Joe Christopher didn't know, while he was out working on his 1952 Ford, Mary, an eighteen year old girl who had at last run away from an orphanage in Illinois, had made her way to his house of all places out in the middle of rural, Bryan, Ohio, and snuck into his house through the kitchen.
Mary couldn't wait another three years. She'd escaped during the night, and had stayed on the run for days. By the time she reached Joe Christopher's, she was good at staying concealed, at not appearing suspicious out here where everyone knew everyone else. She looked younger than she was, and she quickly realized people mistook her for a local kid out wondering in the fields.
By late afternoon she'd walked through the cornfield of the adjacent property, a sprawling farm, and while Joe wasn't himself a farmer, his home was surrounded by farmland, and his was just the house she'd happened upon out in the middle of nowhere.
Mary quietly slipped in, held onto the weathered wood screened-door frame until it shut. She listened for any sound that someone might be in the house.
She didn't mean any harm. She was hungry and thirsty and tired, and went inside just to find some food. She had every intention of moving on, even if she had no idea where exactly to go.
She was a tough little thing for her age. She'd cut her hair short like a boy's, and petite and lanky thin, wearing baggy boys-clothes she'd pulled from a clothesline somewhere in Illinois, she'd successfully hidden her feminine curves. She'd made it this far, however improbable, hiding in barns along the way, staying off roads, sticking to the woods and fields.
She was almost sure no one would come looking for her, or if they'd even report her gone to try to get her back. She didn't think they would, and they didn't.
Looking in the pantry she found a small burlap sack with a bright red potato farming logo on it, and began filling it with apples, bread, whatever food she could find, careful to not take anything that would be noticed right away. She immediately ate several pieces of sliced beef, and some bread from a covered plate, and like a starving little kitten she drank down half a quart of milk from a blue glass jar.
She heard men's voices and half panicked as she glimpsed another man through the windows go around back, effectively cutting off her escape. Harried she screwed the lid back on the jar of milk, and dropped it in the potato sack.
With nowhere to go, feeling trapped, she panicked, and quickly made her way up the stairs to the second floor, glanced at the two available doors, and darted into the bedroom just as Joe and the other man came back around front, their boot steps on the wooden porch sounding close through the quiet house.
She heard the other man and Joe laughing and talking, and then their voices become serious, talk of a Korean war. She heard them solemnly saying goodbye to each other, and heard the other man's car start and drive away, and turn out onto the long gravel road as the front door closed.
Her heart stopped racing, but Joe was still in the house. He and the other man sounded like decent people. She seemed less afraid because of it; if he caught her he would probably be nice to her.
She was so tired. She wasn't sure what to do. She almost began crying, and made herself stop.
She heard Joe coming up the stairs. Without thinking she shimmied under the big bed, the bedspread hanging low to the floor where she wouldn't be seen.
Mary held her breath as he came into the room. She could see a man's work boots, his footsteps, evenly paced; he didn't know she was there. The sunlight made angular shapes on the floor, dust particles sparkling and dancing in the bright light as the man's movements moved the air.
He sat down on the edge of the bed just above her, the solid bed springs just barely squeaking, his feet just in front of her as he unlaced and took off his leather boots, the sounds of his movements shuttering her breath. One foot at a time, the bed again slightly creaking as he pulled off his socks, and she saw his bare feet touch the floor, first one and then the other.
She watched him walk out of the bedroom door, the backs of his smooth bare calves, his slightly hairy thighs, across the hall, and when he got far enough away she could see he was naked. She felt a glimmering voyeuristic attraction. She wondered if she'd, see him.
She heard him turn on the faucet, water running, the globes of his bottom tightening as he leaned, the water running into the porcelain sink (a bath sounded so good, she pictured herself naked, the feel of hot water) directly across from the bedroom door. She wouldn't be able to get out without being seen.
She didn't dare lift the edge of the bedspread for fear he'd see her. She worried he might see her in the mirror, so, her face pressed sideways, she peered out from the slight space between the bedspread and the floor, seeing what she could, a naked man up to about mid-chest, a little extra weight, probably around fifty she guessed, broad chest and shoulders.
When he turned, Mary almost gasped. He was hard. His cock was big. It stood out from his body, swayed with his movements. She felt fluttery in her tummy, that warm feeling in her belly, and stole her hand between her legs her nipples pressed on the carpet under the bed. Mary had been sexual since she could remember, almost always horny, she'd masturbated nightly since she was much younger. Her first chance to touch herself in a week or more she felt the familiar hot feeling in her tummy begin, and the delicious slippery wetness between her legs.
She could see the side of his face. He looked like he hadn't shaved that day. He was, yes, he was attractive. She closed her eyes, strumming her fingers over pussy through the thin material of the pants she had on, wishing she could touch herself, her bare pussy, and she slid one hand under the waistband, her eyes glued to the man's cock. She hoped he would touch it. She creamed on her fingers, excited, hoping she'd get to see him, him touch himself.
She was so horny and immediately slippery wet, she slightly hunched her little hips up and down, trying to not make a sound, watching him, aroused by her voyeuristic glee, pressing between her legs, when she almost moaned out loud picturing the man licking her, fucking her.
❖❖❖
It was almost dark when Mary woke up under the bed. She didn't know where she was at first. She didn't hear any movement in the house.
Slipping out from under the bed, she looked out the bedroom window. The car was gone. She sighed a breath of relief. There were just fields, a row of windbreak trees in the distance, swaying, the leaves shimmering on an evening breeze.
