I've always been my parent's baby girl. They are, let's say, a little over protective, wanting to wrap me in cotton wool all the time. The world just doesn't work that way. Would you believe they vet my boyfriends before I'm allowed to date them, and when I say vet they do a real investigation. It's a little scary at times.
Still, I can't complain about their generosity. They bought me this really neat little car for my eighteenth birthday and paid for an advanced driving course so that they could be reasonably certain I'd be safe on the roads.
Still, it doesn't matter how safe you try to keep someone, accidents happen. I'd been for a drive into the country, just buzzing around, happy to get out of the house for a while. I'd been down a number of back roads. I find them a lot more interesting than, and not nearly as dangerous as, the major roads. You're highly unlikely to be tailgated by a humongous truck highballing down a small country road.
It turns out that country roads have their own hazards. I'm not talking about the occasional cow on the road, though I have seen that. I'm talking about a common farmyard implement.
There I was driving down the road, not going overly fast, when I saw something lying on the road ahead. It looked like a stick and I ignored it. It didn't ignore me. I felt something go badly wrong as soon as I hit that stick. There was a loud noise and the car became very hard to steer. I pulled off to the side of the road and got out.
Did you know that puncture proof tyres will let you drive over nails and glass and other sharp objects without a problem? It's true. It turns out that a puncture proof tyre won't let you drive over a pitchfork. I ask you, a pitchfork? Who leaves pitchforks lying around in the middle of the road?
Two of the tines had pierced my tyre and when I drove on the pitchfork had just ripped a couple of great tears in the tyre. With holes that size the tyre wouldn't hold bricks, let alone air. And the pitchfork was still imbedded in the tyre.
I had a spare tyre. All I had to do was change it. Now I'm quite intelligent. I learn things easily and am quite adept at anything I turn my hand to, with one notable exception. I am mechanically inept. Even something as simple as a changing a tyre was a challenge to me.
I mean, it's simple, right? Jack up the car, loosen the nuts, take off the wheel, put on the wheel, tighten nuts, lower the car and off I go. Right?
Or is that, loosen the nuts and then jack up the car? How does the jack work? Where do you put it under the car? I was in trouble. Still, I wouldn't get anywhere if I didn't start. I got out my jack and my tools and the spare tyre. So far so good. I was pretty sure it was loosen the nuts before jacking up the car, and finish taking them off afterwards.
So how do you loosen those stupid nuts? Which way do they turn? Where the nuts on my car wheel were concerned they didn't turn in either direction. I was about to admit defeat and ring for help when there was a welcome diversion.
"Having trouble, love?" someone asked.
Looking around, there were two men standing in the paddock next to the road.
"Um, I've run over a pitchfork and have to change my wheel, but I'm not very good at it," I admitted.
The older man promptly clouted the younger man over the back of his head.
"Now you know where you lost the damn thing," he said. "Get over there and change the girl's tyre. Seeing it was your carelessness that destroyed her tyre you can just pay her for a new tyre as well."
"Oh, there's no need to pay for the tyre," I protested. "My tyres are old and I'm due for a new set. My father said he'd get me a set because he can get a discount through his work. But thank you for offering. I would appreciate the wheel being changed, though."
The two men hopped the fence and it was pretty obvious that they were used to working as a team. One started loosening the nuts even while the other man was positioning the jack and getting ready to crank it. They did in ten minutes what would have taken me an hour or more, stowing the dead wheel and putting the tools away.
"Thank you so much," I said, smiling happily. "I don't know how to thank you."
"That's OK," said the older man, and he was smiling, too. "We do."
I was like, "What?" wondering what he meant and he grabbed me. I mean, just like that he grabbed hold of me, literally picked me up, and laid me on the grass at the side of the road.
Not only that but he started tugging at my clothes. It was a beautifully sunny day and all I had on was a strapless sundress and my underwear. It was all I needed. The sundress had this nice elasticized top that held it snugly over my breasts, and with a strapless bra on under it, I could get my shoulders tanned without any strap marks.
I found out that it also meant that anyone who took hold of the top and pulled it firmly down could strip it right off me with a minimum of fuss. Fine, when it was me doing the stripping, but not quite so fine when it was someone else. The man had my dress off in no time at all and then he pulled my panties off. I couldn't believe it.
The man then let me go and I promptly sat up, which was what he expected me to do it seemed. He grabbed my hands and the younger man stepped up behind me and unclipped my bra, which promptly fell off. Then I was pushed down onto the grass again, completely naked. Except for my shoes. I still had my shoes on.
The older man settled onto the ground next to me, stretching one of his legs out so that is was wedged between mine. While I would have liked to push him away, that idea was a non-starter, due to the younger man catching my wrists and holding my hands above my head.
I just couldn't believe it when the older man started stoking my breasts. He seemed fascinated by my nipples, pinching then and rubbing them, encouraging them to stand out.
"Stop that," I snapped at him. "You can't do that."
"Yes, I can," he said. "Watch."
With that he started rubbing and kneading my breasts, even going so far as to bend down and kiss them and he even sucked on my nipples. I tried to tell him I didn't want him doing that, but was he listening? Not so that you'd notice. Then things got even worse.
He reached down and placed his hand squarely over my privates. Like, he just reached down and his hand completely covered my mound, and then he started rubbing it. I'd been upset when he touched my breasts. You can imagine how I felt now.
"You stop that," I demanded. "I don't want you touching me there. I don't want you touching me anywhere! Full stop!"
You notice I didn't say he can't do it. He'd have insisted that he could and would have demonstrated.
"Listen, love," he said, sounding exasperated. "Why don't you stop your whining? I'm doing what I want to and your yapping isn't going to stop me. Instead of complaining about it, why don't you just shut up and consider how it actually feels? If you stop to think you'll probably find that you actually like it."
Right. As far as I was concerned not another word would escape my lips. Let him touch me. See if I cared.
As a matter of fact I did. It felt strange, having a man run his hands over me, and they kept on touching me. First it was my breasts, then my privates, then back to my breasts, pinching my nipples, back to stroking my mons and probing softly along my lips, his fingers actually slipping between them and into me. AND I KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT!
I have to admit I also paused to consider what it really felt like instead of just saying, "Oo, ah, a man. Get it off me." I said it felt strange but I have to admit that it wasn't strange in a bad way. That's not saying it felt good. Just not bad. Right up until he played a dirty trick on me.
