There have been times that I've thought I was having a bad day, only to look back and realize it was in fact one of the best. This is about one of those days.
I'd been fixing up the beach house for a year. Mostly weekend work with occasional longer blocks of time when I felt like a break from Manhattan. There was no rush to finish, it was a labor of love.
Towards the end of that first summer I met Becky for the first time. I'd seen her running on the beach on several occasions and we'd exchanged smiles when we'd passed each other but never words.
We eventually met at a local coffee shop. Filled with the summer crowd it was a grab whichever seat you could find kind of situation. She asked if she could take the vacant seat at my table. She set her coffee and croissant down as I nodded with a smile and a hand gesture. As soon as my mouth was empty we exchanged introductions.
She wasn't local but her parents were during the summer months. She lived in Vermont. Just visiting for a week. The coincidence was that her folks lived three doors from me and had owned the place since before Becky was born. Her Dad was retired from the financial sector. They split their time between Florida and the Jersey shore.
I invited Becky to look around my place and she popped over later that morning. On that occasion I learned very little about her but I was certainly left with a favorable impression. She was pleasant, lovely smile with sparkling eyes and great teeth that appeared behind a pair of very shapely lips. Overall she was highly fuckable. Thirty or so I figured. Her longish brunette hair was clipped and bunched behind her head. Her tits sat high, great shape even though flattened by what must have been a sports bra, great ass, longish legs, all easily ascertained even in sneakers and sweats. Her ass cheeks were full and firm, floating in a solid kind of way as she moved. Uninterrupted by a panty line.
Beyond this I learned that she was an artist of sorts, she had a studio and a husband. The mention of the husband seemed something of an afterthought and I detected a slight shake of her head as if she was reminding herself not to talk about him. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Her work seemed more important than him but that was of little consequence at the time.
We left the visit with the exchange of cards and her promise to send me some pictures of her work along with a second promise that we'd see each other again when she next visited. She drove back to Vermont that afternoon. Our only physical contact was a hand shake.
Fast forward five months.
Driving South from Manhattan on a Friday evening can be brutal in summer. In the middle of January it should have been a much easier ride. The shore towns are largely deserted in the winter months. Many of them are winterized and shuttered completely. It makes for a peaceful time to work and relax if you can get by with your own company.
I'd intended to get out of the office early on the Friday in question. One thing led to another and it was 8 p.m. before I called the garage to bring the car up. The plan for the weekend was to refinish a couple of hardwood floors. The rain was lashing down as I left the city. The roads were flooded, there were accidents all over the place and as I crawled down the Parkway the weather only worsened.
At one point I needed to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending another vehicle. My briefcase caught the worst of it and its contents spilled on to the passenger side floor well. The polishing machine crashed firmly into the back of my seat but no harm was done.
Arriving at nearly 11pm, the rain falling more heavily than ever, the small streets were flooded, the wind was howling and the town was, for all practical purposes, in darkness.
I parked the car. I closed the driver's door, opened the rear door, clicked the remote to lock all the doors and grabbed some bags from the back seat. Exactly how it happened I'm not sure but in figuring out which bags I could manage or would best leave for the next morning, I dropped the keys on the seat. As I kicked the car door closed I knew what I'd done.
Stranded in the street, getting soaked to the skin, I called myself a stupid dumb fuck and walked to the porch, getting wetter with every step. I set the bags down and took off my wet jacket, I hung it on the door that I couldn't open.
Three doors down from me, the only house on the street with any sign of life was Becky's parents place. A white Escalade was parked outside and there was a single lamp illuminated on the porch. Hope was in sight!
I walked back to the street and made my way briskly to their porch. There was no way to avoid the puddles, my clothes and shoes were soaked, as was I. My hair was matted to my head, the wind was freezing. If there was no one home I had the choice of breaking my car window or a house window.
I rang the doorbell and waited. I rang it again. A faint light appeared, I heard footsteps, a face appeared in the frosted glass of the door, a sleepy and somewhat timid female voice called "who is it?"
"Hi Becky, sorry to disturb you, it's me, Ben, from three doors down, I'm locked out of my house, I've locked the damn keys in...." the front door opened, she smiled at me "the car."
She smiled again, "Come in, come in, how are you, nice to see you again, oh my goodness, look at you, you're dripping wet. Let me get some towels, get out of those wet things."
Becky was very hospitable.
She wore a pink silk robe and huge fluffy slippers in the form of baby seals. She looked as if she'd been sleeping but perhaps not too deeply.
"I am so glad you're here." I spoke as she returned with towels.
"I shouldn't be. I'm on the way up from Florida, I just couldn't drive any further in this weather."
"Well, you're an angel."
"I'm pleased to be of service. We must be the only two people in town tonight. I'm glad of some company."
"Alone in town. What a brave woman you are. Hope I didn't wake you."
She laughed "not so brave and no, you didn't wake me, I was watching a movie in bed."
"Well Becky, of all the people that could have saved me, I'm delighted it's you."
