I'm a salesman. I was out on one of my tours, visiting old customers and looking for new. I didn't have a hard and fast timetable. I just cruised along, spending as much or as little time in each small town as I wanted.
When I'm on these trips I normally have specific motels that I stop at, but that can change at a moment's notice. I'm flexible. Fortunately, as I had a blowout as I was approaching one small town late one afternoon. I don't mean a puncture and a flat tire. Somehow or other I managed to rip off half the tire. I changed the wheel and that's when I found the spare was half flat. By the time I reached town it was completely flat and I was looking for two new tyres.
I dropped the car at the local garage. The guy there said, "No worries. Come back in an hour." I suppose that was reasonable, but the delay would have me driving for a couple of hours in the dark on relatively strange roads. That not being to my taste, I decided to prop for the night and asked the garage mechanic where I'd find a reasonable motel.
"Not in this place," he calmly informed me. "We used to have one but a new guy took over. It's now a flea pit, or would be but for the fact that no self-respecting flea goes near it. You could try Mrs Baxter's Bed & Breakfast. It's just up the road a bit. She'll also provide dinner if you ask nicely. The place is clean and she's a good cook."
I fronted up to the Bed & Breakfast and politely enquired about a room. Mrs Baxter was what you would call a fine figure of a woman. A statuesque redhead of about forty, though it would take a discerning eye to guess that was her age. I'd say most people would put her at about thirty.
Mrs Baxter had a room available and let me have it. It was a case of semi-en suite. There was a small bathroom between my room and the next room along. She reminded me it was my duty to lock and unlock the far door when I used the bathroom to ensure that I didn't get any unwanted intrusions. I was familiar with that sort of arrangement.
I also arranged for Mrs Baxter to provide dinner for me that evening. She told me she would call me when it was ready. Any guests being served dinner were expected to dine en famille. If I didn't come when called I was likely to miss out.
I'm nearly thirty and a not unattractive man. I was reasonably good looking and I had the charisma and charm of manner so essential to a good salesman. I chatted awhile with Mrs Baxter, discovering a little about her. She was a widow with a young daughter. I also managed to gather the impression that she would not be averse to a little discreet dalliance if a nice gentleman should happen to meet her later that night. I was tempted. Like I said, a fine figure of a woman. I'd see how things developed.
Come dinner-time I met Jenny, Mrs Baxter's daughter. Young daughter indeed. She was a redhead, the same as her mother. She also had the fine figure of her mother. Actually, an even better one in my view. She wasn't that young, either, somewhere around the eighteen to twenty mark. And bossy. She was ordering the few boarders around as if it was her god given right. Self-confidence she had in spades.
Any thought of a little quality time with Mrs Baxter went right out the window. It would be most unfair to visit her while lusting after her daughter. Jenny was much more to my taste than her mother.
So I proceeded to chat Jenny up. Wishful thinking that. She was so busy ordering everyone around I don't think she even noticed me apart from telling me to sit there, pointing to my place at the table. It was galling and I had to laugh at myself for taking umbrage when ignored by a young woman. What fragile souls we men have at times.
After dinner I retired to my room, watching some TV and reading. I also found time to go over my old orders to decide who to visit the next day. I was getting quite late when I decided to retire.
I've found it advisable to shower in the evenings when I'm out on the road. If you do it in the morning you find yourself competing with all the early risers for the hot water and as often as not there isn't any. The evening is much more sensible. So I stripped down and wandered into the en suite for my shower.
Now Mrs Baxter had been very definite about telling me to lock the alternate door to the bathroom so that I didn't get an unwanted surprise. It appears that she should have reminded Jenny of that fact. At least I was assuming that it was Jenny.
The person already in the bathroom was young and nubile. Lovely white skin, beautiful young breasts that were happily bouncing around, and a towel wrapped around her head. The clue that suggested it was Jenny was the neat little tuft of red curls down below.
Ah, yes. You're wondering about the bouncing breasts. As I said, Jenny had the towel wrapped around her head and was vigorously drying her hair. Her whole body was moving as she energetically rubbed the towel over her hair, although I will give the prize to those bouncing breasts. They were fascinating.
A true gentleman would have quietly backed back out of the bathroom without ever letting the young lady know she'd been caught out. I guess I'm not a true gentleman.
"You do know you're supposed to lock the bathroom doors when you're in here, don't you?" I asked softly.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, Jenny has an abundance of self-confidence. What I expected to happen was for Jenny to use the towel to cover herself and then to blast me back out of the bathroom with a torrent of verbal abuse.
What actually happened was that Jenny froze. I was quite surprised.
"Who's there?" she asked in a small voice, head still buried in the towel.
"Adam," I told her. "The new boarder. Here for an overnight stay."
I reached up and plucked the towel from her hands. She took one look at me and gasped.
"Oh my god, you're naked."
"Actually, no. I'm wearing a towel, unlike some."
There was a hair dryer and a brush next to the sink. I reached over and picked them up.
"Turn around," I told Jenny, turning on the drier, and she did so. Quite quickly, too. Apparently she preferred that I have a back view rather than a full frontal. I started brushing her hair, using the drier at the same time.
"I can do that myself," she muttered.
"I'm sure you can," I replied, enjoying myself, "but I'll do it."
A woman can find it quite arousing for a man to do her hair, especially if she is naked. Jenny's nipples easily told tales on her, slowly puckering and becoming erect. I could swear her breasts were swelling slightly, too.
Jenny's hair was short and it didn't take long to brush it dry.
"All done," I told her, putting down the brush and drier.
"Thank you," she mumbled. "Ah, I'll be going then. I need to get dressed."
"All in good time. First of all, why don't you step into my room and explain why you didn't bother to lock the bathroom door. You've been a naughty girl, haven't you?"
She came like a lamb, without a single protest. It seemed that removing her clothes had also removed her self-confidence. I was quite intrigued by the change.
I sat on my bed and looked up at her. A quick glance has assured me that I had locked the door to the hallway. I definitely didn't want Mrs Baxter dropping in for a chat or some quality time.
Jenny stood in front of me, hands held behind her back. It didn't even seem to occur to her that she might use them to cover herself.
"Exactly how old are you, Jenny?" I asked, a nasty suspicion nibbling at me.
"Eighteen," she said, much to my relief.
"Eighteen," I said thoughtfully. "You'd have thought that was old enough to remember to lock bathroom doors when you might be surprised by strange men. Or do you do this frequently, getting a kick out of exposing yourself?"
