I pulled into the 7-Eleven and headed for the cooler. It was a typical hot summer afternoon, with temperatures near one hundred. I grabbed a bottle of water, then thought, A cold beer sure looks nice. I still had an hour or two left of work, but I decided, What the heck? I am self-employed and who’s going to care, right?

I paid for a six-pack, even though I knew I was only going to drink one, maybe two beers and save the rest for later. Then the unexpected happened.

As I was about to leave the store, I saw this hot-looking babe crossing the parking lot, sporting a very nice one-piece, very low cut, very short sundress with a large V-neck cut that more than showed off her cleavage. The outfit was designed for maximum cleavage exposure and wearing without a bra. I simply love it when a young lady knows what she has and flaunts it.

Being the gentleman that I am, I held the door open for her to enter the store. She smiled and said, “Thanks” as she stepped past me and into the store. I hung my head in disbelief. A part of me said to look back, but that would be obvious, and I didn’t want to be thought of as some type of perv, so I simply headed off to my work truck.

I checked my phone for messages, popping open a cold one and taking a sip from the bottle. There’s nothing better than a beer-cooler ice-cold beer in the middle of a hot summer day unless, of course, it is sharing that beer-cooler ice-cold beer with a hottie.

As I sat there, my hottie sauntered out of the store and walked right past the front of my truck. She glanced in my direction and when I gave her a quick smile and a head nod, she smiled back and proffered a small wave of her hand to acknowledge that she had seen my head nod. Bingo.

I rolled down my driver’s side window and then pulled up right next to where she had parked her oversized Ford 350, towing a landscaping trailer, at the gas pumps.

As she pumped gas into the truck, I looked in her direction. I extended my hand out of my truck, with a beer in my grasp and asked if she wanted a beer.

“That sounds so good,” she replied, stepping towards where I was seated in my truck. Taking the beer from me, she quickly twisted off the cap and took a huge swig, then unceremoniously wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I needed that,” she said, “thanks.”

“I don’t see you being a landscaper,” I said, taking stock of her very provocative dress.

“I work in the office,” she said. “This is my boss' truck and he asked me to fill it up for him.”

“Nice fellow,” I sarcastically replied. “He couldn’t do it himself?”

“He probably could,” she replied, “But he’s a bit lazy.”

“So, he sent you out to do it for him?”

“Yup,” she replied, brushing a wayward strand of brown hair out of her face.

“My lucky day,” I replied, introducing myself.

Her name was Sheila. Sheila Maynard.

“I like your outfit,” I replied.

She smiled and said, “You and every guy I walk by.”

“Well,” I replied, “It fits you well.”

She looked down at her chest and then back up and said, “It’s a little loose fitting, but I think it works.”

“Yes, it does,” I concurred.

There was no way to hide the obvious. I didn’t see a ring on her left hand, so I asked her if she was married.

“Nope,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Got a boyfriend?” I pressed.

“A part-time one,” she replied, taking another swig from the beer bottle and again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Married, two girlfriends and dog,” I jokingly replied.

“Poor dog,” she replied.

I laughed. I loved her quick-wittedness.

The gas pump clicked to a stop.

“I have more beer,” I quickly piped up. “Do you have some time to spare?”

“Not really,” she said. “My boss took off for a lunch with some of the guys, so I’m sure he’ll be expecting me back within the hour.”

“We can make a good dent in my six-pack in about thirty minutes,” I teased.

She hung up the gas pump handle and crossed her arms in front of herself.

“Is drinking all you had in mind, cowboy?” she asked, taking a closer look into my truck.

“Well,” I sheepishly replied, “That would depend on you.”

“Are you really married?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “But it’s complicated. Does my being married bother you?”

“No,” she replied, “But I don’t need no jealous woman coming after me.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, “What my wife doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.”

She uncrossed her arms and placed her balled-up hands on her hips.

“Dude,” she said, “You’re fucking crazy.”

“No,” I replied, “Just fucking horny.”

“I kind of figured that,” she replied matter-of-factly, stepping even closer to where I was seated in my truck. She was now right at my driver’s side window and could very easily see anything and everything in my truck.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked.

“I’m married,” I replied. “Why would I need a condom?”

She scratched at her neck and said, “Good point.”

The strong summer wind blew hard. The flap of her V-cut dress opened just enough for me to get a quick peek of her hardened left breast and perky little nipple. She placed a hand on to my arm.

“Dude,” she started, “I’ve only got about thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes is all we need,” I quickly replied, “Get in.”

She quickly darted around the outside of the front of my truck and into the front seat of my truck.

“I must be fucking nuts,” she said, as I pulled out of the 7-Eleven parking lot and down the street.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Hell, I had no clue. I was in uncharted territory.

I pulled into a strip shopping center down the street and pointed my truck to the back of the building. I pulled up outside of a fenced-in dumpster and parked. Within seconds, she was all over me.

She stripped out of her dress, and I pulled at her pink thong, stripping it down her legs. One good feel of her sloppily wet pussy told me she was already primed and ready to go. I opened the driver’s side door to my truck and toe-to-heel kicked off my shoes, then stripped out of my blue jeans and my underwear, as she positioned herself facing me, her spread legs dangling from the seat, awaiting my assault.

I pushed my tool up to her pussy and worked it in a circular pattern against the swollen lips of her vagina. She grabbed my cock and pushed it to her pussy.

“Fuck me,” she exclaimed. “Just fuck me.”

My pelvic bone crashed into hers. She grabbed the steering wheel and the seatback of my truck, trembling and shaking, yelling, “Fuck me... Fuck me... Fuck me harder... HARDER!”

It didn’t take a lot to get her to climax. She flooded me with her juices. I simply exploded. She leaned forward and grabbed my shoulders, digging in her fingers and shaking, her eyes rolling back into her head. She collapsed forward, her head coming to rest against my chest.

“Oh-my-Gawd,” she breathlessly declared. “That was awesome!”

I quickly grabbed my clothes and got dressed, as she lay back in the seat, staring straight up at the ceiling of my truck.

“Come on,” I declared, “We need to go.”

She scooted back to her side of the truck, slipping back into her dress, sans panties.

I made a mad dash back to the 7-Eleven, pulling up beside her oversized Ford 350.

“How do I find you?” she asked before stepping out of my truck. I handed her one of my business cards.

“Be discreet,” I replied. “Neither of us needs a crazy wife going after us.”

“Or a girlfriend or crazy dog,” she replied, opening the passenger side door of my truck and stepping out.

I was a block down the road when I saw her pink panties on the floorboard of my truck. So, I did what every red-blooded American guy would do. I picked them up and sniffed them, and then stuffed them into my computer satchel. A quick stop-off at McDonald's took care of any lingering odiferous smells.

I never heard from Sheila again, but funny thing, every time I see an oversized Ford 350 towing a landscaping trailer, I get horny as hell.