Cynthia carefully reflected on the enormous wall of costumes. She was holding the costume she had picked for the party at the law firm: the nun's costume, perfect for her straight-arrow reputation as the firm's youngest tax partner. It was an appropriate choice: funny, dignified, but not in the least bit controversial or risqué.
Her costume was chosen, but it was the other costumes that caught her eye: the sexy chain gang prisoner, the naughty schoolgirl, the truck stop hooker.
Cynthia felt her eyes drawn to the hooker costume. A few days ago she had been driving back with some female colleagues from a Woman's Networking Conference where Cynthia had spoken on the role of women in the legal profession. Driving along the interstate her group had stopped at a truck stop diner to use the facilities and breakup the trip with a cup of coffee.
Cynthia had never eaten at a truck stop before but the large, brightly lit diner conformed to every stereotype she had of such places: plastic tables, a long counter with stools, even a black and white checkered tile floor. As a law partner it was the sort of place that Cynthia ordinarily wouldn't be caught dead in but filled with adrenaline after her triumphal speaking engagement at the conference and happy to be with her laughing female colleagues Cynthia didn't mind slumming.
The waitress wore a blue uniform with a white apron and literally snapped her gum as they placed their orders. However it was the cliché that Cynthia hadn't been expecting that fascinated her the most.
"Speaking of professional women, is it okay to use the restrooms here?" Michelle asked.
"Yeah, sure," the waitress said. "We don't let the lot lizards use the toilets," the waitress said. "They piss outside."
The casualness of the statement caught Cynthia by surprise and as the other women in her group laughed nervously at the waitress's vulgarity Cynthia peered out into the parking lot. In the dark she spotted several scantily dressed women walking among the trucks.
Cynthia was shocked. "Are those... PROSTITUTES?" she said. "For real?"
"They're not doing truck repairs," the waitress snickered. Cynthia swallowed as in the distance she watched a blonde with curly hair and a pink halter top climb into the cab of a large orange moving truck.
"Disgusting!" Michelle huffed. "Now I don't even want to touch anything."
"Don't worry, honey," the waitress said. "They don't come in here. I run them off if they get too close."
"Yes, but the men use them, then THEY come in here," Michelle said, "It's gross! Lot lizards are FILTHY."
"Yeah, they get pretty gamey," the waitress agreed. "I can't understand how the guys use 'em, knowing how many peckers they suck every night. They stink to high heaven, too. It's like doing it with a pig."
"Someone should call the exterminator. They need to be sprayed," Danielle said, her voice oozing contempt.
"They belong in JAIL. The police should run them out of here," Samantha said.
"Sheriff gets a percentage," the waitress chuckled. "If the girls try to run off the Sheriff brings 'em back. Between the pimps and the law and the bastard who owns the diner, there's not much left for the girls. That's why they're so skanky."
Cynthia looked out the window, straining to see the girls in the darkness. A plump hooker in a black bikini climbed into a truck. Cynthia felt a wave of revulsion as the lights from a passing truck revealed the hooker's ass in the air and the face of a bearded trucker whose eyes were closed in ecstasy.
Michelle, Danielle, and Samantha made faces to show their disgust. There was no further talk of the prostitutes that night, but Cynthia noticed that her fellow lawyers skipped the coffee and pointedly ordered bottled water instead.
Cynthia had two cups of coffee. It was hot and strong and the cup looked old but sparkling clean. Indeed, the tiled diner was almost antiseptic and reminded Cynthia of a hospital cafeteria. Still as Cynthia stared at the cup she wondered how many of the men who had used it before her had used it after being with a prostitute.
As always, Cynthia's ambitious friends gossiped about networking and work and rich guys and money. Cynthia's mind drifted as she stared out the window at the lot lizards, scurrying between the trucks like cockroaches in a dimly lit kitchen.
Every now and then some fat old trucker would vanish into the lot and return 10 or 15 minutes later with a smile on his face. Sometimes nothing was said, but other times their friends congratulated them on their conquest when they returned.
From her comfortable seat in the diner Cynthia leaned back and sipped her coffee as she watched the blonde with the frizzy permanent crawl out of the cab of a truck and jump down. The blonde was wearing a pink tube top and short denim skirt, and as she jumped down her breasts jiggled like Jello and her skirt flew up to reveal that she was wearing no panties and was shaved below. A moment later, the trucker came down after her, laughing as he squeezed her butt and breasts.
A few of the truckers around them honked their horns and called out several inaudible but clearly lewd remarks at the prostitute and her latest customer. The crude trucker continued to squeeze the prostitute's butt and hold up her skirt for everyone to see her pussy like she was the catch of the day. Even from a distance Cynthia could see the girl was embarrassed, and was squirming to get out of his grip as one of the other truckers flipped on his headlights to illuminate her charms.
Cynthia found herself surprised by the girl's embarrassment: she had supposed that it was impossible to humiliate a truck stop hooker. Was the girl new? Was tonight her first night? Cynthia shuddered at the thought of what that must feel like.
Cynthia had long harbored a prostitution fantasy. Oddly enough she never dreamed of being a high-class call girl servicing wealthy clients; that was too close to her day job as a corporate tax attorney. In her fantasy Cynthia was a degraded street corner hooker, ready to take on all comers. Like her coworkers Cynthia was repulsed by what she saw in the lot, but she was also strangely excited.
There was something about the blonde that mesmerized her as Cynthia imagined herself in the girl's shoes. When she adopted her perspective suddenly the little tart's shame made sense. The girl had spread her legs for money. Everyone knew it and now they were laughing at her and catcalling her like she was some sort of fuck trophy. It was the most humiliating thing -- and oddly enough, the most exciting thing -- that Cynthia could imagine.
Cynthia took another sip of her delicious, hot coffee as she watched the spectacle unfold. Grasping her by the scruff of the neck the trucker continued to show his prize to the row of parked vehicles. The hooker lowered her face, but the trucker, pulling on one of her cheap plastic pink hoop earrings, jerked her head back and her chin up so everyone could see her face.
There were several honks and more crude hoots from the other truckers. Finally one of the truckers flashed his headlights, and with a hard slap on her ass the hooker was propelled off to her next humiliating fuck.
In the booth Danielle was bragging about her billable hours and her share of the partner's profits as Cynthia watched the fat old trucker who had just had sex with the blonde amble his way back to the diner and enter with a broad smile.
