Finding Love on the Interstate

Laken bolted wide awake, breathing deeply, with a clarity of mind she'd never experienced. She reached for her nightstand, took Grandpa's lucky 1865 silver dollar, and let Fate decide! She tossed it high into the air and held her breath.

"If it lands on heads, I'll strike out alone, like Steinbeck and Charley! Steinbeck was right: I don't even know my own country! But if it's tails, then ... I'll get drunk and spread my legs while rooming with my BFF, Tiffany. Damn, if that's Fate's decision, I'll go to Horry-Georgetown Technical College in grand-old Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, home to sea turtles and tourists!" She shuddered. "But I should at least make some journey in life before I decide to settle down, shouldn't I?"

High into the air, the silver dollar flipped and landed on her bed -- heads!

"That was easy!" she chirruped delightedly to an empty room. Relieved, Laken Ann didn't have to spread her legs. That could hold off longer; jilling with her fingers was good enough for now. The next flip would be: heads go north, or tails go west. Easy peasy! Fate chose, or the coin did; it was westward!

Laken Ann Bly packed light in the early morning, right after midnight. She rolled and tucked some essentials into her A-frame backpack -- even the book 'Travels with Charley.' She made her bed and left a handwritten note for Mom to find.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Don't worry!

I've made a decision -- finally. I've gone out to find myself like John Steinbeck and Charley! I won't be gone long -- I promise. I'll be careful like you taught me. By the time you read this, I'll be on my way to 'Independence Day.'

Love y'all.

Laken 'Shakin' Ann

The carefully worded message for Mom and Dad said she would be traveling and not to worry; she wouldn't be gone long. She hoped it would help assuage some of their fears. Laken Ann didn't write down where she was bound for. How could she? She didn't have a clue. That coin toss still needed to be made!

Quietly, she slipped out the back door to the bus stop at the end of the block. Ironically, it was the same one she used to catch when going to high school. This time, it would be her first one-o'clock-in-the-morning ride past the school and arriving at Love's Fuel Services and Truck Stop.

Her first impulse had been the Greyhound station downtown. A bad idea; she figured her parents would be checking that out the minute they found her missing. The police would be on the alert for her, as well. Indeed, a bus trip wouldn't get her very far. Without her own 'Rocinante' for transport like Steinbeck, there was but one other option. Steinbeck had pointed the way to that -- truckers. The truck stop ... held some chance of departure without her parents knowing with whom she caught a ride. It contradicted what Dad had preached: 'Don't hitchhike or take a ride from strangers!' It was part of that mantra of 'Stranger Danger' infused since childhood.

Steinbeck and Charley had pointed the way. Grandpa's lucky silver dollar had provided the spark, and Fate had gently pushed Laken Ann Bly to her first, though trepidatious, decision. In the dead of night, when wolves prowl, Laken caught the express bus downtown and stepped out at the hub, across from the Interstate ramp by the truck stop. It was creepy, as she and two other men rode the bus. In silence, both men sat, their eyes fixed on her as the bus rumbled forward. She was relieved that as she exited, they continued on the bus's journey to an unknown destination; perhaps not wolves as she had first thought.

Laken Ann hustled under the overpass into a near-empty Love's Fuel Station. It hadn't come to life at nearly one-thirty in the morning. Stepping in was an eerie feeling. She was alone for the first time -- no one knew her whereabouts or even that she was missing. She was ignored, it seemed, so she wandered through the front counters of books and magazines and assorted trinkets for the road travelers. Purchasing a USA map, a couple of pens, and -- just for the hell of it -- a stationery journal, she thought, 'Why not, like John Steinbeck, just keep track of my experiences?'

She plopped her tush at a table, spread the map, and waited. She watched a less-than-zealous waitress lingering at the back counter, apparently chatting with the short-order chef in no hurry to serve guests. Hunger got the better of Laken Ann; she scooted her chair back. Walking to the register, she asked, "Ma'am, could I get some service, please?"

'If looks could kill,' Laken thought, 'I'd be near dead from the frosty stare she shot my way.'

"Be right with you, -- honey. Patience is a virtue, you know?" the waitress answered cavalierly.

She took her sweet time in coming to the table. Laken's thoughts turned to Steinbeck's encounter with a similar listless waitress was spot on; this surly one could indeed suck the life out the air in a room ... "Could suck pleasure dry and get no sustenance from it," Steinbeck had written about his waitress encounter. Frowning at that thought, she saw a similarity between herself and the waitress simultaneously -- she seemed to have no goals in life either.

"I should write that in my journal," Laken mused, as she ordered. She entered the words in her journal: her practiced calligraphy work had been admired by her teachers, and at this moment, she, too, was proud. She bet Steinbeck would have been, too, if he hadn't died the year before.

Over coffee and a cinnamon roll, she was determined to have an answer the next time she was asked where her life was headed. Unlike Steinbeck's map, her spread-out map was unmarked. It was embarrassing not to know where she was going. Searching, she put a red dot on Monterey, California, thinking about Steinbeck. Her eyes were beginning to droop. The coffee wasn't helping. Her teenage body was acclimated to lots of rest, and she had very little before slipping away into the night.

"Long trip?" asked a male voice at her shoulder. He had leaned over her as she catnapped, his hip touching her shoulder, pretending to be looking intently at the US map on the table. Laken Ann jumped at the proximity of his husky voice. It was a bit too close, seeing how she wasn't expecting an invasion into her space.

She inched over, and he inched back -- knowing she needed personal space.

"Uh, kinda, like I want to go west, somewhere. Get there safely, if you know what I mean," she responded, when she got over her startled moment.

"You know," Lachlan said laconically, wiping his hands on a napkin, "sometimes, you gotta take a leap of faith. Life's too short to play it safe."

Laken absorbed his words, feeling her first glimmer of direction. Everybody, lately, seemed to be talking about Fate, even this friendly-sounding stranger. "But what if I make the wrong choice?" she asked hesitantly.

Lachlan delivered a smile that beamed with assurance. "Missy, the wrong choice can often lead to the right one. It's all part of the journey. My name is Lachlan, by the way."

Laken blurted out, "I'm Laken Ann." His remark was met with a sigh of light skepticism, as she realized she was talking to a stranger alone at two o'clock in the morning.

"How far west, ya reckon?" Lachlan switched back to the original subject. His eyes unabashedly studied her youthful beauty.

"Like all the way to the water, the other ocean, ya know? Want to see if it tastes more or less salty than the Atlantic." She giggled a bit at her attempt to be 'blonde' momentarily.

Her eyes took in the handsome-looking stranger before bashfully turning away. Lachlan was a pretty-good-sized guy, strong enough to wrestle an eighteen-wheeler's tractor, trailer, and probably some cargo. He looked about twenty-five, maybe, but Laken Ann couldn't say for sure; she wasn't accustomed to meeting many people and having to guess their ages.

"Can't exactly say where's a good place to taste Californy salt water, honey. But if I were you, I'd go with bottled water. Californy gots some strange stuff out there!" he chuckled, taking in her wavey blonde hair. She wore it pulled through the open loop in the ball cap, forming a long, sensual ponytail. It made for a youthful appearance, especially with her bottom tucked in those lovely, tight shorts.

"You traveling on a dime?" he asked, as he nodded and looked down at her backpack.

"Yeah," she answered, not really knowing what 'travelin' on a dime' meant. But, if this trucker thought so, and it helped her to get a ride, then she was.

"Well, I'm headin' out to Atlanta. That's in Georgia, honey. If you're looking to hook up."

Maybe Laken Ann overdid the blonde thing a bit. She thought so because Lachlan thought she needed to know that 'Lanta was in Georgia. "Sure, I knew that," she chuckled.

Lachlan didn't look like one of those stranger-danger alerts announced on those billboards along the Interstate or a missing-person alert on the nightly news. She did wonder about the term 'hook up,' though. At school, that meant gettin' some 'ass,' as the crude language users would throw the term around the lunchroom tables. 'Not into that,' she tremored at the thought.

"So, could ya get me partway west, then?" Laken Ann asked hesitantly. The hour was late. She had to find a ride and was somewhat intimidated to ask -- besides, he looked respectful among a handful of wolf-like truckers that didn't look 'safe' to beg for a 'ride-on-a-dime.' And a friendly one just walked up and offered.

"Sugar, 'Lanta is a central hub. You can get a ride outta there easy going west," he smiled brightly. "I'll watch your stuff; why don't you hit the restroom, and we'll head out to the Big Peach, darling. If that's okay."

Laken Ann returned to find Lachlan chatting up the surly waitress like they were old friends. Sure enough, she had time to chat with a charming trucker, but no time for a paying customer. Laken gathered her A-frame, scooped up her map and journal, left a tip -- two cents, then walked off to pay at the register. Perhaps when the waitress saw how her surly attitude affected her tip, she'd make an attitude adjustment.

As she waited for Lachlan to pay his bill, Laken marked the roadmap with a yellow highlighter from Myrtle Beach to Atlanta via SC 576 toward I-20 West, some six hours of road time, according to Lachlan. She wrote the start time next to Myrtle Beach and began her odyssey and journal notes for a 'westward ho' post-high school road trip.

"Wow! Lachlan, this is a really, really nice truck! It's ... nothing like my dad's!" Laken Ann marveled as she climbed up and into the expansive tractor-trailer. She perched on the bench beside the passenger window and peered over the cab.

"Your dad drives a rig?" Lachlan asked, based on her comment.

Laken's exuberance was evident as she responded, "Heck no, Lachlan, Dad is a carpenter with a three-quarter ton Chevy -- nothing like this monster."

"Well, this monster is a cab-over Peterbilt. When I'm on the road, I sleep up there," Lachlan replied, jerking his head upward and back.

"Well, crapola! There's a full bed up there!" she uttered in astonishment, as she turned to peer into the sleeper compartment.

"Now, that's a bit of an exaggeration, Laken, but it's quite comfortable and snuggable, too. Could fit two up there if I wanted." Lachlan grinned at the thought of past company in that berth.

Laken Ann was exuberant over the beginning of her first ride in a big rig. She'd not fully registered that she'd just disappeared into the darkness from her hometown of Myrtle Beach as the bright-yellow eighteen-wheeler pulled out onto South Carolina's Highway SC 576, heading for I-20 West. She was gleeful, as was Lachlan in his excitement at having a cute, naive teenager for entertainment on the road to Atlanta, Georgia.

As Lachlan picked up speed, he grew antsy and asked, "Now tell me, Laken, I just didn't pick up a runaway by chance, right?" That thought just crossed his mind. "You're not a kid, right?"

Laken Ann was quick to respond, seeing the look of concern on his face. She didn't want him to have second thoughts and stop to let her out. "No, gosh, no. I'm eighteen and six months old and graduated from high school already. I can show you my ID if you want proof."

Lachlan chuckled, "No, sugar, I believe you. For a second, I thought a bear might be chasing me down, and I'd be in a heap-a-trouble."

"A bear?" Laken asked with a puzzled countenance.

Lachlan laughed heartily, "Truckers call police 'bears,' Laken. You never been around truckers before?"

"No," she grinned in reply, "And the only 'bears' I know about are parked at the donut shop across from the high school."

"You're funny, Laken," he chuckled. "Tell me, is this travelin' on a dime a new thing for you, too?"

"Yep ..."

"We got six hours to 'Lanta; if you wanna kill some time, ya can tell me about it, unless you'd druther not ... then we can talk about -- bears," Lachlan said with a grin.

Laken grinned right back. She recognized Lachlan had a sense of humor, too.

'Off to a good start, I see,' she thought. 'Cool, off on a good note to my adventure west. It isn't straight over the mountains and due west like I first thought. Perhaps it will take a bit more time to reach the other ocean than I had anticipated, but like Steinbeck and Charley, I'm underway, except Lachlan is substituting as my Charley.'

As the eighteen-wheeler raced down the highway, Laken Ann Bly vanished into the shadows of the night without leaving a trace. She looked out the window, watching the long-needle pine trees go by in a stunning display of grey shades against the dark sky. Her departure was as mysterious as the diesel fumes disappearing into the winding road's darkness.

At first, she hesitated but eventually opened up to Lachlan about her graduation and why she decided to venture out independently. Laken needed some time away from the expectations and pressure of her loved ones to figure out her true desires. Lachlan's attentiveness encouraged her to reveal more about her indecisive nature and willingness to make life decisions without the influence of family and friends. Needing some conversational filler, Laken discussed her term paper on John Steinbeck's travels with Charley, which piqued Lachlan's interest in Steinbeck's experiences. Laken happily filled him in, as he was eager to learn more about the author's adventure.

Laken Ann was caught up in deep yawns as the clock rolled forward. "Oh! Sorry," she apologized profusely, "I didn't get much sleep last night." She yawned again and shook her head, trying to keep the Sandman away without much success.

"That's all right, sugar, we've got five hours to Atlanta. Why don't you climb up in the sleeper and get some shut-eye? I'll wake you up when we get to the next Love's Fuel Stop."

Fleetingly, caught in another yawn, Laken thought, 'I look foolish, nodding off trying to stay awake. Guess I could doze for a while stretched out. It wouldn't be for long -- just to the next stop.'

"You don't mind, then?" she asked sheepishly.

"Nah. Get some rest. I've enjoyed learning a bit about Steinbeck. Never did much reading in school myself. I should start reading books. I seem to have missed a lot. It would be right nice to have someone like you riding along and reading aloud for me with that wonderful soft voice you got," Lachlan replied, smiling. He glanced over as she got up on her knees and hopped into the cab-over-sleeper compartment.

'The girl has got nice legs,' he thought and grinned as she slipped out of sight.

Laken's head barely hit the pillow when the swaying of the big rig rocked her to sleep. Dreams of Charley curled up beside her with his soft fur and warm muzzle nestled under her chin brought her comfort. 'Must be how it feels to cuddle up with a guy ... maybe,' her thoughts mused as her eyes fluttered in REM sleep. Those thoughts warmed as she envisioned images of a man's hands gliding up toward her naked breasts, eliciting soft moans of pleasure. The heat built and radiated through her core. Those were the errant thoughts spurred by her BFF's words of getting hunks and invitingly spreading her legs.

Her breathing deepened, matching the tingles of a hand roaming between her legs, tugging her shorts down.

Laken wanted to call out, "Stop!" But the feelings were too strong, and besides, they felt too good as soft lips latched onto her nipple and sucked. Her legs tightened reflexively in response, yielding another soft, drawn-out moan of pleasure.

"Oh, God."

"I just knew you would like it gentle like this," a masculine whisper came out of the dark near her ear.

"Lachlan? What are you doing ..." she started to ask, but his lips cut off her words as he kissed her; simultaneously, his fingertips probed her moist slit.

"Doing? ... Why I'm collecting on my fee for giving a girl a 'ride on a dime,' darling. Don't tell me you didn't expect this. After all, you climbed up here and waited for me -- it was an open invitation. I read you like -- an open book, sugar. Right?"

"No! I'm not an open book, Lachlan," Laken managed to gasp out, even as a slippery wet finger entered her. Still, it felt good despite his actions being unwelcomed or ... half-welcomed. She knew it was wrong. Maybe it fit her BFF's idea of grabbing a hunk and gettin' some, but still, it was being forced, she felt, and not what she asked for by climbing up into the sleeper compartment.

Lachlan grasped her bare butt and pulled her to him. Before she even had a chance to finish speaking, his hard cock pressed between her legs, probing her mons with gentle nudges.

"You're not going to give me a hard time over this -- not going to be a cock-tease, are you, Laken?" he grunted gruffly as he sucked in another breast and swirled his tongue around her aroused nipple.

"Please, Lachlan," she cried out too late.

"Please, Lachlan -- Gladly," he chuckled as his cock found her opening and surged inward. Halfway in, she gasped out in shock.

"Yes, that's a nice response, Laken," he hissed and plunged inside her.

Laken felt the sharpness of his penetration. She wasn't prepared for it, the girth nor the depth of it. Yet, she realized, at this point, from his grunts, she couldn't do a damned thing about it. Laying there with her leg pulled over his thigh, Laken felt numb from the shock until Lachlan overcame his lust and eased up somewhat.

"Better now?" he asked, buried deep inside her.

What could she say at that point? Cry out, no, and have his wrath boil over, then use her like she was that surly waitress at Love's Fuel Stop in Myrtle Beach?

"Better," she whimpered as she sucked in and bit her lower lip while a tear rolled down her cheek in the darkness of the sleeper.

"Better this way," he announced, rolling on top of her with his legs between hers and thrusting again, penetrating her more deeply, more forceful, now that he was on top -- crushing down upon her petite body, missionary-style and dominating.

Sucking her nipples, the handsome trucker played with her breasts while his cock burrowed inside her. Despite her anxiety and thoughts of what had just happened, Laken found that her splayed body began to respond to his efforts to arouse her. Her breathing deepened. She found her position shifting; her knees rose, widening to accommodate his body nestled between her thighs. She tried to adjust to his weight, crushing down upon her petite body. Pushed up on his arms with his elbows locked, she could hear her breathing changing to match the rhythm of Lachlan's thrusts.

With time, despite the unexpectedness, her hips began to match his undulating pace. Faster, she bucked, guiding their pace as their breathing turned into raspy gasps. In the cascading avalanche, Lachlan lost control of his attempts to be gentle and increased the strength of his poundings against her moist slit. By then, Laken had reached the same level of lust and opened her body in acceptance. She wanted more of that hard cock, faster and more urgently, despite her previous rejection over being forced. Despite the darkness of the cabin, she closed her eyes, letting the sensations of his thrusts overwhelm her.