"Thumb out. Nipples, too."

"Thumb out. Nipples, too."​

I have barely left the City on my way to the conference when I see the most incredible sight on the side of the road. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm hitting the brakes and slipping over to the shoulder. A moment later, the passenger side door opens to reveal a goddess...



"Need a ride?" I ask, instantly feeling stupid for asking a hitch hiker such a question. I point forward through the windshield, asking, "How far are you going?"

In my mind -- my dirty, filthy mind -- I'm thinking Oh please God answer 'All the way', but I don't say it, of course. I'm not that guy. In fact ... I'm not really even a guy. I'm just ... one of those married men who's given up on any sort of fun or adventure or joy in life ... spending every day pulling in the bucks -- not even big bucks -- necessary to keep my wife in yoga class, my kids in soccer, and my house out of foreclosure.

I'm just living each day as it comes until finally death takes me ... but ... if I can stare at a beautiful woman for just an hour or two before that final day comes, I will die a much happier man.

I walk along the road, my thumb out to the occasional passing car. My immediate anger has subsided over the last mile or so, but it threatens to surge back if I think about Todd, my now ex-boyfriend. Todd and I had been together for nearly a year, and he moved in to my apartment about six months ago. I feel stupid for not realizing sooner what an asshole Todd is. It is suddenly very obvious to me that he'd only continued our relationship because of my family's money. “Fuck!” I swore, evidence that my anger is still roiling just below the surface. I'd given that stupid, lazy fucker everything he needed, a new car and a place to live that was a hell of lot nicer than that roach motel he was living in when we first met. I'd even gotten him an interview for a handyman position doing repairs and maintenance at my father's various rental properties. My only excuse is that I thought he loved me.

I hear a car coming up behind me, and I turn around to see some kind of family car coming up the road, a minivan, or maybe a crossover SUV, or some such. I stick my thumb out, not really expecting them to stop, but instead the car pulls over so suddenly that it kicks up a cloud of dust on the gravel shoulder. It isn't the first car to stop since I forced Todd to let me out of the car a mile back, but the last guy was super creepy, and while I might be desperate, I'm not stupid. I told that fuck to get back on the road. He wasn't happy about it, but he'd left me alone. Now this guy, on the other hand..., well, how threatening can you be in a family roadster, right? I walk through the dissipating dust cloud and pull open the door. The guy inside is... well... cute, but in a non-threatening, family man sort of way, and I can see kid's toys and a soccer ball in the back, but he seems to be traveling alone.

He looks a bit flustered as he says, “Need a ride?” I look down for a moment and realize I am giving him quite a show as I lean down to look in. I am not really dressed for hitchhiking, it wasn't really my plan when I dressed that morning, and my ample breasts are almost fully on display as gravity pulls my low cut top away from them. A lot of women I know would be embarrassed or even offended if they caught a guy staring down their shirt, but I don't make any attempt to cover up or even apologize. I might not have been planned on giving this guy a peep show down my top, but having done it, well, if he wants to look, let him.

I just smile and get in. “Yeah, thanks for stopping.” I sit down, swinging my legs into the car. My short denim skirt exposes my long legs and my cork wedge sandals show off my recently pedicured feet, which still look good, even if they are a bit dusty from the walk.

Once I'm situated in the car and he pulls back out on the road, he gestures towards the window. “How far are you going?”

I am just about to tell him I am on my way home, so I can figure out exactly how far he can take me, but for some reason I change my mind and say, “As far as you can take me.” instead.

“How far are you going?” I ask.

“As far as you can take me.” she answers.

My eyes open wide, and I feel my face flush. In my mind, my comment could have been taken as ... what's that phrase ... sexual innuendo? Her answer could have been, too. As I ease my Rav4 back onto the highway, my mind is trying to convince me to continue the pseudo-suggestive conversation with another racy quip, but ... well, to be honest, I just don't have one.

Instead, I simply say, "I'm Bob. Bob ... Robert Taylor."

She tells me her name. Or ... DID she? I wonder. I look over at her as we accelerate down the highway and, when she glances out the passenger window, I allow my gaze to drop to those deliciously firm tits again. Just as her thumb had been out back on the road, her nipples are conspicuously out for show now. I wonder whether they are what my misogynistic brother would call perma-hard or whether they are swollen for me ... because she's excited, by me ... because she needs me so badly that--

I laugh at my fantastical thought -- aloud, I realize -- then quickly raise my eyes. She's looking at me! Think fast! I say, rather unconvincingly, "Sorry! I was, um ... remembering a joke I heard back at the café ... a couple'a hours back."

I feel my face blushing again and look directly out the windshield again. Oh shit, I think, remembering that I'm a married man with children, a home, and a career ... and I'm sitting next to a hitchhiking Goddess who is barely more than half my age and probably knows more about the world than I do. This was a REALLY bad idea.

“Pleased to meet you, Bob,” not able to resist a smile. “You can call me Angel.” There the conversation lapsed. Not that I can't be a good conversationalist, but I was still wrapped up in the thoughts that had occupied me for a mile of walking. Except that now other thoughts were creeping in, too. I'm not usually self-conscious about my looks. I mean, I'm not a narcissist, but I know I look good. Guys look at me all the time and have since my boobs developed. Now, it's just something I expect and for the most part accept. But there is something different about being stared at by a guy when you're dating someone and being stared at when you are single. And Bob is staring at me, so intently that I'm almost afraid he'll run off the road. I can feel it even, or maybe especially, when I look out the window at the sun sparkling off the ocean.

I suppose it should bother me that he's married, I mean, I'm not a home-wrecker and never want to be, but then again, if everything is good at home, why is he looking at me like he wants to eat me? That thought makes me smile, I wonder if Bob is any good at eating pussy? Todd sucked at eating me out and since it is one of my favorite things, I realize I have gone a long time without. Just the idea of Bob with his head between my thighs is turning me on. He laughs so suddenly that for just a second I wonder if he knows what I'm thinking, but when I turn and look at him, he looks so sheepish that I realize that is impossible.

Still, the idea of fucking Bob is now firmly implanted in my head. I can tell he is married, it is stamped on him with an even more permanent mark than the ring on his finger. He looks like the kind of guy that's given up on the game, but the way he's been staring at me suggests that he's not happy about it, so I figure I can justify a little fun. I mean, if he's really devoted to his wife, he should be able to resist a bit of temptation, right? So I'll play a little game. If it seems like he's not interested or he flat out tells me to stop, I will, but if not...

I start out pretty innocent, doing something I want to do anyway, I slip my sandals off. “I hope you don't mind me taking these off. They weren't made for long distance walking and my feet are killing me.” I bring my left foot up on the seat and massage it for a minute, then put it back on the floor, and do the same with my right. The actions push my already short skirt up my legs until I'm sure he can see the red thong panties I'm wearing. After massaging both feet I stretch out both legs and place my feet on the dashboard. The sun warmed vinyl feels wonderful on my abused feet and I let out a involuntary moan. “Oh God, I love having something hot against the soles of my feet.” I murmur, as if to myself.

As we drive on, I occasionally glance Angel's way. When she meets my gaze, I give her polite, friendly smiles ... but when she's looking away, I take the moment to scan her incredible figure. I see a lot of women during my business travels, and -- being a married man who doesn't get enough -- I watch a lot of Pay Station porn in the motels.

But this woman ... this Goddess .... this Angle is here ... here, beside me, in my car ... inches away ... within hands reach, assuming that I want to have that hand bitten off I were to suddenly reach it over to her. I simply can't believe the luck ... and, of course, the horror. I mean, I could never have a woman like this. Forget the fact that I'm married. Angel is simply out of my reach.

“I hope you don't mind me taking these off," Angel says. "They weren't made for long distance walking and my feet are killing me.”

As she begins shifting her legs about -- lifting one knee up high -- I can't help but look down into her seat. Her skirt rises and ... Oh God ... I see the red fabric of her panties. I look back to the road quickly, shocked. I haven't seen a woman's panties -- other than my wife's, I mean -- since I got married 15 years ago. Hell, these days, I rarely even see my wife's.

She drops that leg, then raises the other ... and I can't help but look again ... this time long enough that I hear the brrrrrrrrr of the highway safety bumps under my tires as the Rav begins to leave my lane. I correct and, seeing Angel look at me questioningly, I lie about almost heading for the ditch, "Something in the road. Didn't want to run over it."

I turn my attention firmly back to the road again, embarrassed. Angel surely has to know that I was ogling her. She's probably used to it, from both young men who might actually have a chance with her and old men like me who have a better chance of catching a space ship to the moon.

Women like Angel don't have sex with men like me. She's every thing, and I'm nothing. Even when I was something back in high school -- both a jock being offered scholarships and a 4-point honors award winner heading for a prestigious university and a money making career -- I didn't get girls like this.

The jock thing didn't work out -- ham string -- and I didn't do as well at university than I'd expected, of course. Which left me driving around the country, pushing new pharmaceuticals for a less than impressive high five figure salary. So, maybe all of those cheer and dance squad babes that I fawned over back then had sensed that I was going to be the nothing that I am today.

I realize after a bit that my mind is racing with regret and sorrow over where my life has taken me. I mean, I have a loving wife who takes care of me, and wonderful kids who run out into my arms screaming Daddy when I return from my business trips. I consider that last thought for a moment, then remember that my wife is usually much happier on the days leading up to my departure for another sales trip, and that my kids' call of Daddy upon my return is usually followed by What did you buy us?

Fuck, I think. My life sucks. I know this, but ... it is my life. It is the hand I was dealt, it is the hand I will play, and when all of my chips are gone...

“Oh God," I hear Angle murmur, "I love having something hot against the soles of my feet.”

She is leaning back in her seat, her legs up with her feet against the inside of the windshield. As I glance down to her seat, I find her skirt clear up to her hips and her -- Ooooh... -- her tiny pink panties ... a thong maybe? I wonder, never having actually seen one on a woman in my presence ... on full display.

I look back to the highway, half glance to ensure she isn't eying me, then give Angel another hungry look. Why God...? Why tempt me with such ... perfection? Her legs are long and athletic, and again -- or still, I'm not sure -- her nipples are pressing conspicuously against the fabric of her thin blouse. I can now tell from her slouching back that Angel isn't wearing a bra. I can ... I lean just a tad bit back and ... Nope! I can almost see a nipple ... that might be her ... her ... Oh God, what are they called...? Areo-something or other ... Who fucking cares? my mind screams, It's almost her nipple!

I look back to the road again, not wanting to slip out of my lane again and totally embarrass myself. I'm beginning to really feel uncomfortable with the way my fully stiffened cock is sitting awkwardly in my groin. I lean a bit toward Angel, point to a distant point, and say, "I don't know if you know ... but those hills there ... they're the site of the original homestead in this County."

It's a lie, of course. Hell, I've never been to this State for business, let alone this county. I just need to divert her attention out the passenger side window as I reach down and adjust my cock. Once I'm done, the pain is relieved ... but now I'm conscious of the fact that my erection is now pressing up against the backside of my slack's zipper, pointing toward my belly button. Just can't fucking win, can I?

"Which way are you going?"

When Angel looks my way, I point toward the huge green sign over the highway lanes indicating that the highway is dividing in one mile, north and south. I realize that I now have a 50-50 chance of ending this heaven -- and hell -- or continuing it onward for at least a few miles, depending upon Angel's answer.

(OOC: Putting words in her mouth. Sorry.)

"North," she says.

"North," I repeat almost regretfully.

My Big Head is hollering Halleluiah! We're going south! while my Little Head is screaming Noooooooo...! I know there is no chance of ever getting any from Angel, but that doesn't mean that I want the fantasy to end. I could have sat here next to her for another thousand miles, but ... I have work to do in the opposite direction she's traveling, so ... obviously ... obviously ...

I look up at the second big sign indicating that the junction is only a quarter mile away. Obviously...! my Big Head is telling me. Obviously, we are pulling over ... stopping ... letting her out!

Then, before I realize what I'm even doing, I'm checking my mirrors, changing lanes, and glancing over to Angel with a broad smile. I say with joy, "What a coincidence. I'm heading north, too."

As I pull into the exit lane and head the car in the opposite direction of where my career needs me to go ... where my family needs me to go ... where my wife needs me to go ... both heads, Big and Little, are screaming Oh My God! I can't believe you just did that!

I'm not terribly surprised that Bob is distracted by my little show, but it does surprise me that just my legs and a little peek of my panties is enough to make him nearly drive off the road. Apparently, Bob is worse off than I realized. Maybe he's married to one of those women that use their husbands to squeeze out a couple of babies and and keep them in a comfortable home while they meet their needs elsewhere. I'm not one to judge, and maybe I'm misreading it, but if I'm not, it seems like a pretty sucky way to treat your man to me. I am starting to rethink my strategy when Bob's question forces a decision I'm not sure I'm ready to make.

South is the way home, but going that way means needing to deal with Todd. I'm sure he doesn't believe that our breakup is final, but I have no intention of letting that lazy freeloader waste any more of my time or money. So I figure what the fuck? "North." I reply. I regret the choice almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth. The emotional conflict that plays out on Bob's face is impossible to decipher except in its conclusion, which seems to be a sort of shocked incredulity.

If anything is obvious to me by Bob's expression, it is that he has good, probably important reasons for going south and he chose to go north for me and finds himself utterly surprised by the fact. It is sad in a way, but I also find myself immensely flattered, especially after spending almost a year with mister "what's in it for me?". But flattering or not, I can't let Bob throw away his life just for the chance at a little fun.

I put my legs down and half turn in the seat to look at him. "Wait, pull off at the next exit and turn around." I say in a level tone, that I try to keep from sounding too demanding. "I only said north because I thought I could delay an ugly confrontation with my shithead ex-boyfriend. But I can tell from the look on your face that you have something important to do in the other direction and I don't want to be the one who causes you to miss that. But if you turn and go south, I promise you a trip you'll never forget." I finish my words with a smile and I lean towards him so my loose top pulls away from my breasts. With the A/C now blowing almost directly on my nipples, they harden to nearly three quarters of an inch and they are completely on display.