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Hitchhiking to Ecstasy

When her car breaks down, she hitchhikes and finds ecstasy in a cabin in the woods


“Damn, Shit, Fuck!” I yelled, banging my hands on the steering wheel. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I screamed, shaking my head from side to side, my long hair flailing. My car had just slid off the icy road into a ditch and it was getting dark. “Now what?” I muttered, realizing there was no way I could back my car out. I was stuck.

My cell phone was dead and I had lost the charger. I was going to get a new phone when I got home. “Who knew I would slide into a fucking ditch,” I said angrily rationalizing my procrastinating tendency. “I’m going to have to hitchhike and see if I can find a phone,” I thought, knowing it was dangerous for a woman to hitchhike but I had no choice. “Oh well, here goes,” I said out loud, grabbing my backpack.

I zipped up my down vest, pulled my wool cap down over my ears, flipped my scarf around my neck and opened the door. I had to squeeze out because the door was jammed against the side of the ditch. Once I wiggled my way out, I stood on the icy dirt and looked around. It was getting darker and it was obvious not a lot of people used this road. I realized if I didn’t get picked up soon, no one would be able to see me.

“I hope I don’t get picked up by some pervert?” I thought, walking up the road a little, glancing back at the front of my car down in the ditch. I stood there feeling the wind through my tight faded jeans. Fortunately, I was wearing boots that came up near my knees, my jeans tucked in them. I was really in an isolated spot and saw no signs of houses, no lights, nothing but trees on both sides of the road. “No one’s going to come,” I muttered. “Come on, Vicki, don’t be negative. Think positive thoughts. Someone’s going to come--everything’s going to be alright.”

I paced back and forth for about ten minutes, getting colder and looking in both directions, hoping a car would appear. “What should I do if a car doesn’t come? Should I walk and hope I find a house or should I sit in the car and just wait it out? Damn what a mess I’m in. Why did I decide to take the fucking scenic route?” I muttered. “Why do I like the back roads? Why am I so stupid?” I added, letting my negative tendencies rise again.

Suddenly, I thought I heard the sound of a car and got excited. “Maybe I’m in luck,” I thought as I looked in the direction of the curve in the road. As the sound got closer, I saw the glow of headlights shining on the trees across from me. When I saw the car, I moved closer to the edge of the road and put my thumb out wishing I could make it longer and more emphatic as I extended my arm, waving frantically. “I hope it stops. Please stop. Please stop,” I whispered to myself, almost praying.

I saw the car slow down but it did not stop until it was twenty or so feet ahead of me. It backed up as I ran towards the car. The window went down and I looked inside and saw a man with longish grey hair and a shaggy beard but couldn’t see much more.

“Looks like you’re in a jam, miss,” he said.

“Yeah, I slid off the road. I need to find a phone to call a tow truck.”

“Hop in. I live five minutes from here. You can use my phone.”

I opened the door and got in, putting my back pack on the floor. The car was warm and the radio was playing classical music.

“Guess you’re not used to driving on these icy roads,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m not from around here. I was on my way back to Boston after visiting an old friend from college and decided, stupidly, to take a back road.”

He nodded and smiled at me. It was dark in the car, but I could see he had a nice smile. The classical music was soft and I relaxed, thinking he did not seem like a mad rapist. I don’t usually listen to classical music but it was nice to listen to--kind of soothing. We were both quiet as he drove and I looked out the window.

“Almost there,” he said, as we turned down a dirt road. He drove slowly over the bumpy road, steering the car around pot holes. He turned down another narrower dirt road that had trees on both side and had a lot of curves.”

“Where in the world are we?” I thought as we drove through the woods and then turned into a small lane. It was dark but I noticed solar panels when we turned and then drove up to a cabin surrounded by trees.

“Wow! You really live in the woods, don’t you?”

“Yes, and off the grid. This is my Shangri la,” he said as we parked.

“Cool,” I responded, looking up at the cabin and saw a light in the window.

I grabbed my backpack and followed him up a path to the front door. When we entered, I felt the warmth of the woodstove and saw the glow of coals.

“How about I make us some tea and I call George’s garage and let him know the story,” he said, taking off his wool cap. He then got some logs from the woodbin and threw them in the stove. “He’ll get you out.”

I looked around the cabin at all the wood. It was just one room with a smaller side room, a kitchen area and a bathroom. He had a round oak table by the window with his laptop on it. I noticed the plants on the window sill and a Begonia on the table.

“This is such a nice place,” I said as I walked around. “I never saw a wood ceiling,” I said, looking up.

“That wood is over two hundred years old,” he said, putting water in the tea pot. “I got it from an old barn they took down about fifteen years ago.”

I took off my down vest and wool hat and put it on the clothes pole he had near the door.

“By the way, my name is Peter, what’s yours?”

“Vicki,” I answered. “Short for Victoria ,” I added.

“I guessed it was short for Victoria ,” he laughed, looking at me. I saw him glance at my tits then look away. “You don’t look very Victorian,” he said, smiling.

I was wearing a tight turtle neck shirt and no bra--hate them and only wear one when I have to. My faded jeans were tight and I knew they looked good on me, especially with the boots. I can tell by the way guys look at me that they like what they see and I could tell Peter liked what he saw. I have to admit, I like being sexy and I like to fuck, but I am particular and don’t just let any guy get in my pants.

While the tea water was heating up, Peter went to the phone and dialed the number.

He waited for several minutes, glancing at me and seemed concerned. “No answer,” he said. “Maybe he’s out on a call.”

He hung up just as the tea kettle whistled. “Take a seat, Vicki and we’ll have some tea,” he said. ”I’ll call again in fifteen minutes.”

“It’s so cozy here,” I said as I sat down and watched him fill my cup and then his. I liked the way he moved around the cabin. He seemed so comfortable and had a quiet gentle way about him that I found appealing. His grey longish hair curled up in the back just above the collar of his flannel shirt. His beard was a little shaggy and he looked like he didn’t really give much thought to his appearance. His jeans were worn and I liked that he took of his shoes as soon as he sat down at the table.

“I never wear shoes in the house and love being barefooted,” he said, smiling at me. He had a twinkle in his blue eyes when he smiled and I felt myself being attracted to him. I have a thing about older men that I don’t quite understand, but I often had crushes on my professors at college and flirted with them, but nothing ever happened. Actually, Peter reminded me of one of the teachers I had a crush on.

“So do you have a woman in your life,” I asked.

“Nope,” he answered. “I got divorced two years ago.” He took a sip of his tea. “We decided not to be in each others movie any more,” he added.

“That’s a funny way of putting it,” I said. I sipped my tea and looked at him over the edge of my mug. Again, I noticed the twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Well, Vicki, it’s not good to get in the way of someone’s spirit. You just get out of the way and let go when it’s time.”

I thought about what he said and nodded. “Nice philosophy but it must have been painful for you.”

“It was. I really loved her and we had a long history together. But we’re friends now and we wish each other well. It’s best this way.”

He then got up and went to the telephone to dial the garage again. He was taller than my five feet three, probably five-nine or ten. I liked the way he smiled and how our eyes met when he dialed. “What a nice smile,” I thought feeling myself getting turned on then tried pushing my attraction to him aside. “This is nuts,” I thought but still that tingling swelling like a wave somewhere near my heart did not subside. “What’s going on here,” I heard myself ask, closing my eyes trying to hold onto reality.

“Still no answer,” Peter said, sitting back down. “I’ll try again in a little while. Meanwhile why don’t you tell me about yourself? Do you have a guy in your life?”

“Nah! Nada.” I shook my head. “I had a boyfriend up until a few months ago, but found out he was a jerk and was cheating on me--with my best friend, no less,” I said, shaking my head as the thought awoke the pain and anger I felt.

“Too bad,” he said. “He must be stupid to let some one like you get away.”

“Well, thank you,” I said, suddenly feeling he was interested in me. “Your wife wasn’t so smart to let you out of her life,” I said, looking into his eyes.

He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. After a silence and a sip of his tea, he asked, “How old are you?”

“Why do you want to know?” I asked, smiling, our eyes meeting. I was feeling relaxed with him and wanted to be playful. I took a sip of my tea, again, looking at him over the edge of the mug.

“Curious,” he said.

“I’m old enough to know what I want,” I said.

“Oh, really,” he said, looking into my eyes. “And what do you want?”

“Ecstasy,” I answered, suddenly feeling bold and wanting to tease him.

“Ecstasy?” he repeated and laughed then smiled. His smile and the way he looked at me got me even more turned on. He was leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched straight out towards me, crossing his bare feet. He sipped his tea and our eyes met as I sipped mine. We were both silent, looking at each other. I could not believe what was happening to me. My pussy was starting to tingle. I had to do something. I could tell by how laid back he was that if something was going to happen, I had to make it happen. Still, the intensity in our eyes let me know he wanted what I wanted. Here I was in this guy’s cabin in the woods--a stranger who picked up a hitchhiker. I could not believe the turn of events. I only knew I was getting hot. At the same time I was a little frightened and intimated. “Damn! What’s going on with me,” I thought again. “This is crazy--slow down, girl.”

“So, what do you do in Boston ?” he asked, tugging on his beard.

“I’m a painter. I graduated from Boston School of the Arts eight years ago and I work as a waitress at this cool café.”

“You’re an artist,” he said, nodding. “Nice.”

“Yes, I have a studio in my apartment and I try to paint every day. That’s why I like being a waitress because it doesn’t tap into my creativity.”

“What about you?” I asked, glancing over at his laptop.

“I’m a writer,” he answered. “I write novels and short stories, but lately, I write mostly poetry. I try to write a poem every day,” he added.

The more he spoke, the more I wanted him.

“So do you ever get lonely here in the woods all by yourself,” I asked, hoping to lead the conversation to a more intimate topic.

“Yes and no,” he answered. “I love my solitude and it gives me the time and quiet to write without distractions. “But,” he added then stopped, took a deep breath, a sigh. “Sometimes I wish I had a lover, someone to share my bed but who didn’t want more than I wanted. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, you want a fuck buddy,” I said, happy that the conversation was going in the direction that I wanted. “You want a lover who doesn’t get in the way of your spirit--right,” I added, letting him know I understood his philosophy.

“Right,” he said, looking into my eyes. “A fuck buddy is a good way of putting it,” he said. “I’m getting up there in years, but I still feel youthful when it comes to sex, but it’s been awhile.”

Our eyes met again and I could tell he was getting turned on by me and I was already wet with wanting him. The sexual tension in the room was growing intense.

I stretched my legs forward towards his and spread my legs, revealing my crotch, pressed by the seam of my tight jeans. I leaned back in the chair causing my shirt to get tighter against my tits. I saw him look at my crotch and at my tits. Our eyes were fixed on each other. I was so hot I couldn’t stand it. I had to make something happen. My mind was racing. “Vicki you’ve been here twenty minutes, control your self. This is nuts. He’s a stranger.”

I swallowed and took a deep breath, my eyes looking into his. He cleared his throat as he looked at me, “So what kind of painting do you do?” he asked.

“Oh what kind,” I repeated, trying to gather my wits, shaking away my rising lust for him, “a-a-it’s hard to say,” I stammered, feeling foolish. “I do mostly realistic scenes from the city--real urban, kind of gritty,” I said, getting a little of my composure back. “I have a show coming up in the spring.”

“That’s great,” he said, smiling, “very exciting.”

I liked his reaction. It seemed so genuine. “What a sweet man,” I thought.

“It is exciting,” I responded. “I’ve got a lot to do between now and April to get ready,” I said, my wanting him rising again.

“I bet,” he said, sipping his tea. I lifted my mug and looked at him over the rim. Our eyes met. We were quiet. I got that hot tingle between my legs again. I could tell by the look in his eyes he sensed the sexual tension building between us but I knew he would not do anything. I had to do something. I had to, but what?

It was pitch black outside and I looked away trying to distract myself from what I was feeling and could see our reflection in the window as if it were a mirror. I could see us sitting at his table and suddenly felt I had entered another world. He saw me looking out the window and turned and saw what I was seeing.

“Strange isn’t it?” he asked, both of still looking at our reflection in the window then he turned to me.

“What’s strange?” I asked, looking back at him, our eyes meeting.

“Here we are--two strangers sitting, looking at ourselves out there enjoying life’s little twists and turns.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything then looked back at our reflection seeing him looking at me--that smile, those blue eyes, fascinated by how he thought about life, remembering how a man’s mind, imagination and sense of humor always attracted me more than his body--not that that wasn’t a plus. I turned back to look at him, wondering if he was feeling anything close to what I was feeling.

Just then he glanced over at the wood stove and stood up, “Better get some more wood in here,” he said, breaking the spell then walked towards the back door. “Be right back,” he said and went out to a porch. A few minutes later he came in with a huge arm load of wood which he carried effortlessly and I could see what good shape he was in. I watched him kneel and put the logs in back of the stove then picked a large one up for me to see. “This is an all-nighter,” he said, chuckling and again that twinkle in his blue eyes melted my heart, sending another wave of lust through my body that alarmed me. “Damn! What’s going on here,” I said to myself, swallowing.

He came back and sat down, stretching his legs out towards me. I glanced down at his bare feet then my eyes moved up his legs to his crotch feeling my pussy aching and knew I was losing it and had to do something bold.

Suddenly, not knowing where I got the nerve, I took a deep breath, got up and stood over his stretched out legs and looked down at him, not knowing how he would respond but took the chance, then saw his eyes look into mine. This was it. My tight jeans pressed against my pussy. I still had my boots on. Without a word, I sat down straddling him, afraid he would push me away but started grinding against him, feeling his hard cock. He grabbed my hips, holding me firmly as I moved up and down the length his cock, our eyes fixed on each other.

“Mmmmmmmmmm I like this,” I moaned, still afraid he would stop this, but then he grabbed my ass and pulled me harder against him. His hands on my ass got me even more excited, his strong fingers gripping my ass cheeks made me know where this was heading.

Relieved he didn’t stop me, I started grinding harder and he lifted his ass off the chair to grind harder into me. Right then I didn’t care if I ever saw my car again. We were now humping harder, our lust growing more intense. He squeezed my ass, lifting me up and pulling me down harder on his cock, grinding into me then lifting himself thrusting against my jean covered pussy, pulling me down harder on him and I could feel his strength and passion, our hungry eyes looking at each other, our humping getting harder, his hands taking charge.

We were fucking through our jeans and suddenly I was on the verge of cumming. He sensed my body tensing as I stiffened. I was trembling and I couldn’t believe I was there so quickly. I was about to explode when he lifted me off of him and stood up, slowing us down, wanting to make this last. We kissed, our tongues swirling in each others mouths. I was losing it.

I wanted him. Our mouths parted and he unbuttoned my jeans while I quickly tried pulling off my boots. He got down on his knees and finished the job pulling them off of my feet and I kicked them away. He stood up, smiling at me. My jeans were half unzipped when he squeezed his hand inside, snaking his way down, the tight crotch of my jeans squeezing his hand as he grasped my pussy, pressing his palm against my soaked panties, cupping my mound. I was surprised at how aggressive he was getting and liked it. He moved my panties aside and put his finger in my pussy.

“Oh fuck!” I screamed as he entered a second finger, “Ohhhhhhhfuck!” I yelled again, my pussy gripping his fingers. He held my ass with one hand, fucking me with his fingers, his thumb rubbing my clit and I lost it as a huge orgasm swept over me, my cum gushing all over his hands and my panties.

“That’s just a beginning of your ecstasy,” he whispered in my ear, his fingers still in me.

I was holding onto his shoulders, clutching him to keep from falling as another wave swept over me. He then peeled my jeans all the way off and threw them across the room. He turned me around and pushed me roughly face down on the table, spreading my legs as I grasped the other edge of the table, feeling his hard cock moving up and down my dripping pussy, driving me insane. He then rammed his cock into me, “You’re so tight,” he yelled, pulling out and thrusting into me harder.

“Fuck me, Peter. Yes! Yes! I love it. I love your cock! FUCK ME!” I screamed. My shirt was still on, my tits pressed against the table. I was on the verge of cummming again when he pulled out.

“Oh no! no! Don’t stop! Keep fucking me.”

“I will,” he said, leaning over me, whispering in my ear, “You’re going to get the ecstasy you want.”

I could not believe my ears. No man ever fucked or treated me like this. He was rough and gentle at the same time. He grabbed my arms, pulling me across the room to his bed. He laid me down with my feet on the floor then got down on his knees, spreading my legs wide apart, my pussy completely open. He then put my legs over his shoulder and started kissing and licking my thighs. He moved his tongue slowly and stopped just below my pussy. I grabbed his hair trying to get his mouth on my pussy, but he was determined to lick and kiss my other thigh. At last he licked my pussy lips and I was writhing on the bed, his tongue teasing me, driving me insane.

“Eat me! Eat me!” I screamed, again grabbing his hair to pull his tongue deeper into me. “Stop teasing me. Oh please, fuck me! Ohhhhhhhh fuck! I need to cum.”

He then licked my clit, licking and sucking then placed his finger in me again.

“Ohhhhhhh fuck!” I screamed his tongue and fingers making me so crazy I couldn’t stand it.

I wanted his cock and no more teasing. I knew I had to take charge and suddenly pushed his head away and shimmied further up on his bed. He looked at me and smiled, knowing what I wanted. He took off his jeans and threw them on the floor. Our hungry eyes met as he got on the bed and crawled up between my wide open legs. I looked at his big hard cock. He looked at my eyes then at my dripping pussy, my arms reaching for him.

As he got closer, hovering just above me, I got my hands on his chest and pushed him on to his back then got up and straddled him. I looked down at him and lifted myself up, grabbed his cock, my pussy just above it and came down hard on his cock. “Ohhhhhhhhmygod,” I screamed, as he filled me, then leaning forward began rocking back and forth, loving how his cock rubbed against my clit. He held my ass as I moved slowly at first then faster and faster, my tits crushed against his chest, my hair falling in front of my face. I quickly pushed it back so that we could look into each others eyes. I then sat straight up and grabbed my tits with both hands-- rubbing and pinching my nipples.

“Ride me,” he shouted. Ride me!”

“Mmmmmmmm--this feels so good,” I moaned lifting myself then coming down harder, lifting higher then coming down harder and harder. “Ohhhhhhhh Peter, I’m going to cum,” I yelled, my body tensing, trembling as he lifted his ass off the bed thrusting deep into me as I rose up with him then slammed down on his cock, driving him back to the bed, suddenly lost as another huge orgasm swept over me. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh my god I’m cummmmmmming! I’m cummming!” I screamed at the ceiling as wave after wave rocked my body.

Suddenly, he bucked up and roughly flipped me on to my back, got between my legs and without a moment’s hesitation, pounced on me, thrusting his cock deep into me, taking me harder than I have ever been taken and I could not believe his strength and energy and at the same time, his caring. I could feel his body tensing as he rammed his cock deeper into my pussy faster and harder. I knew he was on the verge of exploding. I looked up at his face, his eyes looking into my eyes.

“Ohhhhh Vicki Vicki! I’m cummming,” he shouted. “I’m cummming!”

I could feel another huge orgasm rising through me as his thrusting grew faster, deeper and harder and just as he exploded sending hot gushes of cum into me, my body convulsed in the biggest, most intense orgasm of my life and we were both screaming at the top of our lungs. I felt him writhing above me before collapsing heavily on me, both of us limp as noodles, gasping and panting. Neither of us could budge as we lay there desperately trying to catch our breath.

He lay on me for several minutes both of us trying to return to earth. I could not think, but knew that I had experienced what could only be described as ecstasy. I was beyond words.

Finally, he rolled off of me and got me on my side, wrapping his arms around me. We were spooning, one of my favorite things in the world. I lay with my eyes closed, feeling the warmth of his body, my mind melting into the moment. The present was all that mattered, the smell and heat of our bodies, the glow of the wood stove, the way he lifted my hair and kissed the back of my neck, my shoulders. I felt his tenderness after our passion.

As I lay there in the quiet, my mind suddenly swirling with questions: now what, where is the heading, how did all of this happen, the sudden realization that I was in bed with a man I had just met. It’s one thing to have my car in a ditch and another thing to be wrapped in the arms of a stranger in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Then I said to myself, “Vicki. Stop thinking--just be here.”

His arms pulled me closer to him. “Stop thinking,” he whispered as if he were reading my mind. “Be here.”

I turned my head to face him and looked at his smiling eyes. “That was amazing,” I said.

“It was ecstasy,” he whispered, smiling and kissed me gently.

“Now what?” I asked.

He chuckled then surprised me when he started to sing the words from an old song I remembered hearing in a movie. His voice was soft as he sang, “For all we know, we may never meet again. We just have tonight. Tomorrow may never come, for all we know…..

He looked at me after he stopped singing. “Have you ever heard that old song?”

“I think I heard it in an old movie,” I answered, nodding.

“Yes, it was in an old movie from the ‘40s about World War Two about lovers who meet and don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

“So what are you saying?” I asked.

“I’m saying it’s time to have some soup I made this morning. Aren’t you hungry?”

I was surprised at his answer but understood. He leaned down and kissed me gently and smiled. “Let’s eat and forget about your car for now,” he said. “We can deal with that in the morning.”

I turned my body to face him and we wrapped our arms around each other. We kissed and then I said, “I’m famished.”

I quickly got out of bed and found my jeans and squirmed into them. I didn’t bother with the soaked panties. I still had my shirt on. He did the same, slipping on his jeans. We hugged, standing in front of the wood stove.

“Vicki, I didn’t want that to happen,” he said. “I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of a young woman in a tough situation.”

“Are you serious, I was the one who seduced you? I made it happen. You didn’t do anything wrong. I wanted you,” I said, looking into his eyes.

“I could have stopped you. I’m old enough to be your father,” he said.

“Don t be stupid. I told you I am old enough to know what I want and I can take care of my self. I made it happen,” I said. “And I’m glad I did. You were amazing.”

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my chin and then my lips. I had never felt such sweet tenderness before. He then let go of me and went to the refrigerator to get the pot of soup. He put it on the stove and glanced at me. “Nothing like a nice bowl of black bean soup on a cold winter night,” he said. “And some home made bread,” he added.

“You bake bread?” I asked.

“Yes and I like to cook,” he said. “How about a glass of red wine?”

“Nice,” I answered. “Sounds perfect.”

I noticed several candles on a shelf and placed them on the table. “How about a little candlelight,” I said, “just to add a little atmosphere.”

“Great,” he answered, as he put the large round crusty loaf of bread on the counter and started slicing. He then got a bottle of red wine, two glasses and poured the wine. He brought me a glass and we clicked glasses.

“To luck!” I said.

“I’ll drink to that,” he repeated, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked at me and we sipped our wine.

Peter went back to the counter to get the bread and placed it on a wooden breadboard and brought it to the table, along with a small plate of butter. He put two woven placemats down, two soup spoons and a knife for the butter. He then went back to the soup and lifted the lid, stirring it with a wooden spoon then took a sip, closing his eyes, smacked his lips, nodding, “Not bad. I hope you like it a little spicy.”

“The spicier the better,” I responded.

I loved watching the way he moved, humming to himself, ladling the soup into two bowls, sprinkling the grated cheese then bringing everything to the table. He seemed like a happy man who enjoyed his life. It’s hard to explain but there was something in his relaxed, comfortable way of preparing everything and moving that was soothing.

Just as he sat down the phone rang and he said, “I wonder who that is.”

He picked up the phone, his eyes looking at me. “Oh hi, George--thanks for calling back. I didn’t leave a message.” He paused, listening, smiling at me. “Oh you have one of those phones that records the number,” he laughed, “I didn’t think you were so 21 st century,” he added, clearly familiar with him.

Our eyes were on each other as he spoke, motioning for me to start eating. I reached for a slice of bread and buttered it, not wanting to start without him.

“This young woman’s car slid off the road about five minutes from my place on the East Carter Road --just passed the big curve. It’s late now but can you tow it here in the morning, that way we can make sure it’s okay.” He listened for a minute then said, “Thanks George. See you in the morning. Give my regards to that sweet wife of yours.” He hung up, smiling at me. “Hope you don’t mind waiting ‘til the morning for your car?” he asked.

“And what if I did?” I said.

“I’d say too bad--that’s the way it’s going to be,” he answered, buttering a slice of bread.

“You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you, holding me captive in your cabin in the woods,” I said, leaning forward, looking into his eyes.

“Yep!” he answered. “You’re my prisoner for the night whether you like it or not. See what happens when you hitchhike and get picked up by a stranger,” he smiled. “Now eat your soup.”

“Yes, sir. Aye Aye, sir,” I responded, saluting him. I took a sip of the black bean soup. “Ummmmmmmm….Wow! This is delicious.”

“Thanks,” he answered, sipping his soup then taking a sip of his wine.

The room was glowing from the fire in the stove and the two candles on the table.

“Peter, do you believe in destiny? Do you think it was destiny that all this happened, that I slid off the road and you came by and we, you know, hit it off like this.” I watched him listening, nodding taking in my words. He took another sip of his soup, another sip of wine and looked at me.

“Nope, I don’t believe it was destiny,” he answered. “It was just random, good luck, a coincidence that has no explanation,” he paused. “It was not destiny. It was a fluke, but I’m glad it happened.”

I was surprised by his answer. I thought for sure he believed in destiny and that we were meant to meet like this.

“I’m surprised by your answer,” I said. “I think it was destiny,” I added.

“Well, think whatever you want, Vicki, if that makes you feel happy and that the stars somehow made you slide of the road and I happen to drive by and we met and rockets went off and here we are eating black bean soup by candlelight. It’s a nice romantic story,” he said, startling me.

I was quiet, thinking about his words. “So you’re not a romantic?” I asked.

“Oh but I am. I am a romantic, very much so and you will have to read some of my love poetry sometime and you’ll see what a romantic I am,” he said. He took a sip of his wine, a sip of his soup and brought the napkin to his lips.

I nodded as he spoke, thinking about his words. “So you think my being here is a fluke--something that just happened.”

“Yep, you got it,” he said. “I would like to believe in destiny. It’s a nice story, but I think life is a mystery. There is seldom any rhyme or reason to what happens to us, though most of the time, we create our own disasters by being stupid or careless like you losing the cord to your cell phone, or driving too fast on a slippery road. That’s not destiny--that’s just foolishness or making a mistake. But, my sweet friend, my thought is that when bad things happen, you try to make the best of it, you adapt, you call on your creativity. It’s not what happens but what you do with what happens,” he said. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I do,” I said, still baffled by his blunt, matter of fact philosophy. I wanted to believe in destiny, but Peter was pulling the rug out from under me. I was surprised but it made me dizzy with feelings for him. He was not just attractive, he was intelligent and a deep thinker. I liked that. I had never met anyone like him. A warm, fuzzy feeling was sweeping over me as I listened and enjoyed the soup, the wine, the candles, the fire, the quiet stillness of his cabin. We were both quiet as we ate, but my mind was racing--thinking about my car being towed here in the morning, wondering if I wanted to stay and never leave, where was I heading with my feelings for Peter, would we kiss goodbye and that would be it?

“Hey, Vicki, be here, stop thinking so much,” he said, reading my mind again.

I shook my head and looked at him, trying to put my thoughts and feelings in place and be in the moment but it’s hard for me. I’m always thinking, thinking, thinking and worrying. I’m such a neurotic.

Peter reached over and took my hand. It was so warm to feel his hand on mine. He then placed his other hand on mine, holding it firmly in his hands. He then lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand, sending a warm sensation through my body. He was so gentle and sweet. I wondered whether he was seducing me, stealing my heart with his caring manner.

“Peter, this is so nice. I’ve never met anyone like you,” I said. Somehow I felt safe with him and felt feelings rising in me that scared and thrilled me at the same time. Was I falling in love with him?

“It is nice,” he said, still holding my hands. “In fact, it’s extraordinary,” he added. “I live a very solitary life. I rarely have company. I’m kind of a hermit, here, writing every day, rarely going into town and suddenly, I have a beautiful young woman here and we made passionate love and now we’re enjoying a nice meal. I’m wondering if this is a dream and I am going to wake up and realize it never really happened.”

“This is not a dream,” I said, pinching him. “See, I’m real, you’re awake. I’m here in your life.”

He nodded, chuckling, looking at me, “Things like this don’t happen to me,” he said.

“They don’t happen to me either. Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”

Peter poured me some more wine and filled his glass. We were quiet as we sipped the wine. We had finished our soup and continued our conversation. I told him more about my life, how I grew up outside of Philadelphia, my father was a plumber, my mom was a bookkeeper, I have one older brother and how I loved art and knew from childhood that I wanted to be an artist. “By the way, I’m thirty-two,” I mentioned. He nodded as he listened.

“Anyway, I was always drawing. Rarely went anywhere without my sketch pad. I went to an art camp every summer and told people when I grow up I want to be an artist.”

“Vicki, you were always an artist,” he said. “If you were drawing and painting when you were a child, you were an artist. It’s not something you become when you grow up.”

I laughed when he said that. “I never thought about it like that,” I said.

We talked for hours, well into night, telling each other little stories from our lives and we were feeling incredibly close. Still, lurking in the back of my mind, I was thinking where is this heading, what will happen when my car comes in the morning, will I want to leave, what will I do, should I stay? Would he want me to stay? I didn’t know.

That night we made love again. It was passionate, tender, exciting love making. We both screamed as our bodies exploded with intense orgasms. I laid my head on his shoulder as we talked a little more and then drifted off to sleep, his arms wrapped around me as we spooned. I loved how he was with me.

The next morning, I was still asleep and felt Peter cuddling against me, licking my shoulders and the back of my neck. I felt my body stirring as he pressed his hard cock against the crack of my ass. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to him, licking my ear lobes, making me tingle. He then moved me so that I was on my stomach. He placed our pillows under me, elevating me and laid on my back, spreading my legs, placing the tip of his cock at the entrance of my pussy, moving it slowly up and down, getting me so hot with his gentle rubbing against my wet pussy lips before slowly entering me, moving deeper and deeper, holding my body still. The sensation of his cock entering me was intense and the slow, very gradual moving in and out as he opened me was like nothing I had ever experienced. Finally, he was all the way in, swiveling his hips, starting a slow, swirling screwing motion deep in me. I moved slowly with him, my pussy completely filled as our slow moving started to build. I loved his weight on me, my pussy gripping his cock, feeling the need to cum. I started moving faster, letting him know I wanted to be fucked harder. He sensed my need and pulled slowly out of my pussy then thrust deep and hard into me.

“Harder, harder, Ohhhhh please, I need it harder.”

He pulled out again thrusting his cock harder into me, pulling out and again thrusting deep, each thrust getting harder and faster.

“Ohhhhhhh, Peter, I love this. I love this. Fuck me harder,” I screamed, feeling on the verge of exploding.

He rammed his cock into me, thrusting again and again. I felt him tensing, his cock swelling, his thrusting faster and faster, harder and harder. I turned my face and our eyes met, my pussy gripping his cock. “I’m cummmming, I’m cummmmming oh Vicki, I’m cummmming!”

His words excited me and suddenly my orgasm swept over me and I raised my ass off the pillow as he drove me back to the pillow, my whole body shuddering and shaking, “Ohhhhhhhhyes yes yes, OhGod I’m cummming! Ohhhhhhhhhyes!”

I felt his cum gushing and filling my pussy as another huge orgasm swept me away into the most intense convulsions I have ever had. I collapsed on the pillow and he collapsed on me, both of us gasping and panting, laying there, unable to budge.

“I hope you didn’t mind my little wake up call?” he whispered in my ear.

“You can wake me up like that anytime, mister,” I said.

“I’d like that,” he responded, kissing the back of my neck and my shoulder.

“I’ve never been fucked like that before,” I said. “That was wonderful.”

He rolled off of me, wrapping me in his arms. I loved being held. I loved the warmth and gentle strength of his arms.

After a few moments of lying there, wallowing in the warmth, my mind started racing again with the thought that my car would soon be arriving.

“Peter,” I said then hesitated. I turned on my side to face him.

“What?” he asked.

“What would you think if I said I wanted to stay here with you?” I asked, frightened to hear his answer. He was silent.

My heart pounded as I waited for an answer. He looked into my eyes.

“Vicki, you’re so young and I am old enough to be your father. I’m not sure it would work, you know, the age difference. That’s a big issue.”

“It’s only an issue if you think it is,” I said. “It’s not an issue for me.”

“Well, it is for me. ” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your life. I don’t want to become some old fuddy duddy that can’t keep up with you.” He paused. “And I had a vasectomy years ago and you might want to have a baby. That’s an issue you should think about--having a baby.”

I looked at him, shaking my head. “I can deal with that,” I said. “And I’d probably be a lousy mother,” I added. “I can be pretty goofy.”

He laughed and looked at me. “It would be pretty goofy for you to stay here in the middle of nowhere. This is not Boston .”

“I know all of that,” I said.

“This might be my Shangra La, but it might not be yours. It’s very quiet and I write all day. You might get bored after the newness wears off.”

“Remember what you said last night--when things happen, you just have to make the best of it. I could go home and get my stuff, my art supplies and paint here, maybe get a job as a waitress and see what happens.”

He looked into my eyes and nodded. “This is pretty nuts.”

“When my car comes, I could stay for a day or two and see how it feels and then go to Boston and come back, that is, if you want me too.”

“I’m not sure,” he said. He looked away, shaking his head like he was saying no. “I don’t know.” He looked at me, his eyes looked sad. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

I was disappointed with his answer. I wanted him to say of course. I love you and I want you in my life, but he didn’t say that. I felt a harsh, burning lump in my throat.

“Why not,” I asked, suddenly wanting to cry.

“Vicki, you deserve to have a man who can give you a more fulfilling life than I can,” he said. He had a concerned, sad look on his face. The twinkle in his blue eyes was gone.

Just then we heard a noise outside and knew it was George towing my car. Peter got up and threw on his clothes and went outside. I lay in bed for a minute thinking whether I even wanted to see my car, but I got up, looked out the window and saw Peter and George talking. George got into the car and it started right up. Peter signed something that must have been his Triple A card. They shook hands and George drove off.

“You car is all set,” he said when he enter, looking at me.

There was an awkward silence. I didn’t know what to say. I felt a sharp pain in my chest as the thought of leaving swelled in me. I turned away from Peter. He was quiet. I could feel him looking at me.

“Hey, how about a cup of coffee,” he said then went into the kitchen and got the coffee started.

I went to the window and looked at my car. I then looked at his bird feeders and the birds flying down from the trees, pecking at the seeds then flying off. My mind was swirling with confusion, knowing I didn’t want to leave. But what did he want? I turned to Peter, watching him getting the mugs from the shelf. He glanced at me and smiled. He brought the mugs to the table then poured the hot water into the French Press coffee pot and waited for it to brew. Neither of us spoke. The sun was pouring in the window and the whole room glowed with bright morning sunlight.

Our eyes met as he poured the coffee into the mugs and placed them on the table. I was standing next to the wood stove.

“Stay,” he said. “I want you to stay. It may be crazy, but let’s give it a shot.”

“Really,” I said. I could not believe my ears, but my heart leaped in me and I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. We hugged, holding each other tightly. “You’re such a smart man,” I said. “I knew you would make the right decision.”

“You did, did you?” he said. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

And that’s what happened. I stayed for two days, drove back to Boston and packed my stuff. I had a month to month lease on my apartment and within a week I was back here where I have now been for two years. I paint in a small room he had and we made that my studio. It has perfect light. He writes at the round oak table by the window.

I had my big art show in Boston that spring and I sold seven paintings. The gallery owner said he wanted me to have another show the coming year. So, it worked out perfectly. Peter never minds when I go off for two or three weeks to hang shows or just visit friends and get my city-fix taken care of. He kisses me goodbye and gladly welcomes me home.

I think back from time to time to my sliding into that ditch and how I ended up hitchhiking into ecstasy. Whether it was destiny or random luck, I don’t know and I really don’t care.

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