I had to work to keep enough concentration on the twisting two lane highway and still look over at Julie sitting next to me. She had her skirt pulled all the way to her waist, exposing the lacy little thong panty she wore and the top of her dress pulled down to expose her incredibly sexy breasts. I could feel the heat of her pussy flowing into my fingers and the wetness of the material covering her crotch as she pressed my fingers between her slightly spread legs. It certainly wasn't the safest way to drive! I knew I was going to be in trouble with my wife if I did anything more than this. Hell, let's be honest, I was going to be in trouble for what I was ALREADY doing, even if it WASN'T my idea. As she pressed my fingers against her pussy with her right hand, she reached over to my lap with her left, gently running her fingers along the material covering my quickly hardening dick. If I was smart, I'd pull my hand from between her legs and tell her in no uncertain terms that this kind of thing was inappropriate. Instead, my fingers, almost of their own free will moved, stroking up and down her fabric covered pussy lips. She moaned softly in pleasure before whispering, to no one in particular, how good it felt.
How the hell did I get into this mess you ask? Well....it's actually a fairly long story, but it all stems from just being a nice guy.
One day after work I was coming out of the building and saw a young lady bent over the front of her car, the hood open. She wore a short red dress with white poke-a-dots, that pulled so far up her thighs when she bent that I swore I could almost see her panties. Yeah, I know. I can be a dirty old man sometimes. After enjoying the view as I walked towards my car, the fatherly side of me kicked in. She was clearly young enough to be my daughter, and she was just as clearly having car trouble. I'd always hoped that if one of my daughters was having trouble some nice guy would help them out instead of leaving them as prey for some lecherous predator. So I stopped.
I offered to help her which she eagerly accepted. It didn't take long before I had diagnosed a bad battery. It was going to have to be replaced, BUT, to get her home I could jump her car with the cables I kept in the trunk of my car. That would get her home, wherever that happened to be. I jumped her car and sent her on her way, driving out of the parking lot only two cars behind her. I was mildly curious and then amused as each turn she made was the same one I intended to make. I wondered if she thought I was stalking her when we both turned onto the same twisting two lane highway. Twenty-five miles later I saw her car slow and then pull into a gravel driveway. I was about to pass when her driver's side door opened, and she stepped out. I looked in my mirror and saw her put the hood up.
With a sigh, I found a driveway and turned around, driving back to where she was stopped. She was a little startled to see me pull up again, and admittedly a bit leery. I assured her that I hadn't been stalking her, but was headed home myself. Several exchanged comments later we realized that I lived just a bit farther than she did and we actually took the same route to work. Simply coincidence, and for her at the moment, a happy one. She explained that the car had started to stumble and sputter so she pulled off. With the battery still dead, there was no way to do much of anything. I couldn't get my car close enough to hers to jump it without blocking the moderately busy highway, something I wasn't anxious to do.
The driveway she had pulled into was the entrance to some farmer's field. So we called a tow truck and I sat with her, chatting until it arrived nearly an hour later. He hooked the car up and I gave him instructions to take it to a reasonably priced mechanic I knew of. I offered to drop her at her house instead of having to pay the tow truck driver the extra mileage to do so, and we were off.
My wife was somewhat miffed that I was nearly two hours late from work, but after I explained what had happened she realized that I was just doing what I always did, rescue someone in distress. Some people can't stand to see a turtle struggle across a road and have to stop and "help" it get across. For me, young women broken down are my weak spot. I have three daughters and I always hope that if they need help, someone kind will help them out. After I had explained the whole story she suggested that maybe I should offer her a ride to work, since her car was now at the shop. The fact that she was married made that decision a bit easier. I am after all, still a dirty old man!
She had given me her number, so I called and after a short discussion I agreed to pick her up at her house since her husband had to leave for work before she did and she wouldn't have a ride to any place we could meet. I agreed, and the next morning I picked her up on my way to work, having to detour only a few blocks from my normal route. Wednesday led to Thursday which led to Friday which led to a week and longer. Her car was in the shop for nearly two weeks before she got it back. By that time we had discussed that we should carpool and save some money, which I was coming to understand was in short supply for her. I agreed, but suggested that maybe I should drive. Not that I didn't trust her car, but, well, I didn't trust her car. She thought that was amusing, but she agreed. I'd drive and when she could, she'd give me some gas money. My wife was, surprisingly, okay with it. But then she hadn't met Julie yet and had no idea just how attractive she was.
Julie always wore nice looking clothing to work. Dresses and skirts were her norm. Today's young ladies' 'professional' attire has much shorter hemlines than what 'professional' was for my generation. But then she was almost half my age. At twenty-six, she could easily be one of my daughters, but that didn't stop me from admiring her long shapely legs that were on display every morning and afternoon. Even as the cold winter months approached and bore down with their cold and wind, the skirts stayed provocatively short. Usually her skirt would hike up slightly as she sat in the seat only a few feet from me. Sometimes it would hike up more than slightly, and a few times I swore that I could make out the color of her panties, though I never made it at all obvious that I looked or even was interested in looking. But trust me, I LOOKED!
As the months passed, we talked about many things. Politics, work, family, and other things. Some days she spent much of the ride to work venting about her asshole husband. And based on the stories she told, he was just exactly that, an asshole, maybe a dickwad or even a shit head. But asshole really did fit him well. On one particularly warm summer Monday, she spent the ride to work in silence, clearly upset. It wasn't until the ride home that she finally opened up about what happened over the weekend. We had so far managed to avoid any sexually related discussions, but what happened over the weekend seemed to open the floodgate for her.
The two of them had gone to a pool party with some friends. Her asshole husband had, once again, had wayyyyy too much to drink, and thought it would be cute to flash his wife's tits at the other guys. She did after all, have a nice curvy chest. After he had pulled her bikini top off, exposing her to everyone, she ran into the house to the bathroom. He followed a few minutes later to 'apologize'. His idea of apologizing to her was to get her completely naked in the bathroom and fuck her. Unfortunately, he did what she described as his usual performance. He got her turned on, stuck his dick in her and fucked her until HE came, leaving her unfulfilled and alone, still naked, in the bathroom. She was once again left to finish herself off. This apparently was what he considered to be normal sex.
I assured her that was not 'normal' and that he was indeed an asshole, for both pulling off her top and for trying to apologize with sex. She wanted to know what I considered 'normal', in great detail. That discussion led her to a query about my sex life, which I dodged as well as I could before dropping her off at her house.
The next morning she quickly brought the topic of sex up again. I suggested that this wasn't the best subject for two married, but to different partners, people of the opposite sex to be discussing. She disagreed and insisted that discussing sex in general was a healthy topic for friends to discuss, since if you couldn't trust a friend with your secrets, who could you trust.
She badgered me all the way to work to tell me what I thought perfect sex was. It wasn't until the ride home after work that I finally gave in and described what I considered 'perfect' sex. Once that had been described she wanted to know when the last time I had perfect sex was and I had to admit that it had been many years ago. I was also forced to admit to her that sex was fairly infrequent. Not that I didn't WANT IT, but that my wife wasn't nearly as drawn to sex as she had been in our earlier days. Instead of several times a week, it was now several weeks per time. She seemed somewhat stunned by that admission. With some level of frustration she commiserated that we both suffered from a lack of satisfying sex. I quickly added that it was nothing that either of us COULD or SHOULD do anything about. I was glad that the conversation didn't come back up the rest of the week, or even the week after.
It was several weeks later, on a Monday again. It seemed that Mondays were when she was most upset because her jackass husband did stupid shit on the weekends. "I still don't believe what he did yesterday!" she said angrily.
"Oh? What did he do this time?"
"He made a bet with one of his buddies about whose wife was hotter," she said with a scowl.
"Where the hell did he do that?"
"We were at a barbeque with some friends."
"These the same friends as the pool party?"
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"I see. So he made a bet. That doesn't sound too bad."
