Rides from Strangers

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes just walking is the right the thing to do

Submitted: August 11, 2014

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Submitted: August 11, 2014

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“Is that a penis?” I asked, slightly confused; slightly slurred. The two of us had been enjoying a bottle of the finest vintage of Boone’s Farm money can buy in the back of one of those old 70’s VW Bugs that were all the rage with serial killers for a while, that is, up until now.

She looked over (or should I now say he) at me. The left corner of their mouth slid up into a sly smile. “And what? You were expecting…?”

“Something else you can be assured.” I answered. “I’m, ah… more of an innie, than an outie kind of guy. And you are definitely an outie.”

“Well then,” He/She said, tucking the penis back inside the thong they wore. The large member virtually disappearing behind the cloth, the panty lying flat once again, and from the naked eye no one would know what was really underneath. And as I watched, I was left wondering just how it was accomplished with such flawlessness that I almost missed what He/She said next: “I guess neither one of us getting a ride then.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, honey,” He/She’s smile now gone. Replaced with a stony veneer as they pulled down the hem of their skirt; fixing the seat back into sitting position. “that it’s time for you to get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Out. Get out. “He/She reached over and pulled the door handle, then nudged me none-so-gently along as the door swung open. “OUT!”

I unceremoniously fell out into the grass where we had parked. He/She didn’t wait for me to completely hit the ground before the VW started up, and I barely had my legs out when the gears groaned into drive. The VW peeling away in a cloud of oily exhaust and a shower of grassy dirt.

I laid there for a moment. Staring up at the sky wondering just how I found myself in these type of positions. You would think at the ripe old age of twenty-five that I would know better than taking rides from strangers I meet in gas stations in the middle of the night.

I groaned slightly as I got up from the ground, dusting myself off. I looked around to get my bearings, which was the middle of fuck-all as far as I was concerned. Leave it to me not pay attention to where I was being driving off too. But then again I had women on the mind and booze on the brain. And when I have those things on the mind that’s all I seem to know.

At least I had a little luck. In their desire to get away as quick as possible, He/She left too long ruts in the grass that even in the dark I could follow back to the road. And from there… the possibilities of more rides from strangers.

I’m just a glutton for punishment.


COPYRIGHTED PAUL DABROWSKI 2008. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


© Copyright 2020 Paul Dabrowski. All rights reserved.

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