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tagExhibitionist & VoyeurRyan, the Wench, and the Road Home

Ryan, the Wench, and the Road Home

byVaguewriter©

Ryan stood on his pedals, pumped up the hill taking in great gulps of air. He planned to stop at the top and let the breeze evaporate the sweat off of him, but the siren song of a half mile coast to the bottom lured him. The cool breeze pulled sweat from his skin and clothing as he gathered speed on the long downhill. He applied the rear break when the speed threatened to creep above twenty miles per hour. He didn't need a tumble off his bike onto his pieced together hip.

At the bottom of the hill, he rattled across a rickety bridge and lost momentum to the next hill rising before him. This was the west side of Michigan; he humped up and then sped down one rolling hill after another. Breezes off Lake Michigan cooled his sun warmed skin, and trees cast cool shadows across the bike path as it wound through woods and dunes.

His legs pumped strong as he drew deep breaths into his lungs. Sometimes the trail and the exertion made him forget the last few years. Not so far today, but he had a long way to go.

He passed a few day trippers, and even an entire families out for exercise, but there was never the crush of bikers that he encountered on Cape Cod or through Hocking Hills in Ohio on warm summer weekends.

At the crest of a long downhill, he rushed headlong into the valley where he encountered a woman with a flat front tire pushing her bike up the hill alongside the path. His first thought was to coast past her, making her a memory by the time he crested the next hill crest, but that wasn't what you did when a fellow biker needed help. You stopped.

"Do you need that tire repaired?" he asked the woman as he hopped off the bike and walked it back to her.

Her amazing figure would have stopped traffic on a freeway. High firm breasts tapered to a narrow waist and lush hips. A thick braid of chestnut hair trailed down her back. When she took off her sunglasses she revealed a narrow face with eyes set close together. It was the kind of face that looked attractive when she smiled, and a little cruel when she didn't. In all, she looked about as attractive as a woman could wearing a bicycle helmet and sweaty cycling gear.

Relief then suspicion crossed her face.

Ryan handed his phone and his driver's license to her. "Use my phone to call a girlfriend. Give her my name, and my driver license number. Tell her to write it down. That way if you disappear, the police will have my name, and my phone will have your call on it."

"What if this is a fake ID?" the woman asked.

Ryan grinned at her. "Would a rapist wear this lovely helmet, or wear a padded singlet or smell like a grungy cyclist in need of a shower after three days on the trail?"

The woman relaxed and waved her hand in front of her face. "You look and smell like a cyclist."

She made her call then handed the phone and his license back to him.

"I picked up a tack some genius left on the trail."

Ryan flipped the bike over on its handlebars and inspected the tire. "There it is."

He walked to his bike and unsnapped a tire repair kit that hung from the back of his bicycle seat.

"You wouldn't happen to have something to drink, would you?" she licked her lips.

Ryan handed her his water bottle which she drained. "You know my name, what's yours?"

"Bree, Bree Bonner."

"How did you get this far out into the boonies without a tire repair kit or a water bottle, Bree?"

"Sometimes things don't go the way you want them to," she shrugged, her lower lip coming out into a momentary pout.

Ryan didn't push for details instead he pulled the inner tube from the tire, and pumped it up until he located the leak. Within ten minutes, he had her tire repaired and her bike stood ready for the road.

"All set," he snapped his repair kit back into place on the seat and climbed onto his bike.

"Could I ride along with you for a while? I want to make sure the patch holds."

Ryan nodded. "Sure."

He understood. The woman didn't trust him, but facing the trail alone was worse.

Within minutes, her new mobility put her at ease. An easy smile graced her face.

"What's the next town?" she asked squinting at the rolling green forest ahead from a hill crest.

"We'll make Whitehall by lunch. There's a nice restaurant on the bay where we can relax and have an air conditioned lunch."

"Is there a motel?"

Ryan shrugged. "There has to be, but I don't know for sure, I usually roll through. Are you thinking of jumping off the trail there?"

She nodded. "My boyfriend and I had an argument last night. When I woke up this morning, the bastard had packed up everything and rode off. I had the clothes on my back and my sleeping bag. He probably headed south to his car outside of South Haven. My car is parked up in Wilderness State Park at the tip of the mitt. I was trying to figure out how to get to my car when I got the flat." After a pause, she added. "Do you know if Whitehall has a bus station?"

Ryan shook his head. "You might have to bike to Muskegon for something like that. Whitehall is pretty small. Wilderness State Park is only three days away by bike. I'm headed up to the straits and then down the Lake Huron side. I'll ride right past it."

He didn't know why he said it. He'd be at Lisa's camp by the end of day tomorrow, but he did like the company, and she was pleasant to look at. She would have to ask to ride along though, he would not push it.

Bree rode in silence for a long while. When the shadows had retreated under the onslaught of the sun at its zenith, they rolled into the lovely town of Whitehall at the time when they needed a break, and straight to the restaurant Ryan had mentioned. After chaining their bikes to a lamp post, they stepped into the air conditioned luxury of the restaurant.

The waitress sized them up. "You both want a pitcher of cola," she pointed at Ryan, "you look like a pepperoni pizza guy, but you'll settle for a Reuben when," she pointed at Bree, "you tell him you don't like pepperoni."

"A small chef salad sounds good to me," Bree smiled folding up her menu.

"Then why don't you bring me a perch sandwich," Ryan told the waitress.

When she had gone, Bree smiled at Ryan. "I'd like to ride with you, but I'm going to need a few things before we leave town. Can we stop at clothing store and a drugstore?"

"No problem," Ryan smiled at her. "Was it my witty conversation that swayed you?"

She grinned at him. "That plus me trying to figure out how I would get my bike on the bus. I can also tell that you're a nice guy."

Ryan thought for a minute. "I've got pretty much everything we'll need. I have plenty of coffee, a camp stove, a tent if it rains, a sleeping bag and a blanket. You shouldn't have to buy a sleeping bag. It won't get that cold over the next couple of days. I've got enough freeze dried food for both of us, but I wouldn't complain if you picked up a few fruits and vegetables along the way. Freeze dried food tastes like freeze dried food. You know, that 'should rice have an aftertaste like plastic' taste."

"What kind of fruit do you like?"

"Apples, cherries, watermelon, the usual stuff."

"You got it. I've still got my credit card."

"I've got hotel reservations for this evening in Manistee. It's a good place to grab a shower and to feel human for a few hours. I wash clothes, there's a laundromat next door. You're welcome to share the room with me, or rent your own, or even sleep outside in my tent."

She whistled. "You've got this all planned out, don't you?"

"This is my favorite ride." He leaned back and took a sip of the cola the waitress had brought. "Anyway, relax. I can deliver you to your car in good shape."

"I'll pay you for your trouble."

"No way. I'd be delighted to have you along. Riding alone gets dull after three days."

"Why aren't you riding with somebody?"

Ryan sat back. "Are you familiar with Venn diagrams?" He sprinkled salt on the faux wood grain table and drew a circle in it. "These are my friends." He drew a second circle that did not touch the first. "And these are people who tour on bikes for vacation."

"They don't touch."

Ryan nodded. "That's my problem. My friends look upon my desire to bike as an abberation that requires counseling to cure."

"You need to find new friends."

Ryan looked down, he had trouble talking about it. "I'm an introvert and a geek. I find parties and concerts exhausting. I'd rather stay home and read. Making new friends comes hard for me."

"You're doing all right with me."

"I know, and I wonder why that is. You're beautiful, that alone should be enough to stun me into silence. Maybe you being a maiden in distress made you approachable."

She smiled at him. "I'm not that beautiful. I'm a seven or an eight at best with a personality that drives men away."

"I've seen none of that."

"That's because you and I aren't in a relationship. Most men need a woman they can dominate. I want no part of that kind of relationship. We will be equals or we will be nothing at all. My boyfriend and I had a huge fight yesterday because his company has transferred him to Indianapolis and he expects me to drop everything and follow him," she sipped her cola. "I'm a realtor with a very good reputation who's also taking classes to become a broker. There's no way on God's green Earth that I'm going to drop everything and pad after him to a strange city to start over again."

The waitress brought out their lunch.

"Anyway, had he said that he was being transferred, and what can we do? I would have been more receptive." She unfolded the napkin and placed it on her lap. "Had he asked me to marry him, I would have tried to make it work. Instead he ordered me to drop everything and follow him." She looked off into the distance. "Although, I've got to tell you that he likes to party a whole lot more than he likes to make money. That worries me."

She took a fork full of salad and chewed it while thinking. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a ghost writer by trade and an inventor by avocation, and yes my life is every bit as glamorous as it sounds." He bit into his excellent perch sandwich. The perch had been swimming around Lake Michigan yesterday.

"Is there good money in ghost writing?"

"I make a comfortable living."

She took a thoughtful bite of salad.

"A winter vacation in the tropics every winter kind of comfortable, or I have enough money to cover the rent this month kind of comfortable?"

He thought about it. He could take that winter vacation if he wanted, but what would she ask for next? His personal balance sheet? His credit score?

"That's a little more personal information than I like to talk about with people I don't know real well."

She sat back and held up her hands.

"I am so sorry. It's a habit realtors get into. When someone wanders into the office, you have to determine if they're worth your time or if they're looky-lou's."

The questions and the apology struck Ryan as a little too practiced.

"Who do you write for?" Bree asked regrouping.

"Last week, I finished up a book for a prominent Texan whose name you would recognize. He's running for president in the next election, and hired me to make him sound literate and human. He is neither by the way."

She nodded. "I bet you have stories."

"Yes and no. I'm under impossible deadlines when I'm working with a client. My clients are happy with what I write, but their campaign managers never are. I can get four and five contradictory calls in the same day, and the candidate, the guy who has the final say is never available."

Bree nodded. "That sounds like endless fun." She patted his hand. "What do you and your girlfriend do to have a good time?"

"That's a clever way to find out if I'm seeing anyone," he chuckled, "but no, I'm not seeing anyone."

"Why?"

"It's a two pronged problem. First of all, I don't know how to meet them, and when I do they soon discover what a boring soul I am. Spending my days alone hunched over a PC gives me zero practice in charming women."

"You could join a book club."

He nodded. "I've tried. Book clubs are mostly women and my tastes in a good read are very different than what women want to read. If you do find a book club comprised of nulliparous females who like to read sci-fi and fantasy let me know."

Bree gave out a low belly laugh that Ryan found sexy. "I see your problem now. You're using words like 'nulliparous' to sweet talk women," she pointed at him, "I bet you play video games with your buddies on the weekend."

"Guilty."

"Aren't there gamer girls?"

"I suppose, but not in my group."

A pleasant silence fell between them. The more he talked to her, the prettier she got. And that was the pity of it being the 'all yack and no sack' kind of guy he was. Even if he clicked with a woman on a cosmic level, their relationship was doomed. The best he could hope for was the despised 'friend zone'.

"What are we going to do with the left over food?" she asked looking at her salad which she had picked clean of the good stuff.

"Leave it. I wouldn't be comfortable eating my sandwich or your salad after it had baked in my little bike trailer all afternoon and besides, the fish would make everything smell."

Bree insisted on paying for the meal, and Ryan gave no argument.

They stopped at a drug store where she replaced toiletries, picked up a water bottle, and an over-sized t-shirt so she would have something to sleep in.

A half hour later they were pedaling north on a tree lined side road.

"How long to the motel?" Bree asked.

"We should get there by dinner time."

"Are there any other places I could stay if the motel is booked?"

Ryan shrugged. "There probably are. We can ask at the front desk."

His answer relaxed Bree somehow. Perhaps it showed he wasn't trying to lure her into bed.

Having someone to talk to made the time fly. Having a beautiful companion riding at his side made the afternoon a delight. They stopped at scenic overlooks along the way. It lengthened their ride, but the world was a sweeter place when shared.

Late afternoon tree shadows covered the road as they turned into the motel.

The Dunes motel had not changed since the last time Ryan had stayed there. The main office and lobby were clad in fake pine timbers on the outside and real knotty pine paneling on the inside. The pest strip full of dead flies hanging in the window gave the place a Bate's Motel touch. It occupied the niche between shabby and rustic. For some reason, he preferred this ambiance to the sleek, soulless styling of the hotel chains. The pest strip full of dead flies could go though.

There were no other rooms available, and most everything would be booked in town because of the festival according to the manager.

"Looks like I'm bunking in with you," Bree shook her head. "I've known you what? Eight hours?"

"I'm a Boy Scout, don't worry," Ryan told her omitting that he couldn't be anything else.

They pushed their bikes across the gravel parking lot surrounded by individual units made to look like little log cabins.

"I'm out of luck if I want to soak in a hot tub tonight."

Bree winced as she pushed her bike toward cabin nine.

"There'll be plenty of hot water for a long shower," Ryan added trying to be helpful.

Ryan pushed the cabin door open revealing a dark room paneled in knotty pine with hunting and fishing pictures decorating the walls. Stale air and a touch of mildew greeted his nostrils. The air conditioner had not been on for several days. He sighed, at least the room didn't smell of urine.

Bree stepped in and surveyed the room. "That king bed looks more like a double. We're going to get to know each other real good tonight."

Ryan managed to get both of their bikes and his trailer into the room leaving little space.

"Mind if I take the first shower?" Bree pulled at her jersey. "I can't wait to get out of these stinky clothes."

"After you take them off, toss them out to me. I'll take them over to the laundromat."

She opened the bathroom door a few minutes later and pitched out a sweaty jersey, bibs, sport's bra and panties. After Ryan changed into cargo shorts and a t-shirt he shoved her clothes into a plastic bag along with his gear, and hiked over to the laundromat. Once the clothes were churning in a machine, he shuffled back to the cabin.

"I'm back," he yelled before he stepped inside to give her a chance to retreat into the bathroom if she was naked.

"I have a small problem," Bree yelled from the bathroom. She stepped out hunched over with her hands forcing the newly purchased t-shirt fabric down to mid thigh. "Watch what happens."

She released the hem of the shirt and it popped up exposing a hairless pussy and a nicely shaped firm looking ass. Ryan tried not to stare, but wow!

"This cheap ass shirt is wide enough to be a men's extra large, but it's nowhere long enough. If I could, I would sue for lack of coverage." She pulled the shirt down again. "Do you have anything I can wear that would be less revealing?"

"Well, this shirt I'm wearing might be."

"Take it off, let's see," Bree peeled off her too short garment.

Ryan pulled his shirt off very much aware that a naked woman with an outstanding body was waiting for his shirt. She pulled his t-shirt on and turned to look in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

"This isn't much better than mine," she sighed. "If I inhale too deeply I give you a beaver shot."

She pulled off his t-shirt and handed it to him. "Now what do I do?"

"You could pull on your shit and wrap a towel around your waist until I get your bra and panties back to you."

She nodded. "I guess that's all that I can do."

She was slow about getting a towel. Ryan didn't mind, but he was curious.

"Is something wrong?"

Bree shook her head. "No, you've seen me nude. There isn't any reason for modesty. It's a warm evening and the air conditioner is chugging on its last legs. Why don't I stay like this? It's better than flashing you all evening every time my towel loosens." She gave a little curtsy proving she was more than comfortable with her nudity.

"I'm okay with it if you are," Ryan tried hard not to stare. Her breasts were high and he guessed enhanced. They had that 'too big and high and firm for her slender body' look. He had wondered what fake boobs felt like, he looked forward to the evening and bed time. Below her breasts a flat tummy and nipped in waist flared into perfect hips. Her ass looked firm enough to crack an egg on. Tan lines said she wore a skimpy bikini when she laid out in the sun. He couldn't think of a single reason to object to her lolling about the room naked.

Ryan looked at his watch. "Got to get the clothes out of the washer."

He left the room and walked across the parking lot to the laundromat and transferred the wet clothes into the dryer. Before he returned to the room, he walked to the beer and wine store across the road to pick up a six pack and some munchies. Thus fortified, he returned to the room.

Bree was sprawled face down on the bed with her head propped on her arms watching television. Her perky butt demanded attention. He wanted to spend an hour or two covering those perfect mounds with little kisses and bites.

Ryan held up the bag. "Let's rehydrate and get a little salt back into our systems. Want a bottle?"

She smiled and sat up. Ryan watched the muscles in her legs and tummy tense and relax as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her languorous stretch with arms back behind her head would have given him a stiffy if he could.

He twisted the top off two bottles and settled on the bed handing her one.

"Thank you." she took a long swig. "How are our clothes coming?"

"They should be dry in," he consulted his watch, "twenty-two minutes."

"Thought about dinner?"

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