It had been years since she was home. Carrie was ashamed she wasn't there when her mother died. The end came quickly, one minute her mother was in the hospital with Carrie hurrying to finish last minute loose ends so she could visit, the next minute she was listening to the news. Her mother had passed away last night. Carrie still didn't understand all of the circumstances but it was too late for anything but regrets. She was gone. Carrie was finally going home, not to visit, but to bury her mother and settle her estate.

Carrie's father disappeared from both of their lives when she was small. Her mother tried to raise Carrie the best she could, but they disagreed more and more as Carrie became a teenager. Most girls disagreed with their mothers, but their relationship became strained. At the young age of seventeen, Carrie suddenly left home one night. It was three years before Carrie contacted her mother and the first meeting was hard for both of them. Carrie stayed in contact with her mother after that, but it was mainly by telephone once a month and only one trip back home. That trip was two years ago, Carrie had surprised her mother at Christmas time. She should have recognized the difference, her mother was looking older and tired, but Carrie didn't say anything. Carrie stayed a week and then left the small town on the Atlantic Ocean once again.

Tybee Island was about 14 miles from Savannah, Georgia. A small speck of land on the Atlantic Ocean, it was less than 3 square miles, home to 3,000 people. In spite of the boom for the last few years, Tybee Island still retained its small town charm. And small town problems. The locals ran the town as if it was not connected to the rest of the world, with Carrie always running afoul of them. This visit was no exception.

At five feet six inches, her red hair made her stand out in a crowded room. It was the richest, deepest red, and her skin was pale and flawless. Her figure had bloomed at an early age, full firm breasts almost out of place on a fifteen-year-old girl. Her hips matured and with a tight ass, she swayed seductively, though Carrie failed to recognize the effect she had on men. She left town the first time before she could get into too much trouble, but on her last visit, she was not so lucky. Now twenty-five, Carrie grew more beautiful each year. Her thick, lush hair shined deep red in the sun and set off her pale white skin. She wore dark sunglasses to cover her eyes. She still dressed rather modestly, moving to another small town after leaving Tybee Island, not liking the sophisticated lifestyle of the city. Her green eyes sparkled when you talked to her, her lips succulent as she spoke. Many men lusted after her, but Carrie strayed from one man to the next without ever attaching to anyone in particular. She was still looking for Mister Right, but she wasn't sure what his qualifications were.

She had been home for four days, that last trip, finally going out on Friday night. Her mother had been too much to take that many days in a row. What friends she had when she was young had long left the small town for the opportunities of the big city. She went to Rascal's, one of the small bars clustered on Butler Street. It was off-season for the tourists, so it wasn't very crowded, less than fifty people in the whole place. She felt half of the men's eyes on her as she walked in, her short, tight skirt highlighting her most admirable asset, the gentle sway of her ass hypnotizing them. She sat at the bar for a drink, crossing her legs, her skirt rising high up her thighs.

"Scotch and soda," she said to the bartender, an older man, probably the owner. "And good scotch," she added as he went to pick up the generic scotch bottle. He picked up the ten-year-old scotch, poured a generous shot and then a shot of club soda on the ice. He put it down on a cocktail napkin in front of her. Carrie slipped a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar.

"It's taken care of," he said, pushing her twenty back at her. "It's not often we get anything as sweet as you in here. I don't think your money will be any good tonight." She would be good for business, the guys would flock to his place if she came in every night. He hadn't seen her before, though she did look familiar. He just couldn't place her. He left her alone, many of the male patrons eager to slide into the empty seat next to her.

"Now I would have remembered a pretty little thing like you," said a man's voice with the familiar Southern drawl that she remembered. She looked at him, an older man, early forties, a local by his demeanor. He sat on the stool next to her, his eyes on her near naked legs, making no attempt to hide his blatant lust.

"Just visiting," she nodded to him. "Am I to thank you for this drink?" She figured the first one to slide up to the bar would be the one that bought the drink.

"I couldn't let you buy your own drink. That would be a sin." His eyes moved up to the thin sweater that would do little to keep her warm, but did an excellent job of highlighting her firm breasts. She was a real prize for this time of year. He shifted in the bar stool, his cock was bunched up in his pants, but he was afraid of being so crude to shift it around while she was watching.

It never bothered her that she attracted older men, in fact she tended to like them better. Boys her age tended to only want to get into her panties. Once their lust was satisfied, she would find their interests in her fading fast. Older men tended to lavish more attention on her, wanting to please her before they were pleasured. However, they all wanted their pleasure from her. She had read many psychology books, sure that there was hidden meanings in all of this. Carrie was looking for a father figure that had been missing from her life, commitment issues, older men were more likely to be married and did not want a firm commitment. She never believed any of them. She just liked the attention. And this one was definitely paying lots of attention to her, his eyes traveling over her body. "Carrie," she said pushing her hand out to him.

"Jessie," he said taking her soft hand in his, feeling her firm grip, wishing it was gripping his cock instead of his hand. "Nice grip. I like a woman that can hold things tight," hoping that she would get the sexual innuendo. Could he get lucky with such a hot young thing tonight, his cock kept jerking in the tight confines of his jeans? He was still in good shape for his age, handsome and single as of last year when his wife left him for good. It was because of his love of work, not another woman that drove her off.

He finally released her hand, Carrie was trying to ignore his blatant sexual overture. It was too early and she did not have enough liquor in her system to even think about such a thing. She looked at him, handsome in a rugged sort of way. He kept good care of his body, his arms still bulging with muscles, his jeans tightly drawn over firm thighs. Whatever he did, he did it well. She had to catch herself from looking down at the front of his pants. That would be too bold. "You live on Tybee Island?" Carrie tried to keep the conversation light.

"For a year or so." Jessie responded, not wanting to tell much about himself. The locals knew what he did, it was rare during the winter that he could find a woman that didn't know and wouldn't be put off by his occupation. "Are you staying in town long?"

"One or two more days then I have to go home." The bartender turned on the jukebox, a few couples were already dancing to the slow music he picked out. Carrie almost thought she could see the lights dimming.

"How about a dance?" Jessie didn't wait for an answer, gripping her hand, his eyes on her legs as he turned her until she moved off the bar stool, a generous amount of bare leg revealed made his cock jump in pleasure.