Car Trouble_(1)

Car Trouble

Beverly, I call her Bev had been so sweet, I thought as I drove down the dark highway. Bev was the girl of my dreams, five foot six, one hundred and thirty five pounds, long wavy ebony hair, flowing down her backless sundress. She has high cheekbones, like she has some Indian blood, bright blue eyes and full red painted cupid-bow lips. I could feel myself getting hard in my slacks just thinking about her.

I’m Aaron Markem and I’m twenty two years old, six foot one, one hundred and ninety pounds, dark-hair, brown eyes and I have a solid eight inch rock hard uncut cock. One of my earlier girlfriends claimed that I could drive nails with it. I’m a well-rounded person. I sometimes ride a motorcycle, love all kinds of music, and have an artistic side to me that very few are aware of.

Wiggling uncomfortably on the seat, I looked out the front windshield then glanced in the rearview mirror. My car was the only one on the road for miles. No one was around. Slipping my hand down into my lap, I unzipped my slacks and pulled out my hard cock. With a groan, I started stroking it as I thought about Bev. Of her ruby lips against mine, my hands on the smooth skin of her back as I held her on the dance floor. If only I’d had another hour with her, I’m sure I would have had her panties off.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. I could feel myself losing control of the car and I swerved, trying to avoid letting the soft shoulder suck me too far into the ditch. At last the car stopped my foot heavy on the brake. For a few minutes, I just sat in the driver’s seat, gasping for breath and tightly gripping the steering wheel, as I tried to compose myself. Then, as my breathing stabilized I slowly started to get out of the car.

As I shakily walked around to the front of the car, I thought to myself, “What the hell had just happened?” Then I looked down, dropped to my knees in shock. “Fuck. I blew a fucking tire and I don’t even have a spare. Son-of-a…”

Slamming my hand down on the hood as I moaned, “I’m screwed. How the hell am I going to get home now?”

The only reason I’d left Bev’s so early was because I’d had to get home in time to get a good nights sleep so I’d be well rested for an interview in Dallas. The party we’d gone to was closer to her house than to the city. So even though there was a chance I could have gotten laid if I’d stayed at her house, it hadn’t made sense. It was better to just go home and get up for the interview all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

And now, this. “Son of a bitch,” I screamed at the sky. It was so late that very few cars were passing on the freeway. And I didn’t even have my cell phone with me. Well, I thought, maybe I can wave someone down and they’ll call a tow-truck for me. If not, maybe they’d give me a ride home, I thought. As I watched the approaching lights of the very next car, I put out my hands and started waving frantically.

”Wow,” I thought. “I don’t believe it. The first car I waved at is stopping.”

Slowly the car pulled over and stopped in front of mine. I stayed near the open driver-side door, just in case some crazy wacko got out, intent on killing me. I’d rather take my chances inside my car, than out.

But the person who got out of the other car didn’t look anything like a wacko.

The first thing I saw was her heels, tall black stilettos. Then, I saw the curve of both her calves. She wasn’t wearing stockings but her bare skin in the moonlight was smooth creamy beige. Next came her thighs, half hidden by a tight black skirt that was all business, no slits.

Finally, she stood up. She was tall, around five foot nine with white-blonde hair and dark painted eyes. Her hair was finely styled and flowed in waves to her shoulders and was evenly brushed to a high sheen. Her lips were dark ruby red and moist. And I could smell her expensive perfume already.

Standing up, she stood beside her car, watching me carefully. Then she called out. “Do you need help?”

I squinted at the woman in the dark, the only light that of my headlights and the red taillights from her car. “Well, do you have a phone? Maybe if you could just call a tow truck, I’ll be okay.”

“Sure, I can do that,” she laughed. Then, when she sat back down in her car and started fishing around in her purse, I stared at her long bare legs.

Bev was a knock out but damn, this lady was stunning, a real babe. Bev was the kind of girl that you married, but this lady was the kind you wrapped around you like a bandage and had as many ways as possible, all at once.