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uck was I going to do now?

It was hilly country, meaning that the house of out of my sight most of the time on the trail, but turn a corner and I could see it in the distance. I comforted myself with the belief that whoever was up at that house, Grant was with them and this was all part of his erotic birthday fantasy, because if that weren't the case, I was in real life-or-death trouble.

At one point, the trail came to a small bridge over a pretty substantial creek. I was feeling too exposed on the trail, so I decided to follow the creek instead, since it was more-or-less secluded by trees. I didn't know where I was going, or what I would do if I got there, but I had learned from the movies that getting into water would throw off your scent in case you were pursued by bloodhounds.

So I jumped into the creek and began wading in the water in the downstream direction. At some points it was only ankle deep, but in other points, it came up to my waist and in one watering hole I dove in the cold water for a swim to calm myself down. Soon, I found myself sitting in the muddy silt on the shore, listening to the babbling of the water, hugging my knees feeling like I wanted to cry. I sat there for some time, rubbing mud on the spot where I had scraped myself on my belly.

If this was Grant, I needed to play along with the game and make myself easier to catch. But if it wasn't Grant, then I needed to find a road or another house or a phone somewhere. Of course, it's possible that whoever came to the house had now left and I could sneak back to the house to see, and wait for Grant to eventually show.

Eventually, I stood and began listlessly walking downstream again. It was then I when I heard something up the hill and looked back to see the pick-up truck slowly driving the trail following the creek. I instantly squatted and crawled in the water down behind a tree trunk and there I saw two men walking the trail while the truck slowly drove beside them. For about 10 seconds, I didn't know who they were. Then, I saw. One of the men was Grant.

I sank deeper in the cold water hiding. I felt elation at first ("Thank God it's not newly parolled rapists!"), then fury ("Who said he could bring other guys with him?"), then righteous outrage that, I have to say, was a real turn-on. I thought darkly for a while that maybe Grant wasn't really the guy I thought he was, that maybe he was some pyschopath out to kill me, or something.

Still, it was relief knowing that this was all his set-up and a thrill to know that I got away from him. I came up with an idea: with Grant following the creek looking for me, I would double back and head back toward the house, find my car keys where I dropped them in the bushes, maybe grab some clothes if I had time, and peel out of there in my car. I would show that Mr. Bounty Hunter a thing or two.

And that's what I did, at one point, brazenly jumping back upon the dirt road and walking back like I was a nudist on a country stroll, all the while looking behind me for any sign the truck might be coming. After five minutes or so, as I was getting closer to the house, I heard the truck coming. I leaped into the brush to hide, biting my tongue when a thin tree branch whipped my left tit (there's still a bit of scar there some months later).

Lying flat on my back in the leaves, I wondered if they saw me. To my panic, I heard the truck slow until it was right above me on the trail. Then a car door opened and slammed and I knew I was cooked. I jumped up and tumbled down the embankment back toward the creek, hearing Grant call my name and run after me. Just as I splashed into the creek, I felt someone grab me just above the elbow and spin me back toward him. I was in Grant's arms.

"Let me go," I screamed.

"Kelly, do you want to use your safe word?" he said looking me in the eyes.

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