I hate this drive, the long stretches of straight road. I have been here a dozen times - the road from my family in Adelaide to my life in Sydney. Two days of highway and a night lying awake in a musty caravan with a set of double lines running endlessly behind my eyelids. It is hot. Despite my short cotton skirt and singlet, I feel uncomfortable, my thighs sticking to the leather. I switch Cd's and start to sing. The rhythm propels me forward through the miles. Soon I must stop for the night.
There's an object up ahead. Not moving. There is usually nothing on this section of road, except perhaps the occasional cockatoo, feeding of grass seeds at it's bitumen edges. The object is closer now. I can see its outline. It's a man. A man with a head of dark curly hair and eyes so brown I can tell their colour as I pass by. Did he have his thumb out? I think he did. He's a hitchhiker. I hit the breaks.
I can see him running now, the straps of his backpack swinging out across his shoulders. I wonder what he's doing out here, if he is dangerous. He smiles at me and I shiver, his teeth shine between his full lips in the afternoon sun. He has smooth dark skin, a build that suggests fitness and an outdoor life. He opens the rear door and throws his pack onto the back seat. Before I know it he's sitting beside me, his shorts wrinkled around his groin, the hairs on his thigh tickling my forearm.
I release the handbrake and move my hand back to the steering wheel. He smells faintly of soap and although I am concentrating on the road, I can tell that he's watching me. My nipples are hardening beneath the damp material of my singlet.
It is night now and he has agreed, in his exotic accent (Italian I think) to rest till morning. We take a detour on a dirt road and he has pitched a tent on the river bank. We are sitting by a fire on a blanket, and he smiles provocatively at me over his dinner.
"I have some wine," he says. "Want to share?"
I nod. He looks gorgeous, the firelight playing on his handsome face. His torso left bare after a wash in the river. I can see a slight smattering of hair on his chest and a line that runs down beneath the waistband of his jeans. I have an urge to trace the line with my fingers, to slip them down across his flat belly and inside his pants.
As if he can tell what I'm thinking, his lifts the corner of his mouth in a sexy smile and turns away, his back muscles moving beneath his dark skin as he searches in his pack for the bottle.
He snuggles close now, pours some wine into a paper cup and hands it to me, gazing into my eyes, running his fingers though my long hair. He makes me feel sexy and alive. I should be tired from the drive but after a wash, a change of clothes and time alone with his erotic stranger, I am energised.
I take a sip. He watches my lips, and before I have swallowed, he's tracing them with his tongue. Sensing that I like this, he moves this mouth down, licking at my neck, my collarbone. He's sucking at my hardened nipple, biting it through my cotton t-shirt.
"Do you feel good?" he asks me.
"Mmmm" is all I can say as I spread my hands against the warmth of his chest.
His hand is under my skirt now. He traces patterns across my inner thighs with his fingers. I move my hands up to his strong jaw, then further, through his dark curls. His lips are soft and slightly moist against mine. I slip my tongue between his them and run it across his teeth. He shifts his hips. His cock is hard, so hard that it hurts as he pushes it into my leg. I undo his fly, releasing him to the cool air, moving my thumb across his smooth length and squeezing. He is breathing heavily, running his teeth across my lips.
I gasp as his fingers reach the heat between my thighs and move the material aside to slip gently into my wetness. He groans then and I feel his fingers sliding upwards, thrusting inside me.
He stops, smiling shyly at me as he slips my t-shirt over my head and unbuttons my skirt. I am naked except for a tiny g-string. He looks at my breasts, taking one in his hand and the other in his mouth. I can feel his tongue circling my nipple.
My vagina is hot, aching and so very wet. I can't wait for him to touch it. I grab the hand that is kneading my breast and move it, very slowly down my stomach and under the elastic of my thong. I make deep noises from the back of my throat. He rubs all four fingers between my labia, then moves his index finger, now slippery with my desire, to my clitoris.
His slow circling movements cause an intense tingling in my stomach. I'm moaning with pleasure. In a split second he has removed my thong and replaced his fingers with his lips. His tongue darts inside me before tracing a path back up to my clitoris.
While licking, then sucking me hard, he pushes a thumb inside rubbing till it hits a point - a point of unbearable pleasure that merges in sensation with the part of me he is sucking. I throw my head back and let out a throaty cry as he catapults me into a shuttering orgasm.
Before I have recovered, he has put on a condom and is entering my swollen flesh with a gentleness I had not expected. His head is buried in my neck, nuzzling. I can feel his delicious warmth pressing at my breasts, his cock moving in a sensuous rhythm, threatening to send me over once more.
"Can we do this again tomorrow?" he whispers.