Shaking my head, I opened the door to my 5 year old Volvo and slid into the driver's seat. Another wasted trip, another bad tip, a non-sale that came out of my pocket. Hard to see how things could get worse... then they did.
With a loud crunch, I shuddered from the impact of a shiny new BMW 7 series as it whammed into my rear fender, right i the parking lot. Shit, at least I still had insurance; but I would probably pocket any money than arose from this... bills to pay, and all that.
As I pondered, weak and weary, dazed by the day more than the collision, a minor miracle appeared. I saw a shapely female leg tipped with a 4" black heel hesitantly poke out of the beamer. It preceded a very short dark green skirt, a twin leg, and they lead to a white blouse puffed out nicely in the chest area topped by shoulder length red hair. Not auburn, red. Crimson.
She approached me, her face a facade of puzzlement and fear, green eyes skittish.
"Mister, are you OK? I'm sorry, I didn't see you behind me...it's Mom's brand new car... She's gonna kill me! Please, you've got to tell them it wasn't my fault. I couldn't help it, I really couldn't. I've never had a wreck before, what do I do? Please, help me."
Now before you get indignant with me, before you assume that I had some sort of duty in this aleatory moment, remember, I'd had a shitty day. Hell, a shitty week, month, life. I wasn't inclined to be kind.
"The first thing you do, you stupid skank, is bring your driver's license and insurance card to me. You DO have insurance, don't you?"
My approach blanched her face. A very pretty face, I might add, as her skin smoothly wrapped a Monet of pointillist pigments, millions of tiny freckles against a pale, pale canvas gently rolling around wide eyes brighter than her skirt and starting to fill with tears, wide tremulous lips carmined a perfect pink to offset her hair, all encased with the aforementioned scarlet halo. Obviously distressed, which turned me on.
She extended her ID with a shaky hand, and I eyed the important part of my nascent plan. She was 18 plus a month. Perfect!
"Get in!" I booked no objection. To get a girl in a stranger's car shows she is either an idiot or very distraught. Either would do.
She closed the door with the look of a felon headed down the green mile.
"Well, uh...Lydia," I said, "There are a couple of ways this can go down. How much trouble will you be in if they know you crashed into me without looking? Does your Mom know you've got her car?"
Bazinga! Any paler and I'd have to push her head between her knees, and I had better ideas.
"She wouldn't mind me driving it...I mean, she didn't exactly tell me I couldn't, and she's taking a nap anyway. And I know Dad's got insurance, he's bitch--er- complained about the cost enough." With that, she managed an eye roll, and her color normalized a tad.
"Lydia, do you mind my calling you that? What do your friends call you?"
"Mostly 'D' or occasionally 'Liddy Mac' but you can call me 'D'."
"Well, D, here's the deal. If I tell the absolute truth, you caused the wreck and seriously damaged my car. Probably thousands of dollars' worth of damage." She flinched at the thought.
"But I couldn't help it, I really couldn't. I didn't see you..." tears began to gently flow down the picturesque planes of her cheeks, and dripped to form small wet spots across the tops of her nicely rounded breasts.
"You want me to lie?" The Snake in the Garden of Eden had nothing on me.
"Well, no, but, I don't know, when you say it like that it just sounds so bad. But I don't want Mom to be mad at me, and she and Dad argued about how much the car cost, and, and...." She was misery incarnate.
"Look, friends do favors for each other, right? You seem like a nice person, and if I take the blame I'm sure (pretty sure, I think) that my insurance will pay for everything. I can even talk up how mature you were in asking if I was hurt and giving me your ID." (Notice I never gave her mine.)
"You could do that?" A ray of sunshine blazed through the stormy sky, and I could see that she was not pretty, she was beautiful. And hotter than a Mexican's ass after 12 greasy tacos.
"I could... but it would cost me a lot because my insurance would go up hundreds of dollars. However, maybe we could help each other."
"Oh, anything! I'd do anything, just ask." Sweet innocence, it doth not understand 'anything.'
"You might not like what I want. It might gross you out."
"No, really, just ask. Really!" If I really asked her what I wanted she would have run screaming and barfing all the way home. One does not use all his bait in the first trap, if he is wise.
"OK. I can trust you? If you've offended, you'll just tell me and we can work out something, right? I'm sure you won't get in too much trouble."
"Cross my heart!" She made the motion, touching each of those juicy mounds, and they gently bounced afterwards in a way that left a tight pain in my groin.
"Well, OK, the thing is...well, uh...I want your panties. I'm sorry, I've gone pervert on you, forget it, I can just lie to cover for your mistake."
For a second the words didn't register with her. Then I watched the ideas float across her face; puzzlement, then astonishment, then disgust. Finally, slowly, resolution.
"If that's what you want to cover for me, it's a fair deal." She nodded as if confirming her decision. "Give me your address so I can mail them to you."
Now I had to set the hook. "That kinda doesn't work, D. What's to keep you from reneging on your promise?"
"But I wouldn't do that. You can have my panties if you'll help me out. There, I've said it, I wouldn't break my word!"
"D, I want to trust you, I really do. But you're asking a lot from me. All I want in return is just a little piece of cloth."
"So how do you propose I give them to you?" (Thought you'd never ask)
"I want you to slip them off here in the car. Just pull them down and hand them to me, still warm from your skin." That brought a blush, rather than a blanch. I pushed as little more. "Do they match your bra?"