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Hitch-hiking down the highway on a hot July afternoon, Kimberly Filch was headed anywhere and nowhere. "Kimmy," as her friends and family called her, was a weekend hitcher. She'd catch rides all over the Midwest and still manage to get back in time for Monday classes at the community college. Kimmy scoffed whenever she was warned about the perils of hitch-hiking, claiming that she had an eye for what and who was safe or unsafe, and would be just fine being on her own.

Kimmy's first ride was in a truck hauling bales of hay to a dairy farm the next county over. The driver was a nice, elderly gentleman who invited her into the cab and let Kimmy select whatever music she wanted on the radio. He asked her where she was headed and, as was typical, why she was hitch-hiking alone. Kimmy assured the man that she did it every weekend during Summer months, and that she enjoyed it immensely. "Meeting new people and seeing new places" was her favorite hobby, and she pointed out that the man giving her a ride was a great example of how pleasant it could be. The remark drew a smile out of the man and he asked her if she had any money, or if she needed some. Kimmy replied that she had about twenty-five dollars, and her confident tone made the man laugh. He wondered how she could survive a weekend on that little for food and lodging. Surely, he said, she could use a few more dollars and, reaching over, he placed his hand on Kimmy's knee.

The young woman slid closer to the man, parting her legs a bit wider so that he could more easily slide his hand between her inner thighs. Upon ...

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