1 – The Set-up
Joke or horror movie? You decide.
The characters, situations and actions in this story are merely figments of an unusual imagination. So unusual, in fact, that the author doesn't actually exist.
NC<18 – No characters under the age of 18 are depicted in this story. Seriously. Keep reading.
This is a copyrighted original work of erotic fiction. All rights reserved.
Have you ever found yourself in a ball of confusion, trying to decide whether you were either in the middle of a joke or stuck in a horror movie?
You probably won't believe this, but I'm a traveling salesman. No, not the old door-to-door salesman for brushes, vacuum cleaners, magazines or encyclopedias.
I actually sell specialty medical products. That requires traveling to every clinic in my district on a regular basis, and I've got a regular route that I follow in the process so I can spend each night in my "regular" motels.
I only had one more stop to make this hot summer afternoon and was tooling down the two-lane country back-road short-cut listening to the country tunes on the radio when my car started slowing down. It seemed like the harder I pressed the accelerator, the slower I was going.
Turned off the air conditioner.
Looked around and saw what I had been seeing for the last half-hour or so - corn.
Rolled down all the windows for some ventilation. That only let in even hotter air.
Miles and miles of nothing but corn.
Turned off the radio, hoping the car would run better.
Oh look, a break in the monotony – a field of corn!
Took off tie & undid the top three buttons of my shirt.
Unlocked my cell phone and, of COURSE, there's no signal. Just what I need.
After another 20 minutes (a whopping three and a half miles down the road) my grateful eyes spied a break in the corn and a farmhouse appeared on the right side of the road. I quickly turned into the driveway hoping I could find a land-line to call someone to pick up the car and give me a ride to a rental car dealership.
I let the car spit, sputter and chug to a stop under the shade of huge tree in the front yard, got out and slammed the door in frustration.
Looked around as I walked over to the stairs, then up them onto the porch and knocked on the screen door. The inside door was open, so I waited for a bit then knocked a little more loudly. Still no answer, so I shaded my eyes, looking inside into the darkened interior of the house and called out, "Hello? Anybody there?" Nobody knows why people shade their eyes when trying to look inside a dark room when they call out like that, but everybody does. Like if someone was there and didn't want to answer you they wouldn't have thought to duck behind something.
Still no answer, so I went back to the car, reached inside and popped the hood, then walked around the front, pulled it the rest of the way up and propped it open. No clue what the heck I was looking for, but hey, I'm a guy. It's what we do in this situation, right? Maybe there'll be a big glowing arrow pointing to something saying "Problem here!" I started at the front, wiggling things around. Maybe if something's loose, I can find a way to tighten it and then it'll work all right.
I had worked my way around to the passenger side of the car and was leaning over under the hood when someone said, "Whatcha doin', mister?" And yeah, I smacked my head on the underside of the hood when I tried to stand up.
When I was able to quit scrunching my eyes shut in pain I turned around and found myself looking down at the stereotypical country girl. She might have stood five feet tall (maybe), had freckles, a cute little upturned nose and had her auburn hair pulled up in pigtails. Red and white checked shirt, tied up under her breasts. Denim cut-off short-shorts. And, yeah. Barefoot.
"My car broke down. Are your mom or dad home?"
She smiled up at me and said, "No mister. I'm here all alone in this big old house right now. Can I help you?" You know the country-girl drawl she had.
"Do you have a phone I can use?"
She reached out, grabbed my hand and said, "Sure, mister. Follow me!" Then she started skipping toward the door, tugging me behind her.
When we got inside, she dragged me over to the phone, let go of my hand and said, Here ya go, mister. Want something to drink? We got some lemonade in the 'fridge. Or I can make ya some iced tea if ya'd like?"
"Iced tea would be fine, thanks."
I sat down at the little table, unlocked my cell phone again and looked up the number to the dealership I had my lease through. I started talking to the service manager there trying to figure out how to get a tow truck out here (once I made sure I knew where here was), when they could get here, where it would be taken, and whether I could get a rental car wherever there was?
Somewhere in the middle of that conversation the girl brought me a tall glass and said, "Here's ya'll's ice tea, mister."
As hot as I was, I drained the glass except for the ice in just a couple of long gulps. She goggled up at me, giggled and said, "Geez, mister! Ya'll sure are thirsty. Want another one?"
I held the glass out to her and shook it a little so the ice jingled. "Please."
She skipped off into the kitchen and returned with a fresh drink. I drank this one more slowly. Something tasted...off...about it, but I couldn't figure out what it was. A couple of "I'll call you back"s and return calls later that glass was gone, too.
I finally found out they wouldn't be able to get a tow truck out this far until the following morning.
That's when I laughed out loud. The girl looked up at me and said, "Whatcha laughing at, mister?"
"You wouldn't understand, but I think I just realized I'm stuck in the middle of joke."
She looked at me kind of blankly, like she didn't understand what I was talking about.
"See, there's this story about the traveling salesman whose car breaks down..."
She was still staring at me blankly.
"Never mind."
"Want something to eat, mister? I think we got some fried chicken in the 'fridge."
I had been thinking I was going to go sit in my car and wait until her parents came home, but the idea of something to eat sounded good, too.
