Chapter 2: The Stowaway

Pulling the tarp out, I immediately noticed the tangle of strawberry blonde hair. The tarp was forgotten about, and the black pistol was out of the back of my pants and pointed in the direction of the tangle of matted hair. I hadn’t planned on there being two people in the car when I arrived at my new home. And unexpected people suddenly showing up under a tarp is rarely a good thing.

Evidently, sometime during my last days of driving, I unknowingly got a stowaway. I hadn’t fully removed the tarp from the uninvited hitchhiker. All I initially had was the back of their head and the wild hair that hung down. When the rest of the tan canvas tarp was pulled from the intruder, they quickly started scrambling over the back seat. Not letting the gun point in any other direction, but at the intruder, I grabbed a bare ankle and pulled.

In my surprise, I hadn’t even noticed the ankle was uncovered, as was the calf it was attached to. Actually, the whole leg was without any form of covering. It was pale and covered in goosebumps from the cold. At the time, I had not even noticed the leg was thin and hairless but shapely for its size. I also failed to notice the cute round ass that was barely covered, leaving most of the supple flesh available for viewing or groping if I had chosen. Which had been far from my mind as I paid attention mostly to the person’s hands and their movements. I did, however, realize how little force it took to pull the person back into the storage area of the station wagon.

The hard yank backward caused the stowaway, who happened to be a young girl likely in her preteens or early teens, to look back at me. I saw, for an instant, a pretty face with some blue eyes that should have been brighter than they were at that moment. The blue eyes got really wide at the sight of the gun. She scrambled backward until she was tight against the back seat. She ducked her head down and drew up into a tight ball.

Even drawn up tight, she shook, terrified at what she had seen. For my part, I had no idea when, during the last day of driving, I picked her up. Or how she ended up in the car. But there she was, with me, in the backwoods of Montana, far from anybody. I stepped back to evaluate the situation. I then looked at the ball of terrified teen critically. First, I was upset with myself for allowing a stowaway in the car. And worse yet, for her to go unnoticed for hours.

Second, the girl was clearly not over the age of eighteen. So I had likely transported a minor across state lines. This was a complication I didn’t need in my life.

But the last thing was just stranger than finding the underage girl in the car. She was in a skimpy bikini. I could see almost all of her in the small coverings. There were strings around her waist and around her rib cage. I could only guess they went to small patches of fabric since I couldn’t see anything but the strings from the way she was balled up in the fetal position.

I took a second more to evaluate the girl in a tight ball. I could see what little bit of fabic the bikini had formed a camel toe between her drawn-up legs. Additionally, the string attached to the base of the bikini bottoms did nothing to hide the pinkish-brown crinkled circle between her crack. The crunch of the snow under my boots drove home exactly how strange it was. This unknown, hopefully teenage female, was fairly close to nude in the back of my car.

Her attire, or lack thereof, made me think she had been in the car hidden since I left the casino in the morning. I wondered when she had gone to the bathroom. Or if she had sneaked out when I had stopped at different diners or if she was like many a truck driver and just peed in a bottle. The last one was unlikely since I’d have smelled it. The blasting out of Rush and Pink Floyd had made it easy for her not to be heard.

After the initial shock wore off, I put my gun back in the waistband of my pants. I said, “What are you doing in there?” She said nothing but balled up tighter as a response. “OK, how about we try? Would you like to get out now?” She shook her head, no behind her knees, not looking up.

I tried a different tactic: “I’m going no further. And I really don’t want a frozen dead girl in my car later this morning. But you’re welcome to stay in there as long as you feel necessary.” I think it was the calm way I said it that had her raise her head and look at me. She was very young, and that was coming from me, and I was barely twenty-nine. Her cute, round face was a bit drawn with fear and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. But otherwise, she was absolutely adorable, despite the fright that likely came from looking around and seeing nothing but me and the forest. She had high cheekbones and a button nose that drew my attention away from the hint of natural dimples she had even at that moment. Her baby blue eyes had a dulled sparkle to them. There was something lifeless about them. Any other time, the color would have danced and played. Her blonde locks were not matted from drying pool water, as her outfit suggested. However, her hair was a tangled mess from hiding under a heavy tarp. I held out a hand to the girl as a way of assisting her out of the car. When I did, she again put her head down and curled up tight again. This time it came with a squeak. Looking back on it now, she was like Alley Sheedy in ‘The Breakfast Club.’ If Alley had had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes.

I took a couple of steps back from the tailgate, putting a milk crate blocking her way on the ground. It made it easier for her to extricate herself from the vehicle. When she didn’t move towards the exit after a couple of seconds, I picked up a different crate in the car and took it into my new home. It turned out I had everything out of the car and was putting items away, but the girl still hadn’t gotten out. When I stepped out of the house to look in on her, she had at least looked up and was scanning the surroundings. It wasn’t until I stepped back out of the house to get more firewood before I saw the girl move. She was climbing out of the car’s tailgate when I went for the second load of firewood. The cabin had no central air or heat, so the fireplace was all I had for a heat source.

As she climbed off the tailgate, I noticed her nicely curved ass and the white bikini bottoms that barely covered each of her buns. The fabric was only a few shades paler than the skin it covered. The girl’s ashen thighs were slender yet looked toned from exercise or great genetics. She hesitantly slid on that absolutely gorgeous tiny ass, putting her bare feet into the snow. As she stood, she got up on her toes and spread her feet, like in her mind it would reduce the cold on them. What it did was make the front of her bikini bottoms more prevalent. The front covering covered most of her pussy. The thin outer labia were obvious as she stood shivering in the snow. Under the thin fabric, her blonde wisps of pubic hair were sticking out in all directions, and the shadow of her coin slot was evident. Above her bikini’s bottoms, in the expanse of her flat stomach, there was a small oval indention. Her bikini top barely covered the two puffy coned nipples atop her small, nicely formed, half-lemon-sized breasts. The pink areolas marking the start of her nipple cones were obvious under the same equally thin material as the bottoms. There was no inner lining to hide anything. The parts of the 5-foot 8-inch lithe teen that weren’t covered by material too small for its intended purpose were covered with goosebumps.

And despite her young age and ashen complexion, her body was sexy as shit, though her being in a bikini in the snowy mountains of Montana was odd. But if finding strange bikini-clad women and girls in my car was going to be an everyday occurrence, I was going to love Montana. More than likely, it wouldn’t, and she had gotten into my car the previous afternoon outside of the casino; after all, it had an indoor pool. Finally out of the car with snow on her bare feet, did she timidly ask, “Where are we?” She was shaking from the cold, but she still looked like she would bolt off into the woods if I stepped an inch towards her.

Against my better judgment, I asked what I thought were better questions of her: “Who are you? And what are you doing in my car?”

The questions must have sounded like accusations to her. She refused to answer either question but instead climbed back in the car and balled up once again. I watched her from the front porch, not moving an inch towards the car. By the last load of wood, she was again standing outside the car. Her body was covered in goosebumps, and she was shivering from the cold. It was then that I was able to truly evaluate her body without staring, like some kind of letch. I saw the pale skin that, had it not been covered with goosebumps, would have been pasty and gaunt but smooth and flawless, as only a young teenager can be. It covered a body that was slender, approaching emaciated, with a slight hourglass shape. Her hips had begun widening, and her chest broadened in proportion with their small tits that protruded barely out over a tiny waist. I’d like to think that her figure was a function of regular, long, strenuous fucking, but age and appearance said differently. On a closer look, her appearance was that of somebody who had not been eating nutritiously for months.

I again asked her, “Who are you?” She just stood and cried, shaking her head no. Not approaching the scared rabbit in any way, I stepped out of the doorway and said, “You’re going to freeze to death if you stay out here. Please come in and sit by the fire and get warm. And then, if you want to talk, we can.” She again shook her head. “Ok, I am going in to work but will leave the door open. Come in and close the door if you want; if not, I’ll leave it open for you. There will be a cover there if you want it.” I knew it would let some of the heat out of the cabin, but if it got her in the door and warm, it was worth it.

I left a heavy quilt I had purchased in Kansas on the floor for her. It took five minutes before I heard the front door creak. I didn’t hear it close all the way, though. I guess she was worried that if she closed it completely, she would be trapped in the house with me. I couldn’t really blame her for the caution.

There was a blonde head sticking out from the blanket in front of the fire. I did nothing to acknowledge her presence as I walked about putting things away. The girl didn’t turn to watch me, but as I could see in some of the reflective surfaces, her eyes followed me. For three hours, I didn’t say a word to her or expect the girl to talk to me. I used the fire needing another log, which it didn’t, as the excuse to walk over to where she sat. She watched me warily and scooted over closer to the couch. The piece of furniture acted as a backguard to supposedly protect her.

After putting on another log, I poked the fire, getting the flames to come up higher. While doing so, I spoke into the fire. “Well, are you going to tell me your name? Or am I going to have to call you girl, or hey you from here on out?”

When I turned back around, behind the blue eyes looking at me, I could tell the girl was debating whether she would give me her real name. Her blonde hair and blue eyes, I guess, made it an easy thing for her to say, “Cheryl Ladd.” At the time, Cheryl Ladd was one of the most popular actresses around as part of “Charlie’s Angles.” So it made sense she’d pick a blonde-haired, blue-eyed actress as her namesake. If she didn’t want to give me her real name, I’d let her get away with it, figuring at some point she’d give me her real name. I looked at her and her covered body, which was well-formed but malnourished, as she was warning. Plus, I was just happy she didn’t try to run or get away from me.

I pushed my luck and asked, “Where were you headed?”

She ducked her head into the blanket without answering. I didn’t ask again, but I went to the kitchen. I had some canned goods and pulled out my iron skillet and an iron pot. Both were designed to be used on a stove or campfire. I didn’t have the rack for the fireplace yet, so it was the stove. I started some vegetable soup and sliced some SPAM for frying. The smell of dinner filled the whole cabin. The blonde head turned my way until I looked her way.

I set my place at the table and one for my unexpected visitor. I said to her, “I have dinner over here if you want some.” Her reaction was to ball up tighter against the couch. I said my mealtime prayer and had my meal. When I finished, I picked up the plate and bowl I had set out for my reluctant visitor. I carried them to the fireplace hearth and put them down in front of the girl. “Next time, I would appreciate it if you came and sat at the table.”

She ducked her head into her knees. I left the plate and the girl and went to the kitchen. I put the leftovers on the stove on low. I was guessing the stowaway would be hungry after a full day without food. I picked up the glass of cola I had put out for her and took it to the hearth. The pan-fried SPAM was gone when I put the glass down. She had the spoon in hand and was going at the soup like it would run away if she didn’t finish it fast.

I went to the kitchen and returned with the leftovers. I put the last of the SPAM on her plate and ladled out the end of the soup as well. She didn’t look up from her meal but said quietly, “Thank you ... Florida. I was headed to Florida. And you have Florida plates.”

“So you got in a car when you had no idea where it was going? All because of its plates?” I asked not really of my guest. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t answer.

Cheryl only belched when she was done with dinner. Her earlier comments were the last ones I would hear that night. Evidently, the stress of riding in the car and being in the house with me took its toll. Cheryl stayed in the quilt cocoon but laid on her side. She was out in less than two minutes.

I got out my biggest Army sweatshirt, the smallest sweatpants, and some tube socks. I left them folded next to the cute blonde. I assumed she would know they were for her when she awoke. I couldn’t have an underaged teen running around in the cabin in a bikini as small as hers. Though I would have loved to see her nubile teenage body and long legs, which were absolutely sexy, longer. But propriety said she needed to be in something else. Again, in case someone else stopped by uninvited.

I, too, was tired and decided to head to bed after re-stoking the fire one last time. I was betting I was safe despite not knowing anything about the hundred-pound soaking-wet teen in front of my fireplace. The only issue was that there was only one bathroom, and it was on the other side of my bedroom. If she were to need to go, she would have to walk into my room. I was sure she wouldn’t do that.

A few hours later, my suspicions bore out. I heard the front door creak and puking. Cheryl had eaten way more than she was clearly used to. And her body rejected it. I wasn’t surprised when I heard feet back inside the cabin after the puking. If Cheryl was going to run away again, it wasn’t going to be in the middle of the night. Especially when she had no idea where she was. I sensed the girl was a survivor. I had met a few while working, and she was like many of them.

In the morning, I was up before Cheryl and looked out my always-open bedroom door. There, in front of the dying fire, Cheryl slept peacefully. She looked so sweet and innocent, sleeping on my floor. It made me wonder what had driven her to get into a stranger’s car with no idea where she was going. I didn’t have time to ponder that long, as I was fairly sure it would piss me off. And I’m not overly nice when pissed. And there wasn’t time for it.

I stayed out of eye-shot as I put my sweatpants and shirt on after sleeping in my usual nothing. I skipped the underwear for the moment, as I would shower after breakfast. There was no reason to put on the boxers just to take them off a half hour later. Dressed enough to not look like a sexual predator, I headed to the kitchen.

Once again, I fired up the stove and popped open my last can of SPAM. I thought to myself, “I need to go get groceries today.” I used the last fresh eggs I had brought with me and started breakfast. The smell woke Cheryl up. Her ratty hair had gotten no better from sleeping on the floor. Her color was only better because she was no longer freezing to death. But the poor nutrition and pasty look continued.

I put two plates on the table. On each, I put two eggs and some of the fried SPAM. I saw Cheryl sitting up and said to her, “Breakfast is on the table. You’re welcome to join me or not. But food is served on the table in a chair, not on the hearth while you’re on the floor.”

For some unknown reason, Cheryl had tears run down her face. She didn’t move for a while. She just sat there and cried. Finally, she wiped her eyes and tentatively stood up. The Army sweatshirt devoured her. It came to mid-thigh. But so did the sweatpants. They immediately fell down around her ankles. There was no amount of tightening the drawstring that would keep them around such a small waist. Cheryl stepped out of the pants, relying on the sweatshirt to be like a dress.

She tiptoed on her tube-sock-covered feet and went slowly to the kitchen. It was as if, if she didn’t make any noise, I wouldn’t notice her. But even under the extra-large sweatshirt, I still remembered what a lithe sexy body she had. And the bare lower half of her legs only reinforced the memory. Quietly, she lifted the chair across from me and sat at the plate I had set out.

Before she started on her meal, she mumbled, “Thank you.”

I replied, “You’re welcome.” It was the whole conversation we had while having breakfast. When she was done, she went back to sitting in front of the fire. I knew that even if Cheryl was going to be a house guest for only a little while, I needed to let her know what I expected of her.

I left the plate on the table and went over to Cheryl. She seemed to know I was there before looking and her whole body tensed. Standing over her I said a bit too forcefully, “Until I know more there are some things you’re going to have to do while staying here.”

Cheryl’s semi-cheerful face went blank, and the blood ran from it. She scrambled to her knees. At the same time, she had my sweatpants down to my knees. Her eyes widened in incredulity at seeing my cock. I was in total shock at her actions. But even more so when she stuffed my flaccid cock into her mouth in less than three seconds. She sucked and swirled it with her tongue, trying to get it hard before I pushed her away. This too, I did a bit too forcefully.

She fell onto her back, her legs caught up under her. It caused the sweatshirt to ride up above her hips. I was captivated by her fine dusting of pubic hair. More so by the coin slot formed by her two smooth labia folds with a small rise at their top joining. I had not managed to pull my pants up when I said, “I don’t mean that.”

Her paleness got paler, and her fright became sheer panic at my words. I think it was because of where I was looking. Half-crying, she said, resigned, “You can fuck me. I won’t care. Fuck me in the front or in the back. It doesn’t matter. Somebody always wants to fuck me, so why shouldn’t you?”

I know I shouldn’t have, but I got angry at her. I was hacked off; she would think I wanted to use her like that. Which made me wonder what she was running from, which only made me angrier. Pulling up my pants, I said, half yelling at her, “Cut it out. That’s not me. I don’t take advantage of young girls.” Cheryl crab crawled away from me. She got to a corner and again balled up. Her bald lips were visible beneath the sweatshirt, between her shins. Less combative, I continued, “Sorry to yell. But I don’t abuse thirteen-year-old girls.” I said thirteen to see if she would correct me. I knew how young girls always wanted to be older.

I continued in a calmer tone, “I only meant there are going to be jobs and ways of acting while we figure out how to return you to your family.”

She looked up at me and hollered, “I’m never going back to my stepmother and brother. I’ll run away from here first.”

All I could think of was Disney and evil stepmothers. No stepmother was ever kind in their movies. So I couldn’t help but wonder if this girl was overblowing something at home. And, having bought into the idea that stepmothers are always evil, she ran away. Though her original outfit and lack of nutrition did lend themselves to something being off at home.

“You don’t even know where here is,” I pointed out. “But OK. We will have to talk about why that is. But for now, I expect you to pickup after yourself, including washing your dish after using it. Or washing all the dishes after a meal, if I ask. The couch folds out into a bed. If you use it as one, I will expect it to be folded up and any covers used put away. Those are for starters. We’ll go over the others if we can’t find any other family you can stay with, and you stay here a bit longer. The last two questions ... Am I going to find your picture on a milk carton? And where is whatever that was you were wearing yesterday?”

“I threw the bikini my stepmom had me wear in the fire last night,” she answered, sounding unsure if she should have done it or told me about it. She hid her face again and said, “No one will care I’m gone, except for the money.” She threw in, “And I’m sixteen, not thirteen.”

The last statement was a lie. The second-to-last one was just sad and needed to be investigated. I figured I would deal with the lie, “Try again. I was sixteen when I left what was my living arrangement. So I know sixteen-year-olds steal cars to get away from where they don’t want to live.”

Stealing a car is how I ended up in the military in the first place. The judge knew I wasn’t old enough to enlist legally. I had been in front of him multiple times in the prior years. So he emancipated me and didn’t give me much choice. I could go to prison, not jail, or go to the military. He had a friend who was a general. That general would, on occasion, take a younger guy from the judge. He put them in a special program where they could do some good or end up dead. The judge told me all of this in a closed courtroom. He also, said, “You’ve been before me enough, young man. And whether you or I think you should have been or not is irrelevant. If your moral code doesn’t agree with the law, the law still wins. So I am determined that this is the last time you will be in front of me. So choose.” We know how that turned out.

Cheryl didn’t respond, confirming she had lied. I waited for her to admit it, but she said nothing for the longest time. When she didn’t respond, I told her. “I am going to find a grocery store. You can shower while I am gone. And if you should change your mind and want to contact your stepmom or brother, you’re just outside of Chester, Montana.” I was trying to be a responsible adult and trust her to be smart enough not to run. It was cold, and she wasn’t prepared for it.

The good thing for her was that, in the early eighties, the internet wasn’t around at that point. And, as long as Cheryl kept giving me a fake name and wouldn’t answer where she was from, there was no way for me to return her to her stepmom and brother. I would try to get more out of her again after going to the store. If that didn’t work, there was the long way. That involved research and contacting the police in Colorado, which I didn’t want to do. Since, it involved lots of phony identities and lying.

I found a grocery store and stocked up. It took a lot longer than I thought it would take. I was gone for over four hours as I explored the town and talked to some of the people in it. When I returned, I found Cheryl had showered, but she was balled up in the corner of my room, crying. Instead of asking her what was wrong, which would have had her shut down, I said, “There are groceries in the car that need to be brought in.”

Cheryl looked up from her familiar protective ball. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I thought you were going to send someone to get me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “It is up to you to go back. I can force you to go back. If I do, all you will do is stow away in another car. And not all will be safe. Plus, it’s cold out there. But it doesn’t excuse you from your work. Up, we have groceries to bring in.”

She slowly stood up. She said, “But I have no shoes.”

“Or pants,” I said, teasing her. I got her the sweatpants she had stepped out of earlier and handed them to her. From a yet-to-be unpacked box, I pulled out an electric extension cord. “Put those on, and then please come over here.”

Cheryl stepped into the pants, careful not to flash me the pussy, I had seen earlier. The blue sweatpants were up around her waist, and she tentatively came over to me. I wrapped the extension cord around her like a belt and cinched it up tight. I gave her a pair of high-top shoes that were a little small for me. They were huge on her small feet. They too were cinched up tight and stayed on her feet, but flopped about.

She came out and helped carry in the many sacks of food. I noticed her eyes brighten when I put the Oreos away. I could use that against her when the time was right. But at that moment, a couple would be a treat for helping bring in the groceries.

She was less tense after I put two cookies on a plate and put them on the table with a glass of milk. “Those are for you. For helping.”

Cheryl genuinely smiled as she sat down to eat her treat. She didn’t say thank you, but her smile was enough of a thank you for that moment. She was thoroughly adorable, her blue eyes twinkling for the first time. And her dimples were denting her cheeks. I could’ve forgotten I was trying to be a respectable human in my private life and threw her on the floor, ripping off all my clothes from her body. Then I could fuck her long and hard, and no red-blooded male would’ve faulted me for it.

Instead, I left her alone with the cookies and milk I had poured for her. Every time I looked over at her, whether it be from my open bedroom door or through the window as I brought up more firewood, I saw her watching me. She peeled off the oversized shoes and undid the electrical cord. The huge, on her, sweatpants were skinned down her sweet-looking legs. Being outside when she did so, she was not as careful about keeping her pussy hidden. Through the window glass, I was privy to seeing her exposed labia. The valley below the smoothed labia was a bright pink and looked delicious. It was then that I knew I would need to get her clothes and underwear. But it would wait until I knew how long she would be around.

As I organized the shed, I left the door open, airing out the smell of pot. Cheryl was looking out the window each time I looked back at the cabin. She didn’t seem to be taking any special interest in what I was doing. So I didn’t worry about her, as I should have. Most of the things I had taken into the outbuilding had been hung up or put into a drawer where they would stay until I needed them. I closed the heavy metal doors and put on two locks, one combination and one that required a key. I came back in after finishing my work.

Having done so, Cheryl surprised me. She hadn’t been very talkative up to that point, but when I came back, the two cookies opened her up a little. She asked, “Are you making an S&M dungeon of the shed?”

I was surprised a young teen girl would even know what an S&M dungeon was. It added to the picture of what she was running from. “What in the world makes you think that?” And why she thought I would answer the question truthfully was another matter. But it was good Cheryl was at least starting to communicate with me.

She continued to answer, “I saw lots of chains and handcuffs and something that looked like a whip and multiple head coverings. Plus, what is it with having so many guns?”

I wasn’t happy the girl had seen so much of my work equipment being put away. I wasn’t sure what would have to be done to keep that information private. Or, if it was a good idea for the knowledge to be walking around free in a young teen girl, I didn’t know well. Her sweet-looking face and bright smile had returned in the warmth of the house’s fireplace and two regular meals. I would see what she did with the information and how she handled my answer, which was pretty straightforward. “It’s none of your concern, but I am a gun representative.”

She looked at me with my buzz cut and the stern way in which I responded. She promptly dropped the subject, ran back to the fireplace, and curled into her ball. In the silence, again, I nicely ask her, “Where is your home? Maybe whatever reason you thought you had to leave was blown out of proportion while you were in the middle of it. Now that you’ve had some time away, maybe it doesn’t seem so bad and has blown over.”

Her voice trembled, but at least she answered, “No, it is still bad. And the wind blew me into your car just outside of Kansas. And just like that, I’m not in Kansas anymore.” I assumed she was lying about Kansas but liked the “The Wizard of Oz” reference.

Yet no matter how I liked the reference, it really was a non-answer. And I realized the longer she stuck around, the more likely it was she would see something she shouldn’t. So I either needed her to go pretty much in a few days or I was going to have to trust her a lot more and let her stay longer. I politely laid it out for her: “I want to trust you. And I don’t trust people in general. But I am going to trust you. So you answer honestly when I ask you something. Because I’m not asking out of curiosity. And my not knowing where you come from or why you ran away is likely to bring me trouble. And I don’t need that.”