Just after I turned eighteen I went interstate to have a holiday at my Uncle's place. The holiday was OK, I guess, and it did me good to get out from under the parents for a couple of weeks. My Uncle and Aunt may be the same age as my parents but they didn't have that air of parental awe about them. Possibly they did for my cousins, but not for me, so I was able to relax.
When it came time to go home I'd assumed that I'd be taking the bus. Why not? It's how I got there in the first place. It's only a day trip, leaving early and getting home in the evening. I was given a surprise. My grandparents lived near my Uncle. They thought it would be a fine idea to visit their daughter and son-in-law. They could combine this with taking me home. Lucky me got to spend the day in a car with two elderly relatives.
We started out with my grandfather driving and my grandmother acting as navigator. I don't know why she was acting as navigator as he seemed to ignore her instructions, but this didn't deter her in the slightest. Their car was a big old-fashioned four wheel drive. I don't think they ever used the four wheel drive. They just wanted to make sure they had a lot of car around them in case of accident. I think my grandfather worked on the principle that smaller cars would see him coming and flee.
I was quite happily ensconced on the back seat and there was plenty of seat on which to be ensconced. The seat was large enough to permit a family of four to pitch tents and set up camp.
We drove along for a couple of hours and then we pulled into a diner. I assumed that we were just stopping for gas and in a way we were. Grandfather had gas and wanted to visit the bathroom before he blew that gas through the car.
We bought gas and the old folk visited the bathrooms and then insisted on morning tea. Rather self-defeating in my opinion. They go to the bathroom to relieve the pressure on their waterworks and then they guzzle tea or coffee to put the pressure back on their waterworks. I was willing to bet that we'd have to stop every couple of hours while they went through the same little ritual.
It was shaping up to be a hot day and, knowing my grandparents didn't believe in using things like air conditioning, I'd dressed accordingly. Casual but comfortable. Possibly too casual from the way my grandmother had looked at me.
I was wearing Daisy Dukes and a top that had lost the bottom half, finishing just below my breasts, leaving me with a bare midriff. Initially I wore a jumper so as not to shock the old folk too much but as the day got warmer that went by the wayside.
As we were leaving the diner we spotted a hitch-hiker. He was a nice looking young man. He seemed to be in his early twenties and looked clean and respectable. He was also casually dressed but not to the extent that I was. My grandmother, being a nice helpful type of woman asked where he was going.
Lawndale was his destination, a small town we would pass through on the way to my place. According to him he was hoping to get there today, tomorrow at the latest, in time for his mother's birthday. His car had broken down and needed spare parts and wouldn't be ready for several days so he was hitching a ride and hoping to get there in time. His plight touched my grandmother's heart and he was invited along for the ride. He actually offered to share gas costs but the old folk wouldn't hear of it.
So there we were, driving along, while Andrew chatted to my grandmother. He was a very demonstrative talker, hands flying everywhere as he gesticulated and waved his hands to emphasize whatever point he wanted to make. Seeing he was discussing politics I sort of tuned out of listening.
Now I'm sure it was totally accidental that after one of his flamboyant gestures his hand came to rest upon my knee. I thoughtfully encouraged it to rest somewhere else.
Like they say, once is an accident, two is coincidence, and it was that coincidence striking that had his hand back on my knee a few minutes later, with me again helpfully removing it.
And three is enemy action. I believe that's how the saying ends. A few minutes later and the enemy action was in full swing with a hand again finishing up on my knee. I had three choices. Complain to my grandmother and have him kicked out of the car, remove his hand yet again, or leave it and see what happened. The easiest thing to do was just leave it. You will notice I didn't say ignore it. When you're wearing Daisy Dukes and a man's hand is on your knee there is no way you're going to ignore it.
I knew it would happen. He didn't miss a word of his conversation with my grandmother but his hand started stroking my leg. Just a little, but he was definitely stroking it. Somehow he managed to finish off his chat and relaxed, but his hand kept moving. Little stokes at first, his hand only moving a couple of inches and then back again. It was a bit of a surprise when I found that his stroking tended to be a few inches in one direction and then maybe one fewer in the other, which resulted in a gradual progression along my leg.
It seemed to me that all of a sudden his hand was on my inner thigh, moving slowly but steadily towards my groin. That I had to stop. I promptly moved my legs together, closing off the small gap he'd been exploiting. Did he remove his hand? You'd have to be kidding. He just left it where it was, clasping my inner thigh, with me enormously aware of just where it was.
After a few minutes I found holding my legs tight together was wearing on me. I just wanted to relax. So I did, slowly, letting my legs ease just a little apart. Andrew didn't take advantage which was a bit of a relief and I relaxed a little more. So naturally he took advantage, the bastard.
His hand started those gentle strokes again. I didn't worry at first because 'A', it felt nice, and 'B', his hand was moving down my leg towards my knee. He'd obviously got the message, so far and no further.
I was kidding myself, wasn't I? His hand came slowly stroking back up, easing up to my unspoken stop-point and then jumping way up past it, almost landing on my pussy. That's the point where I did something really stupid. I hurriedly jammed my legs together again. With his hand where it was I succeeded in pushing it higher so that it was pressing against my mound. He hadn't done it. I did it to myself.
Red faced I relaxed my legs so he could pull his hand back. Fat chance of that happening. He just started rubbing my mound. It was terrible. He rubbed my mound and then his hand would move to the side and he'd stroke my legs along the edge of my shorts, and those Daisy Dukes were very short.
