Segments - 02 - The Services

01 - Meeting Her

02 - The Services

03 - Exeter Hotel

04 - Christmas

05 - New Year

06 - The Old Man

07 - Why He Started

08 - Cambridge

09 - Norwich

10 - The Party

11 - Millau

12 - Heading East

13 - Nice in Nice

14 - Making Progress

15 - Revelations

16 - Doubts

17 - The Connection

18 - Levelling

19 - Space

20 - Finale

With a combination of hitching and walking he finds he can get around OK. Last year he had the bike but after the engine gave out and the insurance lapsed he's taken to walking. He misses the bike terribly. He thought at first it would be so slow but that never seemed to be an issue with all the time in the world. What he misses is the excitement and thrill of riding the bike and having a motorcycle made it so much easier to meet people, they're a friendly bunch the bikers. Any motorcycle shop would point him to the local biker hang out. There he'd have no problem striking up a conversation about a rider's machine. This would lead to reciprocal enquiries and quite often to an invite for a brew and sometimes even a bed for the night.

It was also easier to pick up work, strangely enough. Having the bike meant he could be somewhere at the right time. Most times he'd spend a day clearing out scruffy factory yards or helping lug produce out of the back of a lorry. He'd worked picking vegetables and spent a week painting model soldiers. Any work was welcome. Since he'd stopped using the bike it was harder to find work but he needed less cash, no running costs and fuel to pay for. The £45 in his pocket would last him for several weeks but he knew he really could do with some more work soon.

Autumn doesn't offer much work. No crops and everyone's mind starts to turn to Christmas. He knows in a couple of weeks he'll be able to get work washing up in restaurants during the "Works Do" season and that will help. The downside is that is city work where there's nowhere to camp and the streets at night are both cold and dangerous. After surviving the last winter this year he'd planned to head abroad to warmer climates, maybe that's where he should start heading now. With the rucksack on his back and his thumb out, he heads south.

He misses the tablet too, now it's gone. This was his connection to the modern world and his life before he hit the road. He'd keep up with friends, make new friends and even do a little couch surfing all through social media. Now he feels cut off, removed and more lonely than ever. No chit chat, no talk of the cat being sick and little Mike's gold star at school. He wonders how the hell he is going to save up and replace it. In fact losing the tablet could mean make or break. It's through social media and the internet that he's managed to stay on the road and he is just beginning to gather a small but very useful following. People envy his freedom and live their fantasies vicariously through his blog. These same people will tell him where work may be found, where may be a safe place to camp and once even sent him money, albeit £10.

A week passes. A cold, wet and incredibly lonely week. No bike, no tablet, no internet and not even a shower. He puts it down as "One of those weeks" and repeats his mantra "You wanted adventure, well now you're having it". This helps him through, but it makes it no less boring and cold. It looks like this Saturday night won't be spent in comfort with a beautiful woman, it'll be spent hidden behind an old shed next to a motorway services. At least he might get a shower in the services, and to wash some stinky clothes. He feels very much like a vagrant, not a traveller.

Food in the services is expensive. He has some cold soup out of a tin that day and as he's made a point of hanging around the lorries some kindly Polish trucker has made him a hot cup of very strong tea and given him a cigarette. He heads into the services to sit down and have a warm before seeing if he can worm his way into the showers with some liquid soap from the dispensers in the toilets. This is not the way to live he thinks, it's his choice but this is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ho well, needs must, He's not going back to the other way of life any more. With a hand full of sticky soap he walks to the showers, trying to avoid looking suspicious or more importantly, stupid.

He feels his arm being touched, gently. She's here! He's both pleased and embarrassed. It's delightful to see at least one familiar face but he knows he smells, looks rough, has a hand full of soap and a dirty rucksack. She on the other hand looks like she's dressed for a party with a strapless dress beneath a massive sheepskin coat. He splutters a hello, she smiles that warm homely smile, puts some keys in his hand and simply, quietly states "Go and sort yourself out in my room".

It doesn't take him long to work out she's at the Travelodge attached to the services, it's on the key. She just walks away again so he returns to the sink to dump the soap and starts out for the hotel. In her room he finds a double bed, a suitcase, some make up and the shower. In the shower are clean towels, men's shower gel and another set of clean clothes in his style and size. This is far, far, far too creepy now. He's totally freaked out. That doesn't stop him showering. For a long long time. It feels wonderful, refreshing, warm and cleansing. He can't help but watch through the misted glass though, anytime soon he expects the police to arrive or a murder to have happened or for her to open the shower and stab him. He feels good but in the creepiest kind of manner.

Refreshed and dressed in the next set of new clothes he feels a little safer. There's now a note on the table that wasn't there before, in neat precise handwriting it reads "At a party, back at 0030, use your time well". Use his time well? What does that mean exactly. No matter, he's got around 4 hours in which he collects the tent, washes all he can and starts to dry clothes on the heater and trouser press. He watches a little TV. All the time he is relishing the luxuries there's this nagging voice, questioning, wondering and begging to know what is going on.

Does she travel with a set of clothes for men his size? Men's shower gel too? What are the chances of meeting her again in 10 years let alone 1 week? What is she doing at a party over 120 miles from her home? It makes no sense what so ever. At one point he thinks about packing and going, now. It's just all wrong, it's all a bit too lucky, too perfect, too easy, too much chance, too unnatural. This is the thing of movies and books, not of ordinary dull people like him. As he thinks about leaving he falls asleep on the bed.

She's standing beside him. His dream has him pinned to the wall by thugs so as she gently shakes him he jerks her arm away. She smiles that homely smile and he looks her over. The coat has gone to reveal an expensive and rather stunning strapless party dress with bustier top and many layers of fluffy organza billowing out below her ribcage. On a tall woman her bottom would be exposed but for her it's just long enough to be cheeky but not rude. He feels the stirring in his loins again mixed with the fear she's a psycho stalker time traveller with evil powers. She doesn't kill him or torture him, she offers to make him a brew.

"What the hell is going on?" He asks
"What do you mean?" she replies with what seems like genuine innocence.
"This, you, me, the clothes, the shower gel, timing, everything?"
"Ah, I can't tell you. All I can ask is that you trust me"
"Trust you? I don't even know you and you ask me to trust you. Why...why should I trust you"
"If everything works out, it will be to your advantage. I'm already placing a lot of trust in you, although you don't know it." She places the hot cup in his hand and a finger onto his lips. God she's bossy, But she is attractive and with a face like that how could she be anything dangerous or threatening?

She waves him further onto the bed and sits beside him. Her legs crossed he can see just a hint of panty beneath her dress, soft pink and satin from what he can see, he's trying not to stare. He wants to touch her, to feel her smooth legs and those panties. Unlike "Porn Queen" this woman oozes femininity. She brings to mind the words "cute" and "sweet" not "bang my arse till I scream". There's a difference, he knows that in his fantasies.

She dips her head and looks up at him. "Have I been a naughty girl?" she says, all cute. His mind explodes with fantasy and desire.
"Er....what....?"
"Play along, please, trust me"
"Fer...errr...whe....Er...Yes?"
"Oh, do I need to be punished?"
"Err...gosh...yes?"

With that she stands up, almost skips to a draw and pulls out the pink nightie from a week ago. Playing with it in her hands she walks slowly, all coy and shy, across to the bed and hands it to him, all the while looking both guilty and cute. She then skips into the corner of the room facing the wall. It seems obvious what he's to do but he would hate to be misunderstood and make a fool of himself.

"....er....wh"
"For me, please..." and she looks back into the corner. She's picture perfect. That dress is so cute, she looks like a naughty schoolgirl back from a party. She stands there, shuffling and playing with the hem of her dress. He can't take it, he pulls down his pant's a little and spreads the nightie across his chest and stomach. As he plays she lifts her dress just enough to show her bottom and panties, then hides them again.
"They played with my bottom at the party" she admits "they put fingers and toys in it" and with that lecherous thought placed in his head he knows it's not long now. "My bottom was all filled up". Bang, sweet Jesus, relief in the form of a white fountain. Not all of it makes it to the nightie, some of it hits the pillow and the headboard. He shivers with delight then wonders what happens next.

She turns around from facing the corner and focuses her eyes on his stomach, chest, pillow then headboard. "Oh god..." she says and walks over to the bed. He's still wondering what's next. She climbs onto the bed and kneels beside him, she still looks so cute and now there's a fire and excitement in her eyes. She looks at the white cum starting to soak into the pink nightie and breathes more deeply. She gently clasps his hand and pulls it under her dress, motioning him to rub her pussy. The smooth satin panties feel fabulously expensive, luxurious and he rubs her clitoris through the material. She breathes more deeply, heavily. He feels the moisture of her excitement come through the satin, although he's spent he feels the stiffness return, this causes her breathing to deepen still.

Inside his head he is in an uncomfortable heaven. She is pretty, she is horny, she is exciting, the room is clean and warm and dry, everything is good. But this isn't his life, this isn't the way things have been for him. This is definitely not what he is used to at all. This is like someone has stepped into his mind and picked fantasies out just to fulfil them. It is without doubt most pleasurable but disconcerting and far outside his everyday experience. She cums. She grips his arm tight, pressing his hand into her panties harder, releases a groan, twitches her whole body then sags into relief. Her panties are soaked. He's a horny as hell watching this, he considers another wank but decides he's best just to enjoy this moment for a while. That image of her in the corner, the image of her coming and the wet panties will keep him satisfied for weeks, maybe months.

She takes the nightie, folds it up and puts it back into the drawer. She disappears into the bathroom and leaves him there, still in a state of joyous shock. She returns a few moments later dressed in a long silk night dress and a toothbrush in her hand, demanding that he gets ready for bed too. He goes into the small bathroom, spanks her bottom gently and suggests she ought to be less bossy. She looks around with the toothbrush still in her mouth, winks at him and rubs her bum against his thighs. He smacks her again, a little harder, she just groans sexily.

In bed, together for the first time, she feels warm, smooth, soft and womanly. He's horny again. She dismisses his attentions by briefly rubbing his cock then laughing and curling up. "I know" she says "but there is no rush, none at all, now is the time to sleep"
"But there's just so..."
"Sleep!" she kisses him on the lips this time, gently, then curls up again. It's obvious nothing else is to happen tonight. He's sated but also frustrated and has a million thoughts in his head. The bed is warm, she feels safe and soft and soon he relaxes. "You wanted adventure, well now you're having it", he smiles to himself and drifts off.

He wakes up and for a tiny moment he is confused. A room, silence, warmth, comfort, all things still alien to him. It all comes back and he smiles as he remembers last night. Behind the smile there's still that doubt and confusion about what is happening in his life right now, it's so out of the ordinary. He repeats his mantra and this helps him to just enjoy this moment, this comfort. He knows it will all pass, everything does. He's trying to learn to enjoy the moment before it does pass rather than fear it's passing. Zen has helped a lot but it's not as simple as it might seem.

It's Sunday morning and she's already up, dressed and judging by her wet hair also showered. She's dressed in a very tight pair of jeans, a big broad belt pulling her waist tight and a large, oversized and sloppy white t-shirt. She's lost that naughty girl look from last night, now she's just an attractive homely woman again. There's a slight stirring in his loins then a rumble from his stomach indicates what he'd really like right now, breakfast.

She smiles and drags him by his arm out of bed. He dresses in the clothes he received last night and follows her to the breakfast bar. After feasting on bacon, sausages, eggs and beans he sits there, satisfied on many levels. Surprisingly she's put a fair breakfast away too, she lets out a loud burp then looks embarrassed. He just laughs. He wants to ask so many questions, he wants to make sense of all this but he chooses to keep his mouth closed less he breaks the spell.

Today she seems more relaxed, just a little more at ease with herself. She's sat back in the chair with arms spread open, slouched.
"How's life on the road this week?" She nonchalantly utters
"Fine, getting colder this time of year."
"Yeah, I can imagine. What will you do about that?"
"Last year I made it to the South of the UK, I'd like to go further South but I've lost my passport now"
"Well where is it?"
"I dunno, I never had it when I set out, it may be at my mother's, a friend's, oh I dunno..."
"Hmmm..."

He's expecting the obvious questions, how long has he been on the road, where does he come from, does he have his own place, when did he last see his parents or family. None of them come. Just a vacant pause where the questions should have been. He recalls all the questions just before he set off. Why are you doing this, what will you do for money, what about your career? None of them mattered back then and they don't really matter now.

She sits up in the chair. "Be well Mister Willows, I shall see you soon" and she walks over to him, kisses him genuinely but politely on the lips and walks away. By the time he's got himself together and picked up his jacket she's already out the door. As he catches her up she's already in the smart Audi. She winds the electric window down and smiles.
"Where are you..."
"Don't panic, be well and I'll see you soon. Trust me" she winks and winds the window up as she reverses. As she accelerates away she waves and smiles. He feels cheated and deserted in the nicest possible way. He feels he ought to be resentful but somehow he feels fine with it all. An odd sensation he chuckles to himself.

He panics for a moment until he feels the key to the room in his pocket, the crafty cow. Back in the room everything is as it was apart from a box on the desk. He packs up, perhaps the box is nothing to do with him. All her stuff is gone, there's just his stuff and the box. The box is about the size of a ream of paper, plain brown cardboard and sat there like an elephant in the room. What is it? He picks it up, it's light enough. He shakes it, no clues. He flips it over and to his surprise his name is written in smart handwriting on the underside.

His name. She called him "Mr Willows". His forename "Clement" is also there. He can't recall ever telling her his name. Maybe he did. Maybe it just slipped out in the general conversation. What's her name? He can't recall if she's told him and he's forgotten or is she's never mentioned it. He's spent the night with a woman who's name he doesn't know. He smiles to himself, bad boy.

He opens it. Inside is a smart new tablet computer. It's not a top of the range model but it's a damn site more up-to-date and quicker than the one he lost last week. How the fuck did she know! This is all too much it really is. Oh what should he do, should he leave it, he can't take this can he? He's had a bed for the night, again, a hearty breakfast, again and now the tablet computer. He feels indebted to her. He has no way of paying her back. However life on the road has taught him to be both independent and yet gracious in accepting the help and kindness of others. He slips the smart new tablet and charger into his rucksack.