I don't remember exactly when I met Molly. I had stopped off for the night in Des Moines on a long coast-to-coast haul It was a long night, with lots of drinks, and the earliest I can remember we were chatting like old friends. She was one of those girls with no barriers: everything she thought came straight through her mouth, and she had kind of a dirty mind. There need to be more girls like her.

"So," Molly said, slamming her beer on the table with the authority of a judge's gavel. "What's your biggest accomplishment in life?"

I was taken aback. It was never something I had really considered. "Well, uh ... I've been driving a truck for three years without flipping it over and dying in a fiery wreck. That's a pretty major one."

She laughed. Molly had this weird way of laughing where she would throw her head back, her shoulder-length brown hair whipping back to hang straight down, and let out a deep, guttural belly laugh. Then she would tilt her head back forward as if resurfacing and give you a wicked grin. It was off-putting the first time, and attractive by the third (though that may have just been the beers).

"So what about you?" I said. "You have any big accomplishments?"

"You bet." She put her arm on the table and curled it, showing off some muscles. "High school girls' state wrestling champ two years in a row. Grip like an iron ... tool ... thingy."

"Cool," I said. "You go do that in college? I've heard people are nuts about wrestling down here."

"Not for the girls, really. But I gave it up in senior year because I wanted to seem more feminine. It has its practical benefits though."

"Like what?"

Molly put on a shit-eating grin. "Best handjob in Iowa." She pumped her fist suggestively.

"You sure about that?"

"Hey, have you ever gotten a better handjob here?"

"Maybe you should have a tournament or something. State Handjob Championships."

"I would dominate that, baby."

"Well, I don't really have any proof of that, do I?" I hadn't intended to flirt with her, just get drunk together, but here we were.

She raised an eyebrow. "What, you want to give it a shot?"

"Let's do it." I wasn't entirely serious, but neither of us wanted to call each others' bluff.

Molly got up and pointed to the bathroom. "Alright, but I might spoil all those sloppy truckstop hookers for you."

I followed her, vaguely realizing that this was actually going to happen. We entered the men's room, passed a guy washing his hands who gave me an "I've been there before" look. Hell, he probably had.

Molly all but shoved me into the nearest stall, locking the door behind her. I tugged my jeans down around my ankles. She turned around and looked a little surprise, then examined my dick in detail. It was at quarter-mast, as confused as I was.

She whipped off her shirt and bra, dumping them on the ground. I guess toplessness is required for any decent handjob. And Molly was a good girl to have kneeling in front of you topless. Her breasts were small but firm, and her body was tone and muscular, like an elegant machine. She slowly slid to her knees, batting her eyelashes at me. My cock was now fully ready to go.