I stared vacantly into space yet again. It was something I had been doing a lot these past 3 years... ever since my husband's sudden death. He was only 37... cut down by a bullet in one of the most violent bank robberies ever. 15 people were killed when a gang of 10 masked men had burst into the bank and within 5 minutes escaped with all the money in the vault. The good news, if such could be said, was that the robbers had been caught, tried and convicted.
I was only 35 at the time, a trim, fit housewife. My husband had been the sole love of my life for 15 years. We knew we couldn't have kids, as my reproductive system had been destroyed by the chlamydia I had carelessly acquired at a wild party shortly after my 18th birthday. It had lain untreated for weeks, and then six months of antibiotics were necessary to purge it from my body. I had met my husband a few months later, and we quickly fell in love and married. His job as a security guard paid our bills.
Luckily, the $5 million in life insurance he had would take care of me financially forever. Devastated by his death, I had moved to a place in the countryside so remote it didn't even have electricity. I wanted to be away from everyone. My nearest neighbor was 3 miles away. There wasn't even a road to my house -- trackless forest surrounded it on all sides except for the narrow footpath that lead from the dirt road half a mile off that paralleled my small cabin. I had stocked it well with food and kerosene for the lamps that provided illumination at night. The only modern technology was a transistor radio and enough batteries to keep it running for a long time. I sometimes listened to the local news. There was a prison a few miles from me, in the nearest city, itself a few miles from the nearest large outpost of civilization.
The first two years after my husband's death, I had sought refuge in food and ballooned to almost 300 pounds. I was very slowly losing it, but I still weighed a good 250. I ate a meal and flipped on the radio. "In breaking news -- literally -- a massive prison break occurred 6 hours ago," the announcer's voice said. "All but one of the inmates were quickly recaptured, but the most dangerous felon is still at large. Jonathan 'Jack' Davidson, mastermind of the bank robbery that killed 15 people 3 years back, is still on the loose. He is considered armed and dangerous..."
I snapped the radio off. "Well, Sheila," I told myself, "the chances of him coming here are slim to none. It's hard enough to find this place when you know where it is." With that thought, I extinguished the kerosene light in the kitchen, entered the bedroom, removed my clothes and climbed into bed, before extinguishing the lamp and sliding into sleep.
The sound of thunder and the crack of a lightning bolt woke me. I lit the kerosene lamp and heard a voice, seemingly talking softly to itself, outside my door. I couldn't make out the words, but it was a male voice. I suddenly realized how long it had been since I'd been touched in a sexual manner. I wanted companionship, at least for the night. No matter who it was.
I began touching my breasts in anticipation. That just made things worse. I spread my legs and ran a finger along my pussy lips. In moments, my leaking juices lubed me up. I slipped my fingers -- first one, then a second -- inside myself and began scissoring them within me. Better. I was starting to consider whether to grab the dildo out of the drawer in my end table when the door opened.
The man before me was naked. His tall, muscular frame made me even hornier. As did the sight of his 7 inches of man meat standing proudly at attention. "I was going to rape you," he smiled, walking over towards the bed. "But I changed my mind."
"Is that because you can't rape the willing?" I giggled, removing my fingers from my pussy and licking the juices off of them.
"Something like that," he replied. "But also because I have a fondness for big women. Once I saw how beautifully voluptuous you were, I knew I couldn't do anything violent towards you." He leaned down and placed his lips gently against mine. I parted mine and tried to force my tongue between his. He was caught by surprise, but managed to return the kiss with intensity. Our tongues twined.
When he broke for air, he gave me another smile. "As you might suspect, I'm Jack Davidson. 'Trigger Happy Jack', they call me."
"Sheila Monroe," I responded. "My husband died in the bank robbery."
