Chapter 9 – No good deed

And that’s when I notice her, in the reflective glass over the cash machine.  She is huddled in the corner by the radiator, feet soaked, jeans plastered to her calves almost up to her knees.  I can see she has been walking through the snow.  I know how cold it is to be wet, even near a heater, and my heart goes out to her.  I ask her if she wants a coffee or something to eat.  She smiles and nods.  I let her pick it out and buy it for her.

“What happened?”

“I had a raging argument with my parents, and they threw me out.”

She can’t be much over 21 years old, with elfin features and a seductively voluptuous body.  Yet the way she moves belies a much more innocent being, someone who just needs to be protected, taken care of, and my heart goes out to her just as my rage goes out to her parents.  How could they throw her out in the freezing cold in the middle of the night?

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“I can go to my friend’s house.”

“How will you get there?”

“I was going to walk.  But it’s so cold I, and my jeans were soaked through, so came in here to dry off.” Her smile is adorable, curling up from the corners of her mouth like two little, hesitant question-mark mice, afraid of what might happen if their smile was seen. All at once I fell for her, my brain zooming ahead to when I ask for her number, and when I can call her to find out how she is, to possibly inviting her out for coffee, nothing pushy of over bearing, for this shy flower needed the softest of gentle coaxing to open her pettles for me. And I had time, loads of it. I didn’t have to head back for at least a week. Maybe two.

My mirroring grin helps her frightened mice run rampant, dimples softening her gently rounded cheeks under starlight-twinkling eyes, and I am done. Turn me over.

We talk, ignoring the man behind the counter, who clearly closely guards his graveyard shift silence and is making all of the ‘leave now’ grunting and shuffling of the true recluse having their privacy invaded.

Right then, mid-swing in conversation, she shivers into a sneeze that curls her top lip and wrinkles her nose. I can hear Walt Disney sit up in his grave and say, “Now that’s what I call cute!” and I know what I have to do; get her warm, safe and sound, and then help her find her friend. For she clearly doesn’t want to have to drag her already half-frozen butt through god-knows how much snow and ice, just show up on their front doorstep with no warning, and have them have to explain to their parents why she should come in while she shivered outside.

No, I could sort this in one fell swoop.

“Would you like a lift?”

The look of frozen fear she gives me is all that I need to know.  She really has nowhere to go, no one to help her, not at this time of night, not without disturbing other people she doesn’t want to disturb.

“What about I give you a lift back to my parents’ place, you get dry and call your friend, and then I can drop you off at theirs?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.  I’m just up watching crap TV and fighting insomnia as it is.  That’s why I’m out here – I’m tired and bored, so I’m gonna smoke and drink myself into a stupor, until I don’t realise how not-tired I am, so I can hopefully finally get some rest!”  I go cross-eyed trying to stare my own lips into silence.  What the fuck am I on about?

I can feel the burning disdain from the man behind the counter, but I ignore it, my entire world hanging by a thread as I wait for her verdict.  Please don’t laugh.  Anything but laughing at me.

She laughs, and it’s all right, because with the laughter comes a gentle touch on my arm to tell me she means no harm.  And it is good that she is laughing, because her eyes are dancing in miraculous ways.  Ways which I have only read about in soppy romance novels.  Yet this is the real thing, and suddenly I realise why writers try to capture this moment.  I can do it better than anything I’ve ever read.  Her laughter tickled my belly, and her eyes stroked my length.  Crude, maybe, but true.  There was something so seductive in the way she looked at me that I could not help myself, I got half-hard in a nanosecond.  And for anyone who has been at the lip of insomnia, pumped full of nicotine, caffeine, and can’t sleep stress, the thought of getting hard, let alone the reality of it, is beyond comprehension.  She had my full attention, in more ways than one.

And yet I had no desire to be with her.  It was more of a psychological wonderment, rather than a masturbatory tease.  I could maybe use this later on my own, in the bathroom, to relieve pressure and go to sleep, long after she had been dropped at whatever friend’s house she needed to go to.  I really was happy to oblige.  And so, it turns out, was she.

“Yeah,” her eyes are still not sure, expecting some cruel punchline, another shiver wracking her frame, ending with her cocking her head to one side and peering at me like a thoughtful but frightened bird, “ok.  Let’s go.”

She takes my arm as I walk her through the snow – not for chivalry, just to avoid slipping on the ice and soaking the rest of her now obviously delightful body in the cold wet.  Hot wet would be better.  My mind serves up my sneaking a peak as she steams up the upstairs shower room, and I have to quickly think of other things as I open the door for her, and she falls against me as her footing gives way.

Luckily, the door catches her hand, not my ever-ready throbbing crotch.  That would have been a wonderfully messy disaster.

She snuggles down in the seat, her hands subconsciously stroking the plush leather either side of her curved jean-clad rear.  My eyes wander down her legs to the frozen half.  I turn the heat on and up, blasting our feet with boiling air, laughing as she shifts and rolls up her jeans, slipping off her shoes and socks with half an apology.

“No, that’s ok.  You don’t want to catch a cold.”

Her feet are exquisite, dainty toenails painted perfect pink, big toe curved in to meat the long toe, the arch of her foot like a dancer, curved, poised, ready to leap, her ankle a perfect bone bar topping a delicate heel – all caught in stolen glances as I steer the car back onto the road, thoughtful and slow-like.

“V8?”

“Yeah.  You wanna hear?”

“Yeah.”  The breathlessness has my heart racing and my crotch twitching.  Whoa, down boy!  I rev the engine, letting the throaty roar take over the car, before throwing it back into gear and watching out of the corner of my eye as my guest’s delicate fingers dig into the seat either side, her hands instinctively grabbing the dash as she slides some way towards me on the seat, broiling up even more dastardly images, this time of her, naked standing astride me, my face buried in her soft fluffy hair, slurping away happily.  I am rock hard, and unable to hide it, reaching over to turn the radio on, and covering myself as I do, hoping to distract her from the obvious stone sentinal in my pants.  Please don’t look.  I’d be mortified.

“Wow.”  The look in her eyes says it all; she’s hooked.  This is as much a rush for her as for me, and so I rev it again, this time paying close attention to how her eyes and nostrils flare.  How her breath quickens with every pulse of the engine through the car.  I turn the radio up and rev hard, letting the car respond by jumping ahead, no longer heading for home, or at least not the shortest way home.  She has no idea where I live anyway.  More images of her sliding across the seat towards me, her hand straying into my lap, the look of surprise and then excitement as I spin the car onto the highway and take off like a rocket, all 400 break horse power coursing through our veins.  Yes, this is right.

She doesn’t look at me, instead leaning forward into the power, her face a picture of freedom and happiness, gripping the dashboard as if her life depended on it, giving me more fuel for thought, nitrous for my libido; her gripping that tightly to the side of my bed as I take her from behind.  God I could explode!  And I nearly did, right then and there, in the middle of that drive, racing down the interstate to nowhere, this adorable, lost creature by my side, the demons in my own soul quiet at last, working out how best to catch me when I finally did slow down.  I don’t have to.

But I did.  I couldn’t just take off.  Damn my non-thieving ways.  Sure, I was being a good Samaritan by bringing her in from the cold, but I wouldn’t be doing her any favors by running away with her, not now, not ever.  She had a family, and friends near where my parents’ live, and that is all that really matters.  Parents.  Parent.  I still can’t get my head around it.  My dad had remarried, and I still really thought of him as single.  Yet somehow, the word parents matches him on his own, for that is what he has been all my life – both my mother and my father; my parents.

I get off at the next exit.  I can see the disappointment etching her face as she realises why I am slowing down.  For the briefest moment I see a steely anger followed by despair which disappears in the blink of an eye, and the look of pure innocence which she turns my way leaves me wondering whether I had really seen it at all.

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