Monday, 12 September 2011

The Duchess And The Truck Driver (Part 1 of 4).

Terry’s eyelids sag dangerously. He’d been at the wheel for the last 13 hours straight, and was getting tired. If he doesn’t find somewhere to stop soon, he’ll have to make do with a lay-by. Just then, something catches his eye. A flickering neon sign advertising ‘Foo N F el’ was beckoning to him just as surely as if it had been the ‘come hither’ gesture of a toothless prostitute. Terry flicks on the truck’s indicator and guides all 18 wheels of his vehicle into the muddy parking lot. He pulls up next to some fancy foreign-looking jalopy and aborts the engine’s lustful yet soothing voice. Sitting back in his seat, he imagines the burger he’s about to order. The supple buns, the yielding lettuce, the tender cheese, the moist meat, the huge breasted tomatoes. He rubs at the crotch of his leatherette driving breeches, which are becoming tighter by the second. God, he was lonely. He needed the love of a good woman sure as he needed oxygen, but commitment was like carbon dioxide to him. It sent him to sleep. He shakes his head and swings the door of his rig open. The instant he steps down from the cab, the cold night air descends on his exposed flesh like an army of sadistic schoolchildren wielding compasses.

Gertie watches from behind tinted glass at this ape lowering himself out of his truck. She takes a drag on her cigarillo and observes as he removes his filthy cap, scratches the thinning hair on his head, replaces the cap, scratches his crotch, yawns, scratches his rear end, and finally ambles off in the direction of the twinkling lights, obviously drawn by the prospect of food. It’s like being at a zoo, she notes with perverse delight, but a zoo where you can climb into the cages and fuck the animals. Even though she’d only eaten an hour ago, she was hungry. Hungry for his cock. And what Gertie wanted, Gertie generally got. One final puff and she ejects the flaccid dog-end out of the window, where it joins all the other flotsam and jetsam. Then she waits…

Terry saunters awkwardly back to his truck, his belt loosened and dangling limply, his stomach bloated with all manner of greasy meat products. He stops when he spies the door of the sports car wide open and a statuesque leg planted with caution on the grimy earth. A haze of smoke surrounding both vehicles completes the effect. As he approaches the open door, the leg is joined by another, and a figure eases itself out of the vehicle. As the owner of the legs turns her head to look at Terry, time stands still. He soaks in every detail of this magnificent beauty. Her golden hair flows in shimmering locks down her face, swaying sensually with every movement she makes. Her eyes smoulder with untapped sexual potential, and her mouth breathes out a seductive sigh on which you could hang the stars. But it's her cleavage to which Terry’s roving eye is immediately drawn. If he lived another 100 years, he’d be lucky to see a rack half as good. Christ, he muses, you could lose an army down there. He’d fallen arse over tit in love.

“Can I help you?” Gertie asks politely. The ape-man seems to be in a sort of trance, transfixed by her breasts. Great, he’s a monkey and a pervert. Still, it turns her on like a tap, this greasy slab of cholesterol and blubber. She always had had a thing for guys from the wrong side of the tracks.

“Sorry miss”, he manages, “I was just wondering why someone like you would be in a place like this?”

No comments:

Post a Comment