Upon a Highway, Traveling West

(Author's note: this story requires a little patience and faith on the part of the reader to understand why it is placed in the Erotic Horror section. If Literotica had a Mystery/Thriller category, I would have submitted it to that. At any rate, I hope you enjoy this little tale. The idea for it came to me while watching "No Country For Old Men." Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, with fictionalized characters, and that the views expressed by those characters don't necessarily reflect my own.)

* * * *

West Texas, Early July, 1970 . . . .

Hot southwestern winds sent dust dancing across the simple cross stabbed into the ground. Composed of a pair of dead branches lashed into shape by twine, there was no name upon the cross, no date. But the fact that it lay above a small mound of piled stones provided little doubt that the cross marked a scene of death. Bethany had seen many such crosses across the country; the roadmap of America, it seemed, was a trail of Death's travels.

It's actually kind of elegant, the pretty, sun-warmed brunette thought with a small smile. Simple and direct. "This is where someone died." No fanfare, no procession, just a little marker to let the rest of the world know that "A. Person" spent their last breath here.

Adjusting the straps of the backpack she wore, Bethany continued down the lonely stretch of road, letting the wind do its job of cooling her sweaty skin. Her voice lilted as lyrical words spilled from her lips.

"End of the spring and here she comes back

Hi, hi, hi, hi there

Them summer days, those summer days . . . ."

* * * *

The rattle within the truck was beginning to annoy him. It had begun, intermittently, a few weeks before. Now it was a constant, rapidly-clacking drone of just the right pitch that even Hank Williams on the radio or the wind rushing through the windows couldn't drown out.

Gotta get that checked, Frank told himself. Last thing I need is something loose jumping around in the engine.

Dark eyes scanned the nearly featureless expanses to either side of the highway. West Texas wasn't much to look at in the best of times, and a hot, dry summer day didn't qualify in Frank's mind as the "best" of anything. Especially when he was on the road to El Paso, and it seemed his reflection in the rear view mirror was the only thing close to human he was bound to see.

Come on, God, don't make this another boring trip. Give me something interesting to look at . . . .

His thoughts trailed as he detected a figure strolling along the side of the road ahead. Eyes narrowed. His right hand settled to the edge of the bench seat, fingers touching the handle of the Bowie knife he kept affixed to the underside of the seat. But as the truck ambled closer, the figure coalesced gradually into something unmistakably feminine.

He arched a brow in interest, absently tapping the wedding band on his finger against the steering wheel, and finished his thought: . . . or do . . . .

The truck slowed as it neared the woman, giving Frank time to make a quick assessment. If she was ugly, he reasoned, he could just continue on. But, he realized as the woman turned and her features were revealed, she was not ugly. In fact, she was quite attractive even given the circumstances.

He gave a small smile as the woman waved her arms. The flannel shirt she wore was tied in a simple knot beneath her breasts, showing off a flat midriff and a teasing amount of cleavage that jiggled slightly with her gesturing. Thank you, God, he thought as he pulled the truck over just a handful of paces ahead of the hitchhiker. He watched in the mirror as the woman bounded up, grateful smile adorning her face.

"Oh, man, are you a godsend," she gushed as she reached the open window. The woven headband and wooden beads in her hair loudly proclaimed her as anything but local. The aroma of sweet, feminine sweat wafted into the cab from her sun-kissed skin. She looked to be just a step away from sunburn.

"Your car break down or something?" he asked, though the presence of the over-stuffed backpack told him the girl didn't own a car.

"Nope," she said. "Just making my way west."

Frank's brow furrowed. "No place in particular?"

"California, eventually," she said, eyes drifting around inside the truck's cab. "So, um, you gonna give me a ride, man?"

He chuckled dryly. "Sure," he said, leaning over to pull up the lock. "I can take you as far as El Paso."

She shrugged off the bulky backpack. "Works for me," she said as she jerked open the door and slid in. Frank's eyes fell to the smooth, tanned flesh of her thighs. Her shorts weren't doing much to maintain a sense of modesty. The woman pulled the door closed and offered her hand. "I'm Bethany."

He gave her hand a quick squeeze. "Frank Wesley Tilden," he responded.

Bethany gave a funny smile. "I wasn't expecting a formal introduction," she remarked.

Frank chuckled again as he guided the truck back onto the highway. "Well, this is Texas," he said. "We like to keep to certain conventions round here."

She nodded. "So I guess you can tell I'm not from Texas."

He smirked. "You ain't from any place south of the Mason-Dixon line, I can tell that."

It was her turn to laugh. "Nope. New Hampshire."

"You been hitchhiking all the way from New Hampshire?" he asked, incredulous.

Bethany nodded. "Second summer doing it, too," she confirmed. "It's a pretty quick trip until I get down south. Well, as quick as hitchhiking can be, I suppose. Then it slows down."

"I can imagine," Frank drawled. "So, you're just wandering from place to place, is that it? 'Til you get to where you're going?"

She nodded. "Something like that. You might say I'm on a personal crusade, looking for all the good people in the world."

He made a face. "Found any yet?"

"A few," she said with a sly smile. "Not as many as I'd like, but the others I just leave behind. No sense thinking about them if they aren't worth thinking about, right?"

"Interesting way to look at things."

"Just how I am, man," she said. "Love the good ones, damn the bad ones. 'Course, sometimes I end up doing both at the same time, and then it gets tricky."

Frank wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he looked for something else to talk about. He glanced to the woman's bundle of possessions, which she presently used as a footrest. "Least it looks like you planned well."

She followed his eyes. "Yup. Got everything I need. Clothes, toiletries, blanket and pillow." Her booted foot tapped the top of a handle. "Even a World War Two trench tool, just in case I need to bop someone on the head."

"Well, you can't be too careful, right?" Frank asked rhetorically. "Especially now."

The young woman's brow furrowed. "Why especially now?" she asked.

"Guess you ain't had much chance to read the papers or see the TV much," he said. "But police been told to keep a lookout for suspicious activity on the highways. Seems some folks been winding up dead. They think it might be one'a them pattern killers or whatever they call them."

Bethany pursed her lips for a moment in thought. "Anybody know anything about the guy?" she asked carefully, cautious eyes roaming over Frank. He looked to be in his early thirties, she judged, well-built and rugged. The kind of man, she was sure, who had seen a few bar fights now and then.

"Not a thing," Frank said. He shot her a warning look. "You might want to think about catching a plane to California once we get to El Paso."

She laughed sharply. "Not gonna happen, man, unless good looks have suddenly become currency."

He gave her a flirtatious look. "If that was the case, you could buy your own plane and fly it wherever the hell you want."

Bethany rolled her eyes, but the smile remained.

"So, what's so important about California?" Frank asked, keeping the conversation going. "You got family there, waiting for you?"

"No, just some friends I haven't met yet," she quipped.

He eyed her with mock suspicion. "You one'a them hippie types?"

Bethany chuckled. "I don't care for labels too much," she declared. "I'm young and I'm free and I just wanna enjoy being young and free. Life is for living, man, that's why God gave it to us. You wanna call me a hippie, that's your bag, man. I'm just a woman on the road, living the experience."

Frank shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever tunes your tractor," he said.

* * * *

Conversation flowed across casual and friendly lines as the afternoon wore on. Bethany and Frank learned as much about one another as amiable strangers were willing to share. Enough, at the least, to feel comfortable in each other's presence.

"How often do you make this drive?" Bethany asked after Frank had explained his work.

"Two, three times a month," he said.

"Bet your wife must hate these weekends when you're gone, huh?"

Frank glanced to the ring on his finger. "Sometimes, it's a blessing," he grumbled. He chuckled ruefully. "Absence making the heart grow fonder and all that."

"Still, I admire a man who honors his promises," she said pointedly. "We need a lot more of that in the world. Maybe, if our politicians weren't so damned corrupt, if they were more like the everyday man, we wouldn't be fighting a needless war and have so many homeless people."

He cast the young woman a sidelong look. "I voted for Nixon. I think he's a good man. And I served two tours of duty in 'Nam, '65 to '67. Now, unless you want to get back to walking, I'd suggest we change the subject."

Bethany opened her mouth to retort, but she was aware that she wasn't on a college campus lawn arguing with poli-sci majors. So she kept her mouth shut, giving a simple nod of assent instead.

A small collection of buildings ahead indicated a town, with a wind-beaten yellow and white Shell sign standing prominently against the sky. Frank glanced to the fuel gauge on the dash.

"Gonna fill up," he announced, pulling off the highway and into the gas station. "Maybe you want to, uh, use the facilities?"

Bethany perked at the idea of cleaning herself of highway dirt. "You're not gonna take off and leave me here, are you?"

Frank shrugged, parking the truck by one of the two pumps. "If I did, I'm sure you could find another ride."

She narrowed her gaze in a semi-playful frown. "Seriously, man."

His only return was a drifting chuckle as he stepped from the truck. Making his way around, he noticed a Dodge sheriff's deputy cruiser rolling in off the highway, making its way slowly across the parking lot. The man within -- typically wearing a broad-rimmed cowboy hat and reflective sunglasses -- turned his head toward Frank, assessing him.

Frank just gave the deputy a customary nod and thin smile.

Behind him, the passenger door popped open, signaling Bethany's departure from the truck. Frank watched the deputy, noticing the way the man did a double-take at the sight of the hippie girl, the way his features twisted in a frown.

Great, Frank thought. I might not be a big fan of the hippies, but a lot of these small towns downright hate them. This better not mean trouble.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom," Bethany announced, hefting her backpack.

For a moment, Frank considered telling the girl to get back in the truck and driving off. The tank still had a few gallons left, after all; they could make it to the next town. But that would look suspicious to the deputy, and Frank new it.

"Don't take long," he cautioned.

"Aw, you miss me already?" Bethany asked playfully before heading across the parking lot . . . and right past the deputy's car. Frank watched carefully. The deputy pushed open his door and eased out, shaking his head in what Frank took to be disgust. The deputy looked after the girl as she stepped inside the small store, then turned and trained his attention on Frank.

* * * *

Gas station hot dogs weren't Bethany's idea of fine cuisine, but food was food and she had not eaten since early that morning. Feeling fresher from a quick wash-up in the station's ladies' room, she paid for a quartet of hot dogs, some chips and a couple of sodas before heading back outside.

But she paused for a moment when she saw the uniformed man standing next to Frank at the truck. Her features soured briefly. Wonderful . . . .

Frank noticed her approach, as did the sheriff's deputy, who turned to look the brunette over.

"Where you headed, young lady?" the man called in an authoritative voice.

"West," Bethany answered simply. She did not like that the deputy barred the way to the passenger side of the truck.

"Holy Jesus," the man grumbled. "What is it with you hippie kids? I see more of you every year, doing God knows what to hitchhike across the country. You wouldn't be doing anything unsavory now, would you, young lady?"

Bethany indicated her armful of refreshments. "Well, I haven't tried the hot dogs yet," she quipped. "I'll let you know if they're unsavory."

The deputy glared. "You watch your tone, little lady," he warned. "I ain't got no problem taking you in on a count of vagrancy."

Though pride compelled her to snap back, Bethany restrained herself, glancing away.

"That's what I thought." The deputy turned back to Frank. "You don't mind, I'd like a word with your, uh, lady friend."

Frank stayed quiet. Despite the deputy's civil words, he knew the subject wasn't open to debate. Instead, he gave Bethany what he hoped was recognized as a supportive look.

"What's going on?" Bethany asked indignantly.

The deputy turned to face her squarely and settled his hands on his hips. The young woman stared at her own reflection in the man's sunglasses. Though she couldn't see the man's eyes, the sneer upon his lips made her stomach twist.

"Just gonna ask you some questions," he said. "In private. Now, go on and put your things down in the truck."

Bethany frowned, glancing to Frank as if hoping he could or would do or say something. But Frank looked as annoyed and helpless as Bethany.

"Fine," she muttered, and set the collection of food and snacks on the passenger seat, then turned toward the deputy with an expectant look.

"Come on," he said, already stepping away. "Won't take long."

Her face radiating quiet anger, Bethany followed. Her anxiety was piqued once more as the deputy led her not toward his patrol car parked before the gas station's store, but around the side . . . toward the public restroom she had used just minutes before.

Frank watched them go, perturbed as well that the deputy disappeared around the edge of the building. He felt a moment's worth of worry, but forced the feeling aside. No use messing with the law if I don't got to, he thought.

* * * *

With a predatory smile, the deputy pulled open the door to the restroom. A lingering aroma of soap, mingled with less pleasant odors, wafted out as the man stood to the side, gesturing to Bethany. With reluctant obedience, she stepped within, then yelped as she was suddenly shoved from behind. She stumbled several steps ahead, nearly falling atop the room's only toilet.

"What's your deal, man?" she cried, spinning around.

The deputy closed the door and reached up to remove his sunglasses. "Don't you sass me, you God damned hippie. Yeah, I know what you are: a God damned, reefer-smoking, free-loving hippie. Been hearing all about you types, insulting our great nation by burning the flag and dodging the draft. What, y'all think you're special? Don't wanna follow the laws like all good Christian Americans?"

Bethany glared back, trembling with a mixture of fear, anger and revulsion.

The deputy chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. He slipped the billy club from its loop on his belt and lay it across the sink, then took a step backward until he was almost against the door. Bethany watched the man's deliberate movements.

"I've done nothing wrong to you," she said carefully.

"You insult me with your presence," the man spat. "Now, I'm gonna make this quick. You got two options, you fucking hippie. One, you can grab that billy club and hope you can get at me before I draw my Smith and Wesson and blow your brains out all over the toilet."

Bethany swallowed thickly. "Or, two?"

The deputy grinned lasciviously. "Two," he said, reaching for the zipper of his dark slacks. The teeth grated as the zipper was pushed down. "You can find something else to do with that mouth other than talking back."

The anxiety Bethany felt ebbed slowly away as a numb calmness came over her. Now that the parameters had been set, the choices given, she had a better understanding of the situation. She took a breath and gave a small nod.

"Alright," she said, a single word that signaled her capitulation.

The deputy grinned knowingly. "Get undressed, first," he ordered.

Begrudgingly, Bethany slipped off the backpack and set it behind her upon the closed toilet seat. She untied the knot of her shirt and slipped the garment free from her shoulders. She wore nothing beneath. Her breasts sat firmly upon her chest, only slightly lighter in tone than her bronzed skin.

The deputy stared, eyes glazing slightly. "Well, damn," he muttered. "You might be a God damned hippie, but you got nice tits. Now come on, let's see the rest."

Bethany unsnapped her denim shorts and shimmied them, along with a pair of plain white cotton panties, down her toned thighs. She gathered her clothes and placed them on the floor beside the toilet, then straightened before the man, content to let him have a good look.

His eyes fell to the juncture of Bethany's thighs. "Christ, look at that beaver," he said. "How many times you spread that for one'a your hippie friends?"

Bethany remained silent, taking the deputy's words as rhetorical. The man scowled at her quiescence, but his growing arousal mitigated his churlishness.

Three steps was all it took to reach the deputy. Bethany stared into his smug face. He smelled of body odor, cigarettes and cheap cologne.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he growled under his breath as Bethany lowered herself to her knees. He kept one hand on the butt of the pistol at his belt and watched the girl as she separated the fabric around his growing bulge. "Just a God damned, dick-sucking hippie slut . . . ."

A strong, musky odor emanated from the man's crotch as she extracted his cock through the fly of the man's striped boxers. Bethany wrinkled her nose, thinking the deputy must not have had a shower that day. She took a moment to steel herself as she felt the man's shaft growing rigid in her light grip.

"Go on, you hippie bitch," urged the deputy. "I ain't got all day."

Get it over with, she told herself, then opened her mouth and engulfed the man's cock. She took it to the root with ease, feeling the spongy head against the back of her throat. The deputy's testicles were hairy and matted with sweat as they pressed against her chin.

His left hand went to the back of her head, and he pushed against her face with a groan of pleasure. Bethany sucked, pulling with her mouth, not necessarily wanting to get the man off but wanting the experience to be over. Her tongue massaged the underside of his shaft. She bobbed her head. Her hands clutched his thighs.

"Dirty fucking filthy little hippie whore," the deputy growled, repeating his words over and over as if uttering a mantra. Bethany pumped her mouth faster and harder, feeling the tense throbbing through the man's cock.

In all, it took only a few minutes before the deputy stiffened and he let out a long, low, guttural groan of release. Bethany slid her mouth back to gather the man's ejaculating semen upon her tongue; if it had gone to the back of her mouth, she would have swallowed some and she wasn't about to give the man that pleasure. She lifted a hand, stroked his glistening cock to make sure the man spent every drop of bitter fluid in her mouth, then eased back, letting the softening tube of flesh fall from her lips.