The Stranger

I was sitting in the corner of the café writing in my notebook when he walked in. He stood at the door, looked around. Our eyes met then we both quickly looked away. He then went to the counter where it was self-serve coffee, ordered a croissant and sat down at a small table next to the wall on the other side of the room. Again, our eyes met briefly. I went back to my writing and he opened the book he was reading.

I had never seen him before and it is rare when anyone other than someone from the town comes in the café. He was probably in his fifties or early sixties. He had longish grey hair, a shaggy beard, jeans and a dark blue turtleneck sweater, but there was something intense about the way he looked around the room—something in his eyes. He definitely looked interesting. I was curious. Who was this man?

I was writing intently in my notebook, occasionally looking up and seeing him reading. A few times, he looked up and our eyes met. The café was empty except for the two of us and Jeff, the owner who was busy behind the counter. I was working on a story, but my mind kept drifting to the stranger, wondering what was it about him that fascinated me? Maybe I was just lonely, or horny, or just curious, I don't know but I wanted to meet him. I am somewhat shy and it is not my nature to just go up to a man and start a conversation.

After awhile, I put my pen down and got up to get a little more coffee and noticed he looked up at me. Again, our eyes met and he smiled. I was wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt and am in very good shape because of the physical work I do as a gardener for some of the rich people around here. I had taken off my baseball cap that I wear when I am in the sun and my blond hair was in a long pony tail that came down passed my shoulders. I was tan and knew I looked good.

"What are you writing?" he asked from his table. I turned surprised he was talking to me. I didn't want to tell him what I was writing—not that I am ashamed to be writing erotica but I didn't think it would make a good impression.

"Just stuff," I answered.

"Why don't you bring your coffee over here?" he asked. I'm not from around here and am curious about this town."

"Sure," I answered and sat down with my mug. "What are you reading?" I asked.

"The Birth of Tragedy," by Nietzsche, he answered, keeping the book opened.

"Listen to this he said and read, "Truth is whatever is life-affirming; false is whatever denies or impedes growth."

"Interesting," I said. "So you like to read philosophy."

"Yes and history," he answered. "But I like this idea that what ever is life-affirming is true and I would add, good." He paused. "You were writing so intently and passionately, I was curious about what you were writing."

"Yes, I always write intently and passionately," I answered, smiling and looking into his eyes.

"Is it a journal?" he asked. "I'm a writer too, so I was curious."

"No, it's not a journal. Are you always so nosey?" I asked, wanting to rev the conversation up a notch.

"No, not always," he said. He closed his book, took a sip of his coffee, looking at me over the edge of his cup.

"So you're a writer. What do you write?" I asked.

"Historical novels for young adults and poetry," he answered.

"Interesting," I responded, nodding. I liked the way he smiled at me and how he looked into my eyes when he spoke, like he was trying to know who I was.

"Why won't you tell me what you are writing? If it's not a journal, what is it?"

"Well, I guess I am afraid you will get the wrong idea if I tell you," I answered.

"Come on, tell me. I won't get a wrong idea. I am not a judgmental person," he added.

"Erotica," I answered, bluntly.

"Cool!" he answered and smiled. "That's great."

"I was afraid to tell you because I thought you might think I am frivolous," I said.

"Frivolous," he repeated and laughed, throwing his head back. "Why would I think erotica is frivolous?" He took a sip of his coffee and leaned forward, closer to me. "You don't look like a frivolous person," he added. "And I'd say good truthful erotica is life-affirming." He laughed.

"Really!" I responded, surprised. Suddenly, I felt myself relaxing and getting really turned on by the way he said that and how he looked at me. I was silent. I took a sip of my coffee, looking at him. I didn't know what to say. It had been so long that I had even had a conversation with a man, let alone a man like him.

"By the way, my name is Tristan, what's yours?" he asked. He smiled, looking into my eyes.

"Sharon," I answered. "Glad to meet you," I added, extending my hand to shake his. When he took my hand, his grip was firm, yet gentle. I was feeling fascinated and excited and wanted to get to know him better.

"So what brings you to our fair town?" I asked.

"Good question," he answered. "I don't really know where I am. I just took off yesterday and started driving. I just needed to get away from my routine. I was in a rut—so I hopped in my car and just started driving—completely impulsively and spontaneously."

"Wow!" I responded. "That's kind of how I ended up in this town about fifteen years ago and been here since," I said.

He nodded, looking intently into my eyes.

"I was a screenwriter in LA and was getting pretty successful, but I got pregnant and had a daughter but knew this guy was not the father type and I knew I didn't want to raise my daughter in tinsel town, so I got up and left. First I went back to my parents and couldn't take that and then went searching for the right place. One day, I drove through this town and liked it. I followed my intuition and bought some land from savings and an inheritance from an aunt." I paused. "That's it in a nutshell."

He nodded and smiled, looking into my eyes. We were both silent.

"Oh and I built my cabin myself," I told him.

"You did," he said, surprised. His look revealed how impressed he was.

"Yeah, I found salvaged doors and windows and read building books and in two years we moved in—though it wasn't really finished. Keira and I lived in a small trailer while I was building and I home schooled her, now she's finished college and working as a journalist in DC."

"Impressive," he said.

"It's pretty small and funky but comfortable," I said. "After LA and seeing how my parents and their friends lived, I wanted out of the whole shebang—the malls, the shopping, the whole materialistic way of life. I wanted something different for my daughter."

"Sounds like we have some things in common," he said. "I live in a cabin off the grid about three hours from here."

"Really, off the grid?" I asked, even more interested.

"Yes, I haven't had an electric bill in eight years," he added.

After an awkward silence, I took a deep breath and decided to be bold. I glanced over at my notebook at the corner table and turned back to him. I took a deep breath.

"Would you like to hear some of my erotica?" I asked, not believing I had the nerve to ask him.

"Here?" he asked, looking surprised at my question.

"No, silly, back at my cabin," I said. "I live five minutes from here, unless you are in a hurry to get somewhere. I would like to read some to you to see what you think."

"That's brave of you, inviting a perfect stranger back to your place to read erotica," he said, looking into my eyes.

"Maybe," I said. "But I can take care of myself," I added, taking a sip of coffee, my eyes looking at him over the edge of my mug.

He was right. What was I thinking? But I always follow my intuition and it felt right. It also felt exciting. I think I saw the opportunity to live on the edge for a change. Not play it safe. It's not everyday that an interesting good looking stranger comes into your life. I needed something exciting. Something to shake me up and there was something about this stranger that made me want to know him. I was feeling things I hadn't felt in a long time. I was attracted to him and I just had to follow my instinct—even if it was dangerous.

We finished our coffee and took our cups to the counter. I could feel his eyes on me as he followed my out the door. I knew my ass looked good in the tight jeans and I wasn't wearing a bra. I turned around to look at him and I could tell he liked what he was seeing. The way he looked made me feel sexy. My truck was out front with all my gardening rakes and shovels in the back. He drove a grey Subaru that was parked right behind me.

"Follow me," I said, climbing into my truck.

"Lead on, Sharon," he smiled. "I won't let you out of my sight."

I kept my eye on him in the rearview mirror, but he was right behind me. He followed me up the long dirt road that leads to my cabin. We got out and walked up the overgrown path. Samson, my golden retriever came up for a sniff and some petting. We then walked past the fenced in barnyard and small barn where my horse, Gypsy stays with my two goats and six chickens. Gypsy came over to the fence to get her nose petted, the rooster lifted his head and crowed and one of the goats looked up and went back to nibbling some hay.

"This is my family now that my daughter isn't here," I said.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you," he said, looking at my animals.

"I don't know about that," I answered. "But maybe I am," I added, smiling and giving him a little wicked grin. "You'll find out."

In back of my cabin is a pretty good sized garden and a fenced in pasture for Gypsy.

When we entered my cabin, he saw how small and funky it was—just one room with a kitchen area, a small bathroom and a loft where I sleep. I had lots of plants and bird feeders hanging outside on the window. A wood stove and some old, really comfy chairs and a couch. My laptop was on the table by the window, afternoon sunlight pouring in.

"Small and cozy," he said, looking around. "I like it, though. It's amazing that you built this all by yourself."

"Well, I had help with some of it—the plumbing and electric had to have a licensed person, but I watched and did a lot of it," I said, proudly.

"How about something to drink," I asked. "I have some beer, tea, water." I opened the cabinet under the cabinet and bent down, "And some Jack Daniels." I laughed. "I don't usually drink the hard stuff but every once in awhile I take a little nip."

"How about a beer," he said. "No glass. The bottle is fine."

"Cool, I'll have a beer too," I said. I went to the refrigerator, got the beer and opened it. I handed one to him and we clicked bottles. "To life affirming truth," he said, looking into my eyes.

I laughed at his reference to the quote he had read earlier. "I'll drink to that," I said. We both took a big drink and both let out a loud "Ahhhhhhh!" We smiled at our common response to the cold beer, our eyes fixed on each other.

"So, do you want to hear one of my stories?" I asked, though I was definitely nervous, not sure what he would think or what would happen.

"Isn't that why I'm here," he answered. He smiled, looking into my eyes. I looked at him and nodded, then took a sip of my beer.

"Well, here goes," I said, taking a deep apprehensive breath. I went over to my little filing box on the floor by the table and pulled out a folder that had a stack of stories.

I glanced at him as I thumbed through the pile, smiled and went back to looking. I pulled one out and nodded. "Hmmmmmm, you might like this," I said, sitting down so that I was in front of him rather than in back of the table. I was a little breathless as I looked down at the first page then at him.

"I want you to know I've never read these stories to anyone. You're the first one," I added. "In fact you're the first man I've had here, like this—I mean other than the plumber or electrician."

"I'm surprised," he said. "Such a pretty woman, I'd think guys would be beating down the door to meet you."

"I like it this way?" she said. "Besides the guys around here are either married or they're drunks and usually both."

"Well, I'm flattered and honored that you are opening up your home to me. It's not everyday I get to hear erotica read to me by such a beautiful woman."

I think I blushed when he said that. I was nervous but at the same time, eager; however, the thought that I might be nuts also crossed my mind but I shoved it aside.

"Well, here goes," I said again, taking a big swallow of beer and cleared my throat. "It's called, "The Pick Up."

"I'm all ears," he said, sitting back in his chair, his hand on the beer bottle.

I looked at him then started reading.

===

It was a Friday night and I was horny. I decided to go on the prowl and see if I could pick some guy up and bring him back to my bed. I knew it was dangerous but that added to the excitement. I got dressed in the black dress I bought for such occasions. It was tight and came mid-thigh. It was cut very low in the front and barely covered my tits. The push up bra I wore revealed a lot of cleavage. I put on a pair of black shiny boots that came just below my knee. I looked at myself in the mirror and said if this doesn't hook me a man, nothing will. I put on a small black beret that added to the look. My long blond hair came half way down my back. I know what men like in women and I like showing my body off. I was out for the kill."

===

I glanced up to see how Tristan was reacting. I was nervous and took a sip of my beer. He was looking at me intently, listening, with a slight smile. I cleared my throat and continued.

===

I drove to my favorite bar called "The Pink Flamingo." It was the place to go to meet people on the prowl. It was dark and usually had a good band. I went to the bar and ordered a Dirty Martini. The place was crowded with people dancing, grinding away with the music. I sipped my drink and looked around to see if I could see anyone who looked interesting. I turned around on my stool, leaned back so that my tits stood out. My legs were crossed and the black dress was high on my thighs. I knew it wouldn't take long to lure some horny guy—someone as horny as me.

Just then I saw him and he saw me. He was standing on the other side of the room, with a glass in his hand. Our eyes met and he smiled and lifted his glass to me. I smiled back then turned around on my stool to face the bar. I took a sip of my drink and then glanced back at him and smiled again. I wanted him and was luring him to me. He came and stood next to me and smiled. He was tall with deep blue eyes and a dimple when he smiled. He had long brown hair and an earring dangling from one ear. He wore a tight maroon t- shirt and tight jeans—just the kind of guy that turned me on."

===

I stopped reading again. "Does this surprise you?" I asked.

""No, not really," he answered. "You write well. It's giving me a little insight into you," he added.

"I can't believe I'm reading this to you," I said. "I don't know what got into me, to do this."

"You're a writer and you want to be heard," he said. "Keep reading."

I nodded and smiled. I looked down at my story and took another sip of my beer and continued.

===

"Can I buy you another drink," he asked.

"Sure," I said. "I bet you want to get me drunk so you can fuck me."

"I didn't expect you to be so direct, but I think that's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Maybe," I said, smiling coyly. "And why are you here?"

"To meet someone like you," he said.

"I see. And do you like what you see?" I asked.

"I do. You're beautiful and hot looking," he said.

"I could say the same about you."

He ordered us two more drinks. He had his hand on my thigh and was inching it up towards my crotch. "You don't waste time, do you?" I said, as I placed my hand on his hand.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"No, I like it. I'm getting hot with your hand there." I said.

"Me, too," he said, looking at my tits barely covered by my dress.

Our drinks came and I took a big sip of the Martini and he took a big sip of his scotch.

"Should we tell each other our real names or make up names? I asked.

"Names don't matter. We're not interested in a relationship, are we?" he said and smiled.

"No relationship. You know what we want," I said.

"Right." he said and smiled at me.

I was getting drunk after two drinks and leaned into him, my tits against his arm. He had his hand up my dress, gently squeezing my thigh. It was close to my pussy and he knew he was tantalizing me. I reached over and rubbed my hand up and down his cock. I could tell he was big and I was going to have a work out tonight.

"Come home with me," I said."

"Let's go in the alley," he said. "I need to fuck you now. I'm so horny."

He grabbed my hand and we went outside and down an alley next to the bar. It was dark. He pushed me against the wall, lifted up my dress. I wasn't wearing panties.

I wanted him. I grabbed his balls and then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out. "Fuck me," I said.

====

While I was reading, my pussy was tingling and I was getting hot. My breathing got faster. I didn't think this would happen, but I was getting aroused. I looked at Tristan and noticed a bulge in his jeans and knew my story was getting to him.

"Where is this heading," I thought, grabbing my beer and took a big drink, feeling a sudden need to touch my pussy, to relieve the intense craving that was building between my legs. I could not believe how horny I was getting from my story.

"Keep going," he said. Our eyes met. "I'm liking this."

I shifted in my chair and stretched my legs straight out, spreading them so that my legs were on either side of his legs. He looked at my crotch, then back at my eyes.

"Okay, here goes," I said, glancing at the bulge in his jeans then continued, my pussy on fire.

======

He turned me around, lifted up my dress. I bent over with my hands on the wall, my pussy dripping. He took his cock, quickly put on a condum and moved it up and down my slit and then rammed into me as hard as he could. "Oh god, fuck me. That's it, fuck me hard," I screamed, not caring if anyone heard me. Fuck me!"

====

My words were getting me so hot. My pussy was driving me crazy. I spread my legs wider, opening and closing them, feeling the seam of my jeans pressing against my pussy. He was biting his lower lip, his eyes on my crotch as my legs opened and closed. I looked at his cock bulging in his jeans then back at the page. I was having trouble concentrated but I forced my self and continued.

====

His big cock was ramming into me and the juice from my cunt was dripping down my thigh He whispered in my ear, "Do you want me to stop?"

"Keep fucking me, you bastard. I want your cock in me. Give it to me harder!"

He grabbed my tits while he continued fucking me and whispered in my ear, "I love your tight cunt. I love fucking you."

His breath on my ears and his dirty talk was driving me crazy and I screamed,

"Oh baby fuck me harder. I want it bad. Fuck me ohhhhhhhhgod Fuck me harder! Fuck me, fuck me!"

===

Suddenly, I couldn't stand it anymore. I lost it. I threw the story down on the table. I stood up, our eyes met. I took a step, straddled him, his hands grabbed my ass and pulled me down hard on his cock, grinding into my pussy. We didn't speak-- our grinding getting harder. We both lost it. He lifted himself off the chair, his cock pressed hard against my pussy. He then fell back to the chair and I slammed down on him, my pussy rubbing hard against his cock, driving me out of my mind. I had never been so horny. We were humping each other harder and harder, fucking through our clothes. Suddenly, I felt a huge orgasm sweeping over me.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhfuck I'm cummmmmmming!" I screamed, my nails gripping his shoulders, my head facing the ceiling, his hands squeezing my ass as a huge orgasm rolled through me. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh I'm cummmmmmmming, I'm cummmmmmming," I screamed and collapsed on his chest.