Good Samaritan

Good Samaritan by Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca

For J. Finn

Early Sunday morning when I took my run, there was dirty looking yellow and black smoke coming up from Millbranch Village. It was quiet in the morning, the sun pale in the young leaves of the larch trees, and the shadows long. Most mornings it's pretty peaceful. The Pentecostal Church on Highway 12 has a seven a.m. service. I like to hear the bells echoing over the still countryside as I run. It's a deep serene sound. But this morning I was looking over my right shoulder at the immense dark mass of smoke as the distant bells rang out. My road runs about two miles south of the village. The smoke was foul and ominous.

I was feeling prickles of uneasiness as I ran. The yellow cloud seethed growing slowly larger, swelling like a mushroom on the horizon. My feet pounded the dirt road rhythmically. What on earth could all that smoke be? It was much more than normal. Anyway, it couldn't just be smoke from a factory chimney. It was Sunday. It had to be some kind of a fire.

But it was also two and a half miles away, so apart from glancing at it whenever the trees opened up, I ignored it. Someone was having a bad morning, but not me. Most of the time I couldn't see it. But whenever the trees broke when the ground was marshy I looked up away North I saw that the cloud was bigger and paler. It was a long way off.

There're only two patches of meadow on that road. One is an abandoned horse paddock, still firmly fenced and the other is just a flat stretch of grass. If you had to pick a spot to go off the road at high speed, the second bit of grass would be your best bet out of all the possibilities. Otherwise you'd be in a mud wallow and it would be quite the towing job, or you'd be in the trees and that can be a hard landing. If you picked the unfenced meadow, you'd have to be going at one heck of a speed to shoot twenty-five yards all the way over the grass and still end up with your fender in the trees. It would take planning to go off the road at the meadow and finish off with a bad bump. That was what this car had done.

I rounded the long slow curve going downhill and there it was. It was a white four-door car, the front end crumpled in accordion folds, hood buckled up before of the star crazed windshield. It looked like there was a man in the driver's seat. I put on speed.

I sprinted across the grass. I took in details as the adrenalin sang in me. There was a hot metal smell and there were two wisps of smoke coming out from under the bent hood. But what I really stared at was the man in the front seat with his arms folded on the steering wheel and his head on his arms. Red blood had poured down the side of his head and onto his shoulder.

He wasn't knocked cold though. As I skidded to a halt and grabbed for my cell phone he raised his head. His voice was curiously conversational. "Don't bother," he said. "I already called for help."

I stuffed the cell phone back and came to the car window. The window was down. The guy was a big guy and not so bad hurt he couldn't manage a wry grin. He must have been in shock. He was quite composed. The dash had gotten pressed inward a few inches, so there was very little room between him and the steering wheel. The airbag had not deployed. "Oh my God!" I said. "How soon are they going to get here?"

"They're not coming," he said. "Actually, this..."

I cut him short, "What do you mean, not coming??!"

"They're tied up on another call," he said. "They told me it would be awhile."

"Did you tell them you were hurt?"

"There's a fire at the paint warehouse in Millbranch," he went on. "They were going to send first response -- you know, the fire truck that carries defibrillation equipment? And an ambulance and the police, but a fire in a chemical facility is a really serious thing. They need all the manpower they can get, just in case it spreads."

I goggled at him.

"So I got cancelled," he finished.

I was standing there with my mouth open. "No fucking way!" I said. I shot a look at the hood of the car. The two wisps of smoke were rising steadily.

"Can you move?" I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"Oh yes, but I'm trapped."

I tried the door. He wasn't kidding. It was wedged tight, the frame buckled. I looked at the smoke under the hood again. I gave an instant's thought to prying the hood open and trying to throw dirt or something on the place that was smoking to smother it. But if I flung the hood up I'd be giving the fire air and I didn't have anything to smother it with, no fire extinguisher, nor way of breaking sod and getting out the dirt.

"Are you going to try to rescue me?" he asked.

"I think we could get you out..." I danced sideways and tried the car door behind the front seat. It opened, but only moved out a quarter inch, with effort, before it stuck, metal scraping. I grabbed the door handle with both hands, bracing my foot against the side of the car. I pulled with all my strength. It came out about half an inch more and stuck solidly.

"I can't fucking believe they cancelled your call!" I said. I darted around the back of the car to the other side. Here it was close up against the trees. There was enough of a gap for me to get in however. I squeezed in where they rustled up against me and grabbed the handle of the front passenger door.

"This is not a real emergency," said the man. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you, but..."

The front passenger door was wedged as tightly as if it was welded. "I don't care how serious a paint fire is!" I cut him right off. "You can't just stay here! There's smoke coming out from under the hood. There's got to be a way to get you out!"

And then I found it. The back door on the passenger side opened. I could swing it open all the way. I lunged into the backseat. My knee landed on an empty plastic gin bottle as I scrabbled forward.

The guy was laughing. He was clearly hysterical from shock, and from the gin bottle there was a good chance he was drunk. That explained the speed his car must have been going at anyway. "My hero!" he said. "Are you really going to drag me from the wreck?"

"Okay, seatbelt," I said thinking out loud. He had been wearing the seatbelt at least. I punched the release and it let go of him. "Now... How much can you move?"

"I'm trapped," he said.

"Yeah, I know," I had his arm in my grip now, leaning between the two front seats. He had brown hair and a prominent chin and big shoulders. He didn't smell of booze. He smelt of aftershave. But the car also smelt of smoke and hot metal. I didn't know how close to the fuel tank that hot metal was, but it was making a sick feeling high up in my gut. "Can you bend your neck and back?"

"I'm not supposed to," the man told me.

"You already have been, looking around at me," I said. "How much does it hurt? Can you move more at all?"

"Strictly speaking, without a backboard and a cervical collar, you're supposed to leave me in the car."

"Well, I don't carry either of those with me when I go out running," I said. "I don't like the smoke under the hood. And you don't seem that hurt."

"Don't worry about the smoke," he said. "There was a lot more earlier."

"Great," I said. I got my hand in reaching across his body and felt down where his knee was against the dash. There was no blood on this side of him, and the knee seemed intact. "Can you move your legs?"

"Uh-huh."

There was almost no room to move in the cramped confines of the car. I was trying to figure out how I'd do it. I'd have to get him to crawl out between the two front seats into the backseat, or else I'd have to drag him.

"Can you lean sideways towards me?" I asked.

"I've always wanted to be rescued," he remarked. "Here I was thinking, just when I get the chance to live my fantasy, it's my luck to be abandoned and be postponed. And now some handsome heroic stranger is dashing in. You're going to be really disappointed if you drag me out of the car. I'm not worth rescuing."

"Everybody's worth rescuing," I said. "At least I've got to try."

"Even though I've clearly been drinking?"

And clearly he had. There was another plastic booze bottle in the front seat, this one brandy and just as empty as the first one. It was resting on the front seat, on top of his cell phone. I shoved all that onto the floor of the car and found the release lever that bent the passenger seat forward. The seat didn't go all the way forward but that opened up quite a bit more space.

"Does it hurt if you lean over towards me?" I said.

He leaned over towards me a little bit. "Not excruciatingly," he said.

"Okay... now get back. There's no room for you to crawl backwards. I wonder if I can move your seat?"

I reached my arm across his lap, this time between his legs.

"Oh shit!" he said. I felt around sideways under the seat, chest against his shoulder, and elbow almost in his crotch. "I wish I was drunk," he said. "Then I could blurt out something inappropriate."

"Say anything you want," I muttered. I was thinking the guy wanted to yelp with pain. I was leaning on him, and I'd made him move his back about. And then I found the release you use to push the seat further back. I pulled it but the seat didn't move. "Fuck..." I muttered. "I can't get the seat back."

"Good thinking," said the man, "But it's already in the farthest back position."

While I was scrabbling around there my wrist was brushing up against something filmy and trailing. It was trailing plastic or rubber. The airbag had deployed, but it was shredded now. There were just a couple of trails of it dangling down.

"What happened to the airbag?" I said.

"It's been cut," he said.

"Cut? You cut it?" I panted. "Yeah, that would get it out of the way." I moved back and felt around the two sides of his seat from behind. I was feeling to try and figure how the seat was fixed in the car. I know you can take a car's backseat out, so I was hoping I'd find a release for the front seat. There was nothing like that.

"It won't budge," I said. Then I felt further and found a lever. I looked at the guy. The long crimson trail on the side of his face was bright like a pirate's cockade. He was looking over his shoulder at me. "Can you lean forward?" I asked.

"Why?"

"I'm going to see if I can make the back of the seat recline," I told him.

"Right." He leaned on the steering wheel again.

The lever made the whole seat jerk, which made me clench my teeth. But the guy didn't seem to react to it, so maybe it didn't hurt his back and neck too bad to be suddenly shaken like that. The seat leaned back something like twelve or fourteen inches. It wasn't a lot of space, but it would have to do. And when the seat was back, the man leaned back into it so he was half lolling in front of him. This put us almost chin to chin. He folded his hands on his stomach and looked into my face. "I hope you've always dreamed of daringly dragging a half-conscious victim out of a burning car."

"I can't say I have," I said. "But then, I've got too much imagination. I would have pictured it as horrible." I took his arm and eased him sideways. "Try to keep your back straight," I directed. "I don't think we're doing you any harm, but keep it as straight as you can anyway."

"What a shame," he said.

"That we're not doing you any harm?" I said. I was trying to back up and guide him so that he was between the two front seats. And for all I'd said keep your back straight I was bending him like a caterpillar.

"No, that this isn't your fantasy too," the guy told me. "You look like the perfect heroic stranger. You've got the right profile and everything. I suppose you'd much rather I was a woman than another guy?"

"You've got that right," I said.

"Ah, Darn..." he said with feeling.

"If you were a woman," I said, panting as I dragged his shoulders and he kicked to get his feet up on the front seat, "You'd probably be seventy-pounds lighter, and this would be a whole lot easier."

"So it's just my weight?" he said.

"Oww..." I gasped as I backed into the doorframe. "I can assure you, I'd try to help even if you were a fat and hairy Hells Angel with no teeth. It's not a question of weight or gender."

"Now there's a fantasy..." the guy said. He floundered, half crawling ineffectually as I dragged him bodily into the back seat. "Easy... Not so... ow, forward." I shot another look at the front of the car. I could still see the two grey plumes of smoke. They didn't seem any bigger, but they didn't seem any smaller either.

"I'm sorry I'm hurting you,' I said.

"You're not hurting me," he said. "I'm not supposed to help you get me out of the car though."

"If you want to get out, you better help."

"I want out," he said. "Dead boring stuck here all morning..."

I climbed back into the car again, stretching above him. I climbed over his body back right over him, weight on one leg on the floor of the car. I needed to get his legs free. "Is this okay? Let me know if it hurts..." I said. I bent his left leg carefully and gently to lift it around the driver's seat.

"I can live with the pain, but the view from here is quite something. It's a good thing you're not wearing shorts," he said.

I looked back down. He was lying on his side and because I was stretched out above him my crotch was in midair about two inches above his face.

"I'm not coming on to you, Jerk!" I said. "I need to get your legs free so that I can get you out without tugging.

"I forgive you anything," he said. "After all, you're dragging me out of a burning car. You can come onto me if you like. You can disappear leaving me to wonder about my mystery rescuer forever. You can reject my gratitude and spurn me..."

I got his right leg free also without causing him to give any visible winces of pain. I scrambled back, probably not rubbing his face with the fabric of my sweatpants. "My name's William Piper, if you really want to know," I said.

As I backed out of the car again he held his hand up to me. "I'm Earle," he said. I took his hand for a fraction of a second and shook it. Then I got his shoulders in a good grip.

"Get ready," I said. "I'm dragging you."

'Oh... Hey, Ow...Woof!" he gasped. There was not much room. I hauled him using all my strength because he was a big guy. Not that he was fat at all. I could see that clearly as I hauled on him because his shirt rode up under his armpits and his belly stretched out. It was a lean belly with the ripple of muscle a hollow under his big ribs. The brush crackled and scrunched behind me and the poor guy's legs flopped and slapped on the ground as I dragged him out of the car and backwards.

It was easier to drag him into the trees rather than sideways into the narrow gap and then behind his car. There was room between two thin tall trunks, so I dragged him that way and kept hauling him into the noisy rustling and quivering. I laid him on his back.

"Oh my God," he said. "Now I'm going to be a quadriplegic. You've twisted my back and my neck like a pretzel."

"No, you're not!" I said.

He flopped out and kicked both his feet. "Well this one works anyway... and this one."

I had stopped to catch my breath. If the car blew up it would probably hurt, but it wouldn't kill us anyway. I was completely stuck in the small scrub. A bush was embracing me with sharp twigs. The main thing was that we were far enough away from the car. I looked down at Earle trying to figure what to do next.

"CPR?" he suggested.

"Idiot," I said. I got down in a crouch beside him. "How bad are you really injured?"

"In theory I have both legs broken, seriously displaced neck and spinal fractures and I'm haemorrhaging from a temporal blood vessel," he told me. "In reality I feel pretty good."

"Well, it doesn't much matter what I do now anyway, since I've rendered you quadriplegic," I said.

"I'm helpless. You could rob me of my wallet," Earle suggested.

"Idiot," I said again. "Do your legs hurt, really?" I said that because the blood was vivid and bright still on his forehead. He must have taken some kind of a bang on the head and that might have given him a concussion. It could account for part of his flippancy, considering that he wasn't acting so much drunk as punchy. So the head injury needed to be looked after, but it was blood and I wasn't quite up to dealing with blood yet.

"You'll have to check them out," he said.

I bent over his legs and very gently felt up and down. They felt like a guy's legs, in his regular casual workpants. There were no lumps, no blood and Earle didn't suddenly gasp or moan or catch his breath.

"Do you have any scissors?" he asked.

"Scissors?" I said. "No."

"If you did, you could cut my trousers off," he suggested.

I turned around and looked at him hard.

"It's quite usual," he assured me. "You cut the patient's clothes off so that you don't have to bend his broken limbs to get at his wounds." He met my hard gaze for a few moments.

"Thank you for getting me out of the car," he added. "That was a very good thing you did, especially being scared that the car was on fire. Most people would rather get rescued rather than burn up alive, even if their spine did get bent. I know I would. So seriously, thank you."

"You're welcome," I said suspiciously.

He sat up. "That was a pretty brave thing you did, getting into the car to drag me out." He started to brush a lump of loose bark off his elbow.

"Lie down!" I said sharply. "You're injured, seriously injured from what you tell me." I pushed on his chest. He folded back again, with a look of astonishment.

"If you sit up you'll get dizzy. You've got a scalp wound," I said.

"You do know that this is only paint?" said Earle from the bed of crushed ferns.

"Don't sit up again," I ordered. "You've got a bad concussion and you're in shock. You're acting all wrong. You're way too composed for someone who's just been in a serious accident. You can't possibly sit up. You're too badly injured."

"Uh... you know, I feel pretty good," he said.

"That's because you're in shock. You keep talking nonsense," I told him. "The pain hasn't hit you yet."

"Okay," said Earle. "If you insist. But what are you going to do now?"

"I need to improvise a bandage," I said. "Right? I may have rendered you quadriplegic, but I don't have to let you bleed to death too."

"Okay," he agreed. "What are you going to improvise it out of?"

I thought about it.

"No bandage," he announced.

I eyed him narrowly. "You said I could cut up your clothing to check for wounds. So I could always use your shirt."

He opened his eyes wide. His eyes were blue and he was definitely looking confused.

"It was your idea," I said.

"That sounds chilly," he said. "Leaving a gravely injured man lying out half naked on the ground. "

"Maybe I'll just rip the sleeves off," I suggested.

"My shirt!"

"Oh come on," I said. "What's more important? That old shirt or letting yourself bleed to death? It's a haemorrhage from the temporal artery, isn't that what you said?"

"When you put it that way..." said Earle. He sat up and squirmed the shirt off over his head. I took it and caught him but I didn't force him to lie down again. I held him up while I used the sleeves of the shirt to scrub the red blood from the side of his hair.

"Shirt's a wreck anyway," I said. "See?" I showed him the collar at the side where the red had dribbled from his scalp to his cheek and then his shoulder.

"The paramedics would have brought me a blanket," Earle complained.

"Then you could have waited for the paramedics," I said.

"No, I was dead if I waited for them."

"You didn't really call and ask for help and get told they wouldn't come, did you?" I asked. I was holding him up, arms around his shoulders and he was gradually sagging against me, heavier and heavier.

"I called," said Earle, "And I quote the dispatcher, 'Sorry, but we'll have to reschedule you for tomorrow morning."

"You must know her then, if she said that to you. Have you called them before, Mr. Munchaussen?"

"It's a him, not a her, and yes, I know him a little bit. I'm a firefighter so we've talked a few times up at the town hall."

"And he still left you to die in a burning car?" I said.

"It's a cruel world, isn't it?" He peered at me sideways. "Oh, and I'm feeling faint. I think I'm going to pass out." He gave me that much warning and then sagged completely. I was taking all his weight now.

"I do not fucking believe that I'm doing this," I remarked.

With difficulty I eased my hoodie off. The hoodie was tied around my waist. I didn't want to let Earle down with a jolt. I spread it out on the ground under his back before I lowered him flat again. He kept his eyes closed. His palms lay turned up and open. His lips were parted. The blood on the side of his head was smeared but not obliterated, its brightness making him look paler.

I looked down at him critically. "I suppose I should try to improvise splints for your legs," I said out loud. Then I thought. "They do say to loosen an unconscious person's clothing."

I reached down, hands deliberate, and I undid the button at his waist. Sparse hairs covered his belly. His navel was a flat oval and his skin was warm under my knuckles.

"Oh shit..." said Earle quietly.

"You're unconscious, remember?" I prompted him.

He didn't say anything else. I kept looking down trying to figure out just what I could safely do.

"I wonder if I could do artificial respiration?" I mused out loud. "Of course, that's supposed to be when the victim is having trouble breathing, but I'm not a paramedic so I wouldn't know that."

I heard him inhale. I didn't hear him exhale. His lips were held tight. He was holding his breath.

"Yep, he's not breathing," I said. I leaned over and put my mouth on his. His lips were warm under mine, and I was able to open them with my own. I breathed into his mouth and then after a couple of seconds followed the breath with my tongue. I found his tongue and it swirled mine lightly but then he laughed, right into my mouth, which broke the kiss.

He opened his eyes when he laughed and that made me laugh also. "Oh shit," he said, "Either you're going to kill me in about two minutes when you realise the score, or you are the world's worst first aid expert."

"It worked didn't it?" I said. "You're breathing again."

I think part of his laughter was embarrassment. So was mine. I stopped the laughing this time by putting my mouth on his again and that stopped it right quick. We kissed deeply, me leaning right over him and Earle lying flat back. I also got my hand down, under his waistband and squirmed it down to his crotch. The guy had a nice thick hard-on jutting along his thigh.

His eyelids fluttered when I pulled back to take a breath. "This is probably presumptuous of me," he said, "But if you happen to want to get your cock sucked, I owe you for saving my life and all that."

"Not likely," I said.

"Sorry," said Earle, his voice stiffening up. "Then what are you groping the unconscious victim's dick for?"

"Unless the unconscious victim happens to have a couple of condoms in his wallet," I said, "It's not going to happen."

"Shit!" he said. "The original plan was for me to be rescued by a few hunky but highly unimaginative fellow firefighter paramedics. Not a chance of needing rubbers with them. Instead I get to meet the cutest heroic stranger... And I didn't have the brains to bring protection!"

"Serious blood flow problem here," I said, still working his cock. "Probably why you're unconscious. All your blood flow has come down here."

He groaned.

"I'll have to do something about that," I told him. "Find a way to get the blood flow back to normal."

"With me this is normal," Earle said. He twisted around. "I want to do something for you. I really want to do something for you."

"You let me take care of this first," I said. He rolled his eyes back up in his head again and lay back. His shirt was just lying half on his head. There were scarlet smears on it. I hadn't tried to tie it around his head, just to soak the red up. It looked bad, like the blood was running unstopped. I took his hand and pressed it up against the shirt.

"If you're at all conscious," I said, "Try to hold that bandage there while I take care of this." He opened one eye and kept his arm back and up to do what I asked.

By then my knuckles had dragged his pants down to the level of his hips and I had a pretty good grip on his prick. I was working it in my palm. The hot skin moved against the hard thickness. His prick had a fat soft head. I got my other hand into his cotton shorts and down around his balls. The artificial respiration had worked well. I heard him take a deep shuddering breath as I started cupping them. I worked his cock up and down. The slit glistened with pre-cum oozing out.

Earle's eyes rolled up and went three quarters closed. He was breathing hard through his nostrils. With his eyes rolled back like that he really did look he was going unconscious. But he had this wide smile on his face that ruined the limp victim look completely. I worked his cock. "Find a pulse in his thigh..." I muttered moving my fingers against his testicles. I brought my hand up and wet it.

Earle groaned.

"Sounds like he's in some pain," I remarked. The grin got wider.

Without stopping the motion I climbed up. His legs were pretty wide. I knelt on his trousers and straddled his thigh, rearing above him. My own cock was stiff inside my sweatpants. I bumped it against his thigh. He was pushing his crotch up towards my hand. Now he tensed his leg so it was pressing up under my hard on. His breathing was definitely not relaxed and natural. For a moment I switched hands to get more spit. His pink prick gleamed.

As I jacked him, the big grin slipped away. His lips parted. His jaw was tilting up. His prick was burning hot. I gave it slick friction, spit and a steady driving motion. His elbows were sprawled out against the stems and ferns. I ground my cock on his thigh, riding him. Again I took my hand away from his balls for a moment, this time to push my own pants down below crotch level.

"Uhhh..." It was more of a moan this time. "Uh...ohhh! Ahh... yuh, yes! Christ, yes!" He was panting hard.

"Uh-oh. More trouble breathing," I said. "More artificial respiration." I leaned in. Our mouths locked. I slid my tongue in and he was sucking, almost bucking, pushing his hips up into my hand. Now he was grunting right into my mouth and it was starting to sound like sobbing. My bare cock was humping his thigh while my hands worked him up to the edge.

The strangled sound that Earle gave was almost like a sneeze. His hips did leave the ground; he bucked so hard with his shuddering. His cum was shooting, white thick jets of it pulsing, and every pulse made him convulse and rock against the ground and my grip. He jerked and twitched with the shocks. Even his arms twitched. Sperm gushed out onto his belly. His jaw worked. He took one hell of an orgasm there.

I let my slippery hands slow down and stop. He was panting, flat out. I pulled back a bit to look at the man lying crushed into the undergrowth. He lay collapsed, massive breaths expanding his big chest with his reaction. It took him three or four more breaths before he opened his eyes. The grin spread out again, huge and sheepish.

"Well, you're breathing better now," I said. "Your respiration's quite strong."

A soft chuckle came out of him. He tried to sit, didn't have the strength and just heaved ineffectually, and then managed to lever himself up with his elbows. His eyes went to my cock but also to the slick trails of cum on his own belly.

He was asking if he could when he reached for my prick. The hand was tentative. I didn't stop him. He closed it around my cock. His palm was tough with callused skin. He squeezed. Wordless now he got into a sitting position pushing his shoulder against mine. His head touched the side of my head as he bent in and I felt the softness of hair and smelt the chemical smell of the red paint. I felt the warmth of his big bare torso as he leaned towards me and pulled on my prick.

In another moment we were back in the lip lock. Earle's eyes were glowing, shiny as his tongue traveled and waggled into my mouth. His lips pressed mine tightly. He moved his hand smoothly and tightly on my cock. His knee was on mine.

I held his shoulder so he could sit in close like that and jack my prick. His mouth tasted sweet with clean spit. The sensations got very intense. My breath started to heave. He leaned in firmer and worked my cock harder. I had my eyes closed. The air in the woods was cold around us. His hand was indescribably warm in contrast. He used the edge of his thumb lovingly on the ridge of my dick head. He smoothed it around and around while pumping hard. But now he was just pumping, driving really hard. I was clutching his shoulders. It was happening.

I felt the cum jet. It surged inside me. I felt it cumming up, up, high up. Fuck! Over the edge! I must have groaned or made some sound into Earle's mouth, but I was so caught in the heat pulse of my ejaculation that I was beyond self-consciousness about it. He pumped me through the orgasm. The hot skin of his hand on the outside and the sizzling shooting sensation inside gave my crotch intense bliss.

When I opened my eyes and looked at him he wasn't looking sheepish any more. "I thought you thought..." said Earle.

"I did think," I said. "But you're a lousy actor. You never looked like you were in pain at all. If you'd been in an accident you'd have been hurting. You'd have been huddling tight and wincing. The longer you talked the more I knew you couldn't be injured."

"When did you realise it wasn't real?"

"When I had you out of the car."

"That long?" he gasped, half laughing. "Oh man, I'm lucky you didn't give me a swift kick in the balls for coming onto you."

It was my turn to chuckle. "I figured you weren't responsible for what you were saying. But I did have my doubts for awhile before that."

"Well, I couldn't have you calling 911 for me," he said. "I would have said something. But you know, I'd really been looking forward to being rescued. I kept thinking just another moment of playing the role, before I'd break it to you that I didn't really need help."

I did laugh. "You're a fraud and I'm not much of a heroic stranger." I looked down "Damn, I wish I had some tissue or something." I started to get up on my knees.

"Try my shirt," he offered. "You wrecked it." He passed it over.

I smeared the cum off my belly and blotted the hem of my shirt. I was doing this when I heard the vehicle.

"Oops!" I stuffed my cock back in and thrust the shirt at Earle. Down in the brush behind the wrecked vehicle we couldn't see the car that was coming in, so that meant they couldn't see us, but it sounded like something fairly big. I got up quickly and got leaves and twigs in my face. There wasn't much room to stand back there in the trees.

Twisting, I shoved through the brush until I got to the side of the white car. I was right the arriving vehicle was big. It was red and silver, the rescue squad truck. It pulled to a halt on the grass and a man in uniform jumped out. He looked at me confused.

"Where's Earle?" said the firefighter.

"Err... He's in the woods." I jerked a thumb behind myself. "I hauled him out of the car." Now I was embarrassed.

Earle came out a moment later, flushed and bare-chested. He was covered in bracken.

"You used the blood capsule?" The firefighter said to Earle, seeing the residual red smears on the side of his head and his bare shoulder.

"And the smoke-canisters," Earle said. He was covering it up talking about the mock-accident. "I got it all set up and then I called, only whoops... Shell told me it was cancelled."

He was talking to the other fire fighter as I started to sidle off. "Wait!" He went after me and stopped me. A smile shone on his features. "You want to leave you phone number, or your address or anything?"

"Uh, that's okay," I said. I took another half step away. I was still embarrassed.

"You sure?" he said. "We'll be trying to do the exercise again tomorrow morning, the same time, if you want to come around and see what it really should look like." He gave a grin. "It really is customary to leave your name and address and phone number after you assist at the scene of an accident. You might be needed to testify in court you know."

"About your attempt to commit insurance fraud, you mean?" I suggested.

"It's not a fraud," said the other firefighter, confused. "It was a mock-accident -- a training exercise. He's one of our squadron."

Earle kept grinning. He got a note pad from the other man, and a pen.

"Well, if it's really quite customary," I said. I wrote down my phone number. The other firefighters moved off to look at the crumpled white car.

"Uh look," said Earle quickly and quietly. "Are you married or anything? I mean, like what we did, you don't do things with guys usually?"

I grinned. "Not like what we did," I said. "But if I find a guy who really needs to be rescued like that... I mean, somebody's got to help out, right?"

End of story by Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca