tell was that the person wasn't sitting upright in the seat.
I took hold of the door latch and pulled. The car door opened and I could now plainly see a female. A girl laying to her side toward the far door, wearing a red plaid skirt and a white blouse. Her bare legs, exposed to mid thigh, were clad in just white ankle socks and jogging shoes.
Shining my light downward, I could see a deep patch of bruise at her swollen left knee centered by a mean-looking gash that had trailed blood, down her shin to her sock. From the odd, tilted angle of her shoe, under the brake peddle, it was evident that her left ankle was broken.
Afraid that the girl was dead I hesitantly reached to her side and took hold of her small, left hand, lifting it from where it rested on the curve of her hip. It was warm to the touch and I noticed that the nails of her slender fingers were trimmed short and unpainted and that she wore a little, silver ring on her third finger depicting a cross in a silver heart with the words "True Love Waits" etched on the band.
Not knowing exactly what to do, I just held her hand and looked at her for a few long moments and then reached to her right shoulder and pulled her body upright into a sitting position, behind the wheel, on the upholstered bench seat.
I almost expected a moan or a squeal or something but she was utterly silent as I tugged and handled her pliant body.
I could see her long, blonde hair now as it draped her lolling head and I pushed her head back to the headrest and used my fingertips to gently stroke her hair to the sides of her face.
I was struck with what a pretty face it was. This girl had soft, angel-like features from the pinkish pillows of her slightly parted lips to her pert little nose. Her cheeks looked soft and blushed and free of any blemishes and her eyes, under the light-brown eyebrows, were closed but her lashes were black and long. I could tell that she wore no make-up. She didn't need any. She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. Much too young, I thought, to be out driving alone on a night like this.
Carefully brushing back her bangs, I could see a dark-purple, golf-ball sized lump at the right side of her forehead and, as I watched, a thick, crimson drop of blood appeared at her right nostril and started to drip slowly down to her upper lip.
I reached for the hanky in my back pocket and dabbed at the blood to stop it. After a few blots against her nose it seemed to subside.
Looking down into the neckline of her modest blouse, I could see the cleavage of her breasts in the lace-frilled cups of her white bra and, above that, a small silver cross, with a crucified Jesus on it, hanging from a thin, shiny chain around her neck.
Reaching down, I placed my hand to her chest, just above that exposed cleavage and felt the warm softness of her skin there. I could feel the lacy frill of her bra against the edge of my hand and the extreme suppleness of the swells of her breasts. I could also detect the faint beating of her heart below her breastbone.
Well, she was alive at least.
But what was I to do? I wondered, stepping back and looking down and then up the dark, desolate road. I didn't know first aid. I should call the police or an ambulance, I reasoned, but there wasn't a telephone for miles of here.
Should I drive her to a hospital? They'd know what to do and take care of her there.
But where WAS a hospital? Glenville was the next big town ... maybe fifteen miles up the road. They must have a hospital there and, at the very least, a police station.
Should I carry her to my car and take her there? By the looks of her, she couldn't weigh more than 110 pounds or so. But, I wondered, would it damage her more to move her?
I didn't know.
Maybe, I reasoned, I should check her for more injury before I attempt to move her? There may be broken bones that I wasn't aware of.
Leaning back to her, I squeezed up and down both of her limp arms and then her upper legs, over the soft material of her skirt, avoiding contact with her bloodied, injured knee. I then placed my left hand over her lower chest, below her right breast to feel her ribs there. I couldn't detect any breaks as I felt slowly upward until I came to her bra. I used my other hand to check her left side and felt her ribs up and down there and even felt, around her thin body, to her warm back.
I realized that I really didn't know what I was feeling for but I couldn't keep my eyes off of those breasts.
Maybe, I thought, just FEELING her chest wasn't enough. I should LOOK there to check for any signs of injury or bruising.
Quickly, I undid the pearly buttons of her silken blouse from top to bottom and pulled it open to fully expose her upper stomach and chest to me.
I saw no sign of any bruises as I looked her up and down from the waistband of her skirt up to her lacy bra. But my eyes were still drawn to those supple-looking breasts.
Maybe those were injured, I told myself. And how would I know unless I looked?
My hands now shaking for some reason, I took hold of the bottoms of both the frilly cups of her delicate bra and pulled them up over the two, fleshy, perky globes of girl-flesh.
They were beautiful. Two pale and perfect mounds, tipped with pink, protruding nipples over puffy, smallish, conical areolas.
I took one in each hand now and gave her a good, long, luxurious breast exam, finding them to be soft but firm and hot to the touch. I could feel my cock go instantly stiff in the confines of my jeans and shorts as I fondled and squeezed them for many moments.
They seemed fine. Nothing wrong with them at all, I told myself, as I took both of her supple nipples between my thumbs and index fingers and pinched them lightly.
Looking to her face for any change of expression, caused by what I was doing to her, I noticed the trickle of blood coming out of her right nostril again and let go of her breasts and quickly snatched my hanky to blot over her lip and press against the side of her nose again.
Maybe, I reasoned, I should lay her on her back to stop her nose-bleed? That's what I always did when I got one.
.... There is more of this story ...