Can't Help It

When he was done, he freed my wrists, hustled me out of the back of the cab, and tossed me down onto the asphalt next to the truck. My clothes came down on top of me. He closed the truck door, revved up the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot. With a deep groan, I rolled away from the moving truck. It was a miracle he didn't run over me in his speedy exit.

Moaning, I pulled my clothes back on and hobbled back to my car. I sat there, looking through the windshield, mentally checking all of my body parts for pain, and staring at the lit-up restroom building. The attendant was nowhere to be seen. I didn't discern any real damage--at least physical. I was embarrassed and scared, though, at what I had allowed to happen to me. It had been as brutal as the seven leathermen at Buddy's tavern. I was frightened that it had turned me on, while recognizing that it was a bit too far into the kinky and violent for me.

After I'd calmed down, I started the engine of the Challenger and pulled back out onto the highway. At the next "service vehicles only" crossing to the other side, I did a U-turn and drove back to the rest stop on the other side of the highway, north bound, from where I'd just had a sexual encounter. I used the facilities, checking for visual damage again and putting myself back together. No attendant was in evidence, and the rest stop on this side of the road was getting more business than the other side had gotten. The movement of people gave me reassurance and a sense of protection.

I walked around outside the restroom building for a few minutes, eventually taking my cell phone out and placing a call. Craig Singleton picked up on the second ring.

"So, are you coming over tonight," he asked.

"I can't," I said. "I'm on the road south of Roanoke, but I'm on my way back to Lexington. I'm wrung out tonight, but how about we run together on the Maury Ridge trail in the morning?"

"Sounds good. I'll be there," he said.

It was sort of a Goldie Locks situation, I was finding. Adrian and Professor Carson were too soft and the Buddy's Tavern guys and the rest stop pair were too hard. All things considered, Craig Singleton was just right. I'd just have to do the work myself to pass Carson's class.