Stranded 2 - Free Porn

She stared open-mouthed at me for a long moment, then a smile burst

across her face, “What a refreshing perspective! I’m afraid I always

took it for granted that I deserved all the attention people gave me.

In fact, I guess I’ve come to accept it as my right. No wonder I’ve

been such an ass!”

I cracked a smile and replied, “Well that’d make you about the best

looking donkey I’ve seen in my lifetime.”

That got a small laugh, which was more than it deserved, but I was

grateful.

“So, what do you do, Nick Stafford?” she asked, with a twinkle in her

eye, “Besides telling bad jokes, that is!”

I acknowledged her assessment of my comedic talents with a wry grin

and answered, “I develop software and try to keep my little piece of

dirt producing enough to get by.”

“So you’re sort of a ‘gentleman farmer’?”

“Hardly!” I showed her the horned callouses on my hands, “These didn’t

come from the keyboard.  Couldn’t make ends meet if I depended on

others to do everything.”

“But, if you work so hard farming,” she asked, genuinely puzzled,

“when do you have time to write software?”

“Well, first of all,” I replied, “I don’t WRITE that much of it. I

DEVELOP it. The largest part of that is nailing down the requirements

so that I have a pretty good idea what the customer wants and needs,

from his perspective, then designing the system to meet those

requirements.  When I do write, I mostly write building blocks - code

modules that can be assembled with other modules to make a system. I

can build some pretty complex systems from the modules I’ve developed

over the years without writing much new code.”

“Doing things that way, the software development doesn’t take much

time at all.” I continued, “The rest is time management - or rather

managing my activities to fit in the available time.”

“But that must keep you awfully busy!” she actually seemed interested.

“Nothing wrong with that!” I laughed, “But you’d be surprised. I still

find time to sit in a rockin’ chair and whittle now and then, or go

fishin’ or skinny dippin’ in the creek. Can’t imagine living life any

other way.”

“But don’t you get tired?” she probed, “All that physical labor, then

doing your other work too?”

“When the other work was all I did,” I replied, “I’d go to bed tired,

and not sleep a wink. My mind would keep churning on the problems of

the day. Now, I go to bed, and I’m PHYSICALLY tired, but mentally

rested. I sleep like a baby, and wake up rested and refreshed.”

“You seem to have life all figured out.” she said, with only a little

sarcasm in her voice.

I shrugged, “I like the life I live, but I’m not fool enough to

believe that what’s right for me is right for everyone else.”

She had the grace to flush a little.

“Actually,” she said, “I think I’m a little envious! My whole life

seems to be run by other people!”

“Oh?” I asked, just to be polite.

“when my agent or the studio aren’t rushing me off to some event or

audition or something,” she said, with a hint of bitterness in her

voice, “I’m having to attend some ritual or other for a religion I

don’t believe in, just to keep my family happy! I can’t remember the

last time I did something I wanted to do!”

“When was the last time you said ‘no’ to any of these people you say

are running your life?” I asked, deadpan.

She looked as if I’d slapped her.

“I can’t do that!” she exclaimed.

“Why not?” I asked, calmly.

“Well, because, well, you know, my career… my family…!” she

struggled, having to think about a set of circumstances to which she

had only reacted before.

“Life is a set of choices, Ms. Nagra. If you continue to choose your

career and your family’s wishes over your own, then others will

continue to control your life. If, at some point, you decide you need

to find SOME time for yourself, then you start saying ‘no’ sometimes

to the demands that others make on you. It’s a matter of knowing

what’s most important to you.”

She contemplated on that for a long time. Before she could comment,

the tow truck showed up and we got out to deal with the driver.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Nagra,” the driver said, not really caring, “but I

only haul them back to the shop. The company won’t charge you for the

rental, of course, but the nearest replacement is back at the airport

where you got this one.”

She was about to blow another gasket when I said, “Look, what time is

your flight?”

Temporarily distracted, Parminder searched in her purse for her

itinerary. Fishing the paper out, she said, “It’s at three. Well,

eight past three anyway.”

I consulted my watch and said, “It’s a quarter to three now, and the

airport’s about forty five minutes away, so you’ve missed that flight.

Why don’t you come with me while I dump this load of feed, and you can

use my cell to call whoever you need to and to re-schedule your

flight. Then, after you’ve had a chance to freshen up, I’ll take you

to the airport.”

She looked me over speculatively, then gave me that brilliant smile

that I’d seen only once before.

“All right, Mr. Stafford!” she said, “You’ve got a deal, but you must

let me pay you for your trouble!”

I had started to take her bags to the truck, but stopped dead in my

tracks and dropped the bags.

“You either come as my invited guest, Ms. Nagra,” I said, “or you find

another way to the airport. Either way, I will not take your money,

any more than I’d ask any of my other guests to pay for the

hospitality I offer.”

Parminder’s lovely brown eyes went wide with shock, “I was only trying

to be polite, Mr. Stafford!”

“It’s not polite to treat your host like someone hired to do you a

service.” I said, very seriously, “If you wish to be polite, don’t

insult me.”

She was clearly taken aback by my response, but said, “Of course!

Again, I apologize! It’s just that, well, in the places my career

takes me, everyone has his hand out.”

“I’ll be sure to keep mine in my pockets.” I relented a bit, “Shall we

go?”

I threw the bags in the bed of the truck with the feed sacks.  The

high wooden rails around the flatbed would ensure that nothing came

out on the short trip to my ‘little piece of dirt’.

Parminder was on the phone with the airline for only a short time

before turning to me and saying “There’s no flight ’til tomorrow! Is

there a decent hotel nearby?”

“There’s a motel out on the interstate, but I doubt if it’s what

you’re accustomed to.” I said, “But why bother? I have a number of

empty, furnished rooms, and I’m sure one of them would serve quite

well as a guest room.”

She looked at me speculatively and said nothing.

Guessing at her concern, I said, “All the rooms can be locked from the

inside, if you’re worried about uninvited visitors.”

She smiled at me, looking embarrassed, and asked “Are you a

mind-reader, Mr. Stafford?”

“No,” I said, turning into the long drive between white rail fences,

“I am an observer and I think about what I observe. You were obviously

worried about something. A pretty young lady alone in a strange house

with a man you hardly know - it wasn’t hard to guess that you might

have some concerns about that.”

“I think you are someone it would serve me well to know better, Mr.

Stafford,” she said, pensively, “you intrigue me. I don’t think I’ve

ever met anyone who thinks like you, yet what you say makes sense.”