She looked vulnerable. A few smears of mud on her ankle and the battered suitcase made her look genuine, despite a hint of being jail bait on legs. I think I can trust myself to resist temptation and anyway I almost always pick up hitch-hikers. It’s a kind of payback. Years ago, when I was a student it was the only way I could get around. Peggy was at a college a hundred miles away, so on my budget, if I wanted to see her, I had to ride with my thumb.

I learned some tricks, like I always carried a rolled umbrella and wore a decent coat. If it rained I stayed dry but more important, I looked posh, so cars stopped and trucks didn't.  That brolly was worth about twenty miles an hour. 

These days I stop for anyone who looks safe. I guessed she was half my age and she sure as hell didn’t have anything to keep the rain off. It didn't matter, she could have looked like a dog and I'd have stopped. The way I was feeling right then any company would have been good, but that smile and those legs felt like a treat I needed.

Back in my days as a hitch-hiker I had some brilliant lifts that have stuck in my mind for years. The red Ferrari for instance; I have no idea why someone with a two-seater car and a really hot girlfriend would stop for a hiker, even one with an umbrella. There wasn’t any room, but I squeezed in and the girl half sat half on my lap. The guy started talking about brake horsepower, zero to sixty before you can blink twice and all that stuff. He waxed lyrical about his pride and joy for a couple of minutes before he stopped for breath and the blond, who was so close to me that one breast was almost in my ear, leaned even closer and purred.

“And it’s red.”

The guy never said another word.

The girl on the road had the same look. I wasn't barreling along in a red Ferrari, I was trundling down the road in a thirty foot motorhome. The blond in cut off jeans was standing in a good place — easy for me to stop and in a second she was in the front seat. We were rolling again before it crossed my mind to wonder what Peggy would think.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“I haven’t totally made up my mind. What about you?”

I laughed. “Not too sure myself,” I said. “Maybe the lakes, maybe further north.”

“I guess in this thing you can please yourself.”

“That’s the plan. We could live in this for months.”

“We?” she said, looking back to where Peggy should have been sitting — to where, in my mind, she was sitting.

“This thing is bigger than my old flat,” she said.

“Old flat?”

“The one I got thrown out of last week.”

“Sounds bad,” I said.

“Well maybe. I needed a change but it’s hard to make decisions, so I figured I'd save the rent, get thrown out, and take it from there.”

I must have looked shocked. “Aw, come on,” she said. “It’s not that bad. Things turn up.”

“Really?”

“Well, you’ve got enough room here… there’s a bed at the back and one over the cab right?”

“Yeah, but…”

She grinned at me. A slow devious smile wound its way over her face, throwing questions at me at the same time as solidifying into a knowing look.

"Where does your wife sleep?" her eyes flicked a glance over her shoulder again. The curtains were closed across the bedroom at the back.

"Sorry?"

"Your wife… Ah, but you're not speaking are you." It was a statement not a question

“Maybe.”

“Come on. I could smell it as soon as I got in. Is it serious?”

“I wish I knew,” I said without really thinking. Was it serious? Right then, Peggy hadn’t actually left me, she’d just transferred some of her affections elsewhere. It was crazy to pick up a girl half my age without even asking Peggy, except she hadn’t asked me about Jim.

"That bad?" she said, reading something in my posture I guess. I kept my eyes on the road.

"Why did you pick me up?"

"I always do, it's payback for all the rides I got as a student."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, "but why did you pick ME up. You could ease your social conscience with any hairy hippy, but why me?"

Why did I pick her up? The question bounced around in my brain. Because I was feeling down, because she looked a little desperate, because, because, because… I wished I was driving on a road with hundreds of curves and bad traffic, but on a wide open motorway there was no way I could fake having to concentrate. On a road like that the van almost drove itself.

"You looked vulnerable, sad, and a little desperate," I said.

"Yeah, whoopee. I've worked so hard on that look. You're a darling, that was exactly the right thing to say."

I had to chuckle and it kind of broke the ice. "I'm twenty-six," she said. "This is my traveling look. Don't be scared." So, actually not half my age I thought, what's ten years between friends. She put her hand on my knee for a second. "Go on. Tell me about it."

"She's having an affair." What else was there to say.

"You drive as if she was sitting behind you." She looked over her shoulder again. "I wondered if she was in the bed back there, but she's not is she?"

"No, but she haunts me on this road."

"How come? No, hang on, I get it. Did she go this way with her… um, ha, I've caught myself out there haven't I. Is it a guy?"

"Jim," I said. "His name is Jim. He was her night-school teacher."

"Art classes?"

"Computers."

"Oooh, that's a new one. A randy nerd. Sorry, I shouldn't be so cruel. It must be hell for you. Why did you go this way, there are other roads north."

"I had to lay the ghost."

There was a long silence and we kept rolling until she said, "Could we stop for a coffee and a bathroom break?"

We rolled into a service station, I forget which one, but it didn't matter, I had everything we could need in the van. I made coffee while she tried out my bathroom and then gave herself a sort of unguided tour.

"Hell of a bed," she said pulling back the curtains. "May I?" Without waiting for an answer she threw herself on top of the duvet.

"Wow, that is so comfortable. You're right, you could live in this thing forever." She rolled around for a minute making happy noises and then joined me at the dining table for coffee.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Did I? What was there to say? I'd spent my life earning money to buy a house, feed my wife and the dogs, sometimes working all the hours there were; coping with her being depressed after a miscarriage, working more hours so she could stay at home, and finally encouraging her to get out more. The computer classes were supposed to be a cure because she thought her brain was going soft.

If only she'd said she wanted variety… well... pointless question because she never asked. She went behind my back, never said a word. The bird watching trip seemed like a good thing. I had to stay at home for work, but I encouraged that too. When she got back she told me. She never used the train ticket I bought - he picked her up as soon as I said goodbye, and they drove up this road, this self-same road. She didn't take the motorhome because she said it was too big for her to drive. When she got home she told me she was going to leave.

"Is he better in bed than you?"

"How the fuck should I know. I haven't been invited to watch."

"Would you like to watch?"

"What?"

"Sorry," she said. "Some men do."

"Gee," I said. "Are you some kind of expert?"

She looked at me across the table for a second or two.

"Maybe."

"Are you a counselor or something?"

That drew a warm smile, a friendly, comforting smile.

"No,” she said, “but I might be able to help, if you'll let me." Another smile, "I know what you're thinking."

"Are you psychic?"

"No, but if you weren't thinking that fucking me would help, then you're an exceptional man."

I think I laughed about then, or at least it was supposed to be a laugh but it came out more of a strangled sob. There's a fine line between laughing and crying and I crossed it in one breath.

"Okay," she said, her voice softening, "so what were you actually thinking?"

"A thousand things, but not that. I was aiming to spend a few days on the hills to get my head clear. Peggy may be sleeping around but I still love her."

"What has love got to do with it? I bet she doesn't love Jim, she was probably carried away with the excitement. Don't look so shocked, I know how it works."

"Does that mean I might get her back?"

"Has she actually left?"

"Well no, she's at home looking after the dogs."

"Which of you sleeps in the spare room?"

"She does."

I was going to explain about how that room had a better bed, but I stopped, in case it made me look like a wimp. She caught something, grinned at me and reached out to hold my hand.

"Your confidence is shot." Her tone was flat, a statement of fact, but her smile was kind. "I'm not leaving until we've fixed that." Another flat-toned fact. I should have protested right then.

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Apart from his job, what he looks like, the sound of his voice on the phone, he's married, had two kids and his wife is fed up with him - no I don't know anything about him."

"What about you?"

"What do I know about me?"

“Yeah. You must have found out a lot about yourself."

I was lost for words. Where was this going? I felt my heart sink and a wave of hopelessness rolled over me. She could sense it.

"You really loved her didn't you."

"I used to think so but now I don't even know what love is. I feel hollowed out; it's beyond hurt, I'm too empty to hurt." I stopped for a second. "I can't hit back. I can't hurt her. If it makes her happy, what can I do?"

About then I realized that she was still holding my hands and her smile was pouring into me, filling me with warmth.

"What… what about you?" I said, stumbling over the words, hardly daring to look at her.

"Later," she said. "Does this thing have jacks or stabilizers or something. You know, to stop it rocking about when it's parked."

"Yeah, There's a button next to the steering wheel."

She sprang up, ran to the front and pressed it. There was a whirring sound for a second or two.  She jumped up and down, bouncing around and the van stayed still.

"Great," she said, running around the room closing the curtains.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to borrow your shower, I was standing in that road dust for hours. Is that okay?"

"Why does that need the jacks and the curtains?"

She started to unbutton her blouse. "It looks kind of small in there for undressing," she paused for a second, tilting her head, looking at the floor and then fixing me with a sly grin. "Health and safety," she said, giggling, and I knew it was an excuse. "Stability. I don't want to slip with soapy wet feet."

She threw her blouse across to the spare seat and started to undo her shorts.

"Am I supposed to look away?"

"If you like."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're impossible?"

"Frequently. Could you find me a towel while I shower please."

"And if I don't."

"The bed will get soaked when I seduce you."

I'm pretty sure I looked shocked. She pulled me towards her and started to unbutton my shirt. "Come on," she said. "Shower with me."

"It's not a big room."

"All the better."

I've never showered with Peggy in the van so I was consumed with guilt and hadn't a clue what to do. My cock had even less of a notion, even when she washed it for me; soaped it slowly and seductively as if it was the most precious thing in the world, carefully cleaning every aspect, rolling the foreskin back and painstakingly dripping shower gel onto it as if she was Jackson Pollock making a masterpiece. I was mesmerized by the process and so absorbed with watching that I was completely unprepared for her suddenly kneeling and taking it in her mouth for a second and then standing back.

"Clean as a whistle." she said.

"I've never had it called that."

She took my hand, poured more gel onto it and pulled it towards her pussy.

"Your turn," she said.

I did my best, helped a good deal by the way she moved her hips and slid around making my hand do the work without effort until she washed the suds away  and turned off the tap. She rubbed both of us with a towel, handled the hair dryer like an expert, pulled a tube of moisturizer from her case and had me apply it all over.

"Now for the good bit," she said, pushing me onto the bed. By then I was completely enthralled and unable to resist. She kissed me deeply for a second and then began running her hands down my chest and her lips followed behind them, ending with us both in a sixty-nine.

I don't have the largest cock in the world, and since Jim came on the scene I've wondered if it was any good at all, but what it loses in length it makes up for the in width, circumference, or whatever you want to call it.

She told me in the shower that her name was Angel. If an angels gave blow jobs, which I'll admit seems unlikely, my guess is that they'd be like hers. She didn't rush it. Considering my doubt and guilt that even the shower couldn't wash away, that was a wise move. She played. It felt like a dance. My cock and her tongue, partners in an erotic waltz. She took in a little, pressed it against her palate, sucked it, ran her tongue around it, pushed it out till it almost fell from her mouth then her lips recaptured it and the dance became a boogie and then a rocking strut.

Without even thinking I found my mouth moving towards her pussy. I don't know if I raised myself or she sank, but we met in the middle and my tongue began to dance to the same tune, first around the edges and then as she unfolded, on her clit. Slow and easy at first and then gradually around and around and up and down until we were both in step and floating in time to some invisible music.

I lost track of what she was doing to me, becoming totally consumed with her thighs tightening either side of my face. It felt like some kind of weird telepathy but I could feel her getting closer and closer until she let out a yell and collapsed on top of me. I don't know whether it was the tension in her muscles, the way she moved, or some sort of pheromones, but I felt as though my tongue and her pussy were one thing and my tongue came as much as she did, or maybe I was getting cramp in my Genioglossus. In case you didn't know, that's the muscle that pushes the tongue forward. I'm so proud of mine that I know it's name, genius for short.

She rolled off me, turned around and nuzzled my cheek.

"That was awesome," she said, "but all wrong."

"What was wrong with it?"

"Silly boy," she said. "I was supposed to be making you come and you beat me to it. That has never happened." She shook her head, rolled onto her back and beamed at the ceiling with a smile a mile wide.

"Can I stay the night?"

"Sure. Did you bring your pajamas?"

She ignored my weak joke.

"Really that was amazing," she said. "I never expected that."

I sat up in bed, so I could see more than a mass of blond hair.

"What did you expect?"

"That would be telling." She looked straight at me. "Silly isn't it, I can let you suck my bits, but I find it hard to tell you what I'm thinking. Shall we drive some more, let me get to know you?"

"Get to know me; not my bits?"

"Mmmm."

So we drove north. Up the motorway and then off into the lake district ending up camping on a beach. It was off season, though not cold, so we barbecued by the water and gradually we both opened up. She had a boy friend, a nice enough guy she said, younger than me and with a bigger cock than mine.

"That's the thing," she said. "I like it, he fucks really good, but somehow it's him doing me, taking me. A cock like that can make a man arrogant, possessive even. Some girls like that, but there are days when I don't. He can get any woman he wants, so I should be glad he wants me…"

"But?"

"He wouldn't pay towards the rent, as if his cock entitled him to live off me."

"So you've made him homeless?"

"Oh, he has some crappy place somewhere, but he lived at mine."

"Would he make a good husband?"

"That's another thing, he couldn't cope with my tests," she said.

"Tests?"

"I'm not sure I should tell you. It might hurt you."

"Risk it," I said. "Right now I think I've hit rock bottom and I'm not dead or suicidal so the only way is up."

By then we'd eaten and drunk most of a bottle of wine between us so I guess I was feeling mellow. There was a half moon and no clouds.  Angel stood up and sauntered down the beach and then to my surprise began shedding clothes before walking into the water naked. I didn't have much choice so followed as fast as I could. The shallow water hadn't lost its summer heat and there's something magical about swimming in the moonlight. When we strolled back up the beach we held hands.

"I think of it as charity work," she said. "You know how when you give money to a good cause it makes you feel good."

"I've read about it, that warm feeling is because your brain releases Oxytocin. Giving to good causes fires the same switches as having an orgasm."

She spun round kissing and hugging me for half a minute.

"Yes," she said. "That's exactly it. When I seduce a guy who's down on his luck, or has a really small dick; someone who doesn't have any of that arrogance that comes with big cocks, I get that feeling. You broke the rules. You were supposed to come in my mouth and be ever so, ever so grateful."

"And you'd feel you'd done your bit for charity."

"Yes," she said. "I know it sounds manipulative and devious, but it's not. I discovered it accidentally and it's become an addiction. I have to keep doing it."

"So that was the test? To see if your well hung boyfriend is happy with your charity work."

She stopped hugging me, put her arm around me and walked me back up the beach. We toweled off and sat outside the van in deck chairs, still naked and enjoying the moonlight.

"The thing is," she said, "I can't see how it would ever work in a long term relationship. I love doing it, but… well would you put up with it?"

"You mean if I discovered that Jim needed it, and Peggy was doing charity work."

"I didn't mean exactly that, but yeah, why not, if it was like that?"

I took a deep breath while the ideas buzzed around my brain. This woman wanted to cuckold her boyfriend, but without the usual hot wife story. She wanted to live with a big cock and play away with small ones. I don't think there's even a word for that. That hard but vulnerable look at the side of the road made sense, she wasn't fishing for an alpha male. She wanted someone to feel sorry for her. I bet if I'd looked sure of myself, she have turned down the ride.

"Tell me in the morning," she said before I had a chance to make sense of my thoughts. "Right now I want you to take me to bed and do your best to fuck my brains out. I think you're ready for it and I want it."

I was tired, I'd drunk more wine than in a while, and I had a dread feeling that I was going to fail. I'm not that kind of lover, but I had to try. Engaging my brain I realized that it had to be months since I'd seriously made love to Peggy. She'd claimed not to be interested, and like a gentleman, I'd indulged her. I've never forced myself on anyone, let alone my wife. If she said she felt down I'd bring her warm milk and cookies, and not push it. That's me, at least that was me, but now I knew it was all a sham. Peggy had not felt like it because she'd already been well fucked and had qualms about being done twice on the same day by different guys. That bastard had been there before me every day for months.

I kissed Angel, finding the gratitude that she craved somewhere in the back of my mind. I kissed her like saying thank you for every birthday present I ever had, but that wasn't going to do it. I needed passion, I needed anger, every ounce of resentment at Peggy's betrayal, at Jim's arrogance, at life for being so rotten to me when all I tried to do was be a decent man. It wasn't fair to take it out on Angel; but she did ask.

I played with her tits, sucked and then damn near chewed her nipples off and sneaked a hand onto her clit as I did it. She squealed and I felt her juices start to flow and by then I was as hard as I can remember. Thickness has to do something and I made the most of mine.

I used my fingers, one then two then four and then all the width I was born with. I hammered into her, trying to hold onto the aggression, getting as deep as I could and holding it there, thudding like a jackhammer. I kissed her again and again and made myself not come. Trying to ignore everything except her mouth and her tongue, imagining my cock to be a sword of revenge and retribution, and working her clit with my hand because whatever this journey was, I wanted her to be there with me.

I don't know how long it took but no one can stay that angry forever and when she started to move, to squeeze my cock with all the skillful muscles she had there was only one ending. We both came long and hard and I collapsed in tears before I'd finished spurting. She held me, kissed away the tears and held me some more and wouldn't let me go until we both fell asleep.

She woke me in the morning. I don't know how she got out of the bed without me noticing, but when my eyes opened I wondered if I'd been dreaming; if she'd been some figment of my sex starved imagination. She pulled back the curtains, very real, very naked and holding a mug of strong coffee.

"I've been thinking," she said. "You’re not going to want to give up on Peggy are you?"

I blinked, barely awake.

"Okay, I know you're still half asleep. The thing is, I don't want to give up on you either. If you can cope, I'd like to make your life complicated and messy. If you stay with Peggy I want to stay in touch. You could even offer that she could keep Jim if you can keep me."

"Explain."

"She needs to feel that she's losing something. Right now she knows she can come running back, so Jim is a freebie. She can fuck all she likes and you'll still be there. Add me into the equation and it's a different game."

"Could I drink that coffee please?"

"I'll trade you."

"For what?"

"The coffee for one of my charity blow jobs."

I swung my legs out of the bed and sat on the side. The bed is four feet off the floor, there's a garage underneath for all the crazy big luggage that you might take on a trip, deck chairs, surfboards, the gas barbecue; a hundred and twenty cubic feet of utility space. The point is I could sit there and my groin was almost level with her mouth.

"I've never done a blow job standing up."

I took two swigs of coffee and put the mug down, hot liquid poised over this action seemed like one risk too many.

I don't know if it was because she'd got to know me, or because she was standing up but whatever it was, this posture had a lot going for it. I played with her hair while she played with me. Between mouthfuls I got a running commentary.

"The thing about a shorter cock," she said, "is that my tongue is in charge. A big one has to be down my throat before it feels right. Those muscles back there may be good for you but mostly it's reflex for me. When a shorter cock is in my mouth I'm in charge. I feel the power."

It's hard to describe, she must have done weight training with that tongue because I felt the power too. Standing up left her hands free and they were all over me, pulling me in so I had no where to go. This time I knew it wasn't going to take long and then I watched as she let me fill her mouth. She washed it down with a gulp of coffee and then swallowed me again, only this time her mouth was still hot from the drink and she dragged more out of me. I collapsed back onto the bed and she carried on playing as my cock gradually subsided. The coffee was cold by the time I got to drink the rest of it.

"What now?" she said when breakfast was out of the way.

"I don't have to tell you how good that was, do I?"

"No, I could tell."

"So did you get a dose of charity endorphins?"

"Mmmm, I did. I did. Lots."

"I wish you didn't call it charity."

"Why?"

"It kind of makes it into a self fulfilling thing, creates dependence. If I don't need charity, I'd never see you again, so I'd have to stay sad and hopeless."

"I never thought of it like that."

"It could be a gift, I don't want to sound corny, but it's what angels do. What you're doing is just being an angel."

"You don't think that's my real name do you?"

"I wasn't sure."

She pulled her passport out of her bag and handed it across the table.

"It doesn't show the halo," I said.

She chuckled. "When do you have to go home?"

"A week, I took a week off work."

"Will Peggy be there when you get home?"

"I have no idea. Well… most likely no, I guess. She'll spend the time with Jim for sure."

"I thought you said he was married. What about his wife and kids?"

"He doesn’t have to live at home, he has a flat at his college — where she did the night school."

"Some set up," she said. "Too easy for him."

"Yeah, crazy isn't it, but for the next week I don't want to think about it."

"And then what?"

"I'm hoping you'll still be with me, and if you are, I'd like to take you home." Our eyes met across the table. "You can do all the philanthropy you like," I said. "Small ones, big ones, whatever you need."

She squeezed my hand. "I think this is going to work," she said, "and there is that old saying."

I knew what she was going to say, or at least I hoped I knew. I raised one questioning eyebrow, not daring to risk saying it out loud.

"Charity begins at home," she said.