Chapter 2 I jolted

I jolted when I realized he had caught me ogling his hands. I almost apologized, but he cut off my words with "Where you heading to?" It was only the second thing he'd said to me, as he started up the engine again. There was an authority in his voice that I feared would make my own voice quiver even more.

"Oh, just in town. Anywhere in town would be fine," I answered, getting a little nervous and intimidated by how certain and unwavering he sounded. Over the rain it was impossible to make out the lyrics to the song coming through the radio. It was something slow, and the male singer had a deep rumble to his voice that had a way of lulling you to sleep.

"All right," he said as his truck slowly ambled off the shoulder and back onto the highway, picking up speed down this lonely forested freeway, sloshing through the slippery and winding roads. I imagined that it had to at least be from the mid-'90s. There was an original cassette player in the middle of the dash. With that, the deep red pleather seats, and the unshakable smell of smoking tobacco, it reminded me perfectly of my grandfather's old pickup. Back then, these trucks were the fabric of society. You drove your produce into town, hauled wood around your farm, or packed in your family for the trip to Sunday morning church. It seemed like he tried to take care of it: he probably took the same kind of care with all of his belongings, but age was getting the better of this truck. Cracks were showing in the dash. The pleather was frayed around the edges of the seat, most noticeably where your legs scrape against it to get in and out. Maybe this guy got the truck from his dad, or his grand dad. It didn't seem like he was old enough to be the original owner. This truck looked like it belonged to an age nearly forgotten.

"What about you, um, where are you going?" I asked, wiping my face from the rain.

He took a deep breath, "Home." Maybe he was just weary, or maybe he didn't like answering small talk, I couldn't tell.

"Oh, okay," I said, trying to be perky. "What were you doing all the way out here?" We had to be at least 20 miles away from the city, but maybe there was a town along this road I didn't know about. I knew this forest covered a lot of ground.

"Hunting," he said flatly. There was a heaviness in his words. I tried to remember: was it deer season already? Or maybe this man hunted something else. I almost wished I had paid more attention to my father's teachings on different game and when the best time was to snare each one.

So instead I had to meekly ask, "Oh ... get anything good?"

He looked at me and I swear just a hint of that wicked smile returned, as his eyes ran from my crotch to my face. "Maybe." I couldn't control the tremor through my body. I think he enjoyed the way he made me quiver.

Something in the way he looked at me turned me on. Something that made me feel like he wanted to possess me, to do to me as he wished with me, and I could tell he wouldn't take "no" for an answer. It was a look that intimidated me to my core, but at the same time thrilled me just as much. I thought it best not to ask him any more questions for fear of tempting his temper. From the very beginning I seemed to know where my place was, and his energy made me feel I had better follow it, or there would be consequences. Consequences for which I wasn't sure I would be prepared.

We drove for a long time in this electric silence. I couldn't even feel my usual fear of the forest. Even if there were thousands of unseen eyes falling over me, I was captivated in the presence of this man. This man, silent and steely as stone, had my rapt attention, like cult leaders have devout followers who are willing to obey their every command, no matter what they order them to do. My body ached to be told what to do.

This road wound through the Hallowed Forest. At some points, the moonlight was completely obscured by trees that had wilted over the highway, creating a dense, leafy barrier that trapped its travelers away from the rest of the world. At other times, the forest receded quite a bit away from the road side and it gave us beautiful views of meadows and small forest creatures. To my right I saw an entire family of deer, flocking together from somewhere behind us, fleeting beside the truck for only a moment before their path took them away from the highway. I loved the way their nimble legs could carry them so quickly, and I wondered if this man admired that about them, or if he just saw them as prey to be hunted and slain.

Then I saw another family of deer out of the corner of my left eye. The sudden increase in wildlife must have meant that we were close to a large source of water. Maybe a mile ahead, I could start to make out lights that were coming from a city. We drove a little further, up the steepest hill that we had come to yet, and as we crested the top of it, we could see the lights of the city like a million diamonds. The city was gorgeous, no doubt about it, framed by the vast coastline of the Willamette River. It'd been a long time since I was in Portland, Oregon: not since I was little. That was back when life was very tough for me and my family, and Portland represented hope for us. Little did I know how much more terror and difficulty it would bring upon us.

I let those memories wash past me, and I caught myself looking at the driver out of the corner of my eye. He had to be at least 6 feet, with the way his head nearly touched the ceiling of the cab and his right leg had to bend out, dangerously close to me, so that he could fit it under the steering column. His thighs were thick and very earthly, covered in faded denim with real tears in it; not the kind you buy for fashion, but the kind of tears that are accumulated over years of real labor. His shoulders had a strong build, and his face projected that he was probably in his mid-30s; although the salt and pepper hair indicated he'd been through a lot in his life. He definitely was a good looking man. His chiseled cheeks and jawline wrapped in his beard made him even more appealing in a grizzly way. He had hairy forearms, with his ripped plaid shirt and sleeves rolled up to his bulging biceps. His shirt was unbuttoned a quarter of a way down, and I could see his buzzed and hairy chest: a massive mouth-watering chest: the type you want to mount on top of or suck to please your man in any way that will drive him wild. It looked like he took good care of his appearance. For some reason, it made me think of the way some predators will make themselves irresistibly attractive to their prey, so that the prey has no choice but to be lured to their fate.

He had a brooding presence, the kind that had always turned me on, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off at any second and you don't know what would trigger it. One slip, and you'd be punished for something you hadn't even thought would make him angry. It was both enthralling, riveting and dangerous -- just my type.

I couldn't help but look at his thick muscular thighs and the huge bulge in between them. At first I thought it was just the fit of the pants, but then he moved, adjusting himself, and I could tell that he wasn't even hard. His package was massive and thick: it spanned from the top of his zipper to well in between his legs. The way it would flinch seemed almost animalistic, like it wanted to pounce on something but was biding its time.

We had just crossed over the bridge and were only two stop lights away from the first major intersection when I said, "I really appreciate the ride into town." I partly wanted to really thank him for being so kind to me and partly needed to get my mind off of the goods I was just seeing, honestly hoping he hadn't noticed my glances. "I don't know what I would have done without you." It was true: it would have probably taken me all night to make just half of that walk. I was desperate for someone to show some mercy. If no one had picked me up, I don't know how I would have slept.

"It was my pleasure," he said, shifting his weight around so that he was angled toward me. "Where you want me to take you?" Glancing at him sideways, because I was afraid to get caught under his direct stare, I could see a slash through his right eyebrow, dark, with a thin brim of blood, the same as the one on his pinkie.

"Oh, any old place is fine. I can find my way from here," I said, though not exactly sure where my place would be or how I planned on paying for it. Max had driven off with everything I owned. It wasn't much: a backpack of clothes and a few dollars. If this guy would drop me off at a club, I might be able to find a decent place to sleep.

"You got a place to stay for tonight?" he asked me, with a mix of challenge and genuine concern.

"Oh, no, but I can..."

"Yeah, you do, I can take care of that," he said, swinging a U-turn at the first stop light, too far away from the city for any people to see, and he drove us back towards the bridge and the river.