Carl was an only child, reared by his loving beautiful mother. The result was that he matured appreciating women. He could not get enough of their touch, their company and their bodies. Without question, he was an attentive mate and a wonderful lover. He always wanted a long-term relationship with a caring woman, but he never had much luck that way with the ladies. He gave and committed but his partners never did. It was like he had a tattoo on his forehead that only women can see. The tattoo said, "Will pay bills and treat you like a queen; you can treat me like shit." After trying to pick his own dates, having friends set him up, dating services, clubs, trolling grocery stores and attending single adult Sunday school classes, he had given up.
Not given up on sex, just the bullshit of relationships, put-downs, rejections and being dumped for broke, abusive assholes. Most of his ex-partners crawled back asking to be forgiven, but, at the least, knew better than that. Carl's sex life was now unfulfilling one-night-stands and very occasional quickies with a hooker. The beautiful loving fantasies of his youth had been replaced with angry thoughts of just taking what his body needed and then discarding the women before they could make him care and hurt him.
Britney paused in front of the full-length mirror as she exited the new, expensive women's gym where she worked out three times a week. This was the first time she had ever worked out after dark. In December that just means after five. She liked what she saw with her thirty-two year old body and knew why she so easily attracted attention. Her body was soft, healthy and strikingly female. Her full D cups, twenty-six inch waist and wide hips told the caveman in every male that she could bare healthy children and easily satisfy his body. But she was a modern woman. A smirk crossed her lips as she thought of how easily she wrapped men around her fingers. She knew many. They were sensitive, politically correct boring clay in her hands. Hopeful men had paid for her car, her clothes, her apartment and even membership to this gym. In return, she gave almost nothing. Anyway, she had to get going. She thought about how expensive her date was going to be tonight -- expensive dinner, probably a piece of jewelry, a live show and late coffee. She would give a few kisses, allow a squeeze of her breasts and then explain she had to get some sleep before work tomorrow.
Carl was a dirty sweaty, mess loading his construction tools into his well-used Dodge utility truck. Two more spaces had just been rented in his thirty-space strip mall. With Sears on one end, the women's gym, two fast food restaurants in the parking lot and ten other stores already open, his second big project was way ahead of schedule. He was thinking about how pleased he was with this project and how he really shouldn't be doing so much of the work; but he loved it; it kept him from thinking about being horny. A haughty disapproving female voice pulled him back to reality.
"I really need to get going and you have me blocked. Can you move a little quicker and get this stuff out from behind my BMW."
"Yes, madam, right away. My boss wouldn't be happy if he knew I was causing an inconvenience." Carl sensed immediately that she was way too uppity to even be pleasant to a common worker. He didn't move very fast and he took plenty of time obviously eying her to make her uncomfortable.
Britney wanted to be a bitch. "Are you finally finished ogling me and moving your crap."
The last item behind her convertible was a compressor. As Carl hefted it into the back of the pickup he stared down directly into her eyes and responded, "No, not quite. Can you turn around and bend over just a little?"
A chill went through her body. Britney knew instantly this was not a man in a mood to be trifled with. She was out of her element but was frozen in her tracks. His voice was deep, he was sure of himself and he was at least a hundred pounds bigger and a foot taller than she. She felt the sexual attraction, the fear, the implied power that he could subdue her and take her easily. She felt that she had to ask permission to move.
He took her arm firmly and walked her to the driver's side of her car. He was close. She could feel the heat from his big body, feel the smoothness of his well-worn flannel shirt and smell that he had worked hard today. As he opened her car door for her, Carl stood behind her and pulled her tightly against his crotch. She inhaled sharply. "I hope you don't report me, little girl. I'm sorry, if I caused you any delay."
With his left hand on her left arm and his big right hand cupping her ass, he maneuvered her behind the steering wheel, kissed her forehead and closed her door. She was looking wide-eyed directly into his obscenely bulging crotch.
Carl had already driven away when Britney remembered to exhale. She was mad and confused. How dare this oaf touch her? How dare he belittle her by kissing her forehead and calling her a 'little girl?' How dare he assume power over her? Her hands were trembling, her heart was beating loudly and her pussy was wet as she cranked her car.
For the next few days, Britney avoided the gym but she could not stop little thrills from shooting through her body as she remembered the raw power of the dirty construction worker. She felt erotic excitement every time she remembered the danger she had flirted with. He was not like the overly groomed men who showered her with gifts. She knew she could not have controlled or stopped this man. He was dangerous. He could have easily taken her. Her thoughts spun out of control. Why had he not taken her? Why was she excited and wet? Why couldn't she quit reliving the experience and get back to life as she had so carefully made it?
Wednesday evening Britney parked next to the big Dodge on the deserted side of the mall and went in to exercise. She kept walking to a corner window to see if the pick-up was still there. When she saw the big man bringing tools to the truck she hurriedly gathered her stuff and headed for her beamer.
Carl had quite a stack of tools blocking her car. "Hello, little girl. Sorry, I have you blocked in again. I'll hurry."
Where does the bitch mode come from? "I sure the hell hope so. Are you slow witted or something? Why do you put you tools behind someone else's car?"
Carl wasn't in a mood to take this. "Missy, it's cold and rainy tonight. I'm tired and not in the mood to let a little spoiled girl bust my balls. Why don't you sit in your car until I finish?"
