A Hitchers Tale

500 miles is one hell of a long distance to travel in this country sometimes. Especially when you don't drive and can't afford a train ticket anywhere. When you're 21, it's easy to look like a student and hitch lifts anywhere you want, but when you're ten years older the cold eases into your muscles so much more easily, and these long trips hurt a little more each time.

I guess I'm just not built for these long trips any more, and prefer the comforts of home too much. I'd been persuaded into going to the festival by a girl I knew from school; it had poured down all weekend, and we danced all day and shivered until morning. We'd met up in a pub beer garden with teenage crushes obvious for all to see, but by the end of it she dropped me on the road with little more than a peck goodbye.

And that was that.

The road can be lonely and unforgiving. I was at a low ebb, and the drivers of the cars passing by my thumb studiously ignored me. Each evening, I ended up at some forlorn service station, standing outside the door asking for lifts onwards, hoping that someone would give me a lift a decent distance.

And nobody did. For two nights, I slept in the rain behind the skips at the back of two service stations; for three days, I barely got a lift. In sixty hours I travelled sixty miles, and at this rate I wouldn't see a bed for ten days.

By the end of the third day, I was desperate. The rain was too heavy to stand on the A-road, and nobody would pick me up after the autumn sunset anyway. I was starving, smelly, skanky; I just needed somewhere to get refreshed, to get my head together, to have a drink and relax. But as the night wore on, it became clear that I was going nowhere, and I started to case the joint. It closed at eleven, and I pounded the pavement outside, trying to work out where the CCTV pointed, where the motion detectors were sited, how I could get in. Hell, I just needed to eat. And a night in the cells would be better than another night here.

But you never get a lift if you show that. For a start, the staff will move you on. I used my last fiver to buy a few cups of tea in the hours leading up to 11pm and stood outside with my pathetic sodden destination sign; smiled and was friendly to everyone who came in. Usually people just ignore you, often tell you where to go, but sometimes they glance at your sign and you sense they might just be thinking about it.

At 10.55, a woman stopped and filled her car up, looked at my sign and went in to pay for her fuel. As she pushed the door open, she glanced up and caught my eye before hurrying inside.

What was that? Fear? Compassion? Contempt? I pretended not to notice, but as she slid her card into the terminal I could feel her eyes upon me.

Last chance of the night, then.

I jumped up and down a bit, stretched out my muscles, breathed into my hands, let the air stream out from my lungs into the cold night. It made an impressive plume as it went, and as she came back out she peered at my sign again.

This time she smiled.

'The M1 is a little optimistic' she said, 'but I can drop you at the start of the M62. At least you can get warm, and there's a 24-hour garage there. I think'.

These little lifts make one hell of a difference. All us hitchers want is a big road, somewhere with plenty of cars. It's a game of odds; x% of people are good enough to offer lifts, and y% are going in our direction. The more cars we have, the more the odds in our favour.

We didn't have far to go together, but we made the usual small talk. Debbie had just dropped her son off at her daughter's and was on her way home; in fact, her first weekend alone for a long time. She had a busy life, it seemed - she'd been a divorcee for seven years, her mother was also very ill and she spent most of the time between school runs taking care of her - and she was looking forward to some time to herself.

And we'd really only got about that far when we got to the service station she'd planned to drop me at, only to find the entrance was barricaded with cones. It was closed.

Debbie slowed the car and pulled into the next lay-by.

She pulled the handbrake on. 'James, I'm sorry. I can't take you up to the motorway. I've still got 30 miles until I'm home, and it's so late. I don't know what else I can do.'

'Hey, it's no problem,' I shrugged, looking glumly at the wipers trying in vain to clear the windscreen, 'there was a country park back there. There's bound to be a shelter back there I can crash in. I'll be fine. Look, you've been a star - if it was a clear night, I'd have been delighted if you'd dropped me here.'

I opened the door just as the rain worsened. For once it was too bad even for me, and I hesitated briefly before stepping out. I was soaked to the skin already, but a fresh dampening didn't appeal to me at all. If there was no shelter, I'd be hypothermic by the morning.

'Unless you'd rather stay in my son's room?'

I looked out at the rain, then back at Debbie. I closed the door, and we drove off.

I don't often spend long enough in people's cars to get to know them well, but you can't exactly go back to somebody's house without taking at least a passing interest in them. Debbie's son was the kind of kid who is absolutely brilliant, intelligent and fun to be around, but in need of constant attention and diversion. Her husband had left them to it almost a decade before, and this was the first time since then she'd really had a weekend to herself.

And she'd ended up with me in her car, stuck with me - out of a sense of moral duty, but stuck none the less. Nobody with a heart would have chucked me out in the rain there, would they? Some have. And countless others have driven by.

She didn't seem to mind at all, and I admired her for that.

We had 50 or so miles to go, and of course we talked. She talked lovingly about her son and family; rarely about herself. Her life seemed to be totally wrapped up in other people, as if she needed their appreciation to feel entirely whole, and I started to feel more than a little guilty for taking up what seemed to be the only free time she'd had in a long time.

'Hey, Debbie, look, you don't have to do this. I've slept outside before, and...'

'Oh, don't be silly,' she interrupted, 'I can't leave you out in this.' She glanced at me and smiled. 'Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing the neighbours' curtains twitch when I come home with you'.

She winked at me in a funny, bashful kind of way, then turned quickly to focus back on the road. She brushed her hair nervously back behind her ear. Was she blushing? She was, you know.

Of course, we changed the subject quickly, but her sweet little flirtatious comment had piqued my interest, and I watched her a little more intently as we chatted. She must have been about twenty years old than me, but she'd clearly looked after herself and her wrinkles were more of laughter than worry. Every time she smiled, her whole face lit up, and when she did the years fell away. I resolved to try to make her smile more often. Around her neck, a little crucifix drew attention to her cleavage, and as the street lights flashed by I was treated to tantalising glimpses of her neck-line.

An image flashed up in my mind; I was loosening her blouse as we kissed, stripping it from her shoulders, watching the youthfulness grow on her face as I undid her bra, following her body lower with kisses until my lips found her nipples, erect and warm, as she threw her head back in pleasure...

Then the gravel crunched under the car's wheels, and I was shaken from my fantasy.

I followed her into her house. 'Make yourself comfortable' she beamed, 'I guess you'd like a drink?'

I stretched out my muscles on the sofa with a groan as she went to get us a nightcap. The mantlepiece was covered in photos; Debbie and her son smiled back from one, her three daughters joined her in another, a proud grandmother and her grandson in yet another. There was still no man in her life.

'I don't often drink' she said breezily, coming in with a glass of wine and a pint glass, 'but let's celebrate our meeting.' She passed my drink to me as I nodded and sat down opposite me, taking a swig before leaning forward to place her glass on the table. That crucifix dangled once again, my eyes followed, and this time it was me blushing. She leaned back, crossed her legs and smiled.

I needed to change the subject, but all I could blurt out to break the silence of her eyes burning into me was 'So... where am I sleeping tonight?'

She raised an eyebrow, then let me off the hook. 'Nowhere, until you've had a bath! I'm sorry, but you stink.' Still bright purple, I fled from the room, avoiding her eyes, ran the bath with as many bubbles as I could fit in and slid in, letting the hot water take away the pain of three days on the road. I breathed deeply, slowly starting to relax at last, and closed my eyes.

A tap at the door, and it swung open as I sat up. Debbie smiled and nodded at my clothes. 'Don't mind if I do your washing, do you, Stinky?' she winked, and before I could protest, my clothes were gone. There's nothing for making one feel vulnerable like a strange woman stealing your clothes from the privacy of a bathroom. I sank back down into the bubbles.

A few minutes later, I heard her footsteps coming up the stairs again, and I sat up once more. 'Oh, and you forgot your cider' she smiled, putting the glass on the soap tray in front of me. She perched on the side of the bath. 'You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry to leave', she purred, 'travels stressing you out?' She took the soap, dipped it in the water, and started rubbing my shoulders clean, gently massaging every bit of dirt out of my skin. I leaned forward, took a swig of my cider, and let her wash me lower down my back, letting her fingers tease and ease my muscles.

I had to lean forward, because beneath the bubbles I was beginning to stir. I'd already embarrassed myself once; if she saw my swollen cock peeking above the bubbles I might never recover. Every knead got me just a little more aroused; every time her hair brushed my head I imagined nuzzling kisses into her neck; every time she moaned with gentle effort I imagined it was at my touch. But I had nowhere to hide.

'Ok' she said, standing up at last, 'you can lie back and wash it off now'. Was she really going to stand there and wait for me to do it? Did she know? I didn't care. 'It must be your turn now', I smiled, not even daring to look at her to see her reaction.

Behind me a stretch of clothing; a pop; a wriggle. And then she was there, naked, slipping into the bath in front of me, leaning forward as I had been moments before. Numbly I took the soap - how had this happened? - and started soaping and massaging her back as she had for me.

'James...' she whispered, and slithered back up the bath towards me, making space for herself between my legs by wrapping them around in front of her. I reached round and started soaping her gorgeous boobs, feeling her nipples grow quickly hard, no longer ashamed of the hard cock I pressed into her back. She leaned back onto my chest and I let one hand slide lower down, over her tummy, then her pubus, down between her thighs, teasing her hair, listening to her breath grow deeper and faster, feeling her cares slowly dissolve as well. I gently extended a finger, caressing her lips, and she relaxed and spread her legs wider at my touch.

'Please...' and I nuzzled kisses into the nape of her neck, one hand soaping her soft breasts and firm nipples, the other pressing on her ever more firmly, stroking and parting her lips, a finger concentrating on her clit, then teasing inside her. By now I was harder than I'd ever been, desperate to fuck her damn brains out; but I knew by now she hadn't shared a moment like this with a man for a while and wanted it to be the night of her life. She could feel how much I wanted her - I was pressed against her back like a rock - and she reached round awkwardly to stroke me as my fingers began to dance in and out of her. She took my hand and guided my fingers onto her clit, and as I rubbed and stroked she began to tense and writhe, throwing her head back, arcing her back until she lay almost on top of me, and still I played until she cried my name, hair half-wet with bathwater and half with sweat, until she couldn't take any more and pulled my hand away, allowing the orgasm to fade as she lay panting on top of me...

We lay there for a few minutes, the only sound the odd drip of water into the bath, a soft splash as one of us moved. She snuggled into me so my cock sat right in the crack of her sexy bum, and I idly teased her nipples, wondering where we'd go from here.

Debbie seemed to make her mind up about something, sat up, and stepped out of the bath and into her dressing gown. She made sure she was covered up before turning and bending down to kiss me. Her lips were soft, wide and luscious, but she only allowed me the briefest peck before standing up again.

'You going to stay in there all night?' she winked.

And with that she left, leaving me to scamper from the bath, quickly mopping myself with a hand towel as I hurried after her.

By the time I got to her bedroom, she was already lying on the bed in that seductive pose that takes a lifetime to master; a leg angled slightly down and towards me and just the right amount of breast on view to tantalise. 'I suppose you think your road is pretty lonely, eh?' she said. I lay beside her and kissed her. 'Not tonight. And neither is yours.'

We kissed again, this time more urgently, and our tongues locked in passion. She dragged her nails softly down my chest and tummy, before pulling my towel off me with some urgency. Her fingers wrapped around my cock and she held me with a long kiss, watching my eyes intently as she slowly started to shaft me. And - oh, God - my eyes rolled as she took her kisses lower, down my neck, over my nipples, across my belly-button, and she knew it was sliding between her breasts because she glanced up to watch me twitch in joy, until this gorgeous lonesome minx was looking up at me bright-eyed, waiting to catch my eye so she could hold my gaze as she nibbled the end of my foreskin, tickled it with her tongue, then started to slide it in and out of her mouth.

Jesus, that was good.

And she licked and stroked and sucked until I could almost feel the back of her throat, and my muscles started to twitch and my head grew foggy, and God I wanted her right now, wanted her to fuck me, oh please I want to be inside you...

And it was only when she was kissing the tip of my penis and smiling at me that I realised I'd been pleading out loud all this time.

She straddled my legs and wriggled up until she was kneeling over me, my cock pressed desperately hard against her slit, and as my mouth fell wide and my hands reached round to clutch her bum, she slowly eased down onto me. Both our backs arched in sudden pleasure as I spread her and filled her, and we both moaned as I slid out of her and then back in. She started to bounce up and down as I sat up and released her dressing gown, sliding it from her shoulders, burying my face in her beautiful boobs, kissing her, sucking her, fucking her, letting both our lonelinesses fade as we let one another take over our worlds.

I'd love to say we were at it all night, but when she pushed me back onto the bed, thrusting her boobs into my face and gyrating down on me, I knew I was going to come hard. Suddenly my hands and lips were everywhere; grabbing her bum, nibbling her nipples desperately, stroking her clit, and all of a sudden she thrust an explosive kiss on me before arcing her back and throwing her head back in a scream, and I grabbed her hips and pulled them down onto me as we started to come together, holding one another's gaze, moaning and yelping and crying out like I never have before.

We lay together exhausted and happy for a while, knowing both our lives had clashed for just one brief passionate night. I would be gone in the morning, and nothing could change that. As she rolled over to sleep, I turned to cuddle her back; we eased towards one another one more time, and I gently slipped inside her so we could at least spend our one night together interlocked.

She left me on a lonely road in the rain the following morning with a final kiss. Maybe we'd never see one another again, but God I prayed she'd find a man that truly deserved her.