Flashing the Freeways

Flashing the Freeways

Part one

I don't know what made me flash my boobs at the guy in the expensive looking car, I don't know cars but Rolls Royce comes to mind, but it seemed he needed a lift.

By the smile I got, he got the lift he wanted.

I felt good after I had done my good deed for the day, then I got to thinking of repeating it to other guys in need of a upgrade in their afternoon.

I could be like an Angel of mercy, giving good cheer to strangers on the freeway.

I got all excited about the possibilities and it became like a crusade, a calling.

Almost immediately I began planning my mission, my public display of gratitude to humanity for whatever they may have done for me to make my life better.

No matter that I did not know them.

I just wanted, I told myself, to do something for others that would brighten their day, make life just a little nicer for them at that minute.

I told myself I would be doing a good turn, a bit of intimacy and friendliness, a public display of affection.

It was my obligation to brighten the day of men burdened by despair or lack of excitement.

I began to get excited by the chance to exhibit a little kindness, a little healthy excitement during a time of stress and despair.

When I flashed the second fellow he brightened so that I smiled and waved at him and he waved back warmly, toasting my gesture with a true sense of happiness and gratitude.

"Oh, thank you, lovely lady," he seemed to say.

"I will remember this image for years."

I began to think of different places, as if in an anthology, or a gathering of experiences I could categorize into areas to collect.

I started to think of freeways in which I could handout my endowments of pleasure and happiness.

I could do the 105, the 405, the 210, the Hollywood freeway, the San Diego Freeway, the Pasadena Freeway, the 215, the 99, the Ventura Freeway.

The choices were endless.

I could do the major highways, the Pacific Coast Highway, Wilshire Boulevard, Century, Sunset, Hollywood Boulevard, even Mulholland Drive.

I could keep track on a map I could put up in my office at work and nobody need be the wiser.

I was getting excited just by the numbers.

I began planning my routes, my strategies, and my pulse went up while I contemplated the adventures I would have handing out joy and happiness, doing my good turn for humanity.

So I am getting carried away?

That is the point.

I am getting carried away with a goal, a crusade, a mission in life.

I was so excited my breathing was going crazy.

On my next day of delivering delight I was on the 210 and I handed out views of my breasts to 25 men in cars from Hondas to Corvettes, from Harley motorcycles to a rebuilt Ford Model A.

I got waves, smiles, a few horn honks, and some lights flashed at me.

I thought it was funny that they flashed my flashing them.

I also thought I had made a mistake when I told Sylvia about my new hobby, but she was clearly interested, asking all kinds of questions about it.

"You want a collaborator?" she said with a broad smile.

"Two broads would be twice as good," she said.

"I'd love to do a little twin flashing my tits to guys on the freeway.

We could work as a team or do it separately and pool our numbers later.

We could do a topless run," she said with a grin.

"If you want an accomplice, I am all in," she said.

I started to get excited about having the two of us flash guys on the freeways, in fact her idea of a topless run got me all turned on.

We made plans and decided to go out the next Saturday for a test run down the Harbor Freeway.

We left my apartment in her convertible, a fifty-seven Chevy, at eleven wearing elastic tops we could pull down easily, and pull up again quickly if cops showed up.

Turning on to the Harbor Freeway we approached a pickup with a guy looking bored and distracted by the chores that lay ahead of him for the day.

We pulled up and pulled down and got his attention immediately.

His expression changed quickly to a wide smile and it brightened his face.

We sped off and he waved, thankfully, telling us by his head bobbing that he appreciated our offering on that dull day on the freeway.

"See that 18 wheeler," she said, getting into the spirit.

"We should give him the full Monty," she said laughing.

We slipped off our shorts, tossed the bras completely off, and sped up to pass the truck.

When we got next to him he didn't notice for a minute but there were only a few seconds until his eyes moved down from his cab and he saw two women riding nude in the convertible next to him.

He tooted his horn and waved out his drivers window, thanking us for making his day.

He would have a hell of a story to tell at the rest stop to the other truckers who would then go out on the road in search of the fifty-seven Chevy with two naked lassies in the front seat.

We did three 18 wheelers and a motor home from Indiana with a bored driver at the wheel who brightened up quickly when we passed his rig.

His trip is now better with the sight to brag about at the next RV camp that he would retell the story of the naked chicks in the hot classic car with the white sidewalls.

We drove up and down the Harbor Freeway three times and 'did' a car full of nuns, who crossed themselves when we waved and passed them, and a migrant workers' bus that got the whole bus load of workers standing in the aisle and waving their hats over their heads in praise of our public display of friendliness.

On our last trip back down the freeway towards San Pedro, we came up on an old truck with scratches all over it and dents from front to back.

The driver looked half asleep, but we woke him up instantly when we pulled up next to him and honked our horn.

He casually glanced over and then stood up in his seat and waved happily in the air.

We had made his day and that old truck sped up to speeds it hadn't seen in years.

He followed us until he had to pull off at the produce shipping plant.

But before he left the freeway, he saluted us with a weak but well-intentioned blast from that old horn that said, "Thanks, ladies, I will remember this day for a long time.

See you again sometime, I hope."

The next day was Sunday and afforded us with a whole different kind of driver to grant our special kind of favor.

The first thing we did was spot another big rig and doff all our clothes to repeat the full Monty on a second trucker.

When we pulled up a alongside of the 18 wheeler we got a surprise ourselves when we looked up at a female face looking down from the cab.

Like the first, we got a blast from the driver then when she passed us she held up a sign.

"You don't know how much pleasure you just gave this old lesbian trucker," it said.

"We should have a radio," Sylvia said.

"Talk to our admires.

We may get some offers," she said with a laugh.

The next performance we did was for a big Buick full of men who looked like they were coming from a church meeting, but religion got better for them when we pulled up beside them.

You would have thought they saw the second coming when the two cars were side by side.

Every face in that car went from pious to pervert in less than a second, and they forgot all about the Bible and went straight to Sodom and Gomorrah without passing go and without collecting anything but dreams of lust.

We laughed ourselves silly while we sped off and watched them in the rearview mirror.

It wasn't long before we came up on another bus, but this time it was a load of marines heading for transport to probably a airport and shipping out, so our present was a welcome send off for a bunch of testosterone high soldiers to fight for the country.

They gave us a twenty-one gun salute with a bus load of smiles and randy looks as we full Monty'd passed them.

Sylvia's convertible was a godsend, because when you flash in a car with a top you're ever sure what effect you're having, whether you are even being seen as you pass, but with the top down our tops on the floor you are a whole lot surer about your effectiveness.

When we full-Montied a pickup full of construction workers we thought they might run off the road.

It wasn't clear what kind of project they were working on, but it was clear what they wanted to do with the rest of their day.

It was us and we smiled over it the whole way home.

"This is the most fun I have had when I am not laying flat on my back," she said.

"When do you want to do this again?"

We agreed on the next Saturday, but I went out for a solo run on Wednesday.

I decided on the 210 through Pasadena, and I came up on an old man in a very old Hudson and I waved and flashed my double D's at him as I passed. I think he went from seventy to thirty in one quick look, and watched him in the mirror as I went by.

It was clear from his grin he had enjoyed my visual offering, and he waved back, realizing there was no way he would be able to catch my year old Toyota Camry.

I got a surprise when I flashed a red pickup and he caught up and raised out of the seat and sure enough, he was nude as well.

I had flashed a naked driver in a dually.

He flashed me back and honked a salute to driving free.

Sylvia and I have done the 5, the 405, the 163, the 2 out of Hollywood, and the very long 215.

We are thinking of taking a trip up the coast toward San Francisco and doing the 680, the 580, the 288, the 101, the 113, and the 237.

Up there the possibilities are endless.

We could drive and flash all day and never run out of possibilities.

Word has gotten around, especially among trucker, because we had one trail us, honk before he overtook us, and waved as he shot passed.

I think that it is clear talk has gone out over the radio with descriptions of the car and long haulers have come looking for us.

We do most of our drives now completely naked, not even attempting to wear our tops at all.

I think we have uncovered a whole subculture of naked drivers out there just waiting for the chance to let it be known.

We will tell you about our next adventure in the north part of the state.