Wednesday, February 13, 2013

The Drive - Part 2

Here is Part 1

Back on the road, coffee refreshed, I turned up the music and went back to my fantasy. Bryan was pulling  me into the house, hands under my shirt, gripping my back. I arched in my seat. My hand gravitated back to my lap. I could feel the heat and wet even through my skirt.  And that’s when I passed my friends in the truck.

I couldn’t see the driver, but I was sure my hand and its activities were clearly visible from the high 18-wheeler seat. That’s what the blast of their horn told me, and their accelerations to meet my speed. I braked, hoping to throw them off, but they stayed by my side easily. The road ahead was flat and empty. For a moment I felt panic. Accelerating was pointless, I already knew they could match me. Pulling over only meant they could get to me in person. Should I grab my cell and call 911? And tell them what?

As quickly as my panic came, it changed into a different kind of energy. I felt reckless and powerful. I had clearly enthralled these truck drivers. Why not give them a show? I began to inch my skirt up higher, keeping my eyes carefully on the road. Nothing kills a buzz like swerving into an 18 wheeler, I told myself. The truck honked again, a short series of blasts that I assumed was encouragement. I took the hem of my skirt in two fingers and shimmied it all the way up to my waist. There was no doubt in my mind the truck driver had a perfect view of my moisture-stained, white cotton panties.

I slumped a bit in my seat. My head rested against the headrest. I tilted my mirror down so I could keep an eye out for cars trying to pass. The truck and my car were blocking anyone wanting to go faster than 75. But there was no one behind me. I put two fingers in the side of my panties, and pulled them out glossy with my juices. The driver wouldn’t be able to see me stick them in my mouth and suck them clean. But I was pretty sure he knew that was what I did next.

I like my flavor. I’m salty and taste faintly of roasted chicken and fresh water. My mind returned to
Bryan. He’d love to hear this story - his shy girl exploring her exhibitionist side. He always said I had it in me. Another blast of the truck’s horn shook me from my reverie. They were pulling ahead and signaling right. Did they expect me to follow? My heart raced. That was not in my plan. I signalled and move into the right lane behind them. An orange sign announced, “Weigh Station OPEN”. My audience veered off to join a line of big rigs and I drove on.

There must have been a hold-up at the weigh station, because Flex (I’d begun calling them after their container brand) did not catch up to me again until my next rest stop, more than an hour later. I’d tired of snacks and wanted something resembling real food. I sat down for a sandwich. 
Bryan had texted me about where I wanted to go to dinner the next night. “In your bed,” I texted back, smiling. My phone buzzed with a response, but I felt eyes on me. I looked up. There was Blue Eyes, grinning and waving like we were old friends. Next to him, hand on his shoulder, was the invisible driver. She was a woman. And she was beautiful.

I blushed again, despite trying for self control. They walked over to me and I reflexively stood up. Maybe  I meant to run, I don’t know. But the woman held out her hand and I shook it. “I’m Sarah,” she said.

“I’m Bruce,” said Blue-Eyes, taking my hand next. He shook it but didn’t let go. “Did you wash that hand?” he asked, and brought it to his nose.

I admit I completely lost my composure. I’m sure I was beet red. “Yes,” I said, trying to pull away. He held me a moment longer.

“What’s your name, Rosebud?” he asked.

“She doesn’t have to tell you,” Sarah interjected, laying her cool hand on top of ours. He let me go. I sat down and then wished I hadn’t. They towered over me, Sarah dark and trim and smiling entrancingly, Bruce full of mischief and clearly not done with me. They sat down too, one on either side of me, so that we filled three sides of the small, square table.

Bruce started to say something but Sarah shot him a look. “Eat your sandwich,” she said to me. I took a bite and began to chew.  “I like your panties,” she said.  My bite stuck in my throat. Bruce pounded me on the back.

“She doesn’t like compliments,” he said to Sarah.

“Aww,” Sarah replied, “She’s just shy.” I felt her hand on my knee. I gripped my sandwich in both hands. I needed to be cool. I needed to get a grip on myself. Bruce pulled his chair in a bit, until his knee pressed warmly against mine. I looked back and forth between them. Their eyes were fixed on me. I felt my heart racing and for the second time that day, what I’d thought was panic flip flopped into electricity. I sat up in my seat. I put down my sandwich.

“I’d really like to see your truck,” I said. There was a silence. Sarah took her hand away. The two of them looked at each other. And then all three of us leaned back in our plastic rest-station seats and laughed.

I ate my sandwich. We talked easily. They took my hands as we walked to their rig.

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