The goddess looked shell-shocked — but when she viewed her moaning husband and his unconscious friend she actually smiled.
Repeating over-and-over to myself “only look in her eyes, not at her chest” I approached her and said “I’m sorry if I stuck my nose where it doesn’t belong but it’s not in my nature to walk past what I perceive to be a damsel in distress.”
The goddess smiled broadly, and removed her sunglasses. She had a pleasant — not beautiful but very pleasant — face, and really intoxicating emerald green eyes. “He was hurting me and got what he deserved — thank you,” she said in a whisper, apparently so that the moaning oaf didn’t hear her. “I’m Danika Huddleston,” she said, offering her hand.
“Greg Wright,” I replied, shaking it — and looking only into her eyes. “It looks like we need to call a medic for your husband and his friend,” I said, pointing to them each in turn.
Just then a small guy in his fifties, and his skinny teenage son, approached us from near the dune. “I’ve called the police,” the man said, holding up his phone, “and my son recorded the entire confrontation. I hate bullies and am really pleased to see someone stand up to them,”
With a smile Danika said “I’m going to look after my husband — I don’t want him to bleed to death — at least not right now,” and then walked over to him with a towel which she pressed to his face to stop the bleeding.
The son was very anxious to show me the video. It was only then that I realized that without the video I might have been in deep kimchee unless Danika told the truth — I didn’t know if her husband could work on her to lie — but the video caught everything, even the arm twisting.
I chatted with the small guy and his son for a few minutes while a couple of other beachgoers tended to the oaf’s friend, but were smart enough not to try to move his head or neck. A lifeguard and medic arrived on one ATV, and then a couple of local cops on another ATV arrived more quickly than I would have expected.
The oaf was patched up, the lout was put on a stretcher, and after the teenager showed the video to the cops and forwarded it to their phones (and mine), with my statement that I wanted to press charges, the cops arrested the oaf after allowing him to pick up a beach bag with his wallet in it, and made a call to the hospital to have other cops put the lout under arrest. They gave Danika information on where they were taking her husband.
After things calmed down and the ATVs were long gone, Danika started picking up her things. I really wanted to stare at her body — and emerald green eyes — for at least another couple of hours, but being a gentleman I started to move back to the firm part of the beach to finish my run. Then I heard her yell “Greg; can I ask you for one more thing?”
“Uh…yeah…sure, Danika,” I replied hoping that what she wanted me to do was to suck on the nipples of her prodigious tits until one of us passed out.
“Apparently my husband Jerry,” that was the first time that I heard his name, “took my car keys with him. Could you give me a ride home if it’s not too far out of your way; I live in the Crescent District.”
As long as it was less than 200 miles you bet your ass that I would be giving her a ride, but since I had a small house only about five miles from the Crescent District, it wasn’t even a minor problem.
“I’d be happy to,” I replied trying to suppress my Cheshire Cat grin. “I’m parked about a mile and a half down the beach. I’ll finish my run then pick you up at the parking lot just over the dune here. It will take me about 15-20 minutes or so.”
“Thanks,” Danika replied with her own Cheshire Cat grin.
##############
So my “relationship” with Danika Huddleston started when I picked her up at the parking lot. Fortunately she had a beach cover-up on so it was easier not to ogle her body, and by constantly repeating to myself “Look only in her eyes, not at her chest” I was able to carry on a very pleasant conversation with her without embarrassing her or me.
In the half hour ride to Danika’s condo I found out a lot about her; she was easy to talk to and very forthcoming. One thing of interest, though unimportant, was that she is three years older than I am. She also asked me lots of questions, including why I thought that I could come to her rescue without getting beat up.
“There’s something that I don’t tell many people — but if you promise to keep it confidential and not judge me harshly I’ll tell you,” I half-smiled.
“You’re some sort of martial arts expert?” she grinned.
“Absolutely not; I’ve never taken more than a few hours of self-defense instruction in my life. My issue/problem/gift/handicap, depending upon how you look at it, is that I don’t have a ‘fear’ gene. That may ultimately be my undoing, but it is what I am and I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to,” I seriously told her.
“Really?” she inquired with a puzzled look.
“Really; it’s a miracle that I’m still alive!” I exclaimed.
She got a laugh out of that, and then our conversation got even friendlier.
About five minutes before we got to her condo she got a call on her cellphone. She looked at caller ID and said “I’ve got to take this; it’s Officer Davidson,” one of the cops who had arrested Jerry. Her phone conversation was brief and friendly. Once she terminated the call she told me “I called Officer Davidson while waiting for you in the parking lot and asked her about my car keys. She said that she’d have them at the front desk of the local precinct for pickup any time after 9 a. m. tomorrow.”
“Great,” I smiled.
“So…it seems that I just love to impose on you…if you can take me to the police station sometime tomorrow I’ll make you lunch or dinner, depending upon the time that you’re available, as a thank you for everything,” she subtly grinned.
“Let me see,” I mused out loud, “work around my house getting all dirty and frustrated when my projects go awry, or get a home-cooked meal, which I haven’t had in a long time, from Danika. Hmmm; hard choice but I think that I’ll take you to the police station and then get a home cooked dinner.”
“Pick me up at 5:00 p. m.?” she asked as we pulled in front of her condo.
“Sounds like a plan,” I smiled.
She got out of the car, said thanks, and just before she closed the door asked “Are you gay Greg? No judgment, just curous.”
That threw me; no one had ever asked me that before in my life and I’m 100% hetero. “Uh…no…uh…absolutely not,” I stammered, knowing that I was turning red. “Why…uh…do you ask?”
“You’re the first guy since I was fifteen that I’ve had a long conversation with that always looked me in the eye and never at my chest who wasn’t gay,” she chuckled. Then she closed the door and sashayed up to her house, retrieving an emergency key from under a flower pot next to her front door. I watched her bubble butt wiggle, and almost came in my pants as she bent over to get the key, and once I recognized the condition of my little soldier I peeled out of there.
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night; “she’s married, even if to a jerk, and out of your league anyway,” I kept repeating to myself, although it didn’t stop me from picturing moving my cock between her fabulous mammaries as I masturbated in the shower.