Carlie
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2019 by oyster50

Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The world comes tumbling down on Carlie but a random encounter brings her to a better place, gives her time to breathe, to look around, to make choices.

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Consensual   Fiction   Cream Pie   First   Oral Sex   Petting   Safe Sex   Geeks  

I’m cussing. I don’t know why my brother Jimmy insisted on shipping the box via Greyhound. On second thought, I DO know why. He’s an idiot.

He’d finished cleaning out the old shed at Dad’s place, only a year after Dad left us, and the box carried a bunch of things that apparently didn’t match Jimmy’s penchant for shiny objects. The box was probably heavy, containing Dad’s equipment for handloading ammunition. Since I played some of the same games, I wanted the stuff.

FedEx would’ve dropped it on my doorstep. But nooooo. Greyhound. Not the best part of town at all. Walked into the place surreptitiously checking a concealed pistol on my hip. This might not be the South Side of Chicago, but it’s not a Sunday School picnic, either.

I presented myself at the counter, showed some ID to the gentleman behind the counter.

“Yeah, lemme look.” He punched at a terminal. “Uh, we gots it. Lemme find it.”

While I’m waiting, I scan my surroundings yet again. Late afternoon. I’d not relish being here after dark. Two African-American gentlemen were chatting up a white girl. She appeared to be a teen. She kept glancing at her cellphone nervously. She put it to her ear. I heard her say “This is Carlie. Call me when you get this.”

The flashier of the two men said, “Shee-it baby, you ain’t gotta sweat dat shit. I gots a fine crib. You kin stay dere...”

“No. Please leave me alone.”

“Doan’ be dat way, baby. We offerin’ you sumpin’,” the other one said.

The guy from behind the counter came back, rolling my package on a dolly.

“Please, just ... As soon as my UNCLE...” she looked at me pleadingly, “Gets finished...”

I detected that a little call for help had been made.

If you know me, you know I’m all about rescuing damsels in distress. I carry a card. I fix flats on the side of the road, that kind of thing.

She didn’t have ‘trouble’ written on her. Dressed normal. Little blonde thing.

“Girl, you looks thuteen ... you be hot stuff...”

“Carlie!” I said. “Ready to go...”

“She din’t come in ‘ere wit’ you,” the taller of the two said.

“No, but she’s my niece and I just came to pick her and her box of stuff up. So if you don’t mind...”

“Marcus,” the shorter guy said, “Let ‘im be...”

Carlie was up with a bounce and came right to my side. I walked her outside, unlocked my truck, put her inside. Started it. Air conditioning.

“Lock the doors. I’ll be back with my box. I hope you’ll let me in.”

“Sure...”

I went back inside, signed, got the guy to loan me the dolly to get the box to my truck and stuck in the bed. Returned the dolly.

Well, she’s still there with my truck running. I call that a good sign. I walk around to the driver’s side, hear the door unlock. Another good sign.

“Buckle in,” I said. “Bob Newman. Robert, actually. And you’re...”

“Carolina Williams. You must’ve heard me. Carlie.”

“Who were you trying to call? Can I take you somewhere?”

“Nobody. And away from here.”

“Nobody?”

“Phone’s dead. Battery’s dead. No charger. Wouldn’t matter. It was on Gramma’s plan and that’s run out. I was playing, trying to get those guys to leave me alone without makin’ a scene.”

“Not friends?”

“No. And when I got off the bus and the dude behind the counter saw I was gonna hang around, THOSE two showed up.”

“Where were you going?” I asked.

“I was gonna walk downtown, find a church ‘re something ... shelter.”

“Heck of a plan.”

Heavy sigh. “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley.”

I did a double-take. “Huh?”

“Never mind...”

“Did you just quote Robert Burns?”

“Yeah. And you KNOW that?”

“Waifs from bus terminals are not noted for scholastics.”

“Nor are men with big ol’ pickup trucks.”

“Good point. Now ... your plan, the one that took off for the heather...”

She smiled. “I dunno. Gotta get something going...”

“Where’d you come from?”

She named the town.

“You left there and ended up HERE? And that’s a PLAN?”

“You have no idea of the mess I was in...”

“Uh, fugitive from the law?”

“No.”

“Am I to assume that your backpack’s everything you own...”

She hefted it. “Sad. Look, Mister Bob...”

“Just Bob.”

“You’re older...”

“You’re younger. Uh, how old?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Kinda does. Hauling young girls around is a good way to meet the wrong kind of law enforcement.”

“Sixteen, then.”

“For real?”

She rummaged through her backpack. “Driver’s license.”

I glanced as I drove. Math works out.

“Okay. Now, what do you wanna do?”

“I don’t suppose you know where those places are that, like, give out free lunches for the indigent...”

I noted ‘indigent’. I noted the blonde, blue-eyed creature sitting there and...

“You’re sitting in one of ‘em.”

“No, seriously. That kind of place, I get a meal, they’ll probably have people who can set me up with shelter and help...”

“Oh, okay ... You’re sitting in that, too.”

“Seriously...”

“Look, Carlie, I’m a thirty-two year old engineer. I’m divorced, wife’s two states away, I have a two bedroom house to myself in a nice neighborhood. You can crash there ... Phone. Internet. Computer. You can look up the proper agencies at your leisure...”

“Uh, I just left a couple of dudes who had ‘pimp’ stenciled on ‘em. So I’m outa the pan. Is this the fire?”

“Carlie, if you scream and holler for help, my next door neighbor will come running and chop me to death with a garden hoe. He’s decent people. I promise...”

“You make it sound like a sane option. What others do I have?”

“Drop you off at the big church downtown. You walk in and talk with them. They may have room at one of the shelters.”

“Okay. Others?”

“Marcus is probably saddened that you didn’t accept his offer in the personal entertainment industry...”

“Marcus can learn to live with disappointment. Carlie’s a good girl. Intends to stay that way.”

“Okay. So what’s your choice?”

“Lunch budget will allow the dollar meal at Mickie D’s or such.”

“Do you mind if I counter that choice with ‘yechhh!’ and offer a meal at a little diner instead? My treat?”

“Uh, Bob, I could ... if it’s not expensive...”

“Carlie, I just said ‘my treat’. That means I pay. Okay? I can afford it.”

“I’m not doin’ quid pro quo here...”

“Okay, now I’m taking you to lunch because I’m intrigued. Since I met you twenty minutes ago, you’ve dropped a Burns quote and a Latin phrase. These are not behaviors one might normally associate with the odd indigent teen.”

A smile crossed her lips. “I’m not odd. Much, anyway.”

“Talkin’ about professional cephalopods to strangers...” I muttered loud enough for her to hear.

Giggle. “QUID, not SQUID.”

“Ah, so you know the difference.”

“I do. Bob, you’re ... What do YOU do for a living?”

“Point at things and holler...”

“Seriously.”

“Engineer. I just finished a nine-month project in Africa. I’m between jobs right now.”

“Unemployed?”

“In the broad definition of the word. More accurately, I’m NOT seeking employment. Got savings at just the level I want. Taking some ‘me’ time.”

“Oh...”

“Oh? Like something’s WRONG with that?”

“I thought a full-time job was kind of a goal...”

“Miss Carlie, I’m full-time whenever I want to be. I can make a phone call right now and tell you where I’ll be working in six months.”

“And in that six months?”

I smiled. I know the answer. “I’d have everything I need. House’s paid for. I can be quite content. Might travel, might just sit on the bank of the river and fish...”

“Wow.”

“Hardly wow-worthy,” I said. “I just had goals...” I headed towards the outskirts of town.

“Where’re we going?”

“Gonna go to the house and drop this box in the garage, come back to town and find a place to eat...”

She watched the scenery change. “I thought you said ‘nice neighborhood’.”

“River road’s as nice a neighborhood as you can ask. I inherited this place. It’s mine.”

‘Mine’ was a cabin built on stilts, concession to the frequent floods. The area under the house was partially enclosed as storage and a workshop. The remainder, open, functioned as carport and the storage for a few toys – a two-holer kayak and a fifteen foot aluminum boat with a fifteen horse motor. And my OTHER car, a neat little SUV.

When I pulled off the public road I punched the button on a controller to open the gate to the six-foot chain-link fence, letting us in.

“Hmmph! Where’s that helpful neighbor?” she asked.

As we pulled in, she could see the adjoining property. There was a cabin there, and there was a man working along the fence line between us. When we stopped, I waved. He waved back.

“Let’s go do an introduction,” I said. “If you want.”

She regarded me warily. “Sure. Why not.”

“Come on.”

We walked to the fence.

“Heyyyyy, Bob!”

“Hi, Art. Meet my niece Carlie. Carlie, this is Art. He’s an attorney but we don’t hold that against him.”

“Hi, Carlie,” Art said.

“Hello, Mister Art.”

“Bekkaaaa!” Art said, “C’mere!”

Disembodied female voice from behind a big bed of gladioli. “Just a minute, honey...”

Bekka appeared, wiping her brow. “Oh, hi, Bob. Who’s this?”

“This is Carlie. My niece. Carlie, Bekka. Saint.”

“Saint?” Carlie queried.

“Yeah, because up to this point in history Art hasn’t woken up with an icepick in his earhole.”

“Now, Bill,” Bekka cooed, “you know that the only domestic friction here is his dislike for flowers...”

“Shoulda planted asparagus,” Art groused. “Ornamental AND delicious.”

“I like asparagus,” Carlie said. “And it is a beautiful plant. I’ve seen it.”

That adds a question to the stack forming in my head. Exactly how does this tiny blonde creature get exposed to asparagus other than the produce section of the grocery market?

“Carlie may be hanging around here for a few days, getting her stuff together,” I said.

Kinda felt bad about lying to my neighbors. They were GOOD neighbors. I’d spent many a lazy evening chatting with them inside the screened patio of their house, or them doing the same at mine. We’ve charred meat and abused fish together. Proper neighbors.

Carlie and I took off. I off-loaded my box onto a little wagon and trundled it into the enclosed shed. Carlie looked around.

“I don’t recognize a lot of this stuff.”

“Shooting stuff,” I said. “I load my own cartridges. It’s a hobby.”

“Interesting,” she said. “You’re, like, that gun culture they talk about?”

“Depends on who ‘they’ are and what ‘they’ say.”

“Oh, you see the news, don’t you?”

“That ‘they’ is wrong. I shoot for sport, for personal challenge. I keep guns to support that, and to protect what’s mine.”

“Oh.”

“Scary, ain’t it?” I said.

“You don’t look scary.”

“Thank you. Now, let’s lock this place up and go find food.”

“‘Kay.”

This time we got in the SUV.

“Nice car,” she said.

“More economical than the truck, but sometimes I just need a truck.”

“Understand.”

“Uh, Carlie, YOU get a say in this. I didn’t pick up a teen girl so I’d have somebody’s life to run.”

“Nobody’s running my life, Bob. You got me out of a tight place. I appreciate that.”

“Just helping where I could.”

The diner I had in mind for lunch wouldn’t be open for another half an hour, so we drove the long way back into town. She kept her head swiveling, taking in the scenery.

“Lot of nice houses,” she said.

“And then there’s mine,” I returned.

“Yours is nice. Maybe a bit smaller...”

“It’s just me. Don’t need much. There’re two bedrooms. You get one for tonight if you want.”

“That’s nice of you to offer. Bob, you don’t know anything about me, though...”

“You appear intelligent and the possessor of good personal hygiene. Lack of tattoos and body piercings indicates you’ve avoided some poor life choices.”

“That’s just it. Up to this point, I didn’t have any choices.”

“If you wanna talk, I’ll listen,” I said.

“You sure?”

“I got time.”

“Okay. Three months ago I was living with Gramma...”

“I’m listening.”

“Mom never grew up. I’m more mature on my worst days than Mom was. It was all about immediate fun with Mom. I’m a result of some of that. I was a whole two weeks old the first time I ended up with Gramma while Mom went to rehab in lieu of sentencing.”

“Wow. Not good.”

We pulled into the parking lot, about the third car there. “Let’s go get us a corner where you can talk...”

She looked at me warily.

“Or not. Carlie, you don’t HAVE to...”

“Somebody needs to know...”

We got seated, got drinks ordered, plus a couple of the daily specials.

“So,” I prodded. “Gramma...”

“Nice thing about it is that there were TWO of us to cry over Mom. Gramma never understood where she went wrong, and I never understood either. Maybe she didn’t – do wrong, I mean. People make choices.”

She looked rather sad. I guess I’d be sad, telling the tale myself.

“It was like that a bunch of times – live with mom for a while, then end up at Gramma’s. Jail. Rehab. New guy who was IT this time. Not like that last one, or the one before that. When I was twelve, Mom gave up, signed parental rights to Gramma. Four months ago, Gramma had a stroke. Big one. Hospital. Coma. And...”

Tears. Real ones. “Dammit, Bob, SHE loved me. Cared for me. Me and her in that little apartment, we were makin’ it ... she had an annuity from my grandpa. He got killed in an offshore accident, she got the settlement, stretched it to raise Mom, then was doing okay with me. And she had that stroke.”

“I’m sorry, baby...” Then realized that I said ‘baby’. Okay, crying female. Soft names are warranted.

She noted the name, smiled a little. “Thank you for acting like you care.”

“I DO care. Not much I could’ve done about it but I do care.”

“I know ... But when Gramma died, that meant I had ONE option – Mom. She and I went through Gramma’s apartment, me crying my eyes out, Mom putting a dollar sign on everything in the place. Me, praying that just maybe this would be the catalyst for Mom to change. Mom, figuring out how the windfall would pan out in her ongoing quest for whatever Mom was looking for. I wasn’t it.”

She continued. “I knew when I walked into the apartment. It was a wreck. A crash pad. Like something out of one of the police shows – the ones that have a camera following the cops around when they have to go into those houses to arrest druggos and whatever. Two days, two nights, Bob. That was enough. I took the money I had in cash and bought a ticket heading west and this is as far as I could get. I have four dollars and change...”

“And you thought I’d let you spend your money on your own lunch. Geez, lady, what kind of animal am I supposed to be?”

“Compared to ol’ Marcus back there?”

“Well, I gotta be an improvement over that.”

“I hope so. I think I could’ve been makin’ some real mu’fuckin’ money tonight, though, to quote his business model.”

“He said that?”

“Not to me. To his buddy. I guess I wasn’t supposed to hear that, maybe...”

“Maybe not. There’s a certain population that thinks that’s not a bad deal...”

“I’m sure that it’s a better deal if your pimp’s not trollin’ the Greyhound station.”

“Perhaps. I never gave it much thought.”

“Safety net,” she said. “I always heard about a social safety net, but I have no idea ... I just ran. I can’t go back. And I...”

Plates arrived. Conversation moderated a bit as we ate.

After the meal, though...

“You said you had a computer at your house.”

“This is 2018. EVERYBODY’S got a computer...”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Opener for conversation, Bob.”

“Repartee, Carlie.”

“Oh, you’re FUN!”

“Yes, I have a computer. Or two.”

“I can start looking at things. Options.”

“Yeah, options ... Like maybe asking what clothing and supplies you have in that backpack.”

“Jeans. ‘Nother T-shirt. Couple changes of undies. Socks. Hairbrush.”

“And that’s it?”

“Everything else I owned was on a pile in the kitchen in front of the washing machine. Mom was supposed to buy detergent so I could do the laundry. She was passed out on the sofa with some dude I don’t even know, and I don’t know what they were on, but they didn’t move a muscle when I packed up and left.”

“And you’re gonna start your new life with that?”

She sighed. “I heard that some of the shelters will give you a stipend and help you with necessities...”

“Uh, part of the problem, Carlie, is that you’re a minor. You’re liable to end up in a foster program or something. I dunno ... You can’t do a whole lot. You’ve got a parent...”

“If I had a parent I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

“Well, there are legal things ... Tell you what, when we get back, lemme get Art to come over and talk with you...”

“I’m screwed, huh?”

“Nope. Not screwed. First, you’re safe. Second, you’ve got shelter and food. Third, I got time on my hands so I can run you around doing what you need to do to get on with life.” I glanced away from the road to check her.

Serious look.

“Although I have NO idea what you might want to do. Sixteen. I’d hope finishing school was on the list...”

“How? School. Requires a place to stay, a place where food and shelter is provided. School’s five days a week ... I guess I have all summer to work, though...”

“Yeah, minimum wage, maybe a buck or two more. You’re not going to get food and shelter on that. Sorry.”

“Dammit, Bob...”

“Sorry, Carlie. Truth. Reality.”

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