It was cold outside. The thermometer read 25 degrees. I was sitting in my car, warming it up at the apartment complex where I live, when suddenly, I heard a thud and felt my car rock. I knew instinctively, from having been in auto accidents, that someone had struck my car. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw another car, one that had backed into me.

My first thought was not a good one. What type of idiot would back into another car? That thought was quickly vanquished when I and the other driver got out to survey the damage and I saw the other driver was a young teenage girl, someone I had seen before, but only in passing.

The very first thing I heard was an “oh my God, I am sorry,” from a tall, lanky girl. She quickly stepped back into her Jeep Cherokee and inched it forward as I stood behind my car, looking at a huge dent in my rear bumper.

Charlotte was very apologetic. She lived on the bottom floor apartment, three floors below me with her mom and a younger brother. Charlotte was eighteen and a college freshman.

She was scared because she said this was her second accident in a month and she was afraid her mother would not let her drive again if she found out about the accident.

“Please don’t tell my mom,” Charlotte begged as I pondered how we could work things out. “I’ll’ pay to get it fixed.”

“A bumper,” I told her, “was probably going to run several hundred dollars, plus the costs of installation.”

Charlotte was totally clueless when it came to auto repairs. She seemed genuinely shocked when I told her what the repairs might cost. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned up against her Cherokee as I stood by looking at her.

“Do you work anywhere?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I go to school full time.”

“So, are you on your way to school?” I asked.

“I was,” Charlotte answered, “Until now. Now I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Where is your mom?” I asked.

“She is at work,” Charlotte replied.

Charlotte was cute. I had seen her at the pool, with her friends, laying out in her itty-bitty bikini. I looked at my bumper again and scratched my eyebrow, tying to absorb what to do next, and thinking, silently wondering, if I might be able to turn a tragedy into something adventurous. I could live with the dent. I was not planning on selling the car or trading it in, so my initial anger quickly subsided.

I looked at Charlotte and asked her if she had a plan to find the money to fix my bumper.

“I don’t know what to do,” she replied. “I am lost here. What can I do for you to make up for this?”

I asked Charlotte for her phone number, telling her I needed some time to think about things.

“I’m sure,” I reassured her, proffering a wink, “that would could come to an amicable agreement on making things good.”

Charlotte wrote down her phone number on a piece of paper and handed it me.

“Please call me,” she begged, as she headed back to the driver’s seat in her Cherokee. “I promise I will do the right thing.”

“I know you will,” I replied, jokingly adding that “I know where you live.”

I headed off to work, not giving the incident, another thought. At lunch, I found the crumpled-up piece of paper in the front pocket of my jeans. I stared at it for a few seconds, then dialed the number. Charlotte answered the phone on the first ring.

“Are you OK?” I inquired without saying who I was.

“Yes,” she answered, recognizing my voice. “Still a little nervous, but I’ll be OK.”

“Where are you?” I inquired.

“At the apartment,” she replied.

“Ahhhh, home alone,” I jokingly replied.

“Yeah,” she shot back, “my brother has after school activities and mom doesn’t usually get home until seven.”

“Would you like some company?” I asked.

“Sure,” Charlotte replied. “Come on over.”

I told her I was at work, but that I was getting off early and that I’d drop by.

“Great!” Charlotte replied.

I was a little nervous stopping by Charlotte’s apartment. After all, she was eighteen and I was close to thirty. I usually dated women closer to my age, but I had been on a dry spell for several months, while focusing on a work project. Charlotte, while much younger than I would have preferred, seemed to me, to be an easy date. Little did I know how very easy it would be.

Charlotte answered the door clad in a long t-shirt, and barefoot, her dishwater blonde hair uncombed and hanging lazily across her shoulders. She welcomed me in to the small apartment, which had the same layout as mine.

“Thanks for coming by,” Charlotte retorted as she closed the door and locked the dead bolt. “Sit down.”

I sat down on the couch and Charlotte, to my surprise, plopped down beside me, curling her long legs up under herself in the process. She gently placed her hand on my thigh and proffered another apology for the morning accident.

“I need to slow down and watch what I am doing,” she said, “before I kill someone.”

I placed my hand on top of her and reassured her that things would be OK.

Charlotte brushed her long blonde hair back over her shoulders with a wave of her hand.

“How long have you lived her?” Charlotte asked.

“About a year,” I replied.

“Don’t you have a girl friend?” Charlotte pressed.

“Not really,” I replied. “I had one, but my work drove her crazy and she decided to move on.”

“What do you do?” Charlotte pressed.

“I’m a graphic designer,” I replied.

I spent the next few minutes explaining my work to Charlotte, as she sat and attentively listened to everything I told her.

“So, what do you do when you’re not graphic designing?” Charlotte asked.

“I try to work out deals with young ladies that back into my car,” I replied.

Charlotte proffered another apology.

“No problem,” I replied. It was time to take the plunge and see where things were going to go.

“You know,” I began, “I remember seeing you at the pool a while back, with some of your friends.”

“Really?” Charlotte replied.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, “You have a very cute two-piece blue bikini.”

“Oh my God!” Charlotte replied. “I am so embarrassed!”

“Why?” I inquired.

“That was a dare bikini,” Charlotte replied. “My best friend dared me to wear it. That’s not normally like me.”

“Well,” I replied, “I liked it. You’ve got the body and you know how to turn heads.”

Charlotte blushed and lowered her head.

“I am too flat chested,” Charlotte replied.

“I thought it looked sexy,” I argued back, quickly adding, “There’s nothing wrong with being flat chested- and besides, you’re not flat chested- you’re thin, like a model and you look good. I’d never kick you out of bed.”

Charlotte chuckled.

“I’ve only had one boyfriend and he told me I should get breast implants,” Charlotte replied.

“No way,” I retorted, placing my hand on her leg, just above her bare knee, “I think your boobs are perfectly fine, at least from my perspective.”

Charlotte placed her hand on mine.

“You are so cool,” she remarked, pulling my hand into her lap. “Was you girlfriend flat-chested like me?”

“No,” I replied, “and stop saying you are flat-chested.”

Charlotte took my hand and placed in over her left breast, “Well I am, see?”

I gently moved my fingers on her small globe.

“No,” I argued, “You have boobies. They’re small bobbies, but they’re still boobies.”

Charlotte silently took my hand and slipped it up under her t-shirt and directly on to her supple breast. I cupped her breast in my hand, running my finger around her hardened nipple.

“Looks like they are very sensitive to the touch,” I remarked.

“Yes, they are,” Charlotte replied, as I continued to tease her nipple, slipping my hand to her right breast to do the same as she took in a deep breath and then forcfully exhaled. Charlotte pulled her long dishwater blonde hair to one side and bit down on her lower lip.

I gently pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, exposing her 32-C cup breasts. Charlotte closed her eyes as I used both of my hands to gently massage her breasts.

“I like your touch,” Charlotte said softly, opening her green eyes to look at me.

I slipped my hands up to her shoulders and then gently down her thin arms.

“You’re pretty damn sexy,” I remarked.

“I don’t know about that,” Charlotte replied. “I’m just me.”

“Well,” I replied, “Like I said, ‘I’d never kick you out of bed’.”

Charlotte smiled.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I countered.

“Only if you want to,” Charlotte replied.

“Do you have a condom?” I asked, dropping my hand on to her bare thigh.

“I’m on the pill,” Charlotte replied.

“Sure,” I replied.

Charlotte stood up in front of me and unabashedly peeled out of her pink panties, allowing them to drop to her ankles. Oh my God! She was completely shaved and there wasn’t a stitch of hair on her tall and very lean body.

She foot-tapped my ankle and stepped between my parted legs, looking down at me, as she gently self-massaged her own breasts. She lowered her hands to her private area, and then parted the lips of her vagina, as I stared speechless at her. She slipped a lone finger into her vagina and worked it around, before pulling it out and sucking on it. She then slipped the same finger up to my lips. I opened my mouth and she gently inserted the same finger into my mouth.

“I’m all yours,” Charlotte remarked. “Show me what you’ve got.”

To be continued . . . .