What Goes Around, Comes Around

Author's note: This is my first venture into the Celebrities and Fan Fiction category, so please be kind in your comments. I wrote this tale several years ago to capture what pleasures an act of random kindness can bring. Based on actual events of the time and plausible possibilities, this fantasy is offered for your reading enjoyment. The standard disclaimer about everyone being of age and fictitious apply. Please enjoy.

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It was during an unusual torrential early summer downpour that I came upon her in my beat-up pickup truck. She was such an odd figure of despair, walking down that lonely country road, six-feet of drenched femininity, that I was compelled to pull along side of her and stop.

"Miss, are you all right?" At first, she didn't respond at first, but then finally turned to look at me in a silent uncomprehending manner. "Do you need a ride?" When she didn't answer or react, I swung the passenger door open and said, "Come on, get in. If anything, it'll give you a chance to get out of the rain and cold. Come on, I won't hurt you. Trust me."

She took a while but finally got in without a glance or a word and closed the truck door. Soaked to the bone, it wasn't until she unconsciously pushed her sopping-wet long dark hair from her face that I realized who she was. Given how often her beautiful nineteen-year-old face had graced the front page of some many sports publications, who wouldn't have recognized this attractive golf prodigy of Asian descent whose last name I won't have to mention?

"Hi, my name is Mick," I said in an effort to prompt a conversation. My female passenger, however, just sat there numbly staring at the road ahead, oblivious of how her thin wet top clung to her curvaceous breasts and her drench jeans were plastered to her long shapely legs. Something told me to hold my peace and without being asked, I reached behind seat to pull out an old blanket that I used when occasionally I pull a long haul and needed some desperate sleep. After draping over her shivering form, I started the engine and cranked up my decrepit heater.

Only the sound of the windshield wipers slapping methodically could be heard. As the road passed, I recalled how my sullen passenger had had a tumultuous childhood with pushy and overprotective parents. Naturally gifted and stunningly attractive, she was widely proclaimed as the "female Tiger Woods." Unfortunately, her promise failed to materialize as envisioned and her ardent supporters became her harshest critics. The last tournament that I recalled she was leading only to lose it when her competitor made an amazing series of birdies in the last set of holes. It was simply amazing how her utterly emotionally crushed picture was plastered across the sports page.

"I'm heading back to my place in the foothills, but if you'd like, I can detour to one of the towns along the way." Her head slowly turned my way as if she finally heard me and after a blank look, just kind of shrugged in a noncommittal manner. After nothing else came, I finally said, "Look, do you have any place to go – anyone to turn to?" She just looked down and turned away, but not before a tear ran down her wet cheek.

I tossed things around in my head and before I knew it I was quietly muttering, "Hey, I know you don't know me from Adam. I'm not some kind of scumbag, and if you want, I'll pull over and let you out. But, I've got a small spare room if you need a place to stay. It ain't much and kind of primitive by most people standards, but its clean and yours with no strings attached."

"Why?" was the first word I heard her softly utter.

I thought about it for a moment and then quietly said, "I believed that what goes around comes around. It may sound corny and it may sound religious, but you look like you could use a helping hand right now. You look like you need some time to yourself to sort things out and get your head together. That is if you want to – but if you don't, that's okay. I won't take it personal..."

The pregnant pause was almost unbearable but after a while I heard her say, "Thanks, 'because I really don't have anywhere to go."

"Well, what can I call you?" I asked, hinting that I knew her actual identity but left it to her to reveal. She looked at me and then shrugged vaguely. "Okay – since I'm Mick and sometimes called 'Mickey' by my Irish friends, I'll call you – 'Minnie" – since you look right now like a drowned mouse. She absently chuckled at the strange name that I had chosen and asked if she wasn't a bit too big to be a Minny. But I stuck to my guns and said laughingly that it was "Minnie and Mickey." Finally, she gave up and said that her name was "Michelle."

My place wasn't much. Nestled in the gentle curve of a forested hill, it consisted of two buildings: the main house and a small converted barn which served as garage, workshop, and storeroom. The house was a small single-story wooden structure consisting of a living room-kitchen, two bedrooms one of which was used as a storeroom, and a bathroom. While I had running water and indoor plumbing, it was basic at best. A small propane tank powered a simple stove, a small refrigerator, and water heater. But the one thing that really made my place downright primitive was the total absence of electricity and the usual electronics. Oil lamps, candles, and a large wooden fireplace which I found gave my cabin a surreal cozy feeling.

However, when we first entered that night, it was nothing more than a cold dark cave. "My apologies," I hastily stammered as I quickly lit the lamps and candles, "it's normally just me without too many guests. I wouldn't blame you," I said as I went about lighting the kindling in the fireplace, "if you want me to drive you to the closest town about an hour from here. I know the motel owner and I'm sure that she'd be willing to open up."

As the room was washed in warm glow, Michelle just shook her head and asked if she could take a shower. I quickly agreed but then realized that she had no spare clothes. Fortunately, I'm a slender six-three and was able to come up with a clean set of woolen socks, a thin flannel shirt, and an old sweat pants with a draw sting. Michelle looked dubious as I handed the stack to her.

"Hey, I know that they'll be large on you and aren't really fashionable, but they're clean and dry. However, if you don't want to use them, you could prance around the cabin wrapped in a bath towel – I really wouldn't mind terribly." Michelle chuckled softly at my innuendo and headed to the bathroom.

Even without makeup and clad in overly large clothes, Michelle was a natural teenage beauty with the glow of the firelight highlighting her delicate Asian features. She has a certain grace and suppleness, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that my heart didn't skip a beat at the noticeable quiver of her braless breasts under her shirt. I think, however, what made Michelle compellingly enticing was that she was a strange blend of polished professional maturity and clueless youthful innocence.

We ate a simple supper before the fireplace. I know she was expecting me to pump her with a myriad of questions but when I didn't, she ended up asking about the cabin and then about me. I had bought my cabin as a country get-away, but now it was my retreat and salvation. When Michelle looked at me and asked me to explain more.

After a sigh of acquiescence, I explained that I had always been handy with my hands and especially when it came to metal. My simple creations suddenly went from personal expressions to pieces of art that were in high demand and demanding high prices. Although I became filthy rich along the way, I somehow lost the enjoyment in life. I found myself embroiled in the rat race of satisfying other people's expectations to the point where I lost it. One day I found myself severely depressed, packed it up, and came here. Now what I do, I do for myself, and the hell with everyone else.

When I looked at Michelle, tears were streaming down those lovely cheeks of hers. "God," she sobbed, "I thought I was the only one..." Slowly but surely bits and pieces of her life came tumbling forth: domineering and controlling parents; a puppet-like existence; no childhood; no boyfriends; no dates; missed her senior prom and graduation; paraded before sponsors; endless promotions and endorsements; super high expectations; and followed by failure and constant criticism. Confronted with her breaking point where, Michelle just one day couldn't take any more, caught a bus, and then walked and walked until I happened along and picked her up.

Michelle folded into my shoulder, sobbing heavily, and I held her until she came up for air. "Well," I said with a lazy drawl, "I'll send you my bill later, but for now you can stay as long as you want, provided you do you share." Then gesturing to the surround room, I couldn't help but say, "This ain't a hotel with room service."

To this Michelle laughed, gave me a small smile, and graciously accepted my offer. As she hugged me and as those firm spongy tits pressed into me, I knew I made the right choice in stopping and extending myself.

The following day we headed into the closest town about an hour away. For one thing, I had insisted that she call her parents. There was no telephone in my place and cell phones didn't work in my neighborhood. If anything, I wanted her to let them know that she was okay and would return soon. I didn't want a good deed morphing into kidnapping charges. Fortunately, the call was kept brief and sparse on information especially when her parents demanded that she return immediately.

On a more practical note, I had a load of clothes that needed to be washed at the local laundromat and my food supply was dismally low given now that I had two mouths to feed. It also didn't hurt to visit the bank so that I could lend Michelle some spending money so that she could purchase some necessities at the town's only country store. While she was able to buy package of panties and various feminine hygiene products, Michelle couldn't find any bras in her size or to her liking (which delighted me) and finally settled on some form-fitting undershirts to help constrain her youthful modest boobs.

Initially we were both afraid that she'd be recognized since there weren't many six-foot, attractive oriental teenagers shopping in town, and bring a flock of paparazzi. However, Michelle was so out of her normal persona dressed in my baggy clothes, with no makeup on, and her straight long hair under a simple bandana that no one recognized her. In the company of the surly eccentric artist who lived on the edge of civilization, they just assumed that we were the odd couple especially since I was almost fifteen years older than Michelle.

Our relationship that long hot summer was indeed a strange one. For Michelle who had lived such a well-regimented life, she was at first lost with the complete unstructured existence that she found herself in. Given that there were no scheduled golf practices, promotional, media conferences, college studies, or television or cell phone, Michelle literally didn't know what to do with herself.

In addition, Michelle didn't know what to make of me. In her overprotected life, I was the first male who wasn't approved of by her parents. Since she hadn't had many friendships or social relationships throughout her formative years, she really didn't know how to relate to me. Other than her immediate family members, I was the first male who she had ever been alone with much less living with under the same roof. Furthermore, Michelle had never met a man who wasn't in awe of her reputation; who wasn't enamored by her appearance; or who didn't want something from her. This intrigued her and drew her to me.

However, the real catalyst to her attraction to me was my hobby. You see I love riding my vintage 1965 Harley-Davidson Electra Glide and was in the process of restoring this 1986 Harley-Davidson Sportster Evolution 1100 to pass the time and eventually sell. When Michelle entered my life, she immediately fell in love with the Sportster. In part because it was powerful looking with a dash of the forbidden, but I think it was really the promise of living on the wild side. Well, somehow Michelle somehow started helping me in the restoration of "her" bike and managed to extract a promise from me to teach her how to ride it once completed.

We talked as we worked together, sharing our frustrations, fears, and hopes. It took Michelle a while to realize that she was so busy live up to the expectations of other that she had lost her love of golf as a game and more importantly, herself. More importantly, she had never had a life of her own. Michelle vividly remembered how she finally reached the snapping point with her parents, critics, and her dismal career. She just walked away and leaving her old life was the first decision made by herself.

Her second decision was to stay with me. While I'm no Adonis, I'm not bad looking (although a bit scraggly) with a lean and wiry body. Having live alone for so long, I have a wry sense of humor that seemed to keep a normally confident Michelle constantly off balance. Knowing about Michelle's "cloistered" previous life, I was reasonably sure that she was a bona fide virgin in many ways, and as such, terribly inexperienced especially when it came to men.

Because of this and that I'm an incorrigible flirt, I teased her relentlessly. After being the butt of my sharp wit and prodding humor that initially made her blush or sputter a lot, Michelle began to give as good as she got. Before long we were constantly joking with each other, trying to go one up on the other. At first she was playfully childlike but as she got more determined to make me respond to her, Michelle came on so alluringly that I found myself stirring with renewed interest and undeniable life.

While to the casual observer and Michelle, it may have seen that I completely immune to Michelle's obvious physical charms, but I wasn't. Even without any cosmetics and letting her hair down, she was naturally stunning from her youthfully beautiful face and one hell of a bodacious young figure. The latter was amply displayed when Michelle in the sweltering heat of summer took to wearing only her thin cotton undershirts and short shorts.

The sight of her teenage breasts jiggling with every movement was definitely distracting. However, it was her nipples lewdly jutting against the damp thin material of her undershirt that nearly drove me certifiably insane. And when she bent over (which she seemed to be doing a lot) to flash her magnificent tits dangling before my startled eyes, I almost shot my wad right then and there.

You wouldn't believe how Michelle's long shapely legs drove me to utter distraction. Jeez, my eyes couldn't help but travel from her feet to linger on the juncture of her toned inner thighs. When she bent over the Sportster to emphasize her tight buns, she unknowingly presented me a "fuck my ass" view that drove me crazy. And when she squatted to tighten a part, the glimpse of her thinly stretched panties and hint of her pussy slit made a summer day even hotter. The worst part of it all was that Michelle was totally unaware of what she was doing and its effect on me.

Then one day as we worked together, Michelle looked at me and said, "Mick, I never really said this but 'Thank you.' I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along. You took me in and never hit on me, or even tried to take advantage of me." Her eyes then twinkled mischievously when she continued, "You're not gay, are you?"

She beamed a sensuous grin at my stunned look, and stroking my face, chuckled, "I'm kidding...about being gay...but not about you." With that she leaned over to give me one hell of a kiss that sent a jolt of unexpected excitement surging through both of us.

"Oh wow," Michelle whispered, her eyes widening, as she pulled back to look me in the eyes, "for my first kiss. I never knew it could be like this. I could get used to this and should do it more often...with you."

When she leaned forward for another kiss, I surprised the both of us when I instinctively pulled back. To a startled look, I hastily stammered, "Michelle, you're the most attractive young woman I've ever known. It takes all of my energy and willpower not to 'jump' you right now and do unspeakable sexual things to you." Michelle gasped at the meaning of my words; her cheeks blushing a vivid crimson.

"But Michelle, I've come to really care for you, for who you are, not what you are. Maybe we should go slow. You only have one 'first time,' and you should give it freely and not have it taken from you in the heat of the moment by some old fart. You may regret it afterwards..."

However, before I could say anything more, Michelle pulled me to her and kissed me speechless, clearly demonstrating that she had a mind of her own especially when it came to me. When Michelle was satisfied that she had made her point, she smiled and smugy continued to work on her bike.

Michelle took to her bike and road like a natural. Perhaps it was her gifted athleticism or sense of confidence, but I'd like to think that it was that special bond she had with her Sportster. She would coo and pet it, and when she turned the ignition it purred sweetly like a kitten; but, on the open road, it roared like a lion for her. Seeing her with the wind in her hair with a big shit-ass grin on her face was the epitome of freedom and happiness.

The look on her face after she dismounted after a long ride was one of undisguised lust. There was little doubt that the throbbing vibration between her legs from her motorcycle and road had a stimulating effect on Michelle, making her as horny as hell.

It became increasingly difficult fending off Michelle's exploration of her awakening sexuality, the wonders of her own form, and mysteries of my masculine body. Innocent touches became lingering caresses, and kisses changed from innocent and exploratory to bold and demanding. Sightings of her ample physical delights went from accidental glimpses to blatantly and provocative exposures. Resisting Michelle in the confines my small cabin on sweltering nights was a losing proposition.

To get my mind off sex, I shifted the focus of our discussion from me to her. We soon realized that she had in many ways regained the confidence and zest for life that she had lost. We both knew she was ready to tackle the world again and openly admitted that it was in large part due to "our" special place and me. Although we didn't set a specific time, Michelle did admit that she should be leaving soon and before her parents call the cops. It was then that I decided to give into her (and my) wanton desires – but, in a way she'd never forget.

The next day I told Michelle that we were going on an off-road trip to a mountain pond hidden in the hills to do a weekend of camping before she headed back to the "real" world. Michelle's face immediately lit up, and she asked what we would do there.

"Whatever your heart desires," was all I said.

It was mid-morning by the time we packed up our bikes and Michelle got through primping. We began with the going up the dirt road behind my place and following it up into the hills, then around a chained road, and along the ridge to a small valley that held secluded spring-fed pond.

By the time we set up our camp on pond's shore, it was late in the sweltering afternoon. I had made us a savory stew, but it needed to slow cook over the fireplace coals for about another hour. We were dripping with sweat when I said, "Hey, I think I'm going to take a dip before dinner. Want to join me?"

Michelle hesitated for a second, clearly mulling over the ramifications, before replying that she didn't had a bathing suit. I chuckled at her response and said, "Well, honey child, haven't you ever gone 'skinny dipping'?" With that I shucked my clothes as I walked to the lake's edge.