There she was, standing by the roadside in the headlights of my battered old truck. Right away I noticed that she was stark naked. Not a stitch of clothes on; in her birthday suit.
She wasn't actually hitchhiking, just posed with arms crossed under her bare breasts. And nice breasts they were, with large dark areolae that I've always found so erotic. And that wonderfully small waist, what can I say? Did I mention her long sleek legs?
I pulled over and leaned across to roll down the window, wondering what catastrophe had befallen the woman. But she just opened the door, got in, and sat gazing thoughtfully at me.
Trying for a witty opening line, I said, "Uh, I guess you know that you're naked as a jaybird." She made no response. A trace of a smile crossed her face.
"Miss, I don't think there are any nudist clubs around here, if that's what you're looking for."
Again nothing. So we just sat there, the naked woman and me. She appeared to be my age, about 25, with short dark hair cut in lengths. The dashboard lights revealed full lips and large expressive eyes. Below the waist this woman was all natural, sporting a dense thatch of pubic hair. No landing strip or bikini wax for her.
Finally she spoke. "You're kinda cute. Do you have a big dick?"
"Well, it has gotten some favorable comments, yeah."
"I like to suck big dicks," she smiled warmly.
Then it finally dawned on me. "Oh, okay, I get it. Did Corey hire you? Did that lame-brain put you up to this?" Corey, an incurable prankster, had been my best friend since high school.
"Does Corey have a big dick? Maybe I could suck his dick too."
What's wrong with this picture, I kept thinking. It's bound to come to me.
"Do you like anal sex?" she asked inquisitively, in the same tone that you might ask someone if they like apple cobbler. But no, the lady said anal sex. "I love to have a man fuck me in the pussy, you know, but sometimes a girl likes it in the ass too. I wonder why that is?"
That damn Corey, I thought, I'm gonna wring his fool neck. He's probably waiting along the roadside, ready to laugh like a hyena the minute I try to grab this woman. This genuinely weird woman.
"Well," she said pensively, as if she had arrived at a critical decision, "if you aren't going to fuck me in the ass, you might as well take me home."
"Just out of curiosity, where's home?"
"The Lowery place, of course."
"Their cottage here at the lake? But there's no one there. They usually don't show up for another month."
"Either fuck me in the ass or take me home!" Clearly an ultimatum.
Still expecting Corey to leap out and give me the old horselaugh, I put the Ford into gear and drove the few hundred yards down to the Lowery place. I pulled into their short circular drive, surprised to see that there was a light on, a lamp in the living room.
At the walkway, the woman got out without a word and walked to the cottage. She swung her hips so provocatively, her delightful ripe ass swaying just as nature had designed it. To be sure I got the message, she glanced over her shoulder and gave me a saucy smile, full of carnal promise.
Let's be honest. Show any red-blooded man a captivating derriere like that, and he has no choice but to pursue it like a bull moose in rut. So I got out of the truck and followed her up the walkway. But then she went inside, and I could hear the dead-bolt lock on the door close with a loud thunk. A moment later the lamp was turned off. The cottage was now dark and silent.
I stood there on the walkway feeling like a complete fool, still trying to understand it all. Who the hell is she? I thought. Did that numb nuts Corey put her up to this?
Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night. The next morning after breakfast, I had an idea. I don't often get those, but this one was inspired. I picked up the phone and called Wally, who's been the postmaster around here, they say, since Calvin Coolidge was president.
"Aah yeah?" he answered the phone.
"Say, Wally, this is Ryan over at Basin Harbor. I noticed a light on at the Lowery cottage last night. Is someone staying there now? Getting mail delivery? The Lowerys don't usually arrive until late July."
"Why, yeas," he mumbled, "young woman came by the other day to let me know she'd be there. It's Kathryn Lowery's niece, I b'lieve, name's Sara. Such a sweet young lady."
Right, you could see that she was a sweet young lady last night, I thought. Thanking the old geezer, I hung up and planned my next move.
Since moving out to Basin Harbor to concentrate on graphic design work, I had taken up gardening. My specialty was tomatoes, which I start in flats in early March. My favorite varieties, Early Girl and Celebrity, were just now ripening. Why not drop by the Lowery cottage with a basket of tomatoes? As a neighborly gesture, you see.
I showered, shaved, and put on my best jeans. I even dabbed on a bit of after-shave. You never know.
The door to the Lowery cottage opened after my third knock, and of course it was she. "Yes?" she smiled pleasantly. But there was not a glimmer of recognition. I waited, smiling in return, but she only offered another "Yes?"
"Hello!" I finally managed. "I'm your neighbor, Ryan. The postmaster mentioned that you were down here, so I thought you might like some fresh tomatoes. I grow them myself."
"Oh how nice! Please come in. I was just making some chamomile tea. You must join me!" She extended her hand. "So nice to meet a neighbor. I'm Sara," she said bashfully, a faint blush on her cheeks.
As I entered, I saw that my nocturnal siren was now wearing a long-sleeved blouse, buttoned almost to the top, and loose cotton pants. Ah, the charms hidden away under all that fabric, I thought woefully.
We sat on the patio overlooking the lake. It was a perfect summer day, a cool breeze blowing white fluffy clouds around. Over tea, Sara told me that she was a graduate student in theater at the state university. She was here to write a history of theater in this region.
