Chapter 2

2010

Bruce and I traveled for a couple of weeks. Although my mind worked like a computer for a day or so after absorbing come, my emotions were still weird; I started to like him too much, I agreed with things he said even if they were dumb, and laughed at jokes I normally wouldn’t find funny.

He was nothing special, not in any way. He was a random guy I’d hooked up with so I could get away. My body looked good on the outside, but it came with dangers I had to figure out. My real age and experience were all that kept me from succumbing to my feelings, becoming attached.

He ran out of cash and we were parked up at an informal camp in the desert for a while; it was sort of interesting. There was a small community there. One couple had a big water tank on a trailer and they’d bring enough for everyone. We sat around a fire at night and sang songs.

I was the dumb blond again, and no one questioned that. The crusty old campers were happy with me as I was, they adored my happy young beauty, and had no idea it was fake.

Or was it? I was actually pretty. Was I really happy though? I think I was. In a camp of destitute homeless nomads in a desert, I was loved just for a song and a joke. For being a sexy young woman who would talk and laugh with them all. Love and acceptance, it didn’t matter their economic circumstance. It felt good, and therefore it was good.

One day, a car turned up that was far too new; two men in suits, a tall thin one and a short fat one, went around with a photo of me, asking if anyone had seen this person.

Not a single person there told them I was hiding in the old RV right next to them. I watched through the curtains as the gnarled old nomads, men and women, stared at the photo before shaking their heads; it warmed my heart to see them lie for me. They were allies, comrades to me.

It was too close; I told Bruce I had to go. He was hurt, and I was in some pain about leaving him. Love was a trap, and I was far too old to get trapped with a broke homeless weirdo in the desert. I sucked him off one last time, because I needed the hit. I felt sorry for him as I looked into his eyes, fondled his balls, and slid my mouth up and down his stiff penis; our emotions were collateral damage.

God, how I enjoyed sucking that cock. The sensation of it tickling the back of my throat, warm and alive, his balls in my hand as I stimulated them for maximum production.

He stroked my head affectionately, and I looked into his face, wondering why I liked him. He’d fed, housed, and transported me. He was a horny old bastard, we’d had a lot of sex, and I mostly liked it.

That was the deal though; he got to do it with me, he provided, and when it was over it was over.

My mouth was watering as I anticipated his ejaculation, the pleasure I’d feel when I tasted the semen that contained the chemicals I needed.

He moaned, grabbed my head in his hands, stared at me in a mixture of sorrow, pain, and pleasure as he delivered. I sucked and swallowed thankfully, then hoisted my small bag of second hand clothes and said my goodbyes. I left the camp, and every friend I had in the world.

I got a ride north, then hopped into a big truck headed south. I didn’t have a dime. Yet I felt great; this was life, the countryside passing by the big windows outside, I was free, alive, strong, and beautiful. It might seem to the reader that I should feel desperation; maybe I should have. I’d cheated death; I didn’t believe it would be for long. I’d lived, I’d died, I was alive again. The human brain is a soup of chemicals, and mine had been altered for sure; it occurred to me that my happy mood might be a result of that.

Or maybe this is just how young people feel; as far as I know, I’m the only human to ever be young after being old.

“You got anything to eat in here?” I asked the driver.

“I sure do!” he answered, pulling over. “How much?”

It took me a few seconds to understand the question. Then I realized that I was reduced to this; I was going to suck this man’s cock. I didn’t need it yet, but I wanted it. and I’d get a sandwich and a bottle of water at least.

“Fifty.” I told him with a laugh, really looking forward to it. I wondered; was my desire simply sexual, a result of the chemistry in my modified body? Or was it the need for seed, a learned craving for the semen that I craved?

“Get real! I’ll give you twenty-five.” He said.

“Twenty five and your sandwich.” I countered, “And a ride south.”

“Ok, you got a deal.” He agreed as he got out of the seat and into the little bunk behind. “You swear you’re over 18?” he asked doubtfully as I opened his pants.

The driver was young, late 20’s or early 30’s. He was fat and white.

“I swear.” I assured him as I pulled his trousers down eagerly.

Between thick white thighs, a wrinkled cock sat in a nest of curly yellow hair.

I wanted to make it stiff, stroke it, excite it until the man squirted out his orgasm. At the same time, I wanted to understand this strange urge. Why did I want this? Did I really want to suck stranger cock? There was so much to learn about myself, every day brought new discoveries, and I just loved it.

I used to be afraid of men. Even my lovers, even as I enjoyed making love, I was afraid. The fear was gone. Here I was with a total stranger, a man who could easily overpower me. Then again, why would he do that when I already agreed to suck him off?

“You’re traveling light.” He noted as I happily pulled on his stiffening penis.

“Fresh start.” I explained with a bright smile as he looked back at me and got hard in my hands.

I always appreciated a good erection. Regardless of size or color, a solid erection meant desire. Hot and stiff, potent, willing. Every penis was different, the secret every man had hidden, waiting to be discovered. And every time I unwrapped and got one powered up, it was a thrill.

He lay back in the sleeper cab bunk, his thick hairy legs open so I could tickle his balls. I brought my mouth close to the warm pulsing organ in my hands, noting that I was salivating with anticipation. What was this primal urge? Maybe it was my desperation, other fears were eased by the distraction, I could form a temporary alliance, food and shelter.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” he asked as I fondled his erection with increasing excitement.

“Do you care?” I asked, and slid my mouth down his hard young rod.

“Oh fuck.” He gasped as he bulged in my mouth, hot and sexy.

As my head bobbed up and down over the truck driver’s penis, my vagina was leaking and my mind was bursting with desire. I always enjoyed giving head; being subservient to the man while having him in a totally vulnerable state. The pleasure is supposed to be only his, but I like it too. I feel the mouth is a sexual organ; incredibly sensitive to texture, taste, and odor. Ever since the very first penis went in there, back in 1935, I enjoyed sucking cock whether I loved or hated the owner. Or like the truck driver, didn’t even know him.

I used to be respected, I was born wealthy and had never been poor before. After miraculously surviving the war, I’d sailed through medical school in the 60’s, one female to ten male doctors. I’d had a career, savings, and I owned property. At one point, I was a millionaire. Now I was reduced to this; the lowest form of prostitution, quicky blowjobs on the roadside. $25 was money I needed.

And I loved it; loved the depravity, the danger, the hard cock in my mouth, the faint smell of diesel fuel, all of it. His hands on my head as his penis throbbed in my mouth; I really had no cares. I’d probably be killed soon, or get cancer and die like the other test subjects. I’d had a great life, a long and satisfying life, and now I was sucking young American cock in a parked truck. I looked up at him, his happy pink face; I had no regrets. Live or die, I’d lived the life I wanted, every minute, each ejaculation I could swallow was a bonus.

The hot hard penis filled my mouth, sliding along my tongue to the back of my throat, then exited as I lifted my head, sliding through my pursed lips until the blunt tip was half out. Then down again, deep, exciting pleasure. He held my head between his hands, grinning with it, happy, eyes bright while being serviced by a paid girl.

When he was about to come I stopped for a moment as he relaxed, so it would last a little longer. His cock in my mouth was so exciting, I put my hand down my pants and got myself off with a finger. I liked the feeling of his hands on my face, I liked watching the expression on his, my mind associated these inputs with the reward I would receive at the end.

He tensed, groaned, choked slightly, and came like a volcano. Hot fresh semen streamed into my mouth, and I ate it hungrily, I sucked and pulled his pale cock, savoring the flavor of his semen before swallowing, and it felt good and satisfying inside me.

I looked into his eyes, my emotions and body chemistry releasing a flood of happiness into me, and as my logical core came back to life, I studied it all clinically.

Hard penis in my hands, filling my mouth. Strong hands on my head. Being used, humiliated. How could I enjoy this? Yet I did, I really did.

I was quite relieved that his semen had the same effect as Bruce’s. I needed to try more men, and find out if all ejaculate was equal for me; I’d already found that Bruce could not make enough to keep me at full awareness every day. Maybe another man could, a younger man or a boy.

So many men had ejaculated into me ever since I lost my cherry 75 years earlier. Grunting heaving spurting squirting men. Hairy and strong, some were evil, some were good, most were a bit of both.

We’d discovered certain growth factors in human ejaculate, that was actually part of the therapy I’d been working on before I went demented and switched from researcher to test subject.

I had no idea how long I would stay young, or even alive. I seemed to be stable, but so did several other volunteers at the institute before they got sick and died. I might have just days to live, maybe sucking off truck drivers on the roadside was a waste of my precious time. Then again, what could be better than making a man a quarter my age? I sucked out the last drop, still fondling his balls until there was nothing more to be had.

“MMM!” I hummed as I sat up, “That was good!”

The stranger stared at me, dazed.

“God damn, girl; you’re the best little cock sucker I’ve ever met!”

As the big vehicle rolled down the road, I was sort of shocked myself. What was I doing, where was my cunning plan? I drank some water and relaxed in the passenger seat, reading the news on his smart phone.

I liked riding along in the truck. Anonymous, unknown, untraceable. My tits ached a little and my vagina was asking for attention, and we rumbled along increasing the miles between me and trouble. I needed a new identity. I needed clothes, money, a computer. I thought about letting the driver fuck me, and it seemed a good idea. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it.

“Listen, I can’t do this.” The driver told me, pulling into a parking area “I have a wife and kids. You have to get out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry. You make me feel weird, I have thoughts in my head I never had and never wanted to have. You’re a hot girl but I love my wife.”

“We had a deal.” I objected.

“Here, take fifty.” He said, opening his wallet.

I got down, holding my small bag with a sandwich, some water, and a spare tee shirt. I was pissed off and hurt by the rejection; I reminded myself I’d only given that man one blowjob, so why did I feel anything for him? There were literally millions of willing men in the US. As long as my face and body looked like this, I could suck cock anytime I wanted to. I shook off my bad mood; it was a gorgeous day, cool and bright, and I intended to enjoy every moment of my second life.

I was at a crossroads, literally. The east-west route crossed a north-south route. These were not real highways, but older roads that serviced rural areas. On the other side of the road, a man sat in a folding camp chair next to a portable grill and big box truck. Food, drink, transport, and semen; everything I needed. He looked at me and smiled welcomingly.

I had to wait a minute for traffic, then I went across. My big heavy breasts bounced uncomfortably; they were useful for seducing men, other than that they were quite annoying. I needed a few heavy duty bras.

“Hungry?” the man asked. He was around half my age, trim, shaved, and decent looking. No wedding ring, clothing good quality although slightly worn.

“Yes.” I said.

“I have burgers and dogs.” He said, “I always have extra, sometimes I meet friends out here. Help yourself to a drink from the cooler. My name’s Allen.”

I liked this guy already.

“I’m Gisele.” I said as he put more food onto the grill.

“How old are you, Gisele?”

“Over 18.” I said. He looked skeptical.

“You a runaway, Giselle?” he asked kindly.

“Yes.” I said. “Can you give me a ride?”

“Where is it you want to go?”

“I don’t really know.” I said, “I’m still figuring it out.”

“What is that accent you have?” he asked, “Dutch or something?”

That surprised me; I thought I spoke perfect American English.

“I’m sort of European.” I acknowledged.

He drove up and down this road every week, delivering tractor and agricultural machine parts to garages and farm workshops. We stopped every half hour; everyone greeted him by name, offered coffee. Some deliveries were hand sized boxes, others had to be unloaded with a forklift. A smile and a wave, and we were off to the next place. The distance between the deliveries was large, 50, 100 miles or more. By the end of the day, we’d crossed 2 states.

He was a very personable man; easy going, polite, and quite clean.

We talked and I enjoyed the views over the countryside. It occurred to me that I’d rarely ever had time to just relax and travel like this. All the years I’d lived, and I’d never had ‘free’ time. I was always working or socializing in some sort of planned event. I thought to myself that this time around, I should make some time to just enjoy myself. I had nothing, I was on the run, and yet I was having a great time.

All I needed was a bite to eat and a bed each night, and it could be had for a blowjob. There were thousands of men driving these roads; I only needed one or two. Was it a waste of my precious days to live like this? Maybe I should be in a lab, making great discoveries, or in a hospital saving lives. I looked at the truck driver’s face; he kept his eyes on the road. I liked him, and I wanted to spend more time with him before sucking his cock.

Allen pulled up at a state police station; I hid on the floor.

“Listen, I know these folks, they’ll make sure you get home safe.” he told me.

“No!” I insisted, “I have no home, there is no safety for me! Come on, drive!”

He looked skeptical and a bit sad. I’d survived the second world war; I would not be defeated by an American delivery driver!

My fingerprints would flag up a 90 year old green card holder. They would ignore that as a false match, and hold me until I revealed my identity. Which I didn’t have. If the men looking for me had access to the police database, it could be the end of me.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” I told him desperately, “Just get me out of here.”

“Hey Allen.” A female voice said, “How’s it going?”

“Great, Judy. I just wanted to let you know, there’s an abandoned car in the woods up at mile 452.”

“Ok, thanks, we’ll check it out. Drive safe now.”

“I will, see you later.”

“Promises, promises!” the voice laughed as we moved off.

“So what’s your story?” the driver asked as he shifted through the gears.

I didn’t want to lie to a person who was helping me, but I sure couldn’t tell the truth.

“I’m undocumented.” I told him.

“So where are you from then?” he asked.

I’d considered several cover stories.

“Pennsylvania.” I told him, “My parents live off grid, in the hills. I guess you would call it a cult. I was married to the leader when I was 15. Look, I don’t want to get them in trouble, I just need to escape.”

He thought about that as the big vehicle rolled along the old road, gaining speed.

“What about the other kids there?” he asked. “You need to tell the authorities, Gisele.”

Shit; my story had a hole in it big enough to drive this truck through.

“No! I can’t, not yet.” I said. “Anyway, the other kids are a lot younger, they’re ok for now.”

“You’re a strange one.” He said. “Why is your hair white? Is that natural?”

“Yes.” I said.

I watched him as he drove. He was a good looking man, and I wanted him. Again, I tried to figure out what was with me; when, why had I become obsessed with sex? I’d always been sexually active, but not like this. The human brain is a weird device, we imagine that we make our decisions based on some sort of logic. In reality, we’re ruled by a soup of impulses, hormones, instincts, emotions. Some learned behaviors, some primal drives.

I was still at full cognitive capacity, having ingested the semen of the previous driver. I was not a computer though, I was a woman. I wanted safety, security, a good man, and to be appreciated for who I was. At the same time, I wasn’t going to tell anyone who I was.

A few hours later, we turned off the main road and drove through a little town, then parked up near a small apartment block.

“I live down near the south end of my route, and I have another apartment here to overnight.” He said. “It’s cheaper than motel rooms for me. There’s only one bed but you can have the couch.”

“I don’t mind sharing the bed.” I told him.

“You’re welcome to the couch.” He informed me.

“You’re married?” I asked, “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“I’m pretty much single at the moment.” He told me, “I’ll help you, and you don’t have to sleep with me.”

“What if I want to sleep with you?” I asked, realizing that his resistance was making me want him even more.

“When you get to be my age, you’ll realize that jumping into bed with people you just met can cause a lot of hurt.” He said. “You’re just a kid, Gisele. You should be in school with kids your own age, not in bed with old guys you meet on the road.”

What a sweet young man.

He left me there as he drove further north early the next morning. He expected to back for dinner, on his way south again. I was alone, and was able to think and plan for a little while. Soon my brain would start to fog up unless I got another dose of come.

People seemed to take me for a teenager. If I were to fall into the hands of authorities, they would have a doctor examine me and estimate my age to determine if I was a minor. I wasn’t sure what was under my perfect skin, but there were signs of the plastic surgery and I knew all my teeth had been replaced by implants. It wasn’t likely to go well for me; although I was confident no one would suspect the truth. Or believe me if I told them.