“Damn, Shit, Fuck!” I shouted, banging my hands on the steering wheel and shaking my head from side to side, my long hair flailing, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

My car had just slid off the goddamn icy road into a ditch and it was getting dark.

Now, what? I sighed, knowing my cell phone was dead.

I had lost the charger and was going to get a new phone when I got home. "Who knew I'd slide into a fucking ditch," I muttered to myself, 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 zipped up my down vest, pulled my wool cap down over my ears, flipped my scarf around my neck, grabbed my backpack, and had to squeeze out because the fucking door was jammed against the side of the ditch. Once I wiggled my way out, I stood on the icy dirt, looking around. It was getting dark and I realized if I didn’t get picked up soon, no one would be able to see me.

Hope I don’t get picked up by some pervert?

I walked up the road a little and glanced back at the front of my car down in the ditch and felt the wind through my 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. This is a nightmare. 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 looked 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? Why do I like the back roads? Why am I so stupid?

Suddenly, I thought I heard the sound of a car and got excited. Maybe I’m in luck. I looked in the direction of the curve in the road. As the sound got closer, the glow of headlights shone on the trees across from me. When I saw the car, I moved closer to the edge of the road and put out my thumb, wishing I could make it huge and longer as I extended my arm and waved it frantically.

“Please stop. Please stop,” I whispered to myself, almost praying.

The car passed me, then slowed down, but didn't 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 saw a man with longish gray hair under a brown wool cap and a shaggy beard but couldn’t see much more.

“Looks like you’re in a jam, miss.”

“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.”

Once in, I put my backpack on the floor and took a deep sigh of relief. The car was warm and the radio was playing classical music.

“Guess you’re not used to driving on these icy Maine 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 didn't 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 wondered as we drove through the woods, and then when we turned into a small lane, I noticed solar panels in an opening, then drove up to a cabin surrounded by trees.

“Wow you really live in the woods, don’t you? I said.

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

“Cool,” I responded and looked 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 wood stove and saw the glow of coals through the glass door.

“How about if I make us some tea and I call George’s garage and let him know the story. He'll get you out.”

He took off his wool hat, then got got some logs from the wood bin and threw them in the stove.

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. A round oak table was by the window with his laptop on it, a few Begonia plants sat on the window sill. His bed was against one wall surrounded by windows. A maroon reclining chair was near the table with a reading lamp over it.

“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 teapot. “I got it from an old barn they took down about fifteen years ago.”

I took my down vest off and my 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. Short for Victoria.”

“I guessed it was short for Victoria,” he laughed, glancing at my breasts then looked back at my eyes.“You don’t look very Victorian.”

I was wearing a tight black 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 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 sighed. “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. 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 gray, longish hair curled up in the back just above the collar of his flannel shirt. With his shaggy beard, he looked like he didn’t really give much thought to his appearance. His jeans were worn and I liked that he took off 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. I got divorced two years ago.” He took a sip of his tea.“We decided not to be in each others movie any more.”

“That’s a funny way of putting it.” I sipped my tea and looked at him over the rim of my cup. 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. Life goes on.”

He then got up and went to the telephone to dial the garage again. He was much taller than my five feet three, and I liked the way he smiled and how our eyes met when he dialed. What a nice smile. I felt myself getting turned on and tried pushing my attraction to him aside. This is nuts.

“Still no answer. 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 had a boyfriend up to a few months ago, but found out he was a jerk and was cheating on me—with my best friend, no less.” I shook my head as if shaking away the pain and anger I still felt.

“Too bad. 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. Are we flirting? What's going on here.

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 felt relaxed with him and wanted to be playful. I took a sip of my tea and again looked at him over the edge of the cup.

“Just curious,” he said, sitting back in his chair, stretching his legs to the side towards me.

“I’m old enough to know what I want,” I said, putting my cup down.

“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. His smile and the way he looked at me got me even more turned on. I looked at his legs stretched towards me as he leaned back in his chair and noticed his gray wool socks with a hole at the heel. 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 as we looked at each other made me wonder if 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 and wet and also, a little frightened and intimated. What’s going on with me. This is crazy.

“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.”

“So, 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... novels and short stories, but lately, mostly poetry. I try to write a poem every day. Never miss a day.”

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. I love my solitude and it gives me the time and quiet to write without distractions, but, sometimes, I wish I had a lover, someone to share my bed but 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 I wanted. “You want a lover who doesn’t get in the way of your spirit...right!” I wanted him to know I understood his philosophy.

“Right,” he said, looking into my eyes. “A fuck buddy is a good way of putting it. 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 wondered if he was getting as turned on by me as I was by him. The sexual tension in the room was intense. I stretched my legs forward towards his and spread my legs, revealing my crotch, then leaned back in the chair causing my shirt to get tighter against my breasts. I saw him look at my crotch and at my breasts and knew he could see my hard nipples. Our eyes were fixed on each other. I was so hot I couldn’t stand it. I have to make something happen. My mind was racing. Vicki you’ve been here fifteen minutes, control your self. This is nuts. He’s a stranger.

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

“Oh what kind,” I repeated, as I tried gathering 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, his eyes twinkling. “Very exciting.”

I liked his reaction. It seemed so genuine. What a sweet man.

“Yes, it's exciting, but 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, nodding, glancing at my breasts.

He sipped his tea. I lifted my cup, looking at him over the edge. Our gazes met. We were quiet, but I had that hot tingle between my legs again, and knew he sensed the sexual tension building between us, but also knew he wouldn't do anything. I have to do something. I have to, but what?

Suddenly, I stood up over his stretched out legs and looked down at him, our eyes fixed on each other. This was it. My tight jeans pressed against my pussy. I still had my boots on. Without a word, I straddled his legs, stretching my legs over him, then sat down, afraid he would push me away, but felt his cock getting hard as I started grinding against him. He grabbed my hips, holding me firmly as I moved up and down the length his hard cock bulging in his jeans. Good. He's into it.

“Mmmm, I like this,” I moaned, still afraid he would stop,but then he grabbed my ass and pulled me harder against him. His hands on my ass got me even more excited. It's happening....mmm Good.

Grinding harder, he lifted himself off the chair to grind his cock into my jean covered pussy.Right then I didn’t care if I ever saw my car again. We were now humping harder as our lust became more intense. We were fucking through our clothes and I was on the verge of cumming. He sensed my body tensing as I stiffened. I couldn’t believe I was there so quickly, about to explode when he lifted me off of him and stood up. We kissed--our tongues swirling in each others mouths. I was losing it. I wanted him.

Our mouths parted with a gasp and he unbuttoned my jeans while I quickly pulled off my boots and kicked them away. My jeans were half unzipped when he turned me around and squeezed his hand inside the tightness of my jeans and grasped my pussy, the palm of his hand pressing against my soaked panties. Behind me, he pressed his hard cock against my ass, surprising me at how aggressive he was getting and liked it. He moved my panties aside and put his finger in my wet pussy. “I'm safe,”I said, knowing where this was headed. “Me, too,” he whispered in my ear and I knew what he meant..

“Oh fuck!” I screamed as he put a second finger in. “Ohhhhhhhfuck!” I yelled again as he fucked me with his fingers. When his thumb rubbed my clit I lost it as a huge orgasm swept over me and my cum gushed all over his hands and my panties.

“That’s just a beginning of your ecstasy,” he whispered in my ear, his soaked fingers still in me, still moving as another wave swept over me. He pulled at my jeans, helping me squirm out of them and threw them across the room, then turned me around, pushed me to the table, swept his laptop and the cups to the side and forcing me down, bent over me, his body covering me. I grasped the other edge of the table, my breasts crushed against the wood, my legs wide apart, the head of his hard cock moving up and down my dripping pussy, before ramming into me. “You’re so tight,” he yelled as he pulled out and thrust into me harder.

“Fuck me, Peter. Yes! Yes! I love it. I love your cock! FUCK ME” I screamed. My shirt was still on. I was on the verge of cummming again when he pulled out causing me to yell, “Oh no! no! Don’t stop! Keep fucking me.”

“I will. You’re going to get the ecstasy you want.”

I could not believe my ears. No man had ever fucked or treated me like this.

He was rough and gentle at the same time. He grabbed my arms and pulled me across the room to his bed. He laid me down with my feet on the floor, then knelt and spread my legs wide apart, my pussy completely open. He lifted my legs over his shoulder and then started kissing and licking my thighs, moving his tongue slowly and stopped just below my pussy. I grabbed his hair and tried 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 while I writhed on the bed as he teased my pussy with his hot tongue.

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

He licked my clit and placed his finger in me again.“Ohhhhhhh fuck!” I screamed again as his tongue and fingers drove me insane.

I wanted his cock and no more teasing. I knew I had to take charge and suddenly pulled away and shimmied my way further up on his bed. He smiled, knowing what I wanted and took off his jeans and tossed them on the floor. Our hungry eyes met as he crawled up between my legs, his big, hard cock swinging like the trunk of an elephant. He looked at my eyes and then at my wide open, dripping pussy.

As he got closer, hovering just above me, I got my hands on his chest and pushed him on to his back and straddled him. I wanted control, and looking at him under me, lifted up, grabbed his cock, then came down hard, impaling myself. “Ohhhhhhhhmygod,” I swiveled my hips as I leaned forward and, rocking back and forth, loved how his hard, throbbing cock, filled me and rubbed against my clit. He held my ass as I moved slowly at first and then faster and faster, my tits pressed against his chest, my hair falling in front of my face. I pushed it away so that we could look into each other's eyes. Then I sat straight up and grabbed my tits with both hands, rubbing and pinching my nipples.

“Ride me! Ride me!”

“ Mmmmmmmm--this feels so good,” I moaned as I lifted myself and came down harder and faster, again and again, on the verge of cumming. “Ohhhhhhhh Peter, I’m going to cum. I’m cummming. I’m cumming. Ohhhhhhhh yes,yes, I’m cummmmmming.”

He lifted his ass off the bed and I rose up with him and them slammed down on his cock and another huge orgasm swept over me. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh my god!” I screamed at the ceiling as wave after wave rocked my body.

Suddenly, he roughly flipped me on to my back, got quickly between my legs and without a moment’s hesitation, thrust his cock into me, taking me harder than I've ever been taken. I could not believe his power and energy and at the same time, his caring when he gripped my hands, our fingers entwined. I could feel his body tensing, his cock swelling as he rammed deep into my pussy faster and harder while I looked up into his intense eyes fixed on mine.

“Ohhhhh Vicki Vicki! I’m cummming. I’m cummming!”

Lifting myself to him, my body convulsing in the biggest orgasm of my life as he drove me back to the bed, both of us screaming at the top of our lungs, filling the cabin with our ecstatic voices before he collapsed on me, both of us like limp noodles, gasping and panting, unable to budge, feeling our wetness and desperately trying to catch our breath.

He lay on me for several minutes. I couldn't 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 and wrapped 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, my hair. I felt his tenderness after our wildness.

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? 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. Vicki. Stop thinking--just be here.

His arms pulled me closer to him. “Stop thinking. Be here,” he whispered and kissed my ear.

I turned my head and looked at his smiling eyes, amazed that he had read my mind and returned to the warmth of his body. “That was wonderful,” I said, wallowing in the the afterglow like being bathed in warm sunlight.

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

“Now what?” I asked.

He chuckled and then surprised me when he started to sing the words from an old song. His voice was soft as he sang, “We just have tonight. Tomorrow may never come, for all we know….. ”

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

“Yeah, I think in an old movie,” I answered, nodding, a smile on my lips, loving that he sang to me.

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

“So what are you saying?”

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

His answer surprised me, but I understood. He leaned down and kissed me gently and smiled.

“Let’s eat and forget about your car for now. 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 broke loose from his arms, hopped out of the bed and dashed into the bathroom, remnants of our cum trickling down my thigh, to clean up a little, then found my jeans and squirmed into them, not bothering about my soiled panties. I still had my black turtleneck 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 could have stopped you. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Don t be stupid. I told you I'm old enough to know what I want and I can take care of my self. I made it happen 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 and went to the refrigerator to get the pot of soup out. He put it on the stove and glanced at me. “Nothing like a nice bowl of black bean soup on a cold winter night and some home made bread.”

“You bake bread?” I asked, surprised.

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

“Nice,” I answered.“Sounds perfect.”

I noticed several candles on a shelf near the table 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 loaf of bread on the counter and started slicing. He then got a bottle of red wine and 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 and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked at me and we sipped our wine.

Peter went back to the counter to get the bread, placed it on a wooden breadboard and brought it on 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 ladled the soup in our bowls, sprinkled on some graded cheese and brought it to the table.

I loved watching the way he moved, humming to himself as he brought 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. “I bet that’s George from the garage.”

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 21st century,” he added, clearly familiar with him.

Our eyes were on each other as he spoke and he motioned to 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 past 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 and smiled at me. “Hope you don’t mind waiting ‘till the morning for your car?” he asked.

“And what if I did?”

“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 leaned forward, gazing into his eyes.

“Yep! 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, then took a sip of the black bean soup. “ Mmmmmmmm. 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 as he took in my words. He took another sip of his soup, another sip of wine.

“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 wasn't destiny. It was a fluke, but I’m glad it happened.”

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

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

“Well, think what ever you want, Vicki, if that makes you feel happy and that the stars somehow made you slide of the road and I happened 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 as I thought about his words. “So you’re not a romantic?” I asked, baffled by his statement.

“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, then 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 and you make lemonade out of the lemons that fall in your lap. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do,” I said, still baffled by his blunt, matter of fact philosophy. I guess 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. Except for that one professor I had a crush on, 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. 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 am always thinking, thinking, thinking and worrying. I’m such a neurotic.

Peter reached over and took my hand. He then placed his other hand on mine, holding it firmly in his hand, then lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand, sending a tickling 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 me and thrilled me at the same time. Am 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'm going to wake up and realize it never really happened.”

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

He nodded and shook his head. “Things like this don’t happen to me.”

“They don’t happen to me either,” I said.“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.

He nodded as he listened.

“Ever since I was a child, I knew I wanted to be an artist. I was always drawing. Rarely went anywhere with out 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. 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. You were born an artist.”

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

We talked for hours, well into night, telling each other little stories from our lives and we were feeling incredibly close. He told me about his traveling on a freighter, how he hated school but eventually went to college and got married and how much he loved being a father, even though his marriage became stale. Still, 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: passionate, tender, exciting love making. We both screamed as our bodies erupted 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, kissing my shoulders and the back of my neck. Murmuring, 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 as he licked 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 lay on my back, spreading my legs and placing his cock at the entrance of my pussy, moving it slowly up and down, getting me so hot with his slow, gentle moving of the tip of his cock against my wet pussy lips. Slowly, he entered me, moving gently deeper and deeper, holding my body still. The slow sensation of his entering me and the very gradual moving in and out, as he opened and filled me was like nothing I had ever experienced. Finally, he was all the way in and started a slow, swirling, gyrating motion. I moved slowly with him, my pussy completely filled as our slow moving started to build. I loved his weight on me, but felt an orgasm building and the need to cum. I started to move faster, letting him know I wanted more and needed to be fucked harder. He sensed my need and pulled slowly out of my pussy and then thrust deep and hard into me.

“Harder, harder. I need it harder.”

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

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

He rammed his cock into me and I felt him tense as his cock swelled and he pounded me faster and faster, harder and harder. I turned my face and our eyes met when he yelled, “I’m cummmming. I’m cummmmming.”

His words excited me and suddenly I raised my ass off the pillow as he drove me back to the pillow and my whole body shuddered and shook and I screamed as his cum gushed and brought me to the biggest convulsion I have ever had. I collapsed on the pillow and he collapsed on me, both of us gasping and panting, as we lay 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’d like that,” he responded and kissed 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 and wrapped me in his arms. I loved being held. I loved the warmth and smell of him.

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

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

“Remember when 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 looked away, shaking his head like he was saying no. “I don’t know.” His eyes closed as he shook his head.“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. A harsh, burning lump ached in my throat.

“Why not?” I suddenly wanted to cry.

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

Just then, a noise outside, let us know George was towing my car up the narrow dirt road. 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 Road Service card. They shook hands and George drove off.

“You car is all set,” he said when he entered.

I didn’t know what to say, but hated the awkward silence and felt a sharp pain in my chest as the thought of leaving swelled in me. I turned away from Peter He was quiet, but 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 stood by the window and looked at my car, then 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 hope he wants me to stay. I don't want to go.

I turned to Peter, watching him get the mugs off 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 morning sunlight.

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

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

“Really.”

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? 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 that's my studio. It has perfect light. He writes at the round 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. 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.