step out of his Buick. He looked back at me with a disapproving glare, then walked to where our two cars met and began inspecting his bumper.

He was a large, bulging, burly man in dirty jeans and a baggy flannel shirt. His barrel-shaped chest and blocky shoulders filled up the top of his shirt and a firm, round, beer belly occupied the lower half of his flannel top. He was wearing a baseball cap over slightly graying salt and pepper hair. His face was terse and weathered, with a tight jaw and squinted, crows-footed eyes.

I opened the door and stepped out onto the road. “Gosh, I’m sorry!” I said, as the other driver ignored me.

“I just didn’t see you until it was too late,” I gulped, working hard to deliver my words without a slur.

The burly man looked back at me with a curious expression on his face. “You haven’t been drinkin’ tonight by any chance, have you, son?” he asked me accusingly.

“Oh, no sir. No. Not at all.” I was now less worried than fearful. If this guy called the cops, I was fucked.

“Uh huh…” he responded, indicating that he wasn’t buying a word I was saying. “Well, it doesn’t look too bad, but you definitely knocked a hell of a dent in my bumper.”

I cringed. “I’m good for the damages,” I spurted out, hoping to catch him before his mind turned to calling the authorities. “I can pay whatever you need. I’ll even throw in some extra for the inconvenience… if, we could, ya know, just work this out ourselves…”

“Ourselves?” he asked.

“Ya know. I don’t think the cops need to be involved.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re drunk.” He had me.

“I… I… I…” I stuttered. I couldn’t find the words to respond.

“I dunno,” he began. “I mean, it’s easy to say the damage isn’t bad just glancing at it, but how would I know if something important isn’t damaged up under there? I’d hate to call it off without having an official report to fall back on in case your word ain’t as good as you say it is.”

This wasn’t going well. And I simply couldn’t have a DUI on my record. I’d lose my license. I wouldn’t be able to get to work. It would fuck everything up. I had no choice. I was ready to beg, grovel, plead, whatever necessary to convince this guy not to call the cops.

“Look, sir. I’m sorry. You’re right, I have been drinking. I can’t deal with the cops. I’ll go to jail. If you call the cops, I’m fucked. Please, have pity on me. I’m good for it. I’ll give you my name, address, number. I’ll pay whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes?” the burly driver asked me with a gleam in his eye.

Something in his voice caught me off guard. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “Uh, yes sir. Whatever it takes,” I repeated, my brow furrowed in uncertainty.

“Well… I suppose maybe we could just work this out ourselves. But I’d need you to prove you’re good for your word.”

“Oh, sure. Anything. Collateral? Is that what you mean?” I asked, fumbling in my pockets for something of value. All I could come up with was my watch or my cell phone. “How about my phone?”

Vote: Total Votes: 40 Steamy (1 vote) Hot (2 votes) Blazing (3 votes)

---

Poster	Thread
virgo1	Posted: 2008/11/19 18:14  Updated: 2008/11/19 18:14
Tease Joined: 2007/5/12 From: Montreal, Canada Posts: 22	wow That is soooo fucking hot. Loved it