Hitchhiking to Ecstasy

I nodded."I think I heard it in an old movie," I answered.

"Yes, it was in an old movie from the 40s about World War Two about lovers who meet and don't know what tomorrow will bring."

"So what are you saying?" I asked.

"I'm saying it's time to have some soup I made this morning. Aren't you hungry?"

I was surprised at his answer but understood. He leaned down and kissed me gently and smiled.

"Let's eat and forget about your car for now," he said. "We can deal with that in the morning."

I turned my body to face him and we wrapped our arms around each other. We kissed and then I said, "I'm famished."

I quickly got out of bed and found my jeans and squirmed into them. I didn't bother with the soaked panties. I still had my shirt on. He did the same, slipping on his jeans. We hugged, standing in front of the wood stove.

"Vicki, I didn't want that to happen," he said. "I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of a young woman in a tough situation."

"Are you serious, I was the one who seduced you. I made it happen. You didn't do anything wrong. I wanted you," I said, looking into his eyes.

"I could have stopped you. I'm old enough to be your father," he said.

"Don t be stupid. I told you I am old enough to know what I want and I can take care of my self. I made it happen," I said. "And I am glad I did. You were amazing."

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my chin and then my lips. I had never felt such sweet tenderness before.

He then let go of me and went to the refrigerator to get the pot of soup out. He put it on the stove and glanced at me. "Nothing like a nice bowl of black bean soup on a cold winter night." he said. "And some home made bread," he added.

"You bake bread?" I asked.

"Yes and I like to cook," he said. "How about a glass of red wine?"

"Nice," I answered. "Sounds perfect."

I noticed several candles on a shelf near the table and placed them on the table. "How about a little candlelight," I said. "just to add a little atmosphere."

"Great," he answered, as he put the large round loaf of bread on the counter and started slicing. He then got a bottle of red wine and two glasses and poured the wine. He brought me a glass and we clicked glasses.

"To luck!' I said.

'I'll drink to that,' he repeated and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked at me and we sipped our wine.

Peter went back to the counter to get the bread and placed it on a wooden breadboard and placed it on the table, along with a small plate of butter. He put two woven placemats down, two soup spoons and a knife for the butter. He ladled the soup in our bowls, sprinkled on some graded cheese and brought it to the table.

I loved watching the way he moved, humming to himself as he brought everything to the table. He seemed like a happy man who enjoyed his life. It's hard to explain but there was something in his relaxed, comfortable way of preparing everything and moving that was soothing.

Just as he sat down the phone rang and he said, "I bet that's George from the garage."

He picked up the phone, his eyes looking at me. "Oh hi, George, thanks for calling back.I didn't leave a message." He paused, listening, smiling at me. "Oh you have one of those phones that records the number," he laughed, "I didn't think you were so 21st century," he added, clearly familiar with him.

Our eyes were on each other as he spoke and he motioned to me to start eating. I reached for a slice of bread and buttered it, not wanting to start without him.

"This young woman's car slid off the road about five minutes from my place on the East Carter Road--just passed the big curve. It's late now but can you tow it here in the morning, that way we can make sure it's okay." He listened for a minute then said, "Thanks George. See you in the morning. Give my regards to that sweet wife of yours." He hung up, smiled at me. "Hope you don't mind waiting 'til the morning for your car?" he asked.

"And what if I did?" I said.

"I'd say too bad-- that's the way it's going to be," he answered, buttering a slice of bread.

"You think you're pretty tough, don't you, holding me captive in your cabin in the woods," I said, leaning forward, glaring into his eyes.

"Yep!" he answered. "You're my prisoner for the night whether you like it or not. See what happens when you hitchhike and get picked up by a stranger," he smiled. "Now eat your soup."

"Yes, sir. Aye Aye, sir," I responded, saluting him. I took a sip of the black bean soup. "Ummmmmmmm....Wow! This is delicious."

"Thanks," he answered, sipping his soup then taking a sip of his wine.

The room was glowing from the fire in the stove and the two candles on the table.

"Peter, do you believe in destiny? Do you think it was destiny that all this happened, that I slid off the road and you came by and we, you know, hit it off like this." I watched him listening, nodding as he took in my words. He took another sip of his soup, another sip of wine and looked at me.

"Nope, I don't believe it was destiny," he answered. "It was just random, good luck, a coincidence that has no explanation," he paused. "It was not destiny. It was a fluke, but I'm glad it happened."

I was surprised by his answer. I thought for sure he believed in destiny and that we were meant to meet like this.

"I'm surprised by your answer," I said. "I think it was destiny," I added.

"Well, think what ever you want, Vicki, if that makes you feel happy and that the stars somehow made you slide of the road and I happen to drive by and we met and rockets when off and here we are eating black bean soup by candlelight—it's a nice romantic story," he said, startling me.

I was quiet as I thought about his words. "So you're not a romantic?" I asked.

"Oh but I am. I am a romantic, very much so and you will have to read some of my love poetry sometime and you'll see what a romantic I am," he said. He took a sip of his wine, a sip of his soup and brought the napkin to his lips.

I nodded as he spoke, thinking about his words. "So you think my being here is a fluke—something that just happened."

"Yep, you got it," he said. "I would like to believe in destiny. It's a nice story, but I think life is a mystery. There is seldom any rhyme or reason to what happens to us, though most of the time, we create our own disasters by being stupid or careless—like you losing the cord to your cell phone, or driving too fast on a slippery road—that's not destiny—that's just foolishness or making a mistake. But, my sweet friend, my thought is that when bad things happen, you try to make the best of it, you adapt, you call on your creativity and you make lemonade out of the lemons that fall in your lap. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," I said, still baffled by his blunt, matter of fact philosophy. I guess I wanted to believe in destiny, but Peter was pulling the rug out from under me. I was surprised but it made me dizzy with feelings for him. He was not just attractive, he was intelligent and a deep thinker. I liked that.I had never met anyone like him. A warm, fuzzy feeling was sweeping over me as I listened and enjoyed the soup, the wine, the candles, the fire, the quiet stillness of his cabin.

We were both quiet as we ate. My mind was racing—thinking about my car being towed here in the morning, wondering if I wanted to stay and never leave, where was I heading with my feelings for Peter, would we kiss goodbye and that would be it?

"Hey, Vicki, be here, stop thinking so much," he said, reading my mind again.

I shook my head and looked at him, trying to put my thoughts and feelings in place and be in the moment, but it's hard for me. I am always thinking, thinking, thinking and worrying. I'm such a neurotic.

Peter reached over and took my hand. It was so warm to feel his hand on mine. He then placed his other hand on mine, holding it firmly in his hand. He then lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand, sending a warm sensation through my body. He was so gentle and sweet. I wondered whether he was seducing me, stealing my heart with his caring manner.

"Peter, this is so nice. I've never met anyone like you," I said. Somehow I felt safe with him and felt feelings rising in me that scared me and thrilled me at the same time. Was I falling in love with him?

"It is nice," he said, still holding my hands. "In fact, it's extraordinary," he added. "I live a very solitary life. I rarely have company. I'm kind of a hermit, here, writing every day, rarely going into town and suddenly, I have a beautiful young woman here and we made passionate love and now we're enjoying a nice meal. I'm wondering if this is a dream and I am going to wake up and realize it never really happened."

"This is not a dream," I said. I pinched him. "See, I'm real, you're awake, I'm here in your life."

He nodded and shook his head. "Things like this don't happen to me," he said.

"They don't happen to me either," I said. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me."

Peter poured me some more wine and filled his glass. We were quiet as we sipped the wine. We had finished our soup and continued our conversation. I told him more about my life—how I grew up outside of Philadelphia, my father was a plumber, my mom was a bookkeeper,I have one older brother and how I loved art and knew from childhood that I wanted to be an artist—by the way, I'm thirty-two.

He nodded as he listened.

"Ever since I was a child, I knew I wanted to be an artist. I was always drawing. Rarely went anywhere with out my sketch pad. I went to an art camp every summer and told people, when I grow up I want to be an artist."

He listened and said, "Vicki, you were always an artist. If you were drawing and painting when you were a child, you were an artist. It's not something you become when you grow up."

I laughed when he said that. "I never thought about it like that," I said.

We talked for hours, well into night, telling each other little stories from our lives and we were feeling incredibly close. Still, in the back of my mind, I was thinking where is this heading, what will happen when my car comes in the morning, will I want to leave, what will I do, should I stay? Would he want me to stay? I didn't know.

That night we made love again. It was passionate, tender, exciting love making. We both screamed as our bodies exploded with intense orgasms. I laid my head on his shoulder as we talked a little more and then drifted off to sleep, his arms wrapped around me as we spooned. I loved how he was with me.

The next morning, I was still asleep and felt Peter cuddling against me, licking my shoulders and the back of my neck. I felt my body stirring as he pressed his cock against the crack of my ass. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to him as he licked my ear lobes, making me tingle. He then moved me so that I was

on my stomach. He placed our pillows under me, elevating me and got on my back, spreading my legs and placing his cock at the entrance of my pussy, moving it slowly up and down, getting me so hot with his slow, gentle moving of the tip of his cock against my wet pussy lips. Slowly, he entered me, moving gently deeper and deeper, holding my body still. The sensation of his entering me was intense and the slow, very gradual moving in and out as he opened me was like nothing I had ever experienced. Finally, he was all the way in and started a slow, swirling motion. I moved slowly with him, my pussy completely full as our slow moving started to build. I loved his weight on me, but was feeling the need to cum. I started to move faster, letting him know I wanted to be fucked harder. He sensed my need and pulled slowly out of my pussy and then thrust deep and hard into me.

"Harder, harder," I said, "Ohhhhh I need it harder."

He pulled out again and thrust his cock harder in me, pulling out and again thrusting deep, each thrust getting harder and faster.

"Ohhhhhhh, Peter, I love this. I love this. Fuck me harder," I screamed, feeling I was the verge of exploding.

He rammed his cock into me and I felt him tense as his cock swelled and he said, "Oh baby I'm cummmming," he said, "I'm cummmmming."

His words excited me and suddenly my orgasm swept over me and I raised my ass off the pillow as he drove me back to the pillow and my whole body shuddered and shook and I screamed, 'Ohhhhhhhhyes yes yes, I'm cummmmmming OHHHHHHHHHHHH YES!"

I felt his cum gush and fill my pussy as another huge orgasm swept me away into the biggest convulsion I have ever had. I collapsed on the pillow and he collapsed on me, both of us gasping and panting, as we lay there, unable to budge.

"I hope you didn't mind my little wake up call?" he whispered in my ear.

"You can wake me up like that anytime, mister," I said.

"I'd like that," he responded and kissed the back of my neck and my shoulder.

"I've never been fucked like that before," I said. "That was wonderful."

He rolled off of me and wrapped me in his arms. I loved being held. I loved the warmth.

After a few moments of lying there, wallowing in the warmth, my mind started racing again with the thought that my car would soon be arriving.

"Peter," I said then hesitated. I turned on my side to face him.

"What?" he asked.

"What would you think if I said I wanted to stay here with you?" I asked but was frightened to hear his answer. He was silent.

My heart pounded as I waited for an answer.

"Vicki, you're young and I am old enough to be your father. Are you sure you would want that? Also, this is not Boston. This is a little cabin in the woods, off the grid. I'm in the middle of nowhere."

"I know all of that," I said.

"This might be my Shangra La, but it might not be yours. It's very quiet and I write all day. You might get bored after the newness wears off."

"Remember when you said last night--when things happen, you just have to make the best of it. I could go home and get my stuff, my art supplies and paint here, maybe get a job as a waitress and see what happens."

He looked into my eyes and nodded.

"When my car comes, I could stay for a day or two and see how it feels and then go to Boston and come back, that is. if you want me too."

"I'm not sure," he said.

I was disappointed with his answer. I wanted him to say of course. I love you and I want you in my life, but he didn't say that.

'Why not?" I asked, suddenly wanting to cry.

"Vicki, you may want children. You deserve to have a man who can give you a more fulfilling life than I can," he said. He had a concerned, sad look on his face. The twinkle in his blue eyes was gone.

Just then we heard a noise outside and knew it was George towing my car. Peter got up and threw his clothes on and went outside. I lay in bed for a minute thinking whether I even wanted to see my car, but I got up, looked out the window and saw Peter and George talking. George got into the car and it started right up. Peter signed something that must have been his Triple A card. They shook hands and George drove off.

"You car is all set," he said when he enter, looking at me.

There was an awkward silence. I didn't know what to say. I felt a sharp pain in my chest as the thought of leaving swelled in me. I turned away from Peter. He was quiet. I could feel him looking at me.

"Hey, how about a cup of coffee," he said. He went into the kitchen and got the coffee started.

I went to the window and looked at my car. I then looked at his bird feeders and the birds flying down from the trees, pecking at the seeds then flying off. My mind was swirling with confusion, knowing I didn't want to leave. But what did he want?

I turned to Peter, watching him get the mugs off the shelf. He glanced at me and smiled. He brought the mugs to the table. He poured the hot water in to the French coffee press he had and waited for it to brew. Neither of us spoke. The sun was pouring in the window and the whole room glowed with bright sunlight.

Our eyes met as he poured the coffee into the mugs and placed them on the table. I was standing next to the wood stove.

"Stay," he said. "I want you to stay. It may be crazy, but let's give it a shot."

I could not believe my ears but my heart leaped in me and wrapped my arms around him. We hugged, holding each other tight.

"You're such a smart man," I said. "I knew you would make the right decision."

"You did, did you?" he said. "We'll see, won't we?"

And that's what happened. I stayed for two days, drove back to Boston and packed my stuff. I had a month to month lease on my apartment and within a week I was back here where I have now been for two years. I paint in a small room he has and made that my studio. He writes at the table.

I think back from time to time to my sliding into that ditch and how I ended up hitchhiking into ecstasy—whether it was destiny or random luck, I don't know and I really don't care.