I hate flying. I hate driving too, but not as much as flying. So here I was behind the wheel of my truck, fifty miles south of Knoxville on Interstate 75 and a long, long way from home. Not that there was anything waiting there that excited me.
The last job had been a good one. I'd been sorry to see it end. The problems were real for a change-challenging-something I hadn't experienced in a while. When my software company went belly-up in the dying throes of the dot com era I thought my life was over. Then a competitor called with a problem on a program that was three months overdue for delivery and my new career was born.
I charged a flat fee; a quarter of a million bucks, regardless of how long the job lasts. That's expensive and it scared some business away at first, but that was the way I wanted it because I only wanted the tough assignments. Problem was that after a while I got a reputation for always delivering on time and clients decided it was worth it to hire me to baby-sit projects just to reassure nervous customers and investors. Especially when analysts started spreading rumors that a software project was in trouble and the company's stock started to tank.
The road was wide open and I was tired. I should have gotten a decent night's sleep and headed back in the morning, but I'd been packed and I always got depressed when I hung around after a job was finished. I decided to stop for gas and some coffee at the exit that was a mile away according to the road signs. Southern Tennessee was desolate, but was rolling and green and more interesting than the long flat stretches of Georgia and Florida that lay ahead.
As I approached the exit I noticed her. A girl, hitchhiking. That was interesting in itself. You don't see many hitchhikers at all anymore, let alone females, and most of them look like terrorists. This girl was young, and cute in a road weary, sweaty sort of way. She wore jeans and a plaid shirt, and a huge backpack. She didn't signal for a ride at first; she looked at my truck, hesitated and then stuck her thumb out. I waited before turning on my signal for the exit; I didn't want her to think I was pulling over for her. As I slowed and pulled off the highway I glanced in the rearview mirror. The girl turned and watched me exit, shifted the weight of the backpack and started walking again. It was one of those things you see and then have to puzzle over, a person who seems out of place and probably out of their mind to be doing what they're doing. And I felt sorry for her.
After I gassed up I decided to get a late lunch. There was a diner that looked inviting and I wasn't in a hurry anyway. After a club sandwich, a pretty decent piece of apple pie, several cups of black coffee and a pitstop in the bathroom I was ready to go again. I was twelve hours from home and toying with the idea of driving straight through just to get the trip over with. I would need gas one more time, an opportunity for another break and maybe a nap; my truck - actually an SUV but I liked to call it a truck because it sounded better - really sucked the fuel but it had a huge tank.
I pulled onto the entrance ramp squinting into the afternoon sun and there she was again. The girl hitchhiker was standing on the shoulder at the entrance to the freeway, looking like she was waiting for me. Instead of holding her thumb out she was holding a blank, ragged piece of cardboard at her waist with both hands. She looked smaller than she had earlier, and as I got closer I could see her face. She looked nervous, or scared or worried, it was hard to tell which.
When I was thirty feet away and had just about convinced myself to stop for her, the girl flipped the cardboard over and held it out at arm's length. I glanced at her face first, drawn by the sudden look of defiance, then down at the cardboard, a makeshift sign. Scrawled in dark, block letters the sign said:
I'LL BLOW YOU FOR A RIDE TO CLEARWATER
Not what I expected. Either because of the shock of the message, or the look on the girl's face, or the fact that her destination was so close to where I was going that it seemed weird, I stopped. I didn't exactly slam on my brakes but I had to lean on them pretty hard and I skidded a little when my wheels hit the shoulder. Not very dignified, and I was embarrassed because it would look like I was anxious to take the girl up on her offer. It didn't seem to bother her, though. I watched in the passenger side mirror as she ran the fifty feet that separated us, a big smile lighting up her face.
She opened the door a little.
"You want me to put this in the back?" She was holding up the backpack. I could see the girl better now. She was about 5'5" with an athletic build, slim but muscular. Like a swimmer maybe. She had fairly long, medium brown hair that curled in little, delicate ringlets. Her face was exotic, like she had a little bit of Asian heritage. Her nicest feature was her eyes; large, expressive, and dark. The cheekbones were nice too.
"Sure. Let me get the door," I said, pausing to adjust my slacks as I got out. Maybe I was a little anxious about the girl's offer after all, and I felt silly. Like a high school kid on his first date, hiding an involuntary boner. I couldn't help it, spontaneous sex never happened to me.
I opened the back door and it swung up, revealing the interior and a lot of leather upholstery. The girl whistled.
"Nice car. I didn't know Cadillac made an SUV," she said.
"It's really a decked out Suburban with a better radio," I replied, still nervous. I took the backpack and stowed it, then shut the rear door. We stood there for a second, the girl still holding the sign. The words "BLOW YOU" seemed like they were flashing on the cardboard and it was all I could do not to stare at them.
"You want to get in?" I finally asked, nodding toward the passenger side. She smiled, and then we parted to head toward our respective seats.
"You better buckle up," I said, starting the car. She pulled the shoulder harness across her chest and fumbled with the latch as I eased onto the highway, determined not to spin my tires. Everything felt awkward, and then as I accelerated I realized that I had the transmission in second gear. Flustered, I shifted and then swerved back into my lane. I glanced at the girl and attempted a smile; my heart was pounding like crazy and I could feel sweat dripping down my temples even though it wasn't hot outside and the air conditioning was working fine.
I accelerated smoothly to seventy miles an hour and set the cruise, concentrating on driving and beginning to feel a little more composed. Neither of us had said anything for a couple of minutes though, and that was starting to feel uncomfortable. I drew in a slow breath and looked over at the girl. She was looking at me, a quizzical half smile on her face, and didn't look away when our eyes met. The cardboard sign was in her lap.
"Why are you doing this? You don't seem like the type," I finally asked.
"To give blow jobs or to go to Clearwater?" she answered. I felt my face burning as I stared out the windshield without really seeing the road.
"To be hitchhiking; but yeah, the first thing too," I said without looking at her.
"I've never hitched before. It was my boyfriend's idea; he was supposed to go with me. Then he went on a three-day-going-away-celebration bender and at the end of it decided he didn't want to move to Florida. I need to get to Clearwater to start a job so I went by myself," the girl said, all the toughness and sass gone from her voice.
"I saw your license plate when you passed me the first time. Pinellas County; that's where I'm going. So I waited on the entrance ramp for you, thinking about what to do. I'm not very good at hitchhiking. I've been mainly walking for two days, and only covered like two hundred miles. If I'm not in Clearwater day after tomorrow I lose the job. So do you want me to do it now?"
"Do what?" I asked.
"Blow you, silly. That's what I said I'd do."
Now I looked at her. She looked serious and determined and I had no doubt she'd do it. And she was even prettier than before; some of the tension had drained from her face and it made her look younger. I felt my engorging dick creeping over toward my left pocket and every fiber of my being was screaming 'yes'. Getting sucked off by a gorgeous young stranger while motoring down the highway was a fantasy for the ages.
"Um, no. Not now, we've got plenty of time," I said instead.
"Thank god! I'm really beat; I'd have probably fallen asleep in the middle of it," the girl said. "You mind if I take a nap?"
At first I was afraid that the falling asleep comment was an insult but her eyes were drooping; she looked exhausted.
"No, go ahead. You can recline the seat; the controls are on the side," I said.
She played with the buttons for a while like a kid, trying each one. Finally she figured it out and with a steady hum the electric motor moved her upper body back forty-five degrees.
"Thanks for everything. This is so comfortable," she said.
I looked over ready to say something clever but the girl was already asleep.
.... There is more of this story ...