Road Service

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August 1985

Tracy Monroe cursed under her breath as she glanced at the dashboard clock and noted the time -- six forty-five. The bus to the Red River Outlets was scheduled to leave from the parking lot at Oak Hill Elementary at seven sharp, and she was still twenty minutes away. The annual trip to the upstate shopping hub had been a tradition for Tracy and her girlfriends since their high school days, and the curly haired brunette was infuriated that she might miss it.

She'd called both Caroline and Vanessa before leaving home, to tell them she was running late, only to be told that they'd left over an hour before and were undoubtedly already at the school. Tracy was sure her friends would try to cajole the bus driver into waiting, but, with a three-hour ride ahead of them, she doubted the other passengers would feel so accommodating -- especially since they'd all managed to arrive on time.

'This is all Morgan's fault,' Tracy thought as she pressed down on the gas pedal, causing the needle on the speedometer to jump. 'If he hadn't wanted to go for a drive after dinner last night, I'd have gotten to bed at a decent hour and not overslept.'

It didn't occur to the thirty-three-year-old divorcée that, if this morning's excursion was really that important to her, she simply could have stayed home last night. Nor did the fact that, prior to the last-minute dinner invitation, she'd decided to end things with the thirty-five-year-old bookkeeper. It was obvious, at least to her, that there wasn't any spark between them. Something that Morgan should have also realized, if only for the fact that, even after three dates, he hadn't gotten past first base with her.

But Morgan had managed to get reservations at Fontaine's, the most popular restaurant in the Tri-Counties, a score that Tracy wasn't about to turn down. She had felt a bit guilty about her duplicity afterwards, but had assuaged it by not only letting Morgan again get to first base, but skip second entirely and land squarely on third. Initially, Tracy had only intended to get Morgan off with her hand, but once his pants were down and his cock out, long months of abstinence had caused things to progress further than planned.

"He did seem to really enjoy that blow job, though," Tracy thought aloud as she turned the car off Red Brick Lane and onto Industry Ave. "You'd almost think he'd never had one before."

The four-lane road before her ran the two-mile length of Marshall County's industrial area and, this early on a Sunday morning, was devoid of traffic. If there was any chance of reaching the school in time, she was going to have to make the most of that.

A bit more acceleration and the nondescript white and gray buildings on both sides of the road began to flash by in a blur, putting a confident smile on Tracy's face as she began to think she might make it after all. At least until she heard a sudden loud bang, after which the car forcibly swerved to the right.

If she'd had time to think about what was happening, Tracy would have undoubtedly panicked and crashed the car, but there wasn't time to think, just react. To her amazement, Tracy remembered the long-ago drivers' education lecture on what to do in such a situation and acted accordingly, managing to bring the vehicle to a safe stop up along the curb. Like most of her friends, she'd taken the course in high school and, until this moment, the only part she readily recalled was how she'd tried to influence the instructor by flashing her boobs as much as she could.

Getting out of the car, Tracy walked around to the passenger side and saw, much to her distress, that the right front tire was pretty much shredded.

"Fuck, now I'll never get there in time," Tracy said to the empty air, her thoughts still focused on the shopping trip rather than the fact that she could've been seriously hurt.

Looking up and down the road, there wasn't another car to be seen, and, as she surveyed the buildings around her, all seemed closed for the weekend. Additionally, there didn't seem to be a payphone anywhere in sight.

'There has to be a one around here somewhere,' Tracy thought as she picked a direction and set off in search of it.

After walking about ten minutes with no success, Tracy gave up and headed back to the car. As she walked, she thought of that outlandish gizmo Dean Baxter, a construction engineer she had briefly dated last spring, had told her about. He'd spent half of their date going on about it, which was one of the reasons there hadn't been a second one.

He had jokingly called it 'the brick', but it was actually a prototype cellular phone that his company was field testing. The nickname came from its size and shape, plus the fact that it weighed almost two pounds. Tracy couldn't see why anyone would spend so much money -- it cost almost four thousand dollars -- to lug such an ugly thing around, just on the chance that they'd need to make a phone call. Plus, the charge, which took ten hours to complete, only lasted thirty minutes. The final kicker was that after all that it cost almost fifty cents a minute to make a call, whereas pay phones, which were everywhere, cost less than a fraction of that.

'Of course, you have to have access to the cheaper option,' Tracy admitted as she finally made it back to the car.

Thirty minutes passed as Tracy, leaning against the side of the car, vainly waited for someone to come to her aid. She was beginning to think it was hopeless when, there on the horizon, a vehicle suddenly appeared. One which, as it grew clear, turned out to be the one thing she'd never have dared to hope for -- a tow truck.

Tracy watched with stunned appreciation as the blue and white wrecker slowed to a stop about thirty feet past her. As a reflex, she took a moment to check her face in the driver's side mirror, then straightened out her blue skirt before undoing an extra button on her yellow blouse. The more cleavage you show, she had learned long ago, the more cooperative most men were.

The driver's side door, emblazoned with McKenzie's Garage in large letters, swung open and a slim figure wearing soiled navy-blue coveralls climbed down from the truck cab. Between a baseball cap and a smattering of dirt on the driver's face, Tracy couldn't get a good look at him, but she could make out the letters K.C. on the ill-fitting bodysuit. K.C. couldn't have been more than five three and a hundred and fifteen pounds, making her wonder if he was more boy than man.

"Am I glad to see you," Tracy said as the driver approached.

"Seems like you have a bit of a problem," a less than masculine voice said, adding weight to Tracy's thought that the driver was a teenager. Which was all the better as they didn't take much to charm.

"You could say that," Tracy replied, putting on her best smile as she simultaneously pushed out her chest.

Disappointingly, the action didn't have the effect she'd hoped for as, after barely a glance at her prestigious bust, the driver turned and walked around to the passenger side of the car, bending down to take a better look at the damaged tire.

"Oh yeah, that's definitely shot," was K.C.'s assessment. "Do you have a spare?"

"I don't know," Tracy replied, thinking that was one of the things her ex always took care of.

"Why don't you pop the trunk and we'll take a look," the mechanic suggested.

Tripping the latch, Tracy was relieved to see that there was indeed a spare. Not that she had the slightest idea what to do with it, having persuaded one of the boys in that drivers' ed class to do that for her during the field test.

"Did you hit something on the road?" K.C. inquired.

"I'm not sure, but I guess I might've been going a bit faster than I should have," Tracy admitted.

"That'll do it," K.C. said knowingly.

Since her charms didn't seem to be having much effect, Tracy considered that she was going to have to actually pay for the roadside assist. She was already nearly maxed out on her credit card, although that hadn't prevented her from agreeing to go on the shopping trip. In her mind, there was a big difference between new clothes and car repairs. The former being practically a necessity, and the latter an unwelcome inconvenience.

"I hate to ask, but what does a tire change cost these days?" she inquired, again flashing her best smile.

"AAA usually covers it," K.C. replied, checking the jack and tire iron in the trunk before deciding that the ones on the truck would be a better choice. "You do have AAA, or some other auto club membership, don't you?"

Again, that was something her ex-husband usually handled and Tracy just shrugged as she continued to put on her damsel in distress act.

"I don't see any sticker on the bumper," the operator noted. "Why don't you check the glove compartment and see if there's a card in there?"

Tracy did so but came up empty.

"I'll tell you what," K.C. said, finally seeming to notice her forlorn look. "Technically, I went off the clock almost an hour ago, so I guess my time right now is my own. So why don't we just get this tire changed and we'll work out payment later on?"

At first, Tracy let out a small sigh of relief, but then became concerned at what 'work out' might entail. Vanessa had once confided that she'd given the owner of a local garage a blow job to move her car to the front of his 'to do' list. It seemed a fair enough trade, at least to her, in order to get it back the same afternoon. What if the tow truck operator was looking for something similar? It wasn't the idea that bothered her, as she'd sucked guys off for a lot less, last night being a prime example. It was just that he was so grubby looking.

"Maybe I should just try and change it myself," Tracy suggested.

"And break one of those pretty nails?" the mechanic said, already having lifted the spare out of the wheel well, "We can't have that."

It surprised Tracy that K.C. had noticed her nails; most guys didn't. Which, considering how much she'd spent getting them done, usually annoyed her. Agreeing that it would indeed be a shame to damage them, she didn't expand on her suggestion.

Changing the tire, especially using the hydraulic jack off the wrecker, turned out to be a lot simpler than Tracy had imagined. So much so that she almost convinced herself that she could indeed have done it. But the deed was done, and as the saying went, it was time to pay the piper.

"So, what do I owe you?" Tracy asked as, after loading the damaged tire into the trunk, the mechanic slammed down the cover.

K.C. didn't seem to hear the question, or was ignoring it as the knight in grimy armor walked back to the wrecker and removed a washrag and old milk jug filled with water from the back. Doffing the hat and pouring the water on the cloth, the mechanic proceeded to clean up.

Dirt and grease washed away, at least enough of it to reveal a boyish face, one framed by short, cropped red hair. Tracy watched with, at first interest, then concern, as her rescuer unexpectedly undid the zipper on the bodysuit and began to pull it downward in order to reach a larger area with the cloth.

"I don't fuckin' believe it," Tracy said under her breath as she took a good look at the sweat stained t-shirt beneath the coverall. "He's a she!"

-=-=-=-

Like a key unlocking a door, that simple realization allowed Tracy to see what she hadn't noticed before, a set of breasts that, while more than a cup size smaller than her own, were unquestionably those of a woman. One, now that she got an even better look at her, who appeared to be in her early twenties.

"You're a girl," Tracy said, this time out loud and more definitively.

"Last time I checked I was," K.C. said with a smile, one now much more noticeable on a clean face.

"I never imagined..." Tracy started to say, then paused as she realized how stupid that might sound, adding to herself that she had only allowed herself to see what she had expected to see.

"Well, I guess it might've been hard to tell under all that muck," the younger woman laughed. "My last job of the night was a bitch, as was the customer. She hit a rock that cracked the oil pan on her Audi 5000 and before she'd let me put it up on the hook, she insisted that I crawl under the chassis and verify the damage. The thing practically came apart in my hands, splashing oil all over the place."

Tracy nodded her head, having dealt with customers like that on her own job.

"Then, instead of letting me simply tow it back to McKenzie's, she insisted I take it all the way out to East Bradford so that she could have 'her mechanic' take a look at it," she continued. "I didn't mind the trip -- after all, she was paying by the mile -- but once I had it safe in her driveway, she wouldn't let me even wash up in the garage sink. As if, now that she didn't need me anymore, I was beneath her notice."

"You're right, she was a bitch," Tracy agreed. "I'm Tracy by the way, Tracy Monroe, and I certainly feel more appreciation of your help than she did."

"Kaylee Cooper," she responded, initially extending her hand but then withdrawing, as it was still too dirty to share.

"Look, I don't have much cash in my purse, but I can..." Tracy started to say, only to be cut off.

"I really don't want to take your money," Kaylee abruptly said.

"But you said..." Tracy again started to say, only to again be interrupted.

"That we'd work something out," Kaylee repeated.

That money didn't seem to be what Kaylee was interested in again caused Tracy a bit of concern. It might've been her imagination, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Kaylee was now paying more attention to the way she filled out her top than she had before.

'Come on,' she then admonished herself, 'just because a woman does what's normally a man's job, it doesn't make her a lesbian.'

"I noticed the old t-shirt in the trunk when I was pulling out the tire," Kaylee said, seeming to change the subject. "Harrelson High Swim Team. Did you go there?"

"I'd forgotten that old thing was still back there," Tracy replied, thinking that she hadn't worn it in years. She had bought it out of nostalgia at her 10th year reunion. "But yes, I was Class of '73."

"Class of '78," Kaylee smiled. "In fact, I was even on the swim team for part of my sophomore year."

"You didn't like it?" Tracy asked, recalling how much she had loved being a Harrelson Mermaid.

"Oh, I liked it fine," Kaylee answered, "but some people didn't like me being on the team, well, one person in particular."

Tracy responded with a quizzical look.

"Did you know a girl named Christine Dorchester?" Kaylee asked. "I think your years might've overlapped."

"Actually, I did," Tracy replied, "not well, but I remember her. She was a freshman when I was a senior, one of the few who made the team."

"Well, when I tried out, she was a senior and team captain," the redhead continued.

Kaylee didn't find that surprising. Christine might not have been all that friendly, but she was driven.

"Anyway, as I'm sure you remember, Coach Nelson made every swimmer earn their place on the team each year," Kaylee said, adding in a very credible imitation of the coach's voice, "What you did last year doesn't count, it's what you can do now that matters."

"I remember," Tracy replied, nodding her head as she recalled hearing that mantra at the start of every season.

"I was good, really good," Kaylee said. "In fact, my worst time during the qualifications was nearly twenty seconds ahead of the best times of the two girls who finished behind me -- both of whom had been on the previous year's squad."

"That's impressive," Tracy noted.

"So, by Coach Nelson's rules, the girl with the slowest time didn't make the team," Kaylee added. "Turned out to be Maureen Baker, one of the juniors."

As a junior would've been a freshman after Tracy had graduated, the name didn't ring any bells.

"The problem was, Maureen was Christine's cousin, and our newly appointed team captain didn't appreciate my getting her tossed off the team."

"Those are the breaks," Tracy remarked, recalling that was how Christine had made the team as well.

"Anyway, most of the girls congratulated me, but all I got from Christine was a cold shoulder," Kaylee went on. "Then, two weeks into the season, a rumor started going around, I was a bit too attentive in the showers and the locker room, and it was making some of the girls uncomfortable. Of course, no one seemed to know who started it, but that sort of thing can easily take on a life of its own. The next thing I knew, people were whispering 'dyke' behind my back, and I guess if you repeat a rumor often enough, people begin to assume it's true. It finally reached a point where Coach Nelson suggested that, for the good of the team, perhaps I should quit."

"That's horrid!" Tracy exclaimed, thinking that she would've never allowed that when she'd been team captain.

"And I'm sure that I don't have to tell you who my replacement turned out to be," Kaylee added.

The expression on Tracy's face said, she didn't.

"The ironic thing was, it turned out to be true," Kaylee concluded. "I mean I wasn't doing what I had been accused of, but two years later I finally realized that I did like girls."

Even though Tracy had been wondering about it, Kaylee's casual assertion of her sexuality took her by surprise. It wasn't the sort of thing she expected someone to say so nonchalantly.

"Still, that doesn't make it right," Tracy said, not reacting to the admission. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything, but I apologize for my former team."

"Water under the bridge and all that," Kaylee laughed. "I came out right after graduation and have never looked back."

Tracy couldn't imagine the kind of courage that had to have taken. Certainly a lot more than she'd had at eighteen. She didn't dwell on it, though, as her mind was still fixed on how shabbily the young woman had been treated by her former teammates.

"I really wish you'd let me compensate you for your help," Tracy said, thinking that was the least she could do.

"That's not necessary," Kaylee repeated.

Tracy's expression said that she thought it was.

Kaylee paused to think about it a few moments, then her expression changed to one that Tracy would describe as a mix of wickedness and mischievousness.

"You know, it's a pity that I didn't turn out to be the guy you thought I was when I first pulled up," Kaylee said.

"Why is that?" Tracy asked.

"Because if I were, you'd most likely be sucking my cock by now," the younger woman chuckled.

Tracy didn't laugh in return, but did display a small smile.

"Oh, come on," Kaylee said when she saw the suppressed grin, "you can't say that hadn't occurred to you, not the way you were flashing your tits in my face in order to get my sympathy."

Now Tracy blushed.

"Which, I should say, are spectacular," the redhead added, pausing a very long beat before adding, "But I guess I'm shit out of luck since I don't have a cock ... "

Tracy hadn't even begun to formulate a response when Kaylee stunned her even more with an addendum.

"... unless of course you also like pussy."

"Wha ... what?" she stuttered.

"Okay, I'm guessing that's a no," Kaylee said, a noticeable regret in her voice. "Too bad, really -- I think you're hot and I sort of have a thing for older women."

Unsure how to reply, Tracy again just smiled.

"I apologize, I know I can be crude sometimes," Kaylee said, her tone again shifting, "but sometimes you just have to ask the question. For all I know, you might've said yes."

"And then what?" Tracy asked, seeing Kaylee's point. "You'd bend me over the hood of my car and take me right here?"