Road Trip 2

I walked around for ten minutes before I returned to the trailer, because I had to wait for my annoying boner to disappear. I felt a bit of guilt, but more importantly, I felt confused at the sudden reveal, my mind already churning about how to handle her. 

When I thought her as a nerdy ugly duckling, everything was pretty clear. Just to have bare minimum interaction with her, enough to make sure she didn’t leave the trip earlier, using my painting as an excuse as needed. And technically, nothing had to change, as I just needed to scrub the sight of her body —her voluptuous but surprisingly tight body— while maintaining the original idea. 

However, my body seemed to be determined not to let me forget, which was an inconvenience. 

With a sigh, I returned to the RV, with a soft smile on my face. Anna was already sitting on the bed, wearing loose sweatpants and an even looser t-shirt. With her large glasses covering her face completing the ensemble, it was so easy to be convinced that she was just another nerdy unpopular girl that would never enter my selective radar, even when I was just a horny teenager. Even then, I was tall and muscular enough to impress any cheerleader, especially in my impressive painting skills that convinced girls that a sensitive soul lay underneath all that muscles —which was bogus of course, but I never bothered to convince the girls otherwise after the one time I did convince the girl that I was a mess that only she could fix, making her cater my every whim for six whole months, even after I explicitly said that I was going to continue having sex with other girls. 

Apparently, girls loved bad boys with damaged souls —if that soul was housed in a tall, muscular body with a chiseled face. 

Consequently, I didn’t exactly know how to act toward the girl that was sitting on the couch that was converted into a bed, her e-book reader in hand. And like that was not complicated enough, I still needed the rent money from the travel, and acting impulsively might result in the travel being cut short. 

“Any preference for dinner?” I decided to ask when she looked at me with her blue eyes concealed by her thick glasses. I was still struggling to decide how to act toward her, and cooking was a great distraction. 

“Do we have any frozen meals, or are we limited to cans?” she asked. 

“Really?” I asked even as I reached to my small fridge and pulled some peppers, chicken, and spices from the drawers. “You prefer to have canned food rather than fresh chicken?” 

“You can cook?” she asked, her shock palpable. 

“Don’t be that surprised about it,” I said, amused by her reaction. I decided to mess with her a bit. “I might not be as smart as you, but I can still use things other than barbells and painting brushes.” 

The way she jumped up to her feet, waving her arms desperately was too amusing. “No, no, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, you can-” she continued panickedly, words spilling out of her mouth like a torrent until I cut her off.  

“Relax, I was joking,” I said, smiling widely to convey the feeling, though feeling curious just how long she would have floundered if I let her speak. 

“Sorry,” she murmured as she avoided my gaze, blushing furiously. I should have laughed once again, but instead, my mind decided to supply me with an interesting question, whether her blush spread below her neck, toward the interesting areas covered by her loose t-shirt. It was lucky she was avoiding my gaze, because it took a while for me to ignore the sudden magnetic pull of her chest. 

“Hey, don’t feel sorry,” I managed to say after several seconds, but just to be safe, I turned on the stove, then pulled a knife from the rack, and started to dice the peppers, the distinctive crack of the knife over wood filling the room. 

“Wow, you’re really fast,” she gasped as she walked closer. “Aren’t you afraid of cutting yourself?”

I shrugged. “Not really. It’s all about the technique. As long as you know how to hold your knife and how to place your fingers, it’s actually safer than the other way.” She nodded. “Have you ever had an accident in the kitchen?” I asked. 

“No,” she answered, but curiously, she sounded unhappy about it. I sent a gaze at her. “With my classes, homework, and debate club, I don’t spend much time in the kitchen.” 

“That’s a pity,” I answered. “Cooking not only calms you down, but also it’s the only way of having decent food without paying a fortune. It’s an invaluable skill for your college life,” I said. “Not to mention, the less you spend on food, the more you can spend on partying.” 

“Not really a burning need for me,” she answered, then added with a whisper, one no doubt I wasn’t supposed to hear. “Not like anyone would invite me to a party.”

I had to struggle not to laugh. All she needed was to replace her glasses with contacts and change her horrible clothing into something tighter —though getting rid of them altogether would have worked even better. I was tempted to tell her that as well, but I lacked a method. I could have claimed that she was beautiful in her own way, which was the same as calling her ugly, or I could tell that she had a rocking body, which required me to admit that I had seen her half-naked. In the end, I settled for a distraction. “I can teach you how to cook?”

“Really?” she said, excited, though she immediately continued in a more subdued tone. “I don’t want to be a bother. I’m already giving you enough trouble by invading your personal space.” 

“It’s better for me to learn. If you learn how to cook, I can dump my chores to you,” I said, once again making sure to smile wide to convey I was joking. 

She smiled back. It was a gentle, friendly smile that flickered on the edges, like she wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. “In that case, teach me, master,” she said.

“The first skill you need to master is how to hold a knife,” I started immediately, because I didn’t like the way my heart raged at her last word, and needed a distraction. I was about to summarize quickly before showing the most basic hold, but her rapt attention continued steadily as I showed alternative grips and techniques, as well as their advantages and disadvantages. 

Of course, when we moved on the practicals, I realized teaching her that wasn’t the smartest way of distracting myself from her physical attributes. “Not like that,” I said immediately as I realized her little finger of her guiding hand was loose, risking a cut. I grabbed the wrist of her knife-holding hand, preventing a nasty cut. 

With my fingers tight around her wrist, I could feel her pulse, suddenly picking up speed at my touch. “You need to start slow, and be mindful about where you put your hand,” I said even as I guided her hand over the peppers with a smooth move. “Focus on your form first, and speed will come later.” 

Following my command, she started chopping the peppers in a more even manner, but I didn’t pull my hand away for a while, forcing a lingering touch for a long while, more than what was appropriate. She said nothing, but just blushed. 

“Good work,” I said, even as I reluctantly loosened my grip around her wrist, no matter how much I wanted to wrap my arms around her waist, enjoying the smooth body hidden under her baggy clothing. “Continue with the peppers while I prepare the rest,” I said before getting another knife —not my preferred chef’s blade, which was currently occupied— and started dicing the chicken and bathing them under a liberal application of spices. 

The rest of the preparation and cooking passed in relative silence, and she watched my every move with the rapt attention that made her an excellent student. 

“It’s delicious,” she moaned as she took a bite. “I can’t believe I helped to cook something as delicious as this.” 

“It’s all about the balance of the spices,” I answered. “I like that particular mixture of acidic and bitter, especially after they are seared with the liberal application of butter. Not the healthiest material for cooking, but definitely the most delicious,” I explained even as I took another bite, followed by a sip from my apple juice. Normally, I would have preferred to have wine or beer with it, but currently, I didn’t have any, mostly because I was afraid that Anna’s family checking the fridge to see if there was anything inappropriate there before letting Anna come with me, therefore ruining my finances. 

Now, however, I cursed, because I didn’t have anything to dim the image of Anna in my mind, glowing sexily, her tits spilling from her arms. 

“Interesting,” she said. “I didn’t know spices could make such a big difference. My mother doesn’t use anything other than salt and pepper.” 

“What a big waste,” I said sincerely. As an artist, I liked to enjoy life, and it included food. “Don’t worry, I’m going to teach you everything to know about the spices,” I assured, and she giggled. The rest of the dinner passed without anything notable, discounting the determination of my gaze, tracing her body whenever I was distracted, forcing me to remember how she looked without the ugly cover of her t-shirt. 

“Let me do the dishes,” she said just as I was about to stand up with my plate in hand. 

“Are you sure?” I asked, but even as I did so, I left the plate on the small fold-able table that we used for dinner. Unlike cooking, I never liked washing the dishes, and I was more than happy to dump that task to her until her goodwill evaporated. She nodded, and I smiled. “Excellent, then you don’t mind if I go out for a quick walk?” 

“Of course not. This is the least I can do for you,” she said, and after a nod, I left the RV, appreciating the opportunity to calm myself. With the result of my accidental peek still fresh in my mind, I was having trouble staying in the close quarters without hitting on her. 

I walked for twenty minutes, though I made sure to stay close enough to see the RV at all times. There was no guarantee that we were alone here, and I didn’t want to take the risk. But the walk hadn’t exhausted me as much as I hoped, so, I decided to exercise some more. I didn’t have my weights with me, but I didn’t need it either. I walked closer to the RV, looking for a branch strong enough to assist my pull-ups, and once I did so, I removed my shirt and started a short, yet exhausting, set of exercises that alternated between push-ups, squats, pull-ups, and various other body-weight exercises, trying to work up a sweat. 

I was focused on my workout, so only toward the middle of my exercise, I realized Anna was at the window, concealed behind a curtain, watching me. She was concealed well, with only the corner of her glass peeking to give me her location. Somebody was being a naughty girl, I realized with a smirk. 

It was time for some payback. I didn’t want to be the only one distracted by our proximity. 

So, without making anything that would signal she had been caught, I started a new set of exercises, this time, choosing the visual impact over the actual benefit. I flexed my muscles, leaned forward, and made sure that she caught a long glimpse of my abs. It was an act of innocent revenge, after all, and unlike me, she was pretty intent in continuing to observe me. 

However, my amused reflection was distracted by a moan, one that still reached into my ear despite RV’s soundproofing. I was lucky that I was facing the other way at that moment, because I had no chance of hiding my expression of utter shock. Her peeking from a concealed position had been surprising enough, but playing herself as she watched was more than I had given her credit for. 

Amusingly, I could feel myself blush at the thought. Luckily, it was impossible to notice with my exhaustion and sweat, especially the dim light of the sunset, the sky darkening more with each passing second. 

I continued exercising, feeling that it was a pity that she had stopped watching me, but when I turned my back to look, I could still see the corner of her glass. More importantly, her glasses were shaking, presumably with the rest of her body. 

“Cheeky little slut,” I murmured in amusement as I lay for another set of push up, shocked by her daring, continuing to play with herself even after she had lost control and moaned loud enough to be heard from outside —though she likely assumed that I hadn’t heard her moan, or missed its significance. As if her arousing cry could be mistaken for anything else. 

I exercised for another half an hour, straining myself well above my usual limits, partially to impress her, partially feeling curious to see when she would stop. 

To my shock, she stayed in her position, her body shaking slightly for the whole period. I grabbed my shirt and started walking toward RV slowly, more about my exhaustion than giving her a chance to gather herself. 

When I stepped inside the RV, she was in her bed, the covers were pulled almost to her chin, and she was looking at her book. I used looking rather than reading, because she was obviously trying to look at me without being noticeable. Her disheveled state was clear, and the subtle sweet smell that filled the RV despite one open window. 

A gasp escaped her mouth when she raised her eyes, however, only to meet with my naked and sweaty torso from a much closer vantage point than she had been enjoying for the last hour. “You don’t mind, do you?” I asked. “I don’t want to ruin my shirt if it’s okay with you,” I said. 

“No, no, nooooo… Not a problem at all,” she spat out rapidly as her blush intensified even further. If I hadn’t heard her, I would never have suspected her from peeking on me as I exercised, especially not while she played with herself. That raised a new set of difficult images in my mind, but at least I could take comfort from the fact that I wasn’t the only one that would feel those. 

“Excellent, I would have hated to make you uncomfortable,” I said even as I turned my best smile at her. A dark, crooked one that suggested a sleepless night that was filled with cries, grunts, and naked desire… 

She blushed even further. “No, I have no problem with it,” she answered, quicker than the question merited like she was trying to convince me, or herself. 

“Excellent,” I said as I moved toward the shower. “I don’t like to wear shirts unless necessary, so seeing you okay with it is a huge relaxation.” 

“No shirts?” she stammered as she raised her head, and I recognized the glint in her eyes as excitement, clear even with her ugly glasses. 

“Well, not unless you have a problem with it,” I said ruefully. “Maybe I should wear them just in case. I feel like I put you on the spot, and you’re feeling forced to agree.” 

“No!” she exclaimed as she raised herself, unaware that her blanket slid down revealing her chest. She was still dressed in the same ugly t-shirt, but with a great difference. Her bra was obviously absent. Obviously, because her hour-long masturbation session had left her quite sweaty, enough to turn her t-shirt slightly transparent. Her erect nipples were pressing against the fabric determinedly as well. 

“No?” I repeated, amused. 

She blushed further as she pulled her blanket once more. “I mean I’m being sincere. It’s not a problem for me for you to walk around naked.” She took a deep breath and mumbled. “It’s not exactly a chore.” 

“Excellent, I hate shirts,” I said as I grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower. Just before closing the door, I gazed at her added one last thing. “By the way, I sleep naked, so be careful if you need something in the mornings,” I added. She blushed deep, but I smirked. “Thankfully, we can separate my bed from yours, so I don’t need to change that habit,” I said even as I pointed at the thin curtain that was supposed to create an impenetrable barrier. 

I was planning to laugh at her in the confines of the shower, but once again, she managed to ruin that plan, because a sudden expression of arousal passed through her face, one that intensified the blood flow around my waist immediately, my boner immediately turning rock hard. The expression was replaced by a shy one immediately, but once again, the memory of it was seared in my brain. 

Maybe teasing her like that wasn’t the smartest choice…