Willowy Winifred (she/her/hot) — Willow to her many friends, because of her extreme litheness and suppleness — had a problem. She had a nasty old puncture, and no tools to repair it. She’d been on her way to her new job as a hand model when her previously trustworthy Harvey Wallbanger (her jokey name for the Il Pompino, a gift from an ex who had been a bartender) let her down. Now she’d be late for orientation! Just her luck it had happened in an unfamiliar part of town. And it was starting to rain. What on earth was a girl to do?
‘Hard’ Hank (he/him/horny) was just finishing the late shift at the gym. There was no official late shift, but a valued client, a divorcee in dire need, so she claimed, of firming up as she prepared to re-enter the dating scene, had paid him for his expertise. This he had been happy to provide all. Night. Long.
As Hank locked up and prepared to mount his sturdy utility bike for the wet ride home, he noticed a woman pushing her bike past the gym. She was tall and, well, willowy. Her dirty blonde hair was just starting to plaster itself against her rosy cheeks.
He ambled over and noticed the flat tyre. She gazed at him, hunger in her eyes (she had missed breakfast in her rush out the door this morning), clearly a damsel in distress. Thanks to the light but persistent drizzle, he also observed that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked in all decorum, feeling that a bit of retro in the morning would put her at her ease. Having read his share of choose your own adventure books as a lad, he was primed for action. Any action.
“Yes you can!” she blurted out, abandoning her usual flirty innocence and not a little embarrassed by her urgent desire for assistance from a total stranger. It was obvious what must happen next.
He mended her puncture, she thanked him sincerely, and they both continued on their way.
This has been another Ride to remember
