Stranded 1 - XXX Porn

The beamer caught my eye, partly because of the rental sticker on the

bumper, and partly because of the petite, dark-haired, dusky-skinned

young lady pacing in frustration nearby.  Don’t see many BMW’s in

these parts, nor people who can afford to rent them.  Also don’t see

many such exotic beauties.

I pulled over well in front of the apparently stalled vehicle, leaving

a cushion of distance so the young lady wouldn’t be too frightened

having a stranger stop.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” I said as I stepped from my truck.

“This stupid car has stopped!” (she pronounced it like “shtewpid cah”.

I love British accents!), “and I forgot to charge my mobile!”

“Would you like me to take a look?” I asked, still keeping my

distance.

“If you would, please!” she almost demanded, “What a effing day! First

I have to put up with that silly Sikh ceremony, and now I’m stuck in

the middle of nowhere with a mobile that doesn’t work. Now here’s

Gomer effing Pyle to the rescue!”

Well! That wasn’t very nice!

I got the rental company’s 800 number off the sticker on the car and

dialed it on my cell.

“Hi! My name is Nick Stafford. Could you please connect me with

whoever handles breakdowns of your rental cars? Thanks!”

After a short pause another voice came on the line.

“Yeah, my name is Nick Stafford, I’m calling to report that one of

your cars has broken down about ten miles out of Williams on the old

Monroe Highway. Yeah, it’s about half a mile west of the Compton

turnoff.”

“Oh, no, I’m not the renter, just a guy passing by.”

“Try Parminder Nagra…”  I saw her head whip around as I said her

name.

“Yeah, that’s it…”

“About half an hour? Ok, thanks!”

As I passed her on the way back to my truck, she stared at me, but

said nothing.

I had gotten the engine started and was checking the mirror for

oncoming traffic when I saw her reflection huffing up to my door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” she panted.

“I’m going about my business, ma’am.” I said, “And the name’s Nick

Stafford, NOT Gomer effing Pyle! Your tow will be here in about half

an hour. Have a nice day.”

I started to move again.

“Wait! Please! I’m sorry!” she cried, running to keep up.

I stopped.

“Please! You’ve been very kind and I’ve been such an ass!” she gasped,

a little out of breath, “Will you please do me the favor of waiting

with me ’til the tow arrives?”

She was standing on the running board, holding onto the wing vent.

“Hang on.” I warned, putting it in reverse. 

I backed up to within a few feet of her car and said, “You gonna stay

out there all day, or do you want to climb in here out of the sun?”

I killed the engine, waiting for her reply.  She gazed at me

speculatively, giving me time to notice that she looked even better in

person than she did on TV, without all that makeup on. Her skin was

flawless, and created the perfect setting for her dark eyes.

Finally deciding I probably wasn’t a homicidal maniac, she walked

around the front of the truck, her lustrous black hair just showing

above the hood, and climbed into the passenger’s side.

She ran her hands over the leather of the upholstery and inspected the

rest of the interior.

“You’ve kept this in very good shape!” she said, with apparent

admiration.

“Yeah, she’s kinda old so I have to baby her a bit,” I let my pride

show a little, “but she still runs like a top, and can haul anything I

need moved.”

We sat in silence for a few moments. I didn’t want to stare, but

occasional glances showed her struggling for words to say. Finally,

she must have found them.

“When did you recognize me?” she asked.

“About the time I got close enough to get a good look.” I watched her

face to catch her expressions, and because it was a very pleasant face

to watch.

“Most people, at least outside the studio,” she continued, choosing

her words carefully, “when they recognize me, fall all over themselves

trying to please me or get an autograph. Why didn’t you?”

I met her gaze steadily and shrugged before replying, “I’m not most

people.”

She waved a hand in frustration and a frown clouded her features,

“That’s obvious! But specifically, why?”

I thought a bit, choosing my own words, before replying, “I never

understood all that brouhaha over celebrities.  I’d venture to say

that I’m at least as good at what I do as you are at what you do. The

difference is, you do it in front of millions of people, so a lot of

folks recognize your face. Why make a fuss over it? Have you saved the

world? Have you invented a cure for cancer? Have you built a rocket to

help us escape from this mudball when the politicians finally screw it

up so bad we can’t live on it?”

I paused for a bit, then continued, “No, ma’am. If I was to make a

fuss over you, it’d be because you’re such a pretty little thing and

I’d want to date you. I reckon, though, that whatever agents and

business managers you have lookin’ after you are gonna be lookin’ to

whisk you away from here pretty quick, so why bother?”