Road Rash
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2014 by oyster50

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Chuck's on the road going home. It's amazing the things one might find on the side of the road. Like Jen, a bit bent, but not broken.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Oral Sex   Masturbation   Petting   Cream Pie   Slow  

I was rolling down the interstate on the way home from a week on the road. It hadn't been a bad week. Somebody had a problem they couldn't quite get a handle on, so they called me. I went.

Had a meeting to talk about the problem. Walked out with a couple of technicians and let them show me what they'd found and what they'd done. I guided them through a few more checks, directed by a couple decades of experience, and let them find the failure. A replacement part went in to replace the failed one, we turned it on, things worked.

Had another meeting to talk about what we'd done. I gave as much credit to the local guys as I could possibly do without making myself look like a dolt, but when I walked out of the place, everybody knew who really got things back on track. That's fine. I know who they'll call next time.

So I'm on the road, three hundred miles into the four hundred mile trip back home, cruise control set on seventy-five, even though that last sign I passed said the limit was seventy. I was only getting passed by five percent of the traffic. I saw one of those in my rear-view mirror so I eased out of the left lane to give him the road.

That put me closing pretty fast on a ten year old SUV that was emitting the occasional puff of smoke from the exhaust. Blue smoke. Oil problem. I punched the button on my car's AC to put it on 'recirculate' so I wouldn't breathe that oil stench, and I kicked the cruise control off so I didn't overrun that SUV. My highballing buddy in the left lane blew past me at an estimated eighty-five.

I saw two things happen. First, as Rodney Ramjet passed under an overpass, a blue light started flashing. He was getting ready to contribute to the state's coffers for a speeding.

Second, a huge gout of blue smoke came out of the SUV. Not just the exhaust, either. Under the car. Out of the edges of the hood. It started pulling to the right shoulder.

If I was headed TO a job, I might not have stopped. But I was headed home. No schedule there but my own. And I was feeling particularly happy with myself, so I pulled onto the shoulder behind it.

I expected a door to open. It didn't. Okay, maybe not my brightest move, but let's go see. I got out.

When I got to the driver's side door, there was a female form hunched over the steering wheel, obviously sobbing. I rapped gently on the window.

Tearful eyes turned to me. The face was middle-aged, not unpleasant except for tears tracking down both cheeks.

I held both hands up, showing they were empty. The window came down about an inch and a half. "Are you okay?"

She fought back sobs. "No I'm NOT okay. I tried. I really TRIED..." trailed off into sobs. Recovered enough to squeak "stupid car's dead. Piece of SHIT!" And more sobs.

"Is there something I can do? Help? Call somebody?"

"No! Nobody. Nobody at all!"

I could smell the hot oil and antifreeze as I stood there. This car was badly messed up. "I don't think your car's going to drive. Are you sure I can't help you?"

The window went back up. I thought, 'Oh, well. I tried.' I started to turn back to my car when her door opened. I did a quick, and I hope, not too obvious survey of who got out of the SUV. Inventory: Female. Thirtish. A little less than five and a half feet tall. Not fat, by any stretch, but nicely rounded, instead of that 'anorexic super-model' look. Brown hair, collar-length, streaked with highlights. Brown eyes. Wearing loose-fitting jeans and a decidedly unrevealing sweatshirt, but the front was pushed out just a little, so not 'busty' as they say, but definitely a pair of breasts there. Nails. Natural. A small pair of athletic shoes held the whole mess up.

She wasn't as subtle as I was. She looked me over from head to toe. Fortunately my travel clothes are pretty neat: Canvas pants, clean chambray work shirt. Leather shoes.

"What the heck," she said. "At this stage of the game an axe-murderer would be a step up."

"I'm under treatment for my murderous tendencies," I said. "I'm Charles..."

"Manson," she interrupted. Hint of smile.

"Charles LeBert. Chuck. Thank you."

"Virginia Coleman," she said. "Jenny. Homeless for the last two hours. Now on foot."

"I don't see you whipping out a cellphone, so..."

"Who would I call? My ex-boyfriend? He's who I'm leaving. Mom? In Section 8 housing? Living from one government check to another? Friends? They're a hundred and twenty miles up the road and most of them are on HIS side." Her shoulders heaved in a heavy sigh. Eyes started getting wet again as she inventoried her situation. "And my stupid piece of shit car just broke." Sigh. "How far's the next town?"

"Twenty minutes if you're gonna go in the direction you were travelling. Want a ride?"

"You don't mind?"

"I don't mind. I can't think of the hit my karma would take if I left you on the side of the interstate. Do you need help with anything?"

"I have a suitcase. Stuff I gotta have."

"You got a lot more in there than a suitcase."

"I know. Somehow I'll get the rest of it. Don't know where I'll put it for right now."

"Anything valuable?"

"I guess maybe my laptop."

"Let me carry that suitcase. Get your laptop." I opened the rear door and stowed her suitcase. She was right behind me with a laptop bag. I stowed that, too. She opened the passenger-side door.

"Let me move that crap," I said. "I don't usually worry about passengers."

She settled into the seat, buckled up her seatbelt, folded her hands in her lap. I cranked up the car, looked at the traffic, accelerated and merged onto the roadway.

"Okay," I said. "What's your plan?"

"I don't have one. I have six hundred dollars cash to my name and a credit card that has four hundred before it's full. I was planning on driving all day. Goin' to the big city. Get a cheap room in a fleabag motel, and Monday start job-hunting."

"Sounds kind of 'iffy'. You know how the job market is right now."

"I'm a registered nurse. Try that question again."

I glanced sideways and saw a look cross her face, a glimmer of self-confidence. "Oh," I said. "I didn't know."

"Got two sets of scrubs in my suitcase. I'm sure I can get a job."

"You can get a job almost anywhere." Nurses were eminently portable. "Now what's the plan?"

"What's your verdict on my car?"

"I can't be sure without an examination, but you look like you tossed a rod through the crankcase. Totaled the engine. Couple of thousand bucks if somebody finds a used one and doesn't screw you too bad on the swap. It goes up from there."

"I don't have that kind of money. What's the saying? 'No plan survives the first contact with the enemy'?"

"I didn't expect a random nurse to come up with that phrase," I said.

"To YOU I might be some random nurse, but you see before you an Army Medical Corps veteran. And after I served my time I came out and got my RN."

"Oh, then you're not exactly unique, but rather rare, for sure."

"What do you do, Chuck?"

"I'm just a tired ol' engineer, on the road chasing problems."

"I kinda wondered. You don't LOOK like the standard loser. Nice car."

"Company car. I'm kinda stretching the rules carrying you around."

"Don't wanna get you in trouble."

"I doubt there'll be trouble. And if somebody was to see me and say something, I'd claim it as a 'Good Samaritan' act. 'Sides, I have a little bit of standing in the company."

"Oh, do you?!?" she blurted.

"Yes, I do. I'm not indispensible. Nobody is. But I'm awfully convenient."

"Oh. I guess it's nice."

"More or less. What about you?"

"Short version? Why buy the cow if the milk is free. That's me. Free milk. Got tired of being the cow."

I glanced sideways. She didn't look like a cow at all. Cows aren't maybe five foot four, hundred and ten, hundred and twenty pounds. Cows got udders. The creature in the seat next to me did NOT have udders. Not that I'm an expert, all though I am as much a fan as any man, but those looked like B-cups.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to hit a sore spot," I replied.

"Right now I'm just one great big sore spot. I'm sorry, but what did you say your name was?"

"Charles LeBert. 'Chuck'."

"Sorry, Chuck. I'm a little bit fried right now."

"I can imagine." I named the big city up the road. "Your destination?"

"Yeah. Figured I could hide amongst a few hundred thousand other people until I got my stuff together."

"At least you had a plan."

"Now. Should've had a plan a long time ago."

"Ooooo-kay, then..."

"I know you're not asking. Is it okay if I want to tell you anyway?"

"Sure. I'm not unfamiliar with the 'you're such a gooood friennnnnd, Chuck' activities. Here's my shoulder. You may cry when ready."

"You have a streak of attitude, don't you?"

"I'm sorry. I've been that 'nice guy' sitting over there on the edge of the room while every girl I ever desired waltzed right up to some turd whom I'd guarantee would treat her like hammered shit before it was over, and I've had several of those girls come cry on my shoulder afterward."

"Burnt. You're burnt. I'm one of those girls. Speaking on behalf of all of us, I am truly, deeply sorry."

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