Greybeard was driving through mountain country, in no particular hurry: he was taking a few days break and just enjoying the drive and the scenery. The weather was closing in rapidly with dark, heavy storm clouds building up in the early dusk, and soon the rain was lashing down onto the car.
Greybeard could barely see through the screen even though his wipers were working flat out. The water was sluicing down the mountain sides and across the road, sometimes he had to negotiate new streams pouring across his path. The thunder was loud in his ears even over the car stereo and the flashes of lightning cut harshly through the gloom to reveal the devastation caused by the downpour.
Suddenly he saw the earth above the road, just ahead of him, slide down and spread across the road. He braked as quickly as he could, the wheels slithering in the mud and the rain. There was a brilliant flash of light and deafening crack of thunder right behind him. He instinctively ducked then looked behind to see a tree in flames, falling across the road behind him.
He was trapped between the mudslide and tree, and the water was still washing debris and mud around the car: he could get swept away in another earth slip if he stayed in the car. Switching off the engine and lights, he grabbed his waterproofs and staggered away from the car. But where to go?
He had been travelling down the mountain so he decided maybe if he got higher the land might be more stable, so he clambered over the tree, now doused by the sheeting rain, steam hissing from the green wood. It was a wild night, the wind whipping up the corners of Greybeard's
He saw, through the rain and gloom, a lighted window glimmering in the distance and made for the only shelter around. The storm still raged and thundered, another close flash and crack of thunder made him flinch. When he looked up, the light was gone. He had the bearings, so continued his slithering progress. By the lightning he could see a log cabin ahead. Suddenly there was a soft yellowish light in the window.
Greybeard fought his way to the cabin and hammered on the door. He had to wait a while before the door opened an inch and an eye stared out at him. He had to shout to make himself heard above the wind. He asked for shelter from the storm. The eye looked him up and down then came to a decision.
Slowly the door opened to reveal a woman. "Attractive," thought Greybeard as he stepped inside. "Blonde," he noticed. She closed the door behind him and said with a giggle, "Get those waterproofs off, and the boots. You're dripping all over my rugs."
He removed them and passed them to her outstretched hand. She hung the waterproofs up on the door then turned and looked him up and down again in the dim light of an oil lamp. Indicating the lamp she said, "Generator mast's just blown down. Wind generator. And where did you come from?"
He told her he had been driving north when the storm hit. How he was blocked in by a landslide and fallen tree, how he had seen the light. "Where's the nearest motel or somewhere to stay?" he finished.
"Remember you passed through a small town 20 miles back? That's the nearest!" She shrugged. "Looks like you're stuck here. You can bunk down on the hearth rug. Can I offer you something to eat?"
Greybeard grinned, "Now you mention it, I haven't eaten since breakfast."
"Sit yourself down," she indicated a large comfortable chair to one side of a glowing log fire and passed him a towel to dry off. She busied herself in the kitchen section for a minute then placed a tray with two hunks of bread and butter, a small selection of cheeses and a glass of wine on his lap. "Can't eat cheese without wine!" she pronounced and sat opposite him with a similar tray.
He thanked her then raised his glass, "And thank you for saving my life." She smiled her response. As they ate they introduced themselves. Everybody called her Blondie, she told him: easy to tell why. They exchanged the minor details of themselves, at first a little hesitantly as with strangers, but becoming more relaxed as they chatted. He enjoyed listening to her voice and watching the firelight flickering over her face.
She was dressed in a knee length blue denim skirt, a loose pale blue angora jumper with a big roll neck. Lovely face, maybe 34-35, he speculated. Pretty legs, trim figure. Greybeard tried, without making it obvious, to detect the shape of her breasts through the loose folds. The tantalising glimpses, as she moved, made him think hers would be lovely, and Greybeard was an unabashed tit man.
They finished their simple meal and she rose to collect his empty plates. "Thank you again, that was delicious," said Greybeard.
She refilled their glasses, placed the rest of the bottle by his chair, kicked off her mules and tucked her feet up on the chair. They talked
happily, discovering about each other. Blondie's casual movements were gradually pushing her skirt up her legs. Greybeard's eyes were attracted to the mysterious dark area where skirt met her legs, Blondie caught him peeping and with a giggle dropped her feet back to the floor.
She drained her glass and stretched over to pass her glass for another refill. He shared the rest of the bottle between them and passed her glass back. Each time she stretched like that her knees parted a little, tantalisingly.
As they talked, Greybeard relaxed into a sprawl in the comfortable chair. Soon Blondie tucked her feet back up. Again her skirt kept rising up but this time she never checked it. It seemed to Greybeard she was shuffling around to encourage her skirt's movement. His glances became an unabashed stare. Their conversation became flirtatious and he
caught her glancing down at the growing bulge in his pants.
Blondie seemed to make a decision, got up and returned with another bottle of wine. She poured and set the bottle beside him again. Standing hands on hips in front of him, legs slightly apart, she challenged, "I've seen you peeking up my skirt, and looking at my boobs. Guess what colour my underwear is," she gave a giggle, "and you
can take it off." She bent over him, kissed his forehead and ran her hand over his short bristles, her fingers trailing sensuously over his chin.
Surely, she wouldn't be saying 'No' even if he did get it wrong, he thought. The atmosphere had changed from flirtation to sex. He went along with her game. She sat back and sipped at her wine, watching him try to decide. Her partly opened knees still did not show enough. After a few minutes as she shifted slightly, he thought he detected an extra dark patch. "Black," he said, somewhat impetuously.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I guess black. Am I right?"