One hot summer morning, on the western edge of Lincoln, Nebraska, a trucker pulled his rig over to the shoulder of the highway to pick up a hitchhiker. He never stopped for hitchhikers but this one made him jake brake.
This hitchhiker was a young, blonde, blue-eyed girl carrying a satchel and wearing a grey, flippy-flared, short miniskirt with very bare legs. She also wore a white buttoned blouse tied up under her chest with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was in a pony tail. She almost skipped to catch up to the rig, her heeled sandals clicking the pavement and her ponytail bouncing with each stride. With each stride she stretched each bare leg out ahead in front of her, landing on her toes as she ran, to keep her strapless heels from slipping off her feet.
Upon arriving at the passenger side door, she looked up inquisitively, unsure what to do next. The trucker leaned awkwardly across the cab, just managing to reach the latch on the passenger door and give it a push. She pulled the door open and the two blinked at each other momentarily.
"Hello," she said with a sweet voice, "I want to go Los Angeles. Are you going west very far?"
The trucker stared back at her in astonishment. The breeze outside fluttered the locks of her hair and fluttered the hem of her bouncy, short skirt. The flared, A-line skirt's cloth looked a bit stiff, but the wind still lifted it easily. Her free hand snapped around behind her and pinned the hem down reflexively. Not only was her white blouse tied up under her mid-sized C-cup breasts, but her cleavage suggested she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples were faintly visible through the thin, white fabric. He couldn't quite guess her age but she looked much too young to be out on the highway alone like this.
"Well, actually, I'm going to Oakland..." he started hesitantly, and paused. He scanned his mirrors and looked around for signs of anyone else. He'd heard of other truckers being robbed this way -- by using pretty girls as a decoy. Another rig flashed by to the left, its wake buffeting the sleeper cab. He'd lost track of all the hitchhiking laws of various states, but didn't want a refresher course just now. He scooted over towards the passenger door and extended his hand. "Look, give me your bag -- let me help you up here. It's dangerous to be on the side of the highway like this."
She handed him her bag, placed a heeled sandal hesitantly on the cab's ladder, and took his outstretched hand. The wind lifted her little skirt right up in the back as she hoisted herself up the rungs. He couldn't see around behind her, but he could see the skirt's hem suddenly flare at the sides. He saw bare hips before she quickly freed a hand up and pinned down the hem again as she scooted into the cab and sat down in the passenger seat.
"Close the door," said the trucker. She quickly pulled the door shut. Her eyes darted nervously around the cab. He anxiously checked his mirrors once more and looked at her again as she perched. Her legs looked so bare in the skirt. It was the way the skirt flared. Like a cheerleader skirt, but not as pleated. He saw how her smooth, bare, slightly-tanned thighs had widened just a bit as she had sat down. She looked so young. He started up the rig again, keeping tightly to the highway shoulder as other vehicles passed.
"How old are you, miss?" he asked.
"I just turned eighteen today!" she said brightly. He quickly touched the brakes and brought the rig to a halt on the shoulder again. Her smile froze. He stared at her for a moment in the awkward silence.
"Look, I don't want to be a jerk here, but can I see some sort of ID? I can't afford to get myself into any kind of trouble." He had a vision of a minor on the run from something, and exotic, felony charges being brought against him. His income would vanish.
She nodded earnestly, her eyes wide, and rummaged in her satchel before producing a New York State driver's licence. The trucker scrutinized it carefully. He knew what fake ID looked like -- he'd been a bouncer a long time ago. Sure enough, there was today's date, minus eighteen short years, clearly printed on the licence. The licence had been issued to her about a year ago. He handed it back to her.
"So your name is Cody, and you're from Buffalo? And today's actually your birthday?" he asked. He let the rig start to trundle along the shoulder again. Even at eighteen, this girl was young enough to be his daughter. She was obviously someone else's daughter and the voice of reason kept whispering for him to drop her off somewhere safe.
"Yes," she smiled sweetly. "I'm Cody. And yes, I'm from Buffalo. And yes, it's my birthday today! What's your name?"
"Well Cody, happy birthday, I guess. I'm Hal. I'm from Macon." Hal pondered the possibility of driving to the next Nebraska State Patrol station, two or so hours down the highway in North Platte, and just dropping her off there. It was a wonder that one of their cars hadn't found her first. The state patrol's headquarters were just behind them in Lincoln but he didn't want to waste time turning the rig around and frightening her in the process. Besides, he had a haul to deliver and a schedule to keep.
Cody extended her hand and let Hal shake it while he did a check in the driver side mirror and merged back on the highway. "Thank you! Pleased to meet you, Hal. And I don't have any money to pay for your gas."
Hal looked back over at her. She sat on the forward edge of the passenger seat, knees together. Her miniskirt covered her upper thighs in the front. He could tell from the way it bunched in the back that it hadn't completely covered her behind when she sat down on the seat. She kept her knees together and her dainty mules flat on the floor, but she had arched her heels up out of her mules and was letting her weight rest just on her tip toes. Her feet looked gorgeous. The inside arches of her feet were delicate, high and beautiful. They reminded him of gymnasts and dancers. She rested her elbows on her bare knees in this position, and rested her chin in her hands, looking back at him with innocent, wide eyes.
"Well, this is an awfully strange way for you to celebrate your eighteenth birthday, Cody. But I guess I can make this your birthday present," he said. "And the gas costs me just the same without you. But what are you doing out here, and how did you make it this far from Buffalo?"
"I took the bus to Chicago the other day and I got my clothes and money and stuff stolen at this shitty hostel there--"
"Wait, what?" Hal's mouth hung open. "Did you call the pol..."
"God no! So anyway," she continued breathlessly, "I had to hitchhike. This really old dude in a smelly car took me as far as Lincoln. Actually, I asked to be let out in Lincoln. His car was gross. After that I decided I wanted only big freight trucks. You're the first." She inhaled deeply.
"Why a big freight truck?"
"You must be going a long way. And you must be safe. You truckers have radios and always look out for each other, right?"
"I guess. But we also look out for runaways and people wanted by the police."
Cody looked at him sideways. "Well I'm eighteen now, so I can run away legally. Anyway, I'm going to Los Angeles. I've always wanted to go to Los Angeles. I want to be a model and maybe a movie star. I want to be famous. So I'm going to Los Angeles to live my dream."
Hal fought the urge to burst out laughing. She caught his smirk.
"Why are you smiling? I can do this if I want. I have a Model Mayhem profile, you know."
"What's Model Mayhem?" he asked.
"Nevermind," she said. "Anyway, I'm going to go to L.A., shoot with the big photographers and get discovered. I even know how to take photographs myself." She pulled a small, prosumer DSLR out of her satchel.
Hal looked over at the camera. "What did you parents think of this idea?" he asked.
"Don't ask me about my parents," she said. "I only have one, anyway." She shifted in her seat, repositioning her arched feet. Hal's eyes flicked to her bare legs and watched their shape change as she shifted. Her legs looked so bare and smooth.
