Snack Shop at the Truck Stop

A roadside dance bar somewhere off the interstate. Late at night. You've been driving for hours, taking your load south to Atlanta. Parking your rig at the truckstop, you're road-weary, but wired. A buddy you meet in the coffeeshop tells you about this bar - and you walk down together. You could use a drink.

The bar is warm, dark, wood, with pools of light from the billiard lights suspended from the ceiling. Earlier, there was a band, but now the jukebox has taken over, playing slow, sexy music. The regulars are drinking. A few couples dance, enjoying each other, getting ready to go home.

And I'm there, alone, dancing with my eyes closed. Like you, I'm wearing denim and boots and a button-down shirt. The buttons are open low so the lace of my bra can be seen. I've had too much to drink, and caught in the music, I smile as I run my hands up my body to my hair. My hands tease my thighs, my hips, my waist, my breasts, my neck, and my smile grows into an open-mouthed, closed-eye grin as I finally reach my hair and shake free.

The regulars know my husband and wouldn't be caught dead dancing with me. But I know he's gone for now (in jail or overseas) - so I don't care. I just want to have fun.

You and your buddy watch me. You laugh and comment "shit" "what a piece of ass"

The music is too loud for me to hear you, but I'm aware now of your presence. I open my eyes and see you watching me, drinking your beer, smiling with your friend. I smile at you, and invite you to join me, tilting my head, my tongue touching the back of my teeth. You raise your eyebrows, questioning my intentions. I lean forward, and smirking, dance to your table "Want to dance, cowboy?" My voice is thick, the words a little slurred. I take your hands and pull you from your seat. You feign resistance, but laughing and shaking your head, look at your buddy and stand.

The beat of the music is loud. It's easy to find. With your hands in mine, I draw you onto the dance floor, my hips swaying, biting my lip. You cock an eyebrow, and follow my lead. You dance with ease, raising my hands above my head, and pulling me into your body. You smell of sweat and smoke. I smell of alcohol and jasmine. Releasing my hands, you circle my waist with your arms. I drop my hands to your shoulders. And we dance, hips locked. As one. With ease. Your hips are strong, your shoulders broad. I close my eyes and drop my head back. You can see the curve of my breasts, cupped in lace. You want to kiss my smooth skin.

I open my eyes. I see your desire. I love your heat. I feel your cock in your jeans. I want to play.

The music changes. Country rock, upbeat. We break from each other and dance a little, but our mind is already elsewhere. You take my hand and I follow you back to the table, where your buddy is sitting, drinking, watching. "Hi," I say, and wink.

You offer me a seat. "Can I get you a drink?"

I'm smart enough to know that I'm drunk enough, and laugh.

"No. But you could get me a cherry. Or maybe I could eat yours."

Your buddy looks in his drink.

"I'll be right back"

"I'll be here." And you know I will.

You walk on over to the bar, and I watch you.

You're beautiful and rough, weathered by life,

but still very much in the game.

I want to play with you.

I wonder who will set the rules.

I slide into the seat next to your buddy.

"You're cute," I whisper. "Where you from?"

"North of here."

"Yeah? Where you going?"

"South"

"Oh, yeah?" I laugh, "You a bird? Looking for some warmer winds to ride?"

From the bar you see me lean in to whisper to your buddy. I lose my balance and catch myself on his shoulder. I run my hand down his arm and take his hand. "Let me read your future. . . see which way the winds are blowing"

You're back quick with the drinks, putting a shot glass full of cherries down on the table. "Thank you," I say, dropping your buddy's hand, holding your gaze and taking a cherry by its stem. I hold it up and suck the sweet fruit before biting into it. "No trouble," you say, sitting down and placing your hand on my thigh, claiming territory and rights of ownership. You down your shot quickly and put your other arm on the back of my chair. "No trouble at all."

"No trouble? You are too good, sir, trouble is my name."

And I lean in to kiss you.

You stop me with a finger to my lips.

"No."

You pick up your beer and drink.

"I thought you liked me," I pout.

"You're drunk. I don't even know you."

When you turn back to face me, your eyes are fierce.

A hawk's eyes, dark, hungry, alert.

My breath catches in my throat. I am delighted.

I want you to devour me.

Focussed and suddenly sober, I reach for your hands.

"Dance with me, cowboy."

The dance floor is empty.

We stand, watching each other warily. Again, I lead you away from the table, but this time we cross the floor and head to the back of the building where a door leads out onto the parking lot. We walk slowly, facing each other, stoking our fires, guarding our hearts. A few people we pass turn to look our way, but pay little attention. At this time of night, in this roadside bar, there aren't many surprises.

I push backwards through the door and we find ourselves outside in the night, in the shadows cast by the fenced-in dumpster. The odor of stale beer thickens the air.

There in the dark, you push me against the fence. I hear its links rattle. I exhale with a hiss anticipating your attack. You close in, tight, hands gripping the fence links. I am caught between your eyes and the net. I press my leg between yours. I bare my chest. I offer myself. You eat.

Out in the shadows I am only partly exposed. My shirt is open, and as I breathe, my breasts struggle against the lace of my bra. You bury your face in my chest. I feel your lips, your tongue, your teeth.

My knees are weak. I am caught by the fence.

My eyes are closed, waiting.

You lift your head, and reach down for your belt. I hear the buckle release its grip. I hear your zipper, and open my eyes.

My face is wary, but willing. My teeth are bared, but ready.

Something behind you shakes me away. I duck under your arm to search the shadows. I thought I heard the door. . . . But the shadows are dark, and the deeper I go, I feel like I'm falling. I turn back to you, to ground myself.

Your back is to the fence now. Your cock in your hand. Stroking the shaft. It's long and hard, and I smile as I kneel. With both knees on the concrete, I look up at your face. You're hot and mean. A hunter with his spear. And I am the deer, my eyes soft and wet, my lips soft and wet. I coax your cock out of your hand, and still watching your eyes, circle its head with my tongue. I taste your sweat, the sharp tang of your piss. It turns me on. It's so fucking dirty. I see myself in the night by the dumpster, sucking a stranger, pulling cum from the shadows.

You lean back into the fence and close your eyes. Released from your gaze, I turn inward and try to swallow your cock, taking it deeper and deeper. You wrap my hair in your hands, and push until I gag. I open for you. My throat, my legs. You fuck my throat, and I am impaled. I cannot move outside of your rhythm.

You lift me by the shoulders, and turn me around. My eyes stay closed as you reach into my jeans, sliding your hand over and under my ass until you can feel the sloppy wetness of my pussy. Your fingers are strong, they hold me up. With your other hand, you unsnap my jeans. My mouth opens. My eyes open.

Your buddy is there. Another hunter with a spear in his hand.

"Shit"

I'm not sure who spoke. The word full of breath, full of pleasure and surprise.

"Fuck"

Your buddy is watching while you unzip my pants. They still hug my hips, but your hands are inside, one from the front, one from the back, your fingers meeting as they slide through my lips. One hand rounds the curves of my ass to my hip, and I lower myself on your fingers. I dance for your buddy, grinding my hips, riding your fingers. He steps forward, stroking his cock. I retreat. I will not catch his eye. But, holding my breasts, I turn my face back to you. "Kiss me," I whisper.

You take your hands from my jeans and slide them up my body, raising my hands to the sky. With one arm you lock my arms behind my head. The other arm wraps around my breasts, your hand teasing the lace, exposing my skin. I feel the cool air of the night on my breast. My nipples contract. I feel vulnerable and mute. A woman. A thing of flesh and blood. A woman. A doe. Your buddy's calloused palm grazes my skin, hesitantly, then defiantly, stroking my breast. I feel the rhythm of his cock as he jacks himself off. It echoes through his arm and resonates in my chest.

You slide your hand back into my jeans. I close my eyes. Your buddy disappears. Releasing my hands from behind my head, you wrap our arms around me. I press my ass against you, searching out your cock. Your blood is hot. Your flesh hard and strong. Our hips lock again, and we dance as before. As one. With ease. You take the lead and finger my pussy, and I follow you down, a deep knee bend, hips grinding, riding your hand. You run your hands now to my shoulders, my throat, my jaw, my mouth. I taste myself, I taste the ocean, sweetened with honey, I chew on your fingers. You pull my hair.

Your buddy steps forward. My knees hit the concrete. You open my mouth. I take in his cock. Your hands tease my ass, my pussy, my ass. I suck on his cock, riding your hands. I want fucking, now, wild, wet fucking. I want you to fuck me. Both your buddy and you.

"Fuck . . ."

The door slams.

"Shit."

"Oh, fuck. What are you doing? Get out of here. Go home. We're closed."

"Shit"

"Fuck"

We button our clothes.

"Go on. Get out of here. We don't want any trouble."

We act like we're friends, and walk away from the bar.

Your arm is around my shoulder. My arm around your waist. Your buddy walks next to us. We kiss while we walk, deep, thirsty kisses, to remember where we were, what we wanted, why we're still together. Without stopping the kiss, you ask, "Where's your car?" "I don't have a car. I came with my girlfriend." Our lips caress each other with every word. We breathe each other's breath. We close our eyes, and stumble in the gravel. You hold me up with your lips. Occasionally, we stop walking altogether, and just drink. But a car passes, someone yells something crude, and we break apart and pretend like we've known each other for awhile - able to walk together without talking.

"Can we take you home?" "No, my kids are there." Too real, too real. "What about the showers? You want to take a shower?" "No," I've been there before . . . the showers in the truckstop . . . too bright, too clean. I want shadows and dirt.

Your buddy speaks, I'd forgotten he could. "I've got a sleeper."

"No, really? Fuck." "You do? Can we see it?" "Sure."

He's full of surprises.

We follow him through the maze of trucks. Though the parking lot is lit, these huge rigs cast shadows that deepen the night. Orange glow and shadow. Some of the trucks idle while they sleep, the sound of their engines, the smell of the deisel, but it's late, nobody's out. We're quiet, now, anticipating privacy and lust. My heart is full. My knees are weak. I've broken away from your arm. I walk to the rig on my own.

Your buddy opens the back door of his cab. A sleeper with a bed. A tiny room. He holds the door open, and you lift me up the high step. I enter first - the cab cramped, sweaty, jumbled, perfect. I look around for a moment, not much to see, and then turn back to watch you climb into the truck, followed by your buddy, who closes the door behind him.

It's dark. And small. You press against me, there's no room to stand. I lean back onto the bed, sitting suddenly, and you reach for my blouse. Your face is in shadows. I cannot see your buddy. I search out your eyes, while I unbutton my blouse. You take out your cock, massaging its length, releasing it from the cramped crotch of your jeans. I make room on the bed, and you kneel on its edge. I take your cock in my hand and cupping your balls, rub the base with my thumb, til it bucks and jumps. I kiss its eye, and then find yours again. You frighten me for a moment. Your hunter's eyes. Your buddy slides in with his cock in his hand and I take his too. With a cock in each hand, I pull and I kiss and I suck and I eat - Your hands pull my hair. His hands stroke my breasts.

We're on our knees now. As you pull off my jeans, I suck his cock. They're tight, and I raise my hips and straighten my legs and rock back and forth to help you loosen their grip. Now I am exposed. In the orange shadows, you see my round ass. With your hands in my hair, you kiss my back, my shoulders, my waist, the curve of my hips. I lift my ass and you slap it back down. I gasp as I suck, the cool air teasing his cock. I feel your hand reach through my legs. I feel your fingers spreading my lips. I feel your cock thrusting up from below. I bite your buddy's cock with the force of your thrust. He pulls out, his hands on my shoulders and leans in to whisper, "I want your ass." His thumbs on my neck. His fingers in my hair. My body moves with the rhythm of your thrusts. Faster and deeper and slicker and fine. With your hands on my waist, you watch my flesh shake. Your buddy kisses me, stopping my mouth, or I'd cry out. I'd sing a deep moaning song. I'd praise your cock. I'd growl. He raises my body. I'm pressed between you. Just the head of your cock finds my pussy. So shallow now. I want you inside. Your hands on my waist. His hands on my breasts. I'm on fire. Too hot. I'm on fire.

Your cock slips. We're free. And I turn to face you. I drink your kisses while you pull my hair. Your buddy sucks his fingers, and teases my asshole. I want to be fucked by your buddy and you. I lower my hips, my ass kisses his fingers. I am wet and wild. I want fucking now. Still teasing my ass, your buddy uncurls his legs. He sits on the bed, straddling my hips. You lift me up and he guides me down. His cock like a spear is hard and sharp. He easily pierces my flesh. I moan with its entry, my eyes closed, my hands on your arms. I lose my bearings. With slow, quiet patience, you guide me back onto his chest as he circles his hips. He lowers himself to the bed and I follow. You now stretch out above me, the sky over the earth. You kiss my breasts and I feel like I'll die. My eyes still closed. I feel your cock, sliding against my clit. The earth quakes and shatters. You press into my pussy. I cannot survive. You will fuck me to death.

Impaled on two spears, the deer's heart explodes. There is no pain, just sensation that annihilates. I fucking love it and open. "It feels so fucking good," I whimper as you fuck me. Strange rhythms are drummed in the flesh of my body, syncopated and thrilling. I ride. I am the ocean, waves upon waves. I cannot find solid ground. Just the waves against rocks, and rocks against waves. You pull away and splash me with cum. Your buddy pushes me off - and you lift me beneath the arms and eat my mouth. I taste like the ocean, sweetened with honey. He splashes me again, I am drenched in cum.

I sink back onto my knees, on the bed, on my knees. You sit back on your knees, spent and exhausted. Your buddy lays back on his bed. He is home.

You hand me my pants. I put them on carelessly, my lace left behind. Your buddy is falling asleep. We sneak out the cab. "Hey, thanks, man," you say. He grunts and is gone.

We stand between the trucks, in the sound of the engines.

"Well, see you later." "Yeah." "Okay. . . Hey, can I borrow a twenty? I left my purse in that bar." "Sure, you sure twenty's enough?" "Yeah, I just need to get home, you know." "Okay." "Okay." "Maybe I'll see you again." "Yeah." "Yeah." We act like we will, maybe. You kiss my hair. I kiss your cheek. "Bye." "Bye." You walk towards your rig.

I walk towards the snack shop.