Note to reader: This story is pure fiction, with certain portions taken from the author's life experience. All characters are over 18, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 All Rights Reserved. No portion of this material may be reproduced without the author's prior written permission. There is little in the way of sex in this story; everyone is over 18.
A reader accused me of plagiarism. NOT TRUE! I am the author of these stories. I abandoned my Literotica account for a few years and rejoined under this pseudonym.
This story was inspired by the marriage of the couple who lived across the street from me when I was married to the Anti-Christ -- her head used to do like Reagan, the little girl in the movie The Exorcist. The neighbor's wife rear-ended her future husband on the freeway near Los Angeles. Their wedding invitation had a picture of their crashed automobiles under the overhead offramp sign. This story is campy, so please take it with a pinch of salt.
An Accidental Romance
Chapter One
If you have never been, the afternoon commute in Southern California is terrible. Unlike the cities of New York and Chicago, with their fantastic public transportation systems, southern Californians need personal vehicles. Because Southern California is a megalopolis, commuting from one city to another is a necessary evil. With 24.6 million residents in the greater Los Angeles area and millions of daily commuters, it stands to reason that there will be traffic accidents. Commuters will sometimes spend hours in stop-and-go traffic when there is an accident.
On my way home from work, I was one of the tens of thousands of commuters slogging along the freeway. Tired, hungry, and not paying attention to the cars behind me, hoping there would be no significant delays, I was stopped for traffic in the far right-hand lane, the supposed slow lane, when the vehicle behind hit me, going about 15 miles per hour. The impact jolted me, but not so bad that I needed medical attention. My car, however, required more than a buffing out of the paint. The rear bumper crumpled into the trunk, smashing both tail lights and forcing the fenders into the rear tires, causing them to deflate.
It was Tuesday afternoon, and I was almost to my offramp and looking forward to some Mexican food (Taco Tuesday) and a cold beer when the accident occurred. My head was back against the headrest when the sudden lurch forward jolted me. My headrest saved me from a whiplash injury. Fortunately, there was ample room between the guy in front of me, and we did not make contact. When I angrily looked in my rearview mirror to see what asshole hit me, I saw a woman looking at me. The look of fright on her face calmed me. For that briefest of instant when our eyes met, I realized she was scared. We both pulled out of traffic onto the freeway shoulder and exited our vehicles. The stop-and-go traffic continued as we approached one another.
"OH MY GOD! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" she screamed in panic.
"Yeah, I'm okay. How about you, are you injured?" I asked.
Tears welled in her eyes as she exited her car. She stood by her left front fender, looking at my car, and sobbed. I reached into my left rear pocket for my wallet to exchange information, noting that the damage to my car would be costly. The traffic next to us started moving faster and faster.
"We need to get away from the traffic," I said as we started to walk between the cars toward the slight downward embankment toward the freeway's boundary fence.
As we passed between our cars, I saw an 18-wheeler drifting out of its lane toward us. There wasn't time to tell her to look out, so I grabbed her like I was back in high school during football practice. My arms wrapped around her body, and I lifted her off the ground like a tackling dummy and drove my legs down the embankment toward the freeway boundary fence. The massive truck slammed into the rear of her car, pushing it into the rear of my car. She screamed bloody murder at the sound of the metal crunching. We both would have died if we had stayed standing where we were. The mass of the 18-wheeler killed both of our vehicles. I later learned the big rig driver had a fatal heart attack and crashed into us.
I still had the woman in my arms when the big rig finally came to rest after plowing through the boundary fence a few yards further along the freeway. The dust from the collisions settled onto us. Setting the woman down gently, I released her, and she whirled toward the sound to see the back doors of the cargo trailer with its company logo, the "Have a Nice Day" happy face smiling back at us. The frightened woman clamped onto me and started bawling. Her arms went around me and tightly gripped me. I tried to comfort her by rubbing her back as she held me.
"It's alright. You're safe now," I said.
Her face was against my chest as I held the woman who hit my car. I could feel her trembling in fear. A few moments later, a California Highway Patrol (CHP) officer arrived. The officer exited his cruiser and asked us if we were okay. I told him we were alright, but he needed to check on the big rig driver.
The long process of gathering information about the accident began with the "CHiP" (remember the T.V. show?) interrogating us. It seemed he asked us questions for hours, but I'm sure it was only a few minutes. The Sun was going down, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Springtime in SoCal has warm days and cold nights. Neither of us had worn a jacket, so I asked the CHiP if he had a blanket for the woman because she was shivering from the cold. He opened his trunk and pulled out a wool blanket. I wrapped it around her.
"There, is that better?" I asked.
She nodded her head yes as her teeth chattered. During the interrogation, I learned her name was Anjelica Lopez. She is 31 years old, a single mother, and works as a dental technician two cities away. Because the accident involved a fatality, the CHP impounded our vehicles. I also learned that we lived less than a mile apart and agreed to share a ride home. I called for an Uber driver to take us away from the accident.
We talked in the back of the car and got to know one another better.
"We never introduced ourselves. I'm Scott Baker," I said as I stuck out my hand to shake hers.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Anjelica Lopez," she replied.
"Did you get everything you need from your car before we left?" I asked.
"Yes, but I did forget my textbook and notepad. It fell to the floor under the front seat when I hit you. I do hope you are alright," Anjelica said.
"I'm fine, but I can't say the same for my car, though," I chuckled.
Tears started to run down her cheek, and I realized I was a jerk in my attempt to add humor.
"I'm sorry. Don't worry about the cars. The insurance companies will take care of everything," I apologized.
With her head down, Anjelica said softly, "I don't have insurance. My ex-husband stopped paying, and I don't have the money to make the payments."
She started to cry more, and I put my arm around her.
"It'll be alright," I said. I have an uninsured motorist rider on my policy. My insurance will take care of my car, so please don't worry."
We arrived at her apartment building, and she got out. Anjelica bolted away without saying goodbye. Perhaps she was embarrassed for hitting me and not having insurance?
I could not sleep that night because I could not stop thinking about Anjelica. In all the excitement of the events that afternoon, while lying in bed, I realized she was in a heap of trouble. I'm a sucker for a woman in trouble. Call it a male version of the Florence Nightingale syndrome, if you will. Nonetheless, I was thinking about a dozen ways I could help her. I thought about her being a single mom and how tough it would be caring for her son with no car. I also thought about how beautiful she was and how wonderful she felt in my arms after the accident. Maybe it's my imagination, but I think she resembles Eva Longoria in every way. Her long dark hair, high cheekbones, beautiful chest, and narrow hips were a sight to behold. I know, typical man, always thinking about a woman sexually. Guilty as charged. She said she was single. What kind of idiot would divorce a hot babe like her?
The next morning, I called work and told my boss about the crash and how it would be a while before I could get another car. My boss agreed to let me set up a remote connection so I could continue to work from home. I don't need to be at the office to do my job, but you know how employers can sometimes be. On the Friday afternoon following the accident, I called Anjelica to see if she was doing okay.
"Hi, Anjelica, it's Scott from the accident. I called to ask if you are okay."
"Yes, I'm okay," Anjelica replied. I heard her sniffle and her voice breaking as she spoke.
"Listen, I need to discuss a few things with you. Would it be okay for you to meet me at the Golden Ox restaurant down the street from your apartment? I live a short distance from there," I asked.
"How long do you think we'll be?" Anjelica asked.
"Not too long," I said. "I only have a few things to discuss."
"What time do you want to meet?" She asked.
"How about in an hour? Will that be okay with you?" I asked.
"Okay, I'll be there," Anjelica replied.
I sat in the restaurant for only a few minutes when I saw Anjelica enter. I waved to her, and she walked to where I was sitting. I stood up to greet her.
"Thank you for coming. How are you feeling? Do you have any pain or problems from the accident?" I asked.
"My neck is a bit sore, but nothing more. How about you?" She asked.
"I'm alright. I was thinking about you and wondered if you had another car you could use," I asked.
"No," Anjelica said. "When my husband left me, he took the truck. It was the only vehicle we had. I used to work five miles from here, and I could use the bus. I had saved enough to buy a used Honda, which I hit you with, but since I work in Downey, I don't know what I'll do now."
She started to cry again. I realized then how much of a problem not having transportation is with the CHP impounding her car.
"I've got an idea that may help," I said. "The CHP officer investigating the accident said it would be several more weeks before they release our cars from impound because of the fatality. Not to mention the time it will take to repair our cars if a body shop can repair them. Considering the damage from that big rig, I suspect your car and mine are a total loss."
I looked at Anjelica, studying her facial expression. Tears began to show in her eyes. I could tell she was thinking about the enormity of her accident with me.
