Being caught in the snow can lead to interesting encounters

I watched the temperature gauge as the truck struggled up the hill. The weather was as cold as buggery outside , but the little red needle was inching towards the wrong side of the dial as the asthmatic old engine forced Bitch Machine through crisp snow. I was delivering furniture to a place high in the mountains and I felt bloody lonely, I can tell you. Every job was an adventure with my only asset—Bitch Machine—an ex-army Bedford 10-tonner, well-knackered even before I'd bought her at an auction. We had a relationship built on hate. Somehow or other I kept her rolling, though it wasn't a pleasure.
Bitch Machine crested the hill and I heaved a sigh of relief—she'd cool down on the easier road. Perfectly on cue, she slipped drunkenly to the left into deep snow. The differential moaned, unhappy, the right rear wheel spinning uselessly. SHIT! I jerked the handbrake—what an waste of effort— on and jumped down from the cab. The bitter cold lanced at my face and ears, and I shuddered, pulling up the collar of my old leather jacket. A brief inspection revealed I wouldn't be taking Bitch Machine anywhere without a tow-truck—and I hadn't sighted another vehicle for an hour. An unreassuring wind pushed mercilessly up the back of my jacket, generating an abrupt need to piss. Soon I was writing my name in the snow, shivering violently. Zipping up, I turned slowly around, eyeing the landscape. The only evidence of humans was our tyre tracks. Snow settled on my jacket—I had to fix up some shelter. The back of the truck seemed like a good spot. I made myself a rough bed on the folded-down tailgate, using sacks I kept to pack around furniture.
It was a good spot to keep an eye out for traffic, but all that happened was the snowstorm thickened. My eyes were getting heavy, my head nodding when I became aware of a soft crunching noise. I peered out and, sure enough, gliding effortlessly towards the back of the truck was a huge black limousine. It slowed and stopped about ten paces away, steamy exhaust gases coiling silently up into the air. The driver's side door opened with an expensive clunk and out stepped a figure. It was a girl, dressed in gleaming black leather high-heeled kneeboots and a long grey fur coat, whipped open in the wind to reveal beautiful tanned legs disappearing into an extremely short black skirt. On her head, over cascades of dark curly hair, was a little hat of the same fur. She walked prettily over to me, seemingly without effort even with those heels in the snow, and glanced briefly at Bitch Machine's precarious situation.
“You won't be going anywhere tonight. Would you like to come to my place? It's not far, and warm and cozy”
She had wonderful dark eyes and soft-looking, full lips. Snowflakes decorated her eyelashes. What could I say?
“Well, yes, I would, thanks.”
I couldn't understand how the car rolled so easily over the snow. We reached her house—no, a mansion—in a couple of minutes. Soon I was roasting myself by a roaring fire, nursing a Scotch. Outside, night had fallen. Eventually my rescuer produced nibbly food and we snacked and talked trivialities as the fire slowly sank away. After a while she stood, stretched hugely—a wonderful sight in the skimpy skirt and even skimpier white blouse, and asked,
“Would you like to share my bed? Its warm and cozy.”
I gulped.
“Well, yes, I would, thanks.”
She pulled me upstairs to a stately old room barely big enough to accommodate the huge four-poster bed; then smiling, slipped out of her clothes and under the covers so quickly I couldn't believe it. I did the same, mainly to hide the enormous boner I'd suddenly grown. She turned to me dreamily and sighed,
“Would you like us to make love? It'll keep us warm and cozy...”
Her hand rested gently on my thigh. Near the top.
“Well, yes I would, thanks.”
I rolled on top of her luscious, warm body, reaching for her pink-nippled breasts...and dropped off Bitch Machine, face first into the snow.
***