Finding Love on the Interstate

Laken's molten lust built up within as perspiration flowed from every pore of her body. Her hair was soaked from the heat of her ardor. Gasping at her zenith, she came like the brilliance of a comet hitting the atmosphere soaring through the night sky. Its intensity overloaded her visual senses, sending sparkles of light flickering behind her tightly shut eyes. Tremors jolted through her core, far stronger than the ones she created using her fingers in the middle of the night. Lachlan's driving cock got her off harder than dreaming of an intense lover railing between her widespread legs in some open meadow beneath the stars.

Lying naked and sweaty beneath Lachlan's pistoning dick, she smiled crookedly, despite the situation. It was a far better feeling than her BFF's imaginative wish to get some s-e-x while attending Horry-Georgetown Technical College in Myrtle Beach, home to tourists and sea turtles.

Those thoughts of how the mysteries of sex felt no sooner came and went than Laken felt a second wave of tremors coursing through her as Lachlan's instinctual mating surge maddened him. He screamed out his conquest with a wail and shot his wad, hammering the last ropes of life-sparking semen into her. Spent, he rolled off her, and side-by-side amidst the sweat and smell of sex, her body tremored as she accepted his last fervent kiss. Laken closed her eyes, knowing she had finally become a woman. One of life's mysteries had been resolved.

"Laken?" he called out. "We about five miles out from 'Lanta, Ms. Steinbeck," Lachlan announced. Laken didn't stir.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. You must have been zonked out. You slept through sunrise," the lanky trucker called out as they came over a rise, and the city of Atlanta lay on the horizon in a smokey morning mist.

Laken stirred at his voice, then sleepily rose on her elbow. Her hand had been under her tee shirt. Quickly, she withdrew it. Just as quickly, she looked down and saw her jean-shorts were ... still in place, as were her tennies. It was a slow realization that her vivid dreams of Lachlan taking her virginity last night were dreams. She felt a bit embarrassed.

She crawled down from the sleeper and said, "Sorry about sleeping throughout the night. I hope ... I didn't say anything strange. I kinda talk in my sleep sometimes, Mom says."

Lachlan grinned mischievously. "Not to worry, anything you said is confidential between a trucker and his 'traveler on a dime.'"

Laken was wide-eyed at his declaration. Glancing over, Lachlan saw her expression and laughed. "Just kidding, Laken, you didn't snore ... or give away too many secrets!"

She smiled waveringly, realizing what she might have said didn't make any difference. Because Atlanta was on the horizon, she was at the turning point of going west, and she had enjoyed the small amount of time she conversed with a stranger on her sojourn heading to the other ocean -- to taste and see if it was more or less salty than the ocean she had just left.

At the Love's Fuel Station on the east side of Atlanta's outskirts, Laken watched as her 'Charley' fueled his truck. She looked about nervously, wondering if this would be goodbye or if Lachlan was heading further west. He caught her look and puzzled expression. She was lost, he realized, being so new to 'traveling on a dime.'

"How about you and me grab a bite to eat, and I'll share some advice about traveling on a dime?"

Laken smiled warmly, "I'd like that."

Over pancakes and bacon for Laken and an omelet for Lachlan, he delivered a simple hillbilly elegy on traveling on a dime. She absorbed it, the raw and the grittiness. He laid it out in terms she could easily understand.

"Laken, I don't have much to contribute, and it's probably just better to spit it out without any sugarcoating for you. You okay with that?"

"I'm ... yes, okay with that. I'm eighteen and not a kid anymore. Time I got over being coddled like my school counselor told my parents. I can handle not being sugarcoated for once," she answered solemnly.

"You're a beautiful kid," he began, "travelin' alone and a long damn way from help or home. You'd be better off catching a Trailways bus or a Greyhound and turning around, taking whatever anger your folks have, and letting that be a lesson learned. Because out here on the Interstate, traveling with some truckers will cost you more than a dime. You can damn well expect to put out for some trucker to pay for your trip across the country to that other salty ocean you want to taste. ... Sooner or later, Laken, you'll get fucked by someone who won't ask."

Laken's face blanched at the honest viewpoint of the good Samaritan's advice on traveling on a dime, alone and unfriended. 'Gosh,' she thought, 'maybe this wasn't such a good idea.'

"My last words, Laken. Don't pick out a ride at the pumps. Stay away from that area and get to the truck stop buildings as fast as possible. You could get snatched up out there and disappear in an instant. There are wolves among the truckers. You can't spot them by their looks.... Ever heard of human trafficking?"

Laken was already frightened by the first jaw-dropping news, and the second was just as stunning. "No, I haven't heard of human trafficking," she responded to the third after a few seconds to catch her breath.

"Women, beautiful ones like you," he continued, "get swept up by gangs and turned into sex slaves. Rumor has it at least one team runs a rig outfitted for sex over the Interstates. I reckon a girl gets used up fast in that line of business. In that traffic circle, you're a commodity, ain't no mercy, and when guys pay for your body, no one is on your side -- if you wind up inside that trailer. Few leave until they are well-spent and no longer useful in exchange for currency. An unmarked grave in a forest or desert probably at best ...."

Like a blow to the gut, the third elegy statement visibly hammered her psyche, leaving her nearly gasping for air.

Lachlan stood up, peering down at the ashen-faced waif, and left a twenty-dollar bill on the table. He said as he turned to go, "You've got a lot to mull over, Ms. Steinbeck. I wish you well." With that last admonishment, the good Samaritan turned and strolled out to the bright-yellow eighteen-wheeler. In a billow of diesel smoke, he rolled down the highway to make his delivery at the freight yards.

Laken was shaken. She'd just met and lost a good Samaritan -- not a wolf like the ones he had warned her about. She nearly threw up her breakfast as a wave of fear overtook her. She trembled and felt her head spin for a few moments. No one had ever given her a life lesson as appalling as that. Indeed, no lecture in school, church, or home, not even from her grandpa as wise as he was, had delivered such an elegy.

"My dear, you look ill. Do you require help?" asked a shadow's strong voice as she caught a glimpse of it in the corner of her eye. He walked up beside her into view.

Laken's head spun in recoil at it being so close. Her eyes focused on a tall, sturdy-built man with a white collar around his neck and a Bible in his hand. By his side, holding his other hand, stood a young woman about her age dressed in a long-sleeve black dress that dropped to her ankles. She smiled at Laken and reached out a hand. "What troubles you, Miss?" she asked kindly, touching Laken's shoulder.

"Some ... troubling news," Laken responded, attempting to hide her fear at finding herself alone in a Love's Fuel Station in Atlanta, so far from home.

"That young man seemed to have abandoned you," the Reverend stated, drawing upon his powers of observation at seeing Lachlan disappear out the restaurant's main door.

"Not abandoned, Reverend," Laken answered. "Lachlan gave me a ride to Atlanta. It was the end of his journey. Mine continues west." Laken had somewhat recovered by then. Taking comfort in being in the presence of a man of God and his companion. Perhaps a sign from above that her sojourn was to continue. At least Laken took it that way.

"West, did you say? Sarah, did you hear that ... she is heading west also."

"Perhaps the Lord has set us at the crossroads to meet her, Abraham. My dear, we are also headed west to the coast in California. Would you like a safe ride on that journey? It's so perilous on the Interstate, you know. The world is awash with wolves prowling, seeking beautiful young things like yourself along the journey."

"I know. Lachlan was telling me about some of those dangers," Laken answered as a tremor shook her in fright.

The Reverend Abraham and Sarah sat down and prayed with Laken for a safe journey. Knowing she had landed in safe hands amidst the tumultuous scenarios Lachlan had described was a great comfort to Laken. Grandpa's lucky silver dollar wouldn't be needed yet for another decision. Laken made this one without tossing that lucky coin into the air. It remained safely tucked away in her jean shorts.

Laken looked down at the table as she stood up to leave. By her journal, her pen stuck out. She opened the page it marked. Marked in azure blue was a phone number with Lachlan's name penned neatly next to it: Lachlan Murdock -- not exactly calligraphy, but impressive enough in a man's strong handwriting. He must have penned it when she was in the restroom. Thoughtful of him, she felt, as she tucked her pen into the journal's spiral spine for safekeeping.

"I'm keeping a journal and logging my travel on the USA map," Laken told Abraham and Sarah as she unfolded it. "What route west are we taking?" she asked.

Sarah smiled knowingly at Abraham, understanding Laken's commitment was already given.

"We're taking the I-20W western route and plan an overnight stay in Memphis, Tennessee, darling. It should take about five days to get to the west coast. Of course, we don't travel all night like some of the big rigs, so it takes us longer.

"I'm kinda traveling on a dime ..." Laken responded, as she marked her map as far as Memphis, thinking the Reverend and his companion planned on spending time in hotels along the way. She anticipated parting ways at that point in her journey. But she was surprised at their response.

"We travel on a dime as well, Laken. The Lord has provided us with transportation; we sleep in it overnight. There's plenty of room for one more." The Reverend smiled, taking Sarah by the hand and leading as Laken trailed along. It was exciting to be on the next leg of her journey -- and in safe hands.

Abraham led Sarah by the hand across the barren parking lot, Biblical-like. 'You just need a staff and a herd of sheep following you,' Laken thought, not realizing she was trailing among the fold.

Among the rigs, he stopped and pointed to a gleaming Super Accord Reefer that spanned eighty-two feet with tractor and trailer. Laken was amazed, having expected to see a small camper. Its sides bore a large graphic display of the Lord on a cross and the Reverend on bended knee before the cross in prayer. It seeped sorrowful repentance like the words elegantly arced above the cross: Ephesians 3:14: 'For this reason, on bended knee, I beseech thee, Father.' It also seeped of mega-bucks as its gleaming form sat idling amidst the other standard trucker mounts. Those looked humbled by its countenance. Laken's mouth was agape; it made Lachlan's truck look like a toy by comparison.

Despite his deprecating sense of humility, the Reverend showed some sinful pride at seeing the look on the teenager's charming face and noted her curvy body as she gazed in awe at the size of the big rig. "It's a refrigerated unit," he boasted, "that's why it's so big, honey, to keep it air-conditioned and heated as we traverse the Land of Opportunity serving the Lord and meeting his flock's needs."

"That's -- amazing!" Laken's words weren't exactly what she was thinking, but she had learned at school a little praise made others more receptive to sharing. In her case, it was the thought of sharing a ride westward, even if the big rig was so damn ostentatious.

Clamoring aboard, Laken sat between Sarah and Abraham as he drove out of the Love's Fuel station and followed the signs to I-20W toward Memphis. The roadway was busy, and the pace was slow as they progressed around the belt loop. It gave Sarah and Abraham time to get acquainted with Laken. She found herself repeating most of what she shared with Lachlan, although they had asked many questions that he had not.

Such as, "Did you tell your parents what route you were taking?" Sarah asked. "Did you tell them where in California you were going?" and "When do they expect you to contact them about returning home?" All, she thought, were questions a concerned parent might ask, though Sarah wasn't any older than she, by a year perhaps. Still, it must have been her experiences with helping others along their journeys. So, those questions didn't raise a concern for Laken. They should have. Lachlan had warned her that human wolves are not easily distinguished from other beings, even those that should never have been born.

Reaching Memphis that afternoon, Reverend Abraham suggested an early dinner to celebrate the first leg of their journey west. Rather than the diner food at the Love's Fuel Station in Memphis, he offered a stroll down the roadside to a steakhouse.

"Well, maybe a salad," Laken timidly agreed, knowing her limited cash sources. She had taken the graduation cash gifts her relatives gave her, and the five hundred Grandpa Bly had slipped her for getting straight 'A's on her report card. That and she squirreled away funds from babysitting for the neighborhood kids. By her estimates, at seventy-five per day, she had enough for a round trip of eleven days to the coast and back home. So far, she'd spent twelve dollars and change for breakfast served by the surly waitress when she met Lachlan and breakfast when he had left her -- alone enough, maybe if she conserved her funds.

"Nonsense," the Reverend chuckled, "It's our treat, Laken. Tonight, we celebrate with steak, wine, and fine dining for a happy trio. I'm as hungry as a lean wolf. Besides, Sarah and I are celebrating a special occasion -- a rare one, and we'd be so saddened if you didn't join us."

"Come on, Laken, it'll be fun. Loosen up a little, live a little, be a little devilish for once," Sarah coaxed, giving her a wink. She acted like Tiffany, her BFF, prodding her to join the spontaneity.

"I've not had anything to drink like that. Isn't it illegal here?" she asked.

The Reverend smiled that fatherly smile, "We're all adults, Laken; a little wine never hurt anyone. The Bible is filled with wine tales. With a little miracle, water comes out of the bottle as wine, you know?" He laughed at his own preacher's joke.

The walk down the boulevard was easy, just a quarter mile. The Reverend Abraham was right about the food being delicious. Not a waiter questioned the collar around his neck as he shared a bottle of wine among the trio. Its effect made Laken laugh aloud, often at the slightest tripping over her words as her speech thickened. She missed the knowing glances between the preacher and his companion. By the time the check came, Laken needed some help walking back to the Love's Fuel Station. Strategically parked with its rear gate facing an empty field, Abraham and Sarah guided Laken to the back of their traveling salvation circus vehicle.

The tiny pill slipped into her glass of wine was also at work, affecting her mobility. Fortunately, the eighteen-wheeler was equipped with a hydraulic lift gate. Reverend Abraham scooped Laken up into his arms, and she leaned her head against his neck. She never felt the liftgate rise or saw Sarah unlock the roll-up cargo door. Nor did she notice the inner bolted door in the heavily soundproofed and isolated container within the reefer unit. Methodically, Abraham undressed Laken, then Sarah restrained her arms and legs, splayed upon the bed, dead to the world. She lay upon the round-raised bed like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

Out like a light, she was oblivious to the inner trappings of the big rig: chains, belts ... whips, and leather harnesses for suspension in mid-air; all the fittings of a house of erotic desire. The Reverend designed the cargo for sex slaves and used it for raking in cash as it rolled across the continent in search of fresh girls to service old and new customers, stopping in rest stations to meet clients along the way.

"It's too bad she's a virgin, Daddy," Sarah smirked, her demeanor radically changing from the well-practiced role of a religious companion into her real-life persona. "I know how much you wanted to try her out."

"Not to worry, Cherry, by midnight," the Reverend crowed while he removed his fake collar, "we'll be thousands of dollars richer as soon as we make a few calls. Someone is bound to be horny enough in the 'Home of the Blues' to pay for a virgin's holes tonight. Besides, it's early."

Unfastening his belt as Cherry devilishly wagged her finger, he smiled, "Hey, there's no harm in tasting the merchandise's other points of interest."

"Daddy, you're so bad! Don't bruise her lips or throat; remember, she has to be in good shape for the clients. You can't have them thinking she's used or damaged in any way. Check for blemishes, too, when you turn her over. You'll want to advertise her as pure and perfect. She's got great looks. Now, what are you ... doing?"

"Just giving her a taste while she's out -- I'll save the jizz for you, Cherry. Load the recorders and check the cameras while I do the honors. You know everybody loves to leave with a recorded trophy in remembrance of their ride with the Lord," the wolf pack leader howled with delight.

Cherry's laughter at his snide remark incited her father to further exploration as she checked the cameras and recorders in the next berth. Then, she returned to watch her dad play as she searched Laken's things.

"Well, look at this, the little bitch has a wad of cash!" Cherry laughed, checking out Laken's A-frame backpack and stuffing the cash in her pocket.

"Looks like you are enjoying that little bitch, Daddy. But we've got to make some calls and set up a meet; maybe we can get a few clients together and bid on her for the first go -- bid her up as she begs for mercy. Daddy, everyone loves that pleading cry of 'No! Don't, Stop! I'm a virgin!' Like that's gonna help save her pussy."

Cherry's smirk burst into an evil laugh as she slurped a nipple and squeezed a firm, eighteen-year-old breast. Her father joined in her laughter.

Leering at Laken's limp, lush body as he redressed, Reverend Abraham huskily crowed, "There awaits a great fuck ... and a huge pile of money." The Reverend's and his companion Sarah's laughter reverberated around the cargo bay, as they turned to business planning to divide up the calls to be made for their subsequent appointments.

'Reverend Abraham' and 'faithful Sarah' slipped out of the trailer, locking the door as they went. They didn't get far .... They barely turned the corner behind the ostentatious eighteen-wheeler and came face-to-face with their worst nightmare.

A crowbar took out the Reverend before he knew what hit him. His daughter's stunned gasp never had a chance to turn into a scream. That's how fast that crowbar found its second mark.

Lachlan searched Abe's pockets for the key, then dragged the bodies around to the liftgate and rolled them onto it. Hastily, he jerked up the rear door, pulled them inside the shallow compartment, and unlocked the inner door. He froze momentarily, staring at Laken, naked and out cold. It was a scene from a crime movie, though she was oblivious to it and, thankfully, not dead.

Dressing a woman wasn't hard if she was just halfway drunk. Lachlan's task was a more difficult chore: dressing a drugged woman as best as he could; she was no help at all. A blouse and her shorts. Her tennies went into her A-frame backpack; no time for underwear or a bra. His mind raced as he struggled to plot the erasure of the crime scene.