It may have been a dark and stormy night, but the inside of a stranger's car could not be the best place to wind up. Being struck by lightning on a night like this might be a better final fate.
Of course, this was familiar experience to her by now.
Whenever she got into a strange car, she asked herself a simple question.
How did I end up here?
On this day, she awoke beneath the shade of a mighty white oak that was a few hundred feet from a long stretch of cracked, broken pavement. The tree was next to a coulee full of water. She found this secluded spot by sheer accident the day before. She was pounding the pavement of a lonesome state highway until she saw the sign that pointed to a town with a three-letter name. Even though she was supposedly in the same county as the big city she escaped, it might as well have been the surface of Mars to her. She looked to her left, to the west, and saw the gentle rolling hills and lines of trees that had been planted every half-mile or so to prevent soil erosion. She huffed a bit and proceeded westward.
As she trudged, the pit in her stomach (and her soul) grew deeper. She was running out of food and she tried not to spend any of her cash unless she absolutely had to. Mile after mile, it became harder and harder to walk. This stretch of pavement was not known to see many vehicles great or small, let alone any sort of foot travelers. All she knew was that she needed to find a place to sleep for the night so she would be safe.
It was around sundown when she came upon the farmstead. The house was falling apart after years of neglect. All the windows had been broken, the roof was missing over half of its tiles, all the paint had peeled off, and the foundation looked like it needed to cave in. She walked to the porch and noticed that all the boards were either lose or missing. She was able to see in through the broken front window and she noticed boxes of Sudafed that been ripped open and tossed aside. She also saw remnants of busted lithium batteries, ripped coffee filters, small lengths of rubber tubing and plastic soda bottles with missing tops strewn along the warped, cracking floor.
"Meth house," were the only words she had spoken aloud since she had embarked on this path she had called the road to nowhere.
She walked backwards unsure if anybody unsavory was going to show up at that or any other moment. Scanning the farmyard, she saw several outbuildings in the same ramshackle state as the house. The trees surrounding the yard were a mixture of dead American Elm stricken with Dutch Elm disease and thriving species of oak, cottonwood, box elder and maple. She wondered if the property had been booby-trapped at all, so she decided to continue on the road to nowhere, but the descending sun caught the top of a lone white oak standing next to coulee she crossed before taking the path onto the farmstead. This poor tree looked like a sentry that was forever left to guard a deserted military outpost. The coulee had almost overflowed the banks because of a downpour that happened a couple of nights before. The sun had finally descended into the western depths and the evening had still retained its warmth. She might get some sleep after all.
She threw the rucksack she was carrying onto the ground and opened it up. She pulled out a black sleeping bag, a black toiletry bag and a white towel. She opened her toiletry bag to retrieve a bar of a soap that had been partially used. She kicked her sneakers and socks off. She had been wearing a pair of blue jeans and a form-fitting white T-shirt in need of laundering. She scanned in every direction to see if she was alone. Feeling satisfied after awhile, she pulled the shirt over head to reveal a black bra with a demi-cup design to the world. She then released the snap on her jeans and shimmied out of them to reveal a pair of black hipster panties. She huffed loudly and scanned around more until she was satisfied that she had complete solitude. She unclasped her bra from the back, released her arms through the straps and she shimmied out of her panties. With a flip of her right foot, the panties floated through the air and landed on top her of now discarded jeans. Her hair was up in a simple ponytail, which she released from its reigns.
She smiled sheepishly and said aloud, "Like the day I was born."
Except she was of legal age, and had the body to match. She was tall, lean and had prominent breasts that turn could any boy her age into a pool of tepid goop. Her ass and legs were toned and tight. Her hair was jet black and swung down to the middle of her back. She had a cropped landing strip just above her vaginal lips. A warm breeze blew through the area teasing the treetops and the lips between her legs. She felt a feeling so free that she couldn't help but take running start into the coulee. The shock to her system was immediate, but it only served to turn her on further. The water had been warmer than she realized because she acclimated to it rather quickly. She swam around in circles and in laps. She even tried to touch the bottom of the coulee a couple of times. Happy in this short-lived freedom, her problems seemed to melt away like last winter's snows.
She got out of the coulee to grab her towel and soap and then she returned to the water. She soaped her long arms, her angelic face, her shapely legs, her tight midsection, and her lovely ass. Each stroke of the soap sent an electric shock to each of her pleasure centers and her body begged for more. At long last, she soaped her pussy lips and that sent the shock that released the shockwave. Her orgasm wasn't earth shattering, but it was enough to make her want more. She threw the soap onto the towel and she giggled at her luck. She dunked her head underwater once more as she moved her right index finger and middle finger into her crease and she pumped hard as she resurfaced. Taking a large breath, she moved closer to the coulee bank so her head stayed above water. With every thrust she made, a small moan escaped her lips. She hadn't masturbated in water like this since she was fourteen years old.
At that moment, she remembered back to the time she first did it with a partner at age fifteen.
Suddenly her fingers became his fingers, and he knew how to touch her even though he was a greenhorn when it came to the opposite sex. With every gentle thrust, she cooed happily as she did now. After a while, he sped up but his touch remained consistently gentle. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw the large tree and the pile of her stuff beneath it. The flashback was almost too real to believe because she wanted him so badly at that moment. She closed her eyes and continued pumping her fingers in-and-out, up-and-down. With each thrust, each coo became louder and the tempo increased. Suddenly, the real shockwave appeared. The loud moan frightened the songbirds in the nearby trees and she was shaking as she came out of the water. She sat down on her towel and caught her breath. She stared around to see if anybody appeared from the farmstead or the road and nobody had. She was still living in graceful solitude.
She stood up and dried herself off because the warm breeze had chilled her almost to the bone. Still naked, she unrolled her sleeping bag and went within its warm depths. She shivered a bit, wishing she was holding the man who told her so long ago that he truly loved her. As her body temperature acclimated to the sleeping bag, her breathing returned to a normal pace and she slowly drifted off to sleep.
"Where are you, Dylan?" she said before she surrendered to the evening's slumber.
The sounds of meadowlarks, blue jays and orioles singing their divergent songs awoke the sleeping beauty the next morning. She shivered because the sun had just cracked over the horizon and had yet to bathe the world with its warmth. Her short-lived stint with freedom had come to an end. She needed to be dressed and on the move because even in the boondocks, menacing events could occur. In short order, she was dressed in the clothes she had worn the day before and her supplies were packed back in her rucksack. At the last moment, she heard a vehicle coming from the east. It sounded like an old 1970's Ford pickup truck. She ducked behind the mighty white oak as she saw a dark green 1970 F-100 come over the coulee bridge and into the driveway of the farmstead. She maneuvered herself enough so the two figures in the vehicle couldn't have seen her. They were hooting and hollering like the good old boy, country bumpkins they were even though it was around 6am in the morning.
"Ready to make another round of the stuff, Joe?!" the driver screamed as he exited the vehicle.
"Fuck yeah, Rob! We're gonna make some bank today!" the passenger screamed as he exited the vehicle as well.
She maintained her hiding spot as the boys grabbed their chemistry set from the truck bed. They wandered into the house and she knew this was her boom or bust moment. She stared immediately to the west and noticed that the clump of trees was at a dead-on trajectory of maybe one-hundred to one-hundred fifty yards. Since the farmhouse living room only had a southern exposure, she knew she was safe as she made her mad dash for the clump of trees. Safe on the north side of the trees, she saw a section line road and a green durum field about three hundred yards away to the west.
Once she made she made it to the gravel road, she figured she'd be safe because it takes about two days for a potent, noxious batch of methamphetamine to be produced. Yet, she remained cautious because guys like that weren't the kind to be neighborly.
She knew that kind only too well, just in a more urban context.
