Chapter 5

You can guess what’s coming next, I’m sure. I surfaced in the morning to become aware that the dream had become reality. Dora was spooned in front of me, my morning hard-on pressed against her bottom. Now she was wearing a t-shirt – one of mine, by the way – and panties, but my hand was under the t-shirt, pressed against a firm breast by her hand. She was still asleep, but her nipple wasn’t. I squeezed it, and she made a quiet, long, ‘Mmm’ sound. Her hair, soft, glossy and dark brown, was right under my nose, her scent a mixture of clean, warm woman and, faintly, coconut oil shampoo.

“Dora...”

“Hmmm?”

“I need to get out of bed.”

“Nnnn...”

She rolled towards me, eyes clamped shut, and nestled against me. That meant I was able to get my hands free and pull her over me so I was on the outside. The act of trying to disengage her arms from me woke her.

“Don’t go.”

“I’ve got to, Dora.”

“Oh.” Her arms went slack and I was able to climb down and do what I needed to do. I considered going back to bed – are you really surprised? – but decided it was more important to get on with the day.

As the coffee-maker dripped, and I slid slices of wholemeal bread under the grill, Dora climbed down from my bed. The t-shirt rode up, showing her shapely rear in very ordinary white panties and her curves up to her ribs. At the bottom, the shirt fell to cover her to her thighs, and she shuffled over to me, hair tousled and eyes hooded.

I held out an arm and she snuggled against me, yawning. I began to get hard...

Dora’s voice...

I’d about given up. I had enough money for a few weeks, even if I stayed in hotels. I could get a coach ticket to ... somewhere. Birmingham, perhaps. The temptation was to get it over with; a hotel room, a bottle of vodka, sleeping tablets, except for one fear. That the gang-rape, which left me sore and leaking semen, had made me pregnant. My life didn’t matter to me. A new life perhaps growing in me, did.

A biggish motor-caravan drew up.

“Where are you headed to?”

I shrugged. “South.”

The man, youngish – thirties, perhaps, bearded – told me he was turning off the motorway at Penrith. Well, okay, it wasn’t very far, but at least some way in the right direction.

“Thanks.” I climbed in, thinking I was taking a risk. But what did I have to lose?

We chatted until he asked if I minded some music. Minded? Depended on what it was. Classic FM. I love classical music. Most music, to be honest, but classical is my joy. In a just world, music would have been my life. But now? As a prostitute, if hopefully an ex-prostitute – and possibly pregnant, too – that was probably a dead dream.

“Are you hungry?” His voice – a mellow baritone – pierced my reverie.

“I’m okay.” That was less than honest. I hadn’t eaten since the day before yesterday.

“Well, I’ll be stopping for a snack in a few miles. I’ll certainly treat you to breakfast.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Long pause. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” A little later, “We ought to introduce ourselves, don’t you think? I’m Steve.”

“How do you do, Steve. I am Pandora.” No, I wasn’t. But I’d been Pandora since a ‘witty’ boy had teased me in Primary school, thinking he was clever, after a lesson which involved the Greek myth. My name? Panna Bock. Can you see it?

“Pandora, hm? I don’t think I ever met a Pandora before.”

At the Gretna services, he almost bullied me to have a good breakfast, though he only had a sausage sandwich and coffee. He took his coffee black, without sugar, I noticed. I struggled to eat politely and not gobble it down like the starving waif I was.

“I smell, don’t I?”

“A little. You’ve been sleeping rough, haven’t you?”

I just nodded.

“Do you have somewhere to go? A friend? Family? A job?”

No, I didn’t. My family wouldn’t take me back now, even if I wanted to go. I did miss my mother, a little. Well, quite a lot. If only she’d been more supportive.

It began to rain as we left, and by the time we were settled in the cab, it was so coming down so hard it was difficult to see more than a few yards.

He said he wasn’t going to drive in the downpour, and I was rather thankful for that. But it was just a part of the feeling that everything that could go wrong would, and it was my fault. That I really was Pandora, and I’d opened the box. I had to offer...

“Do you want me to get out?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because everything goes wrong for me and for the people I’m around.”

“Well, I’m in no hurry, and rain in Scotland is to be expected.”

He was a good driver. At least, he drove very carefully, leaving plenty of room, not rushing. I thought about the van. It seemed almost luxurious. I was jealous. If only...

“Steve ... this is cheeky, but...” Should I suggest, well, sexual favours in order to stay? It was not that different from what I had been doing.

“Let me guess. You were about to ask if you could stay with me? Or is that wishful thinking?”

“Wishful thinking? You’d like me to stay?”

“I’m a normal man, why would I not want a pretty young woman to stay with me?”

“Perhaps because I’ve been living ‘by the kindness of strangers’?”

“That’s very honest of you – actually, I think I’d quite like to give you a helping hand and a little company won’t go amiss.”

Was it really that easy?

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a clean change of clothes, have you?”

“No, sorry.”

“Not a problem. We’ll stop in Penrith and set you up with the basics.”

“Thanks. I’ve got some money...”

The rain came down harder again and he slowed right down. Cars and trucks were passing us, much faster, and kicking up loads of spray.

The rain eased off and had just about stopped by the time we reached Penrith. He offered to buy me clothes, but – cursed pride! Why did I still have any? – I refused. I needed to visit a clinic to check for diseases and to see if my fear was justified. I asked him to let me have a couple of hours on my own.

I wondered if I’d lose my chance, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t let me down. The clinic? I was lucky it was the right day, as it was only open in the hospital one day a week. The checks, the examinations, the blood tests and the humiliation. But it was necessary, and the staff were very carefully impersonal. It was just my imagination which provided the contempt I was sure they felt.

Making my way back to the car park, carrying bags of new clothes, later than I’d said, I was relieved to see the van still there. As I was apologising for the delay I was told told to come in and sit down as he finished listening to Beethoven’s sixth symphony.

He drove through the north Lakes countryside to a site at the foot of the mountain called Skiddaw. I went to the site facilities for a much needed shower, and to put a load of washing in the laundry while he did whatever was necessary to set up the van to live in it.

Oh, the joy of getting clean, of washing my hair. I didn’t like to put on new clothes before washing them, but needs must.

When I finished washing, I went back for another load of dirty clothes and knocked on the door, unsure how to behave. He’d been preparing vegetables. A man, doing housework? Not something I’d been used to at home, and since then the men I’d encountered hadn’t been interested in that sort of thing. Of course I’d hardly know, under the circumstances of our meetings.

The next time I went to put clothes in a dryer, the heavens opened as I was on the way back and I was drenched. What could I do? There didn’t seem much point in modesty, especially as I intended to fuck him later, if not sooner. I stripped to my skin.

Now, I couldn’t see his crotch, but it was pretty obvious from the way he was sitting that I’d had an effect.

I didn’t want to leave a wet patch on his upholstery. I folded a dry towel, put it on the seat opposite him and sat down. He was trying hard not to stare.

“Look all you want, Steve. If I minded, I’d wrap a towel round me.”

He looked me over pretty thoroughly. With a smile, he said, “Thank you. You’re a delight to the eyes. My eyes, anyway.”

“My tits are too small, and my hips are too big.”

“You’re a woman. You’re woman shaped.”

Well, I supposed that was intended to be a compliment, of sorts, anyway. “Thank you.” I picked up the volume of Kipling I’d taken from his bookshelf earlier and began to read. Kipling would not have been my first choice of literature since I had not read anything by him before. However, I had heard of him and in fact found the style fascinating. I got up when I thought my washing would be done and struggled into my wet clothes. When I asked, Steve gave me a special bag to keep the clean clothes dry.