** This story was inspired by a member of Literotica, who doesn't know it, purely by a description of herself. I hope she gets to read it, and takes it for what it is - pure fantasy. **
Middle-aged mom Misty Reynolds was walking towards the doors of the little grocery market she usually shopped at after her workout, when she heard someone behind her say, "No, no, no. Oh, HELL, no!" The voice was male and sounded very authoritarian, and seemed to be directed at her. She stopped in her tracks.
She looked quickly down at herself. She was wearing tights after her yoga class, and was suddenly horrified to think that maybe she had a rip or a wet stain in some revealing spot that no one, not even her friend Elaine, had noticed. A quick assessment showed nothing. Likewise, her top, a cut-off t-shirt, wasn't blowing up or otherwise showing anything other than her lean tummy and bare mid-back.
All this occurred in mere seconds. In that time, a young black man had come up to her. Seeing him, she began to walk again. She didn't have the time or patience to have some homeless kid hit her up for money.
"Hey! You listening to me?" She was a few yards from the store entrance, but she knew, if she went on in, he would probably follow her inside, making a scene that would embarrass her. She halted again.
Turning to him, she decided to confront him out here. "What do you want?" she asked, irritated that she even had to deal with this. She was an attractive blonde woman in her late-40's, and had been hit on by men many times in her life. She had a cute, impish face that seemed to convey innocence and thus, blind trust. That was a miscalculation on any man's part. She had had her share of confrontations, including a couple of times when Tom was away on business. She was no pushover. She would let him know that, right now!
The young man hesitated, feeling her anger. His eyes widened momentarily, then crinkled at the edges as he smiled at her. "Hey, easy, miss," he began, "I just wanted to tell you..."
"Miss?" She frowned at him. "What are you, like sixteen? You don't call an older woman miss! That's entirely inappropriate."
She had exhausted her anger on the boy, who now looked hurt. She felt bad all of a sudden. He didn't look homeless; he was decently dressed, his hair was neatly parted, and his face was open, it seemed. If he was hiding any deception, she felt sure she could have read it.
"Hey, I'm sorry," she said demurely. She looked the boy up and down. He was handsome in his own way, though she considered very few black men as handsome. 'Harry Belafonte, perhaps, or Denzel Washington,' she thought. 'Or Sidney Poitier or Idris Elba. Hmmmm,' she concluded, 'at least I couldn't be considered racist.' She was proud to be what she considered inclusive, though she had never had any close social contact with a person of color.
"So, what's up?"
He was smiling now, apparently confident that he hadn't scared her, or offended her with his profanity. He seemed to be staring into Misty's blue eyes, and she wondered again what his 'game' was. When he spoke, it was in a soft voice, though; not that of a huckster.
"I'm sorry myself," he said, "I know it's not my place..."
"What isn't?" Misty inquired. 'What was this kid about?' she thought again.
"First of all, I'm not sixteen," he told her. "I'm eighteen, goin' on nineteen. And I know you thought I was getting all up in your business for no reason, but I seen a couple of people go in just ahead of you that... well, they looked like they was up to no good."
"Yes?"
"Yes'm," he continued, "and I just wanted to make sure you wasn't involved."
"Weren't involved."
He blushed and looked down. "Yes ma'am. WEREN'T involved," he corrected himself, grinning embarrassedly.
Misty patted his arm and smiled. "Well, thank you, young man, but I don't think th..."
At that moment they both heard two quick pops, and people began running out the doors of the market. Misty froze, terrified, but the boy grabbed her by the bicep and yanked her backwards. She stumbled, got her feet under her and ran with him, taking cover behind a car in the parking lot. Her heart was pounding as she turned to him.
"How did you...?" She was breathless, and couldn't even finish her sentence without stopping to inhale.
He took the opportunity to speak. "Huh," he said, "growin' up in the hood, you start to notice things like this." He took a moment to gaze at her body as she crouched beside him. "You okay, ma'am?"
She had a moment of confusion. 'Okay? Of course I'm not okay,' she thought, but then gazed into his eyes. "I am," she said, "thanks to you. Now what do we do?"
The boy advised her to keep her head down, and his advice proved stellar as two young men rushed out of the store and angled across the parking lot. One held a plastic bag so full of money it was leaking bills onto the pavement. The boy pointed, and Misty followed their path as they ran to a car, piled inside, and squealed out of the lot.
"Oh my god!" She slowly stood, helped by the boy. "I can't believe that just happened!" She hesitated a moment, then pulled the boy with her. "We need to see if anyone is hurt"
The police arrived, and an hour later the two were dismissed, after giving statements. It hadn't gone well; the police at first acted as if the boy was part of the robbery. Misty had to tell a half dozen officers what exactly had happened. Finally, she let her anger show.
"He's a goddam hero!" she shrieked. "He literally may have saved my life!"
