Slamming on the brakes, Sarah cursed herself; she should have filled up with gas back in town but now she was halfway in the middle of nowhere. Surely there must be a gas station somewhere around here? Why had she slammed on the brakes? Now she was grateful she was out in the sticks? Recovering her composure; she inched forward her sleek BMW. It purred its satisfaction at being given its head. Three miles down the road a luminescent white beacon shone out. Hopefully it wasn't a 24 hour diner or something equally useless. As she drew closer to it, she felt a little tingle of elation. Driving her car in she hoped two things could go right in a row and she had remembered her cards. Phew! They were nestled in the back of her wallet.As she took them out to pay the attendant she noticed a twinkle in his eyes. At first glance he seemed like the typical spotty 18 year old barely-out-of-puberty gas station attendant that provides enough material for 1001 comic stand-up routines but if you bothered to take a second glance he wasn't all that bad. He was possibly older than 18. A few spots freckled an otherwise smooth face and his eyes were a cutie doe blue offset by stylishly messy jet black hair. Sarah, studying him, caught his eyes wandering to her blouse. Favouring him with a charming but blunt smile she took her receipt and, spinning on her heels, exited the gas station. Back behind the wheel her mind wandered to her goal. Aspen beach was about 30 miles from her home town. She had decided to go on an adventure there last week when she had overheard Gillian telling Sam about the night she had spent there with her new dreamboat Darren Shepherd; as the somewhat dizzy Gillian had propped up the water-cooler and relayed her tale of romance to an allegedly engrossed Sam, Sarah caught a little of the wonder-lust. However, no dreamboat for her, she was alone by choice. She prided herself on being in command. At 29 she was successful and relatively well off by dint of her inheritance and self-made success. She had no need for a man. When she needed sex she went out and 9.5 times out of 10 got it but in the morning she was polite but short exchange of numbers were rare and only granted to the privileged few that impressed her sufficiently to be useful in the future. The wine and its companion glass chimed in harmony in the back as the BM grappled with the scrub cum car park. She was going to have a midnight liquid picnic,