Joe Christopher didn't know, while he was out working on his 1952 Ford, Mary, an eighteen year old girl who had at last run away from an orphanage in Illinois, had made her way to his house of all places out in the middle of rural, Bryan, Ohio, and snuck into his house through the kitchen.
Mary couldn't wait another three years. She'd escaped during the night, and had stayed on the run for days. By the time she reached Joe Christopher's, she was good at staying concealed, at not appearing suspicious out here where everyone knew everyone else. She looked younger than she was, and she quickly realized people mistook her for a local kid out wondering in the fields.
By late afternoon she'd walked through the cornfield of the adjacent property, a sprawling farm, and while Joe wasn't himself a farmer, his home was surrounded by farmland, and his was just the house she'd happened upon out in the middle of nowhere.
Mary quietly slipped in, held onto the weathered wood screened-door frame until it shut. She listened for any sound that someone might be in the house.
She didn't mean any harm. She was hungry and thirsty and tired, and went inside just to find some food. She had every intention of moving on, even if she had no idea where exactly to go.
She was a tough little thing for her age. She'd cut her hair short like a boy's, and petite and lanky thin, wearing baggy boys-clothes she'd pulled from a clothesline somewhere in Illinois, she'd successfully hidden her feminine curves. She'd made it this far, however improbable, hiding in barns along the way, staying off roads, sticking to the woods and fields.
She was almost sure no one would come looking for her, or if they'd even report her gone to try to get her back. She didn't think they would, and they didn't.
Looking in the pantry she found a small burlap sack with a bright red potato farming logo on it, and began filling it with apples, bread, whatever food she could find, careful to not take anything that would be noticed right away. She immediately ate several pieces of sliced beef, and some bread from a covered plate, and like a starving little kitten she drank down half a quart of milk from a blue glass jar.
She heard men's voices and half panicked as she glimpsed another man through the windows go around back, effectively cutting off her escape. Harried she screwed the lid back on the jar of milk, and dropped it in the potato sack.
With nowhere to go, feeling trapped, she panicked, and quickly made her way up the stairs to the second floor, glanced at the two available doors, and darted into the bedroom just as Joe and the other man came back around front, their boot steps on the wooden porch sounding close through the quiet house.
She heard the other man and Joe laughing and talking, and then their voices become serious, talk of a Korean war. She heard them solemnly saying goodbye to each other, and heard the other man's car start and drive away, and turn out onto the long gravel road as the front door closed.
Her heart stopped racing, but Joe was still in the house. He and the other man sounded like decent people. She seemed less afraid because of it; if he caught her he would probably be nice to her.
She was so tired. She wasn't sure what to do. She almost began crying, and made herself stop.
She heard Joe coming up the stairs. Without thinking she shimmied under the big bed, the bedspread hanging low to the floor where she wouldn't be seen.
Mary held her breath as he came into the room. She could see a man's work boots, his footsteps, evenly paced; he didn't know she was there. The sunlight made angular shapes on the floor, dust particles sparkling and dancing in the bright light as the man's movements moved the air.
He sat down on the edge of the bed just above her, the solid bed springs just barely squeaking, his feet just in front of her as he unlaced and took off his leather boots, the sounds of his movements shuttering her breath. One foot at a time, the bed again slightly creaking as he pulled off his socks, and she saw his bare feet touch the floor, first one and then the other.
She watched him walk out of the bedroom door, the backs of his smooth bare calves, his slightly hairy thighs, across the hall, and when he got far enough away she could see he was naked. She felt a glimmering voyeuristic attraction. She wondered if she'd, see him.
She heard him turn on the faucet, water running, the globes of his bottom tightening as he leaned, the water running into the porcelain sink (a bath sounded so good, she pictured herself naked, the feel of hot water) directly across from the bedroom door. She wouldn't be able to get out without being seen.
She didn't dare lift the edge of the bedspread for fear he'd see her. She worried he might see her in the mirror, so, her face pressed sideways, she peered out from the slight space between the bedspread and the floor, seeing what she could, a naked man up to about mid-chest, a little extra weight, probably around fifty she guessed, broad chest and shoulders.
When he turned, Mary almost gasped. He was hard. His cock was big. It stood out from his body, swayed with his movements. She felt fluttery in her tummy, that warm feeling in her belly, and stole her hand between her legs her nipples pressed on the carpet under the bed. Mary had been sexual since she could remember, almost always horny, she'd masturbated nightly since she was much younger. Her first chance to touch herself in a week or more she felt the familiar hot feeling in her tummy begin, and the delicious slippery wetness between her legs.
She could see the side of his face. He looked like he hadn't shaved that day. He was, yes, he was attractive. She closed her eyes, strumming her fingers over pussy through the thin material of the pants she had on, wishing she could touch herself, her bare pussy, and she slid one hand under the waistband, her eyes glued to the man's cock. She hoped he would touch it. She creamed on her fingers, excited, hoping she'd get to see him, him touch himself.
She was so horny and immediately slippery wet, she slightly hunched her little hips up and down, trying to not make a sound, watching him, aroused by her voyeuristic glee, pressing between her legs, when she almost moaned out loud picturing the man licking her, fucking her.
❖❖❖
It was almost dark when Mary woke up under the bed. She didn't know where she was at first. She didn't hear any movement in the house.
Slipping out from under the bed, she looked out the bedroom window. The car was gone. She sighed a breath of relief. There were just fields, a row of windbreak trees in the distance, swaying, the leaves shimmering on an evening breeze.
She reached under the bed and pulled the sack out. She drank the rest of the warm milk, and ate several of the sweet cornbread rolls she'd found in the red ornamental bread box as she decided what to do.
The image of the man's swollen hard cock played through her mind. She didn't know why, what was attracting her to him so much, but she wanted to fuck him. She fantasized him on top of her, sliding that huge thing inside her, telling her it was okay, she could take him, all of him.
She didn't know how long the man would be gone, and thinking she could slip out when she heard the car coming back, she decided to run herself a hot bath. It sounded so good. She knew it was risky, but couldn't pass up the opportunity.
She rinsed and then filled the jar with water from the sink, drank and noted the porcelain interior of the grey metal lid as she screwed the lid back on, the sound of it threading rough and gravelly in the silence of the house.
There were two knobs on the tub faucet, and she was happy to see he had a hot water heater. The one at the orphanage only worked sometimes. She turned on the water, and dropping her pants sat down on the toilet and peed.
Steam was rising from the white rimmed metal tub as she stepped daringly into the hot water, her first bath in a week. She laid down in the water, dipped underneath to get her hair wet. It felt so good. She washed her hair, and then kneeling ran the bar of soap all over her until she was lathery. She thought about the man again, seeing him naked, his hard cock. Her nipples got hard, and she felt flushed, that warm feeling in her belly again. Mary ran her soapy hand down between her legs. She spread her knees further apart, and reached behind her and soaped her bottom, too. She stood and rinsed off.
Mary didn't hear the car. She heard the front door close. She could hear the man moving around downstairs, music playing.
Slipping out of the tub as quietly as she could, she was afraid to drain it for fear he might hear the running down through the plumbing. Maybe he would think he'd forgotten to drain it after his last bath.
She quickly wrapped the same towel he'd used around herself, toweled herself off, noticing his smell, liking how he smelled, and quickly pulled on her pants and shirt, wishing she had clean clothes.
She tiptoed to the door, and then to the top of the stairs, peaked around the corner, and ducked back just as the man walked past the bottom of the stairs. He was barefoot. She was lucky she heard him at all before he saw her. She wondered if he'd even be mad if he found her. Maybe startled at first, but not angry, a young woman in his house, a girl who would ... Mary smiled, and felt that feeling again, remembering how hard the man had been. He must be really horny, too, she thought to herself. I can take care of that, she beamed, her little pussy sudden't slippery wet again.
The light dimmed on the flowery old blue wallpaper in the stairwell, and she knew he was turning out the downstairs lights. He would be coming back upstairs. The front door was closed. She didn't know if it was locked. She couldn't risk running down there. Where would she go if he came after her? There wasn't anywhere to run. Maybe she should reveal herself. She didn't know what to do.
She heard him coming back toward the hall, his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, saw the last light go out, and heard his footsteps come toward the stairs.
