Reverent Mervin had strong beliefs. Ultra-conservative, fundamentalist, all of life's instructions could be found literally in the Bible, etc.
Really he was an insufferable man, arrogant, proud, judgmental, intolerant, pushy, unhappy. Angry and boring. He was 57 years old, 240 pounds, with a fat hairy belly and a sweaty flaccid body, balding, with a pasty complexion.
He was rigidly puritanical. A dull, tedious life, loveless marriage to a woman whose decades-long tolerance of him had made her far grayer and duller than her years.
As he pulled out of his Bible-thumping conference meeting in this strange new city, he noticed someone at the side of the road. It was a young woman, maybe 19 years old, very short, very skinny, but with long golden blonde hair down to her knees. She was facing the other way, and was wearing a curious backpack that was the shape of a cross, lit up with reflective material so it glistened silver in the car's headlights.
She turned to look at his car as he approached, and he could see that she had an angelic, pristine face, no make-up except almost obscenely garish, very red lipstick. Her breasts were huge, massively out of proportion to her otherwise petite, waifish frame.
Something came over him. Ordinarily he would curse such a person, and speed off with an air of superiority, perhaps even calling the police to complain about hitchhikers on the highway. But this time, he was strangely compelled to slow down and stop the car. She walked over to the open window on the passenger's side, and leaned into the car.
"Would you take me home, sir?" she asked in a soft, sweet, melodious purr.
He unlocked the door, wordlessly, and she climbed into the car.
Strangely, they had no conversation. And strangely, he knew what she was doing out on the street at this hour. He took her home.
Not to her home, of course, but to his hotel room.
Once inside, Mervin awkwardly went to the bathroom, leaving her standing alone in the main part of the suite. He seemed in a daze, and was trembling a bit. As he looked in the mirror he was conscious of how fat and repulsive he must seem to almost any woman, especially a young beauty. It was unusual for him to have a moment of self-reflection.
When he left the bathroom, he found the girl naked on the bed, lying on her back, with her legs spread. Her long golden hair spread across the whole width of the king-size mattress. She had left the lights on brightly.
"Fuck me now" she said, looking straight into his eyes, licking her lips. She moved her limbs and torso in an undulating, slow ballet. Her delicate feet arched, tensing up her skinny calves, then her toes massaged the sheets of the bed, as though she had a deep part of herself that she wanted scratched, but couldn't quite reach it. Her fingers rubbed her breasts and squeezed her nipples, pulling them until they were erect and almost sorely reddened from her pinches. Her biceps actually contracted visibly as she lifted the mass of her breasts, showing both the enormity of her breasts, but also the skinniness yet athleticism of her arms.
