"There's one," Brenda said as we came over the crest of a hill.
We'd been driving through the night hoping to get home without having to spend another night at a motel. Right now we both needed a cup of coffee and decided that we'd stop at the next gas station where it looked as though we could get coffee as well as gas.
The country road had been pleasant to drive until darkness shut off the view of the landscape. But now two lanes, twisting and curving into the blackness had worn us down. We needed to stop. Coffee and maybe something to eat would ramp up our energy for the last several hours home.
This place wasn't especially inviting, but there hadn't been anything else for a long time. If we were going to stop, it better be here. The gas pumps were old. Convenient payment with a credit card was not an option. There were just two of them, a testament to how few travelers used this route. We pulled in next to the further one. A handwritten sign on the glass directed the user to go inside. "Pay before you pump" it said.
Brenda hopped out and took off the gas cap. I went inside to give the attendant a credit card. He saw me coming and, rather unbelievably, came around from his station at the register and opened the door for me. I gave him one of my better smiles and a sincere thank you.
"Gets lonely out here this time of night," he said. "Don't know why they keep this place open all night. No one out here to buy gas this time of night." Then rather under his breath as though anyone cared what he said, he added, "Or any other time for that matter."
"Well, we're glad you're open," I responded. "We don't really need gas, but we were hoping you'd have coffee. That's what we really need."
"Don't have any fresh, but if you ladies would like to wait a minute or two, I'll be happy to make some. I could use some myself," he told me.
He took my credit card and made his way behind the register where he pushed a button and set a dial so the pump would operate. By this time I could see that Brenda had the nozzle in the tank. She nodded as the gas began pumping into the tank. It wouldn't take long to fill it unless his pump was really slow. It really didn't matter. We both wanted coffee and his offer to make a fresh pot was very attractive.
"Sure," I said. "I'll do the windows while you do the coffee."
"OK. Won't take but a minute," he said turning now toward the coffee machine.
I went back outside and told Brenda the plan. Then I took up the squeegee from its murky bath and started on the windows. The dirty water running off the windows made streaks of "almost clean" in the dust that covered the car's paint. The pump clicked off soon after I started on the windows. Brenda finished with the gas detail, replacing the cap and the pump nozzle. She went in to retrieve my credit card and claim her cup of coffee.
I finished with the windows and followed her inside two or three minutes later.
"Sit," the attendant said. "I'll bring the coffee over there. Do you take sugar or cream?"
"Both," we responded almost in unison as we found a old, but fairly clean table. The tables were located at the back of the small station in a corner. Racks of candy and chips were nearby, temptingly near. The candy and chip rack helped create a somewhat secluded alcove for the tables.
We said nothing for a few minutes. Then the attendant showed up with the coffee as well as the sugar and cream all on a small tray.
"Thanks," we said as he set the coffees in front of each of us. The cream and sugar he put in the center of the table. He left and returned with stirrers and napkins.
"Mind if I join you," he asked as he supplied us with the last necessaries of drinking coffee. How could we say yes, we mind, we really don't want some gas station attendant sitting at this small table with us? Instead we said, sure, sit down.
He wasn't a bad looking guy and he seemed pleasant enough. Maybe, I thought, some fresh company and conversation would help refresh us for the last two hours of the trip. He looked to be around our age meaning conversation wouldn't be stilted by generational gaps.
He came back with a cup of coffee for himself and sat with us. We talked about where we'd been and what we'd been doing on this trip. He told us that he was just doing this job part time to make money to go to college. It was a conversation like any other.
After a bit he got up to refill our coffee. He returned with the pot and refilled our cups, but instead of sitting, he said, "I want to show you girls something."
We looked at him as he pulled a rather small gun from his jacket pocket. "What's that," I asked uttering the stupidest question of my life.
"It's a gun, you dumb broad," he said angrily, "and if you don't cooperate, I'm going to use it to put holes in you and your friend."
I don't think I'd ever been so terrified in my life. I know I stuttered. Both of shrank back as though to get away from him, but obviously there was nothing we could do, nowhere to go. We were trapped at the back of a small building. A rack of candy and chips prevented escape to the door. All the super hero stuff you think you might do, grab the gun, say something clever, that kind of stuff never even came to mind.
He dropped a pair of what looked like police issue handcuffs on the table. "Cuff her to that shelf." He pointed to a shelf that was attached to the wall. "Move!"
Brenda stood and backed fearfully to the shelf. The steel shelf he had indicated was just about head height for Brenda. She held her hands up and I cuffed them running the chain of the handcuffs through the steel lattice work of the shelf. I didn't look at her. All I could look at was that gun pointed as it was at my gut.
"Alright," he said, "you come with me." He motioned me toward the cash register with the gun. I moved in that direction but walked sideways. For some reason I was afraid to take my eyes off the gun. I stumbled a bit on merchandise in the aisle. At the end of the aisle I tripped and fell over a short stack of beer. I ended up sitting on the floor terrified he'd shoot me. I wasn't really hurt, but my butt stung from hitting the edges of the cans as I fell. Fear and the pain from the cans made me start to cry.
"Ah, shut up," he yelled at me menacing me with the gun. I quieted down and got up. With me still walking sideways we continued to the register. "Now, sit," he commanded pointing at the floor in a corner. I sat.
Alternately watching me and what he was doing, he threw a number of switches. Lights went off and soon the only lights on were near the table where we had been drinking coffee and one under the counter here at the register. I could hear Brenda sobbing in the background. I was too afraid of him to cry.
"Get up," he said looking steadily at me. Using the wall, I stood on unsteady legs. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stared at him waiting for the next command. "Back there," he motioned with the gun for me to go back to the table.
I saw that Brenda's face was streaked with tears when we returned to the table. "Stand next to her," he said. His voice and demeanor had calmed somewhat. "I'm going to fuck both of you. If you cooperate, I'll let you go. If you give me trouble, I'll have to punish you. If I have to, I'll kill you. If I have to kill one of you, I'll kill both of you. You got that?" I got that. Brenda nodded.
I was looking at the beginning of a nightmare something you'd heard about and read about, but not something that would ever happen to you. Could I be a hero. I realized quickly I wasn't a hero, in fact I was a coward. I thought I'd rather make it through the upcoming ordeal than get killed. I was terrified. I was so scared I could hardly stand up.
I nodded. Brenda nodded again. "Fine," he said a bit of triumph in his voice. "You," he pointed the gun at me. I held my breath. "Take off your jeans." My hand was shaking so that I could hardly undo the button and push my jeans down. My panties started to come with them. With shaking hands I held them up while I pushed my jeans with the other.
He laughed, "Honey, you're going to take those panties off anyway. Just pull them down with your jeans."
To be so close to being so naked in front of this man was horrible. I let go my panties and pulled them off with my jeans. Without being told I took off my sandals as well. The cold of the linoleum on the soles of my feet underscored my nakedness.
I stood. The shirt I was wearing stopped above my waist so there was nothing now covering me from the hem of the shirt down. I've never felt so naked and vulnerable in my life.
"Now the shirt and whatever you got on under it. I want to see your tits," he was waving the gun around as he talked.
I stripped off my shirt, then reluctantly, my bra. Letting them drop to the cold linoleum I was now completely naked. I tried to cover myself with my arms and hands. "Put your hands down. I want to see you," he yelled. I stood as straight as I could.
He looked. He looked at my breasts then pointedly at my pussy. "Turn around. I want a look at your ass," he commanded. I turned. "OK, let me see those tits again." I turned again. "God, you make me hard," he hissed emphasizing each word.
"Grab your nipples and pull your tits out for me," another command. I did what he told me to do. It hurt. "More." I pulled harder my mouth too dry to complain.
"Now spread your pussy." Being naked wasn't enough. I was to be humiliated. I opened myself to him. "Turn around and spread so I can see your ass." I did. I began to think I'd do most anything just to get this over with.
"OK, turn back."
