Deftly backing the trailer into the spot where the guard said to, I climb down from the tractor, unlatch the fifth wheel, disconnect the air and electrical lines, and lower the landing gear. "Damn," I mutter, looking at the darkening sky, "I hope it doesn't start to rain!" Climbing back in the cab, I pick up the satellite unit I use to communicate with the company. "Dropped at the lot", I send them. "I'm about out of hours today, and I'd like to go get a shower and some dinner. Think you can find me something for tomorrow?"
I start to do a little paperwork, and the "Incoming Message" light on the satellite unit lights up. "No problem," reads the reply. "Enjoy your dinner."
I put the paperwork down, release the brakes and ease the big Fruitliner into gear. "Goin' to dinner," I tell the guard at the gate, "See ya' later!" I turn onto the street, hit the interstate, and in fifteen minutes I'm over at the truck stop. I find a parking spot in the middle row, and shut the truck off. I throw a clean shirt, my toiletries, and some clean socks and underwear into my travel bag. Looking out the window, I can see that the clouds have increased, and it's going to rain in a little while. I head into the truck stop and get a quick shower. After I get cleaned up, I go have some dinner – meatloaf again – and check out the TV lounge. Nothing worth watching on the television, so I guess I'll go back out to the truck, and maybe play a few games on my laptop computer. The rain has started, and its gotten colder. It'll be a good night for crawling under the blankets and sleeping like a log.
Dodging the pouring rain as best as I can, I finally make it to the truck. I change out of my clothes into my sleepwear – a pair of baggy cotton shorts, and a T-shirt. I set the laptop on the steering wheel, turn it on, and turn on the overhead light so I can see the keyboard. I play a couple games of Spades, but I've beaten the computer so many times, it's not fun anymore.
Suddenly, there's a tap-tap-tap on the door. Startled by the noise, I look down, and there's a young girl standing between the trucks. "Yeah?" I say, as I roll down the window.
"Looking for some company?" as she smiles at me.
"Hmmm..." I think to myself, "Some nookie for dessert." "Get in," I say, as I open the door, "Let's talk about it."
As she climbs up into the cab, I move the computer out of the way and she slides into the driver's seat. I get a better look at her under the light; young - maybe late teens, or early twenties - dark brown hair, dark eyes, and very pretty. She hasn't been worn out by a life of hustling like some of the women I've seen at the truck stops. She's maybe 5' 10" tall, and soaking wet.
"Here," as I hand her a towel. "Dry yourself off."
"Thanks," she beams. "I appreciate it. Are you interested in some company tonight?"
"Maybe. You're not a cop, are you?" I ask.
"Hell no!" she replies, as she unzips her jacket. She opens up her jacket, hikes her sweatshirt up over her round tummy, lifts up her bra and shows me two of the biggest tits I've seen in a long time. Nice large titties with big brown areola, and nipples that are sticking straight out, just begging to be sucked on. "You're not a cop, are you?" she asks me, as she lowers her shirt.
"No, just a lonely trucker," as I slide the leg of my shorts to the side so she can see my cock.
"Good!" she smiles. "Well, are you interested?"
"Whattya charge?" I ask.
"Depends on whatcha want," she replies.
"How 'bout a half-and-half?"
She looks at me incredulously. "Me being pregnant doesn't bother you?"
"No. I like pregnant women, they're soft and squishy."
"I haven't been with anyone in ages, no one wants me since I got fat," she utters. "I usually charge $75, but you seem nice, so I'll only charge you $60." She stares at me intently with her big brown eyes and warns me, "But you gotta be gentle!"
"Okay," I say, smiling at her. "Not a problem." Reaching into my little medicine box in the cabinet, I grab a pill bottle, open it, and pop a little blue "Vitamin V" in my mouth.
"What's that? Viagra?"
"Zantac," I lie. "Heartburn. I had meatloaf for dinner, and it's giving me heartburn." I put the pill bottle back, and get a couple of pictures of my favorite President – Ulysses S. Grant - out of my secret stash. "All I've got is this," I say. "Got any change?"
"No, I don't," she frowns.
"C'mon," I think to myself. "You want the money, what are you gonna do?"
"If you want, I could spend a little extra time with you, maybe an hour or so. Maybe get you off twice... if you think you can!" she says, smiling at me.
Easier than shooting fish in a barrel. Show them the money, and let them make the offer. "Well... okay," I say. "That'll work."
"Good!" she says, taking the $50's and putting them in her purse. "My name's Lexus, what's yours?"
"Lexus? C'mon, what's your real name?" as I pull the curtains closed around the windshield and put my road atlas over the glass in the lower right door. Now we're alone, no one can see in.
"Jennifer," she says. "Lexus is what I go by when I'm dancing."
"You're a dancer?"
"Yeah, I used to dance at 'J. T.'s Pussycat Lounge' up off of Northside Expressway," she says. "Know where it is?"
"I've seen the billboards for it, but I've never been there," I tell her.
"It's not a bad place, it's okay, I guess. I made good money, but after I started to show, they wouldn't let me dance anymore. I was waiting tables and tending bar, but the manager got into a big argument with my asshole boyfriend last week, and he told me to come back after I had the baby. Gotta make money somehow." she shrugs. "So, what's your name?"