Fred

As usual, Fred needed sex after a hard week, lots of it, and preferably with a random girl. For years, he'd been obsessed with picking up unsuspecting women who'd left work with the intention of shopping and then returning home politely, only to do something nice for their beloved husband. It didn't matter to him whether it was a fancy secretary from some buffoon's office or a humble teacher from a failing school.

What mattered was one thing, and it united all these women: they wanted good sex with a stranger, they wanted to be abused and fucked like never before, just as they often dreamed of falling asleep next to their husbands, fondling their nipples before falling asleep.

Fred drove through the streets of his city, gazing at the faces of the women he passed. Some sensed his gaze and looked around in surprise, but only a few of them correctly found the source of that heated gaze on the first try.

One of them was Meg.

Fred was drawn to her from the first glance; she was just right for him; he felt she might be exactly what he needed today. She had an interesting gaze, one that revealed just what he was looking for—dreams, dreams of a good fuck. She could either have a fantastic lover at home or a completely ignorant one, regardless of who she had. He saw in her gaze that she needed something more. Without further ado, he decided to pursue her.

He didn't have to wait long for his opportunity; she stopped at an empty bus stop.

Without a second thought, he turned around and drove to the bus stop.

"Hi, I'm going to Quins. Maybe you could show me the way," he said innocently.

He could see she was a little uneasy; she even started looking around, most likely for help. Fred ignored her and stared at her with his tried-and-true gaze.

"Hi," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. Fred began to wonder if it was excitement or nervousness. "I'm sorry, I don't know the way to Quins. I'm going to 42nd Street."

"Great," Fred replied, mentally rubbing his hands together, "I have to go to the ATM on 42nd Street, I can give you a ride..."

That subtly suspended voice, and the fact that it was already dark and incredibly cold, seemed to influence Meg's decision. She was tired of shopping, of heavy shopping bags, and the guy in the Ford looked nice, and there was something else in his voice, something she really liked...

"Okay, if it's not too much trouble, I'll go with you," Meg almost stammered. Later, sitting in the car, she wondered if it was the cold or something else, something she hadn't felt in a long time...

"Hop in then, no problem, I'll give you a ride," Fred said.

They sped through five blocks rather quickly, but neither of them said a word. Fred waited for the right moment; the old man knew exactly what to say and when, but Meg was too self-conscious. There was something about this guy that really attracted her, and that something in his voice, a promise...? What...?

Passing another set of lights, they entered a rather old and dark neighborhood. Fred knew it like the back of his hand. He wandered around for a moment, heading for a familiar spot. He knew that no one would interrupt them where they were going. Meg sensed something was wrong, but she knew she'd like it, so she didn't protest. At one point, Fred blurted out,

"I want to fuck you, honey."

Meg stiffened, pressed herself as far back into her seat as she could, and began repeating Fred's words in her head. She had to make sure what she heard wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

"What?" she groaned, then quickly corrected herself. "Excuse me?"

"I want to fuck you, honey," Fred repeated, "and I want to fuck you big time. What's more, I have a feeling you want more than just a ride. Am I right, honey?

" "Take me to 42nd Street," Meg said without conviction, "and right now," she added with even less conviction, her voice hanging on the last syllable.

"Stop, I have a feeling you want it, what's your name?" Fred asked casually.

"Meg... and you?" Meg said uncertainly.

"I'm Fred, you have a fantastic name, Meg, I like it, just like your eyes.

" "Stop, I think I should go home, my husband is waiting for me.

" "You have a husband, great, I'll take you home right after we're done.

" "No," Meg said abruptly, "take me home.

" "No way, honey," he said calmly. "I know you want more than just making dinner for your husband, so stop talking and just kiss me."

Meg often dreamed of a similar situation, so now that it happened, she couldn't quite believe it. For a moment, she thought it was a dream and she'd soon wake up wet and aroused. But no, she felt a gust of warm air from the blower, the faint smell of cigarettes and old air freshener, and something else, something arousing. It couldn't be a dream; too many details, too real. For a moment, she wondered what to do—scream, open the Ford door, and jump out. Suddenly, it all passed, she said nothing. She waited until Fred stood where he often stood, where she'd heard his cries of pleasure more than once.