Rachel’s Debt (Chapter 1 – The Accident)

It had been a long day at work. Usually, the drive home was enough to clear my head, but tonight some niggling little thought had crawled into my brain. The farther I drove, the more anxious I got, but whatever was bothering me danced just outside the edge of comprehension. Traffic was usually sparse at this time of night, and Idly considered the vehicle I had found myself stuck behind as my mind reeled. It was an older model of the nearly brand-new truck I was driving. There was rust on the tailgate. A dent in the rear bumper. Another car, passing in the opposite direction, lit the cab up and I could see a crack spider-webbing its way across the windshield. Possibly a poor driver, but in these parts, it was more likely the vehicle had been handed down to some high school kid as his first car. Which didn’t preclude them from being a poor driver, obviously.

They were doing the speed limit, but my anxiety was making me more than a little impatient. I turned on his blinker and made to pass the truck. That was when I noticed the bumper sticker affixed to the tailgate. It had been right there in front of me, almost as if I had purposely avoided reading the bright white letters set out against the purple background: Dayton HS Cheerleading. As I turned the words over, something clicked. I’m not sure where the thought had come from, but I realized I hadn’t been with a woman since…since when? The last woman I had been with had been a member of my grief support group. We thought that we could help each other move on. Afterwards, we realized neither of us were ready, and moved on from each other instead. That had been…almost a year ago.

Maybe I was ready now, but I wasn’t going to find out with some likely prepubescent jailbait. Still, as I passed, my eyes flicked automatically to the girl driving the truck. She was on her cell-phone, the flash of her camera going off intermittently, but I barely registered that. Under 18 she may be, but prepubescent she was not! I took in her dirty-blonde hair, following it around the curve of her ear to where it hung limply over a pair of full, sun-kissed breasts straining against a tight, white tank top. I couldn’t see any more of her, but I could imagine her tank top stopping short of her waist, her toned midriff rising from a pair of jean shorts, her long, bronzed legs…With a start, I realized she had turned in her seat, was now facing me, a curious look on her face. Rather than passing her, I had simply been driving beside her in the wrong lane, fantasizing about her. I sped up quickly, swerved aggressively back into the correct lane, and tried to put some distance between her and I.

I sped the rest of the way home. If I had ever dipped below 15 over the speed limit, it would come as a surprise to me. There were only a few miles left to my house when I passed her, and for some reason, I didn’t want the blonde beauty seeing where I lived. Not that my house was anything to be embarrassed of, I think I was more concerned that she might see me turn, follow me down the driveway, and confront me about my staring. If I’m honest, the real concern was what I might let myself do to her if she did confront me.

Lost in thoughts about those perfectly bronzed legs wrapped around my head, I hadn’t noticed that not only had a truck closed the distance between us, but that I was about to blow right past my driveway. I stomped on the brakes, only then seeing the headlights in my rearview mirror. I heard the squeal of rubber and a metallic crunch as my truck rocked forward slightly.

I tried to slow my racing heart. The accident had rattled me a little, and I knew that, slamming on my brakes like that, I owned at least a share of fault for the accident. I had no intention of telling the other driver I had nearly missed my own house because I was busy fantasizing about a girl half my age. I tried to think of a better excuse, but the point was soon rendered moot. As I got out of my own truck, I realized the vehicle that had hit me was an older model of my own truck with a crack spider-webbing across the windshield. The driver’s side door opened and a pair of legs, every bit as long and smooth and golden as I had imagined, stepped out of the cab.

She was talking animatedly to a friend on her phone, completely focused on inspecting her own vehicle; I was completely focused on inspecting her. She wasn’t wearing the jean shorts I had pictured, but rather a flamboyantly purple pair of booty shorts that seemed tight enough to have been painted on to her tantalizing ass. Again, she caught me in the middle of a daydream, shooting me a look of disgust as she walked back to her truck.

“No Becky, there’s no real damage.” A pause as Becky supplied the other half of the conversation.

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe a scratch, but that might’ve been there before.”

“No, they won’t even notice it.”

“I don’t know, some creep. Caught him staring at my ass.”

“Yeah, he’s probably my dad’s age.”

“No, you whore, he’s definitely not.” I didn’t need to hear Becky’s voice, I had a fairly good idea how the conversation had gone. I could hear Becky’s laughter through the phone as the blonde teenager got back into her truck. She turned the key, the engine turning over and roaring to life, but as she tried to shut the door, I grabbed it, pulling it back open.

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?”

“No damage?” I was well-insured and, admittedly, the damage to my rear bumper was less than I had expected. With any other young driver, I might’ve eaten the cost of the repair and told them to be more careful, but something about her attitude had really gotten under my skin. I grabbed her arm, wrenching her out of the truck.

“Becks, I’ll call you right back. No, just give me a minute.” She hung up the phone, trying to twist away from me. “Ow, that hurts you asshole.” I didn’t let go, instead pulling her forward, in between the two trucks. “NO DAMAGE, HUH?” I was livid now, and she had noticed. She cringed as I yelled at her, and I could see tears already welling in her eyes. “Stop crying.”

She bent to inspect the large dent she had placed in my bumper, allowing me a magnificent view down her already-revealing tank top. As her bra hung from her, I glimpsed her nipples standing out like little buds from her chest. I felt a familiar stirring in my groin as I realized she didn’t have any tan lines. I got lost in a fantasy of watching her sun-bathing, her pert teenage breasts standing firmly from her body as she soaked up the sun’s luxurious rays. I imagined her sliding her hand down her body, deciding that, in this daydream, she was bottomless as well. Her hand snaked between her legs, rubbing at her slit when I realized that, yet again, I had been caught staring. Something about this girl (probably aided heavily by my own sexual drought) had turned me into a horny teenage schoolboy, one-track mind and everything.

This time, rather than disgust, she was staring at me in fear, one hand tugging at the top of her tank top, trying to cover up as much of her exposed cleavage as she could. Looking into her eyes, I began to wonder whether it had been anger or lust that had caused me to put my hands on her, dragging her from her truck. Guilt set in as I realized this was probably the first time I had spent looking at her face. I had spent so much time eye-fucking this cheerleader and yet knew I couldn’t pick her out of a lineup of other sexy blonde teens. She was pretty. Even in fear, her blue eyes shone, and I wanted badly for her to be on her knees, looking up at me with those eyes, her ruby red lips wrapped around my cock.

“I’m really sorry about your car, mister. But that doesn’t mean…you can’t just put your hands on me. It’s not right.”

“I know. I’m just…it’s been a long day. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Let’s just exchange insurance and we can both go on our way, okay?”

“Well, about that.” She crossed her arms together, subtly squashing her breasts together, pushing them higher up on her chest. I knew her intentions, just as well as I knew that, had I not been in such a long dry spell, I likely wouldn’t have noticed this at all. She was an attractive girl, probably well accustomed to using her looks to get what she wanted. When all she wanted amounted to petty high school concerns, it probably worked out quite well for her.

“Please don’t tell me you’re not insured.”

“No, I am. It’s just that, well, if I get in another accident, my parents are going to take my truck away from me. Maybe,” she cooed sweetly, “there’s something else I could do for you? You think I’m pretty, don’t you?” She bit her lip, tugging at the center of her top. Her fuck-me eyes were probably the envy of every boy in her class, and I found myself quite pleased to be on the receiving end of them.

“Shit, I’m probably your dad’s age, you can’t be doing this. How old are you even?” I knew my voice lacked any conviction. I knew she heard it, too.

“I’m eighteen, and I don’t mind. Maybe we could find somewhere private and I could give you a little show?