“FUCK! NO! NO! NO! FUCK!!” I scream at the dash board. My knuckles white as I squeeze the life out of my steering wheel. Feeling my rings digging into my fingers. I suppose an engagement ring would hurt even more, if I had one. “God dammit, fucking piece of shit, bitch, cunt!!” I slap the steering wheel until my hand is raw. Punching the radio console until I hear a snap and can’t decide if my hand broke the radio or the radio broke my fucking hand.
“Fuuuuck!!”
Fucking, piece of shit chevy! I think, shaking out my right hand.
“Everything!” I yell to no one. “She gets, everything!! Always!!” I swerve through traffic, hearing the honks and screams of people driving, people walking.
Shit I would care about any other fucking day.
I try not to crash as I speed through intersections, but in truth, it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. The lights turn from green to yellow to red, my speed stays the same. I need out of this city. I need out of this life.
Single, 41 fucking years old, woman. Alone. Alone! Debra, you’re going to die alone! My thoughts echo in my head.
I’ve spent my life driving through the green lights, staying in my lane. 20 years at the same desk job, 15 years in the same house.
It’s a good job and a great house I have- It doesn’t fucking matter.
Brake lights stomp ahead of me as I speed around them. I travel through this life slowing when society tells me too, stopping when I see a red light. I wait for others to tell me to go. I have been a chair for my friends and family to use when needed and discard when not. They forget I exist till the next time their legs are weak and they need a seat. I pant, trying to control my driving as I near the edge of town. Checking the rear view mirror for cops. Adjusting my skirt.
Don’t fucking kill yourself, Deb. Just breathe… I can deal… Fucking formal wear, for family night! …Fuckers…
I look down at my clothes as a I turn from a one way. My white blouse fits snug around my hips and tight around my breasts. The one perk of the many downsides of going from a size 4 in college to a size 14, 20 years later. My thick plump breasts press against my shirt, pulling it around my hips. My shirt half open over my brown asymmetrical skirt that hangs loose around my thighs.
Mother gets what mother wants…
She asked for this outfit specifically, said, ‘that one you wore for church last month, wear that one. It’ll fit for the occasion.”
Mother fucker. Mom knew what Ashley was going to say and she didn’t even warn me. Goddammit!
I feel the sweat begin to build on my neck, and I want to scream. I play the scene of dinner in my head and watch my Mom’s expression as it happens. It was Ashley’s moment, she was the one talking, and shouting, but it was me that Mom was watching. I was her show for the evening. As Ashley speaks, I still see Mom’s grin, that twisted smile that can hook into your chest, in a way only a mother could, and cut your heart out. I feel the hiccup in the rear of my throat. The small reminder of my sensitive side as it begs for me to cry. To break down and shatter in front of traffic. But it is quickly squished by the twisting dagger in my stomach. The jolt of pain that makes me want to fight the world and break my hand on a radio console.
The roads clear up as I leave the downtown scene and get away from the Saturday night traffic while the sun sets. I don’t know where I’m driving. I’m not going home, I’m going away. Far away. I slow to a stop at the red light before turning on to the interstate. That’s where I see him hunched over beside the road with back pack resting between his knees. He’s a young man, maybe 19 or 20 years old. Lots of things strike me about him. He’s a fit boy, muscular, and tone. His brown hair is matted and sweaty. More sweat spots showing through his t-shirt.
He’s been walking for a while in this heat.
It is in the mid 80’s still, as it cools down this evening. Not nearly the hottest for the Midwest, but still is taxing over time. But the thing that strikes me the most about this boy, is the solemn expression on his face. His defeated looks. He looks like he’s tired. He looks… He looks like he could use a chair… I roll down my passenger window nearest him.
What the fuck are you doing, Debra? You know you’re not supposed to- He could be a serial killer, drug dealer, fucking rapist. You don’t fucking give rides to hitchhikers, retard.
“Always with the rules, always with the rules…” I whisper to myself as the light turns green. “Hey… Hey!” The boy looks up, dazed as he leaves his thoughts. He comes to my window. “You uh- you need a ride?”
HOOONKK!
A horn blows behind me, raising a panic inside my stomach. I don’t like to keep people waiting. I’m not good with inconveniencing others. I look back as he does and wait for him to respond.
Fuck. He’s gunna ask where you’re going? Where the fuck are you going?!
He hesitates a moment Escort Bayan Gaziantep looking at me, watching me. I see his eyes follow my straight, brown, highlighted hair down to my shoulders, and I watch his eyes linger for a moment at the curve of my breasts. It makes me fidget with my fingers, nervous like.
Just before I try to drive off and cut my losses, he opens the passenger door sliding in his pack in with him. I quickly turn the steering wheel and enter the freeway, subconsciously hiding in my seat as I receive angry looks from the cars behind me passing.
“Thanks,” I hear the young man mumble without looking.
“No problem, um, Where you heading?” I ask trying to adjust my seat belt so it doesn’t choke my right breast. My auto adjustments begin on their own. Pulling my skirt down to my knee to cover my pale thighs, straightening my back so my love handles disappear some, and sucking in my stomach. I’ve done it for so many years that it comes without thought.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket looking at the screen.
He’s got the new phone, same as me, I notice.
He rubs his forehead and sighs, “it uh- it doesn’t matter. I don’t care…”
At least he’s going to the same place I’m going.
We drive for 20 minutes or so, watching the sun lower in the sky. I think about introducing myself a few times but the silence feels right. Him sitting there isn’t awkward to me as most people are, but… fitting. His clothes are new and his skin is clean, but his heart is worn- used. He is done with this life as much as I am. I picture him as a college student, maybe a baseball or football player. He has a calm energy about him, but it feels like a mask over a storm down below.
My mind wanders and I welcome the distraction from my night. Mostly to men. It has been over 7 years since I’ve had anything that remotely fit into a category of a boyfriend. The thought of a man finding me sexy anymore doesn’t occur to me. I figure my time has passed. My mother likes to repeat that this is part of aging in womanhood- losing that desire. But something in the scent coming from this boy awakens a curiosity of thoughts. It isn’t body odor coming from him, but a mix of a strong men’s body wash, sweat, and something else I can’t put my finger on. A smell a 40 year old office worker doesn’t notice often.
“I’m- sorry, I uh, I’m not really going anywhere,” I say. “I don’t know where I’m going I just- something happened and I just uh- I’m leaving- I’m going somewhere else…”
He looks at me then back out his window to watch the warm reds and soft blues of the sky.
“I’m sorry, my name’s Debra, by the way,” I fidget.
“I’m John,” he speaks. “And you don’t have to keep apologizing. You’re the one giving the ride… Thanks, again.”
“Sorr-” I start to say then stop, laughing nervously. “Us older ladies don’t talk to you younger guys too often.” I watch him for a reaction to my age comment. He glances a look at my chest, again, eyeing my 32g breasts. His hand moves to the crotch of his pants, pulling, and adjusting.
“We don’t need to talk,” John says folding his arms. I close my mouth from what I was about to say. Doing my best keep him from feeling uncomfortable. I hear his phone vibrate in his pocket and he takes it out, reading the screen.
“Fug… mother… goddamn,” John whispers to himself through clenched teeth. Shaking his head, he shoves his phone hard into his pocket. “Nothing mat… Nothing matters… It just doesn’t,” John mumbles convincing himself. He glances at me, “I’m sorry, I’m-” he cuts himself off as he looks me down, again.
I think of something to say, but can’t come up with anything that doesn’t start with an apology. We sit in a different silence for a minute as I move to pass a semi-tractor ahead. I feel him thinking and fidgeting. The message he read on his phone changed him, somehow. I feel the heat from his body fill the vehicle as if he just transported the rest of him into here. I look in my left mirror as I merge into the fast lane and feel a warmth on my right inner thigh. I turn slowly and see John’s left hand held against the middle of my thigh, under my skirt.
His hand is on my thigh! His hand is on my fucking thigh!
I tense. My hands go white as I grip the steering wheel. My eyes are locked on the road ahead. Oddly, in this unfamiliar moment, I don’t want to look at his hand- or him, because I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable.
What a fucking retard I am. I’m about to be raped because I was stupid enough to pick up a hitchhiker, and I’m worried about my rapist’s feelings!?
John’s hand is warm and solid, cupped to my skin on the inside of my thigh. Just far enough up my leg to make every muscle in my body tense as I await my attackers command, but it hasn’t come. Seconds go by and his hand stays, maybe minutes, I don’t know, but he doesn’t say a word.
What is he waiting for? Put up a fight! Hit his hand away! Don’t be such a God Damn Pussy, Debra!
I feel his left hand slowly close and open on the meat of my inner thigh, massaging it along my soft, pale, untouched skin. His hand wont retreat but it doesn’t advance higher either. The warm touch makes me bite my lower lip and curl my toes, as his middle finger presses into my skin, drawing imaginary circles on my inner thigh. I feel the drop fall from my pussy lips, down my hairy mound, dripping into my panties, and exhale. My eyes close for a second longer than they should when you’re driving 70mph down the freeway. I quickly open them, adjusting in my seat as if I just caught myself dozing off.
Without thought, my right hand goes to my chest, nervously, as my right thigh twitches open wider, relaxing to the side. At my motion, John’s left palm slides up my bare thigh- stopping inches from my panty line, then rubs back down to my knee, then back up. Squeezing and groping with his strong hand, warming my trembling inner thigh.
He was waiting for me. He was waiting for me to open my legs to him- to give him permission. Jesus, Debra, is that what you’re doing? What are you doing?! …Fuck, I’m so wet…
His hand makes a long slide up my thigh, but it doesn’t stop as I feel his palm cup my warm pussy through my gray panties. I adjust, spreading my thighs a little more, scooching my butt out from the seat. My right hand feels my heart pounding my chest, trying to break free, as my sweaty left hand guides the wheel into the right lane back behind the large semi. I feel John’s fingers probing my pussy lips through my panties, tracing my clit to the bottom of my slit, up and down, uppp and downnn. My shoulders twitch and my thighs tense and relax as I bite my tongue, trying not to moan, trying not to officially condone or condemn this boy’s action, but goddamn my panties are drenched!
I coast at 10 miles below the speed limit and glance at the faces of those driving by. Men, women, young, old… they talk and look at me as I drive with my passenger, then continue going about their conversations. Oblivious to this 20 year old boy fingering this 40 year old woman’s pussy lips. They watch me drag my teeth across my tongue, they watch me begin to pant as my eyes widen, and bite my lip, and they have no idea. They have no idea how bad I want him to fuck me.
“Oohh…” I whisper as I feel my soaked panties pulled to the side by John’s hand. I glance to see if he looks at me but he doesn’t. I see his flexed upper arm and watch his forearm muscle dance between my thighs. John stares forward while he drags his fingers through my hairy pussy.
Fuck, I haven’t shaved in forever. I bet his young hands never even touched a hairy pussy before. I hope he doesn’t- Oh- Oh fuck…
John’s two fingers make long wide circles on my clit, spreading my juices all over my bulging knob. My toes curl, my foot twitches, and the engine revs launching us forward before I take my foot off the gas.
“Yes…” I mumble, wishing I didn’t have to focus on driving. I set the cruise on the car as I feel two fingers puuuush into my pussy, deeeep. Then feel them drag out keeping pressure on my clit, making circles on it several times before pushing back inside my hole. My right hand was inside my shirt and under my bra, cupping and groping my left breast without even realizing it. My knees pressed against the door and center console keeping my thighs as wide as possible for John. My eyes are locked on the road ahead, trying to concentrate on not crashing as I feel it coming. John’s fingers are grinding along my pink, hairy, clit over and over. My hips are jittering as I hold my breath because that’s all I can do. Silence in the car… The only sound is of my juices being flicked around, rubbed faster as John’s left hand flexes into my hairy pussy.
“Oh godd… I…” I spit out as I take another deep breath. Left hand locked on the steering wheel, my right squeezing my left tit. I feel his eyes locked on me as he makes this old gal cum.
John watches biting his lower lip in concentration as I open and close my mouth making silent screams.
I feel it building. His circles on my clit become messy and rougher when I it comes.
“Oh…Fuck me…” My abdomen goes concave as I start to buck. My pussy explodes gushing on John’s palm, splashing on my hips and floor board. “Yes, yes! Ohhh goddd!” The hand continues to make wild circles on my sex as I buck my hips grunting but trying not to. Shutting my eyes but trying not to. I feel waves crashing up my body and engulfing my mind as I squeeze my plump breast, holding it in a tight grip of shock as I cum so hard- I just don’t care.
I’m barely able to catch my breath when his hand leaves my soaked pussy. The rumble strip shakes the car as my eyes focuses from blur and I see I’m driving 35 mph and half on the shoulder. John’s right, grabs the wheel centering me back in the right lane as I speed up trying straighten myself. But I feel my right leg jerked down when I try to sit up.
John is leaning over me. His lips close around the corner of my right ear lobe, biting, and sucking on my stud ear ring. His hands unbuttoning my shirt, they go lower. Kissing my neck behind my ear, sending chills down my spine, while he brushes my hair over to my other side, opening my neck. I can barely see the road over his shoulder. His right hand sliding over the bra of my left breast. He rubs and lifts my stretched tit, warming it. He stops as he sees my tattoo. A snaking tribal symbol, fluttered with hearts and stars that runs from tramp stamp to shoulder on the right of my back, peaking a pair of snake heads just over my collar bone.
The pathetic sign of rebellion made 20 years ago.
Back when it was a sexy contrast to my light skin on my thin body.
My last act of spontaneity. Now it’s just a faded gray, contorted, and stretched around my curves and love handles.
I wince looking from the road long enough to see John’s grin as he kisses my tattoo. With a hum of pleasure he sucks hickies up my neck pressing into me as I smell his sport deodorant. His right hand sliding down my center pulling my right breast from my bra as my shirt hangs loose. The cool air hits my breast and I feel my hard nipple aching to be touched.
What are you doing? You should stop. You should talk to him. What does he want out of this? He’s too young for you! He just has some sick mom fetish. You know he doesn’t find you attractive. What are you doing?! Mmm… I don’t know… I don’t know idontknowidontknow… but I want more…
My right hand cups the back of his neck pulling it down my chest. His wet tongue traces down my collar to right nipple. His tongue doing circles on my pink nipple before his lips lock around me, sucking and tonguing my rock hard nipple.
“Mmmm..” I feel my pussy drain, again. Releasing juices coursing through my hairy twat as his tongue flicks my plump full breast. His left hand feeding my tit to his mouth and his right hand slides between my thighs. The seat, my skirt, the floorboards, my panties, they are all drenched from my previous explosion but he moved like he didn’t care. His left knee up on his seat as I feel his two fingers spread my juicy lips. “Ohhh…” I sigh, “go inside me…” The words come out without thought as I barely keep eyes on the tail lights of the tractor ahead of me under the hoods of my eye lids. Heat filled my face as his fingers filled me. They pushed deeep inside me, rubbing the roof of my pussy pressing lightly on my g-spot before retreating to repeat. With every firm thrust inside me his thumb grinndds up my slit onto my clit. Pushing the hood back so I have direct contact. “Oooohhhh! Fuck me…Fuck me,” I heave as he bites my nipple making me tighten my soaked pale thighs around his flexed arm, momentarily.
I open my legs as he jerks his arm again and again, pumping my pussy with his fingers. I’m lost in the moment, I’m following his lead, I don’t care about anything but right now. My eyes wander to the cars passing. The sun has fallen and night shields me from the onlookers. They pass not knowing that I’m getting my pussy finger banged by this college student. They don’t know that this boy’s tongue on my hard fucking nipple is about to make me fucking cum, again. John groans into my nipple as he sucks harder, his fingers fucking me harder and firmer. I feel him pressing on my g-spot as my face goes flush and my thighs quiver.
“Yes… Yes… Ohh fuck..” I straighten my driving out and kiss the top of his head, smelling his warm shampoo because I want more of him. My right hand grabs his body underneath. Feeling his hard chest as his pecs and abs flex with every fuck of my dripping pussy. My hand bumps something wet and I explore reaching for it. I feel the thick head of his cock pointing towards me and realize sometime while he was changing positions he must’ve undone his pants. As my small palm wraps around the shaft of his young cock I groan, “Oh my god, babyohmy god…”
His dick is longer than I’m used to. She thinks as she reaches, stroking to the base and pulling to the head, again. Real 6-7 inch cock. Young. Hard as a metal rod. Mmmm…
My hand barely fits around it as I squeeze pumping from base to tip.
It has been years since I’ve had a real cock in my hands, dildos can only go so far, but feeling him flex inside my hand when I squeeze and when I moan, hearing him pant harder the faster I jerk him… Oh fuck… I’m so goddamn close.
He feels my hips writhing, hears my pants becoming guttural as he finger fucks me. His pace is picking up as his two fingers cram inside me faster, grinding on my g-spot so fast I start to lose control of my body. “Ohff- God… yes…” I mumble as he stuffs my pussy. I tug on his throbbing cock faster, I feel his precum on the tip and spread it down the shaft, his balls bouncing on the back of my hand as I jerk him. The sudden thought of sliding his young thick shaft down my lips to touch the back my throat makes my mouth water and lick my lips. My eyes and left hand have difficulty keeping focus on the road.