Chapter 1: Stopping by the side of the road...

The sky was one of those high, impossibly blue cloudless skies so often found in Eastern Washington in May. Heading west, I was driving out of Spokane in my 21-foot Class C motorhome. I'd been visiting my son, his wife, and most importantly my three granddaughters in Spokane. The idea was to have a visit just before Memorial Day weekend. That way I'd miss the holiday traffic, they would see their dad and granddad, and Brent and his family would have the long weekend to themselves without granddad getting in the way.

It had been a great few days, nice break from the routine in Seattle. As always Brent and his wife Marilyn wanted me to stay over for the holiday. Made me feel good but now I was down. Since my wife's death 2 years ago after 37 years of marriage, I'd tried to avoid 'bothering' people. Sure, it was a sign of depression, so go take a hike. It was my depression.

To top off my blues, the beautiful 85-degree day was too hot for me after spending all those years in Seattle. Not that it really rains 12 months a year in Seattle, but anything over 80 degrees is a real heat wave over on the wet side of the state on t'other side of the Cascade Mountains. The drive hadn't really started yet but I decided to pull into the next rest stop, use the 'facilities' and get a cup of the free coffee handed out by the volunteers. Pulling in I parked on the 'heavies' side. Didn't need to, as my rig was only 21 feet long, but I'd gotten accustomed parking alongside the big trucks.

Pulling to a smooth stop then yanking on the brake I stepped out of the air-conditioned cab into a really beautiful spring day. It was hot on the asphalt but stepping onto the concrete sidewalk the hot oil stench disappeared, replaced by the aroma of newly mown grass. And the heat also became comfortable, even for one of us wet-siders as we Seattleites were called. Strolling to the large brick building housing the restrooms I counted, found a sign with 3 letters and walked in after exchanging my prescription sunglasses for my regular pair.

Leaving the dimly lit john I strolled back into the dazzle of the morning sun. When I turned toward where my rig was parked I was stopped in my tracks.

Just stepping out of her car maybe 100 feet from me was a 'Woman'. When I was younger I would have said it was love at first sight. That quick glance convinced me the world required I spend as much time as possible examining this treasure. Of course It was necessary I do it without making a complete jackass of myself. I'd that entirely too often in the past. Clumsily fumbling my dark glasses from the dark leather case on my belt I began trying to swap them with the regular glasses I had worn inside. Of course I had to keep stealing quick glances as she swayed toward me and I bobbled going for the cover of the sunglasses; surreptitiously I hoped.

By the time I swapped glasses she was maybe 40 feet away, and I felt safe turning toward her and beginning the business of ogling her good. She was wearing dark glasses too, so I figured I was safe. There was no way she could see where my eyes were directed as long as I just faced my rig and didn't look directly at her.

Now you've got to understand what I was seeing. She was wearing a sundress made of some kind of really clingy, swirling material. It had spaghetti straps which showed off her shoulders to perfection. Bright golden flowers were cheerfully splashed onto a lovely light tan background. The color combination was a perfect compliment to her dark blond hair and the lovely light tan of her shoulders. She wore her hair loose, hanging to her square shoulders. My take was that it was one of those expensive 'dos.' It gave her a wind-tousled or just out of bed look. You take your choice about which look you would pick. I knew which one I picked. The slight breeze was moving her hair, adding to the effect.

In my mind her hair was mussed from my fondling and our exertions.

The soft, silky materiel of the very modest dress swelled and clung where she swelled, then pulled in and clasped her where her curves dictated. As I said, it was a perfect compliment to her soft golden coloring. The way it clung to her bust, hips and very sexy little tummy was affecting me more than if she were nude. Some women know that truth, and she was one of them; a woman intelligently dressed can be far more attractive than a nude. Where the dress swelled over her breasts it made my palms itch. Her breasts were perfect for her frame. Just use your imagination and create the perfect shape, that was her.

And something marvelous in this day when the flat, athletic, near anorexic body is worshipped, she had this little tummy. It was accented by the dress that made me want to kiss and lick it, and then rub our bellies together.

I guessed she was 35 or so; not a young hard-body with limited experience that she assumed was all there was to know. Instead this was a woman who had been there a few times and felt the heat. In her case the world had turned out a superior product.

Her hips, and legs, the way she glided across the ground, the poetry of her every movement, the big wide grin she threw at me when she was about 8 feet away... Oops! Oh God! I'd been busted! She damn well knew where my eyes were directed. Perhaps it was the drool coming out of the side of my mouth that gave me away. Embarrassed at being caught, I gave her one of my big, friendly, embarrassed grins and we both said hi as she passed me.

I slunk over to my rig, forgetting about the coffee I was going to pick up at the volunteer stand, and consoled myself that she hadn't been one of those that picked a fight with a man for admiring her. She'd very obviously been amused, and I could only hope she was secretly pleased at the compliment my admiration had paid her.

Of course a woman looking like she did must be accustomed to male attention. There were several ways people so physically blessed reacted, both men and women. Some took it as their due for the superior being they were. Others were ruefully amused at the attention people paid to what they considered their least important attributes. From my blonde's reaction, I suspected she was one of those rare women that had been truly blessed physically who accepted their physical gifts and recognized how shallow such gifts really were. She would know her worth extended far beyond her shape, compelling as it was. She enjoyed her assets, was proud of them, but knew the skin-deep gifts were unimportant compared to the mind and heart where her true value was found. It was usually true of such people that their minds and talents were very great and rare indeed.

What my blonde had seen was a man just under average height at 5 foot 8. He carried a tad bit too much weight, had short iron gray hair and a full, short-cropped beard now turned almost pure white. The weight was distributed evenly over a square, wide shouldered frame such that while my 210 pounds was too much, it fit the nick-name given me when I was younger, "Fireplug." But what was most important was the smile I had thrown at her.

Over my 6o plus years I've learned I can usually charm almost anyone with my smile and grin. The one I'd thrown at her had the desired effect. When she saw my grin her smile had turned to an open mouthed wide grin. What made that grin effective and probably my greatest tool for making friend, was that I was sincere.

I prided myself in being fit for my age, but could never be mistaken for someone my blonde's age. So while I admired her immensely from afar, I knew it would only be from afar. Even if we became good friends my admiration would still have to be at a distance.

Back in my rig I decided to wait and treat myself to watching her return saunter to her car. That would make the whole day more pleasant.

She was that good looking.

Maybe 5 minutes later she exited the ladies and turned her long strides toward where she had parked her car, a gleaming dark blue BMW parked alongside the curb between the red brick building and where I waited in my motorhome. About half way to the car a man called to her from one of the bank of phones standing against the brick building. She stopped and waited for him as he marched briskly to where she now stood, regally waiting for him.

He was an officious looking man, carrying too much weight in his belly and ass, dressed in pressed tan chino's and wearing a lemon yellow golf shirt. His shoes looked like Gucci's from where I was sitting. His face wore a determined and self-important look as he bustled over. I knew at a glance that the 'Entire Weight of the Future of Western Civilization' rested on his 'Square, Strong, Competent Shoulders'. At least that was his opinion.

He started speaking before he reached my blonde. I could see her shoulders tense all the way from where I was sitting though I couldn't hear what he had to say. By the time he was standing before her she had brought her feet together, squared her whole stance and crossed her arms in front of her breasts.

She was in a classic angry, defensive, closed posture position. Anyone paying the least bit of attention to her body language knew this was one angry upset female. She was fighting mad. I made a little bet with myself that unless one was very observant or knew her, she would not let anyone know how truly pissed she was.