Happy Trucker

Melvin finished his second plate of cherry pie, sat back and burped. The truck stop was nearly empty, just him and Hank Williams warbling through the ceiling speakers.

He glanced up as the door opened, expecting to see another trucker. The new arrival was a girl and she was not wearing the obligatory jeans and T-shirt of a driver.

Her skirt was impossibly short and her halter top barely covered her creamy skin. For a second, Melvin considered dropping his spoon and checking out what was under the skirt as he bent down to pick it up but, as she stared at him, something in her eyes seemed to pin him to the seat.

She walked toward him, her long, straight chestnut hair swaying as if caught in a gentle breeze. She stopped by his table, the hem of her skirt was above the edge and the smooth skin of her thighs seemed to disappear beneath it millimetres before they merged into heaven.

Melvin forced himself to look up.

“Anyone sitting here?” she asked.

Melvin glanced around the empty café. “Err, no.”

She slid onto the bench opposite and leant forward across the table. The halter neck top swung loosely revealing the curves of her breasts in the shadows of the vee neck.

“I need a ride,” she said.

“In my truck?” Melvin asked, sure that she was not thinking about the same sort of ride he was. “Where to?” he forced himself to say.

“Anywhere.” She shook her hair back and the halter top seemed to wash back and forth across her breasts.

“My load’s heading south,” he said, not quite sure whether he meant his or the trucks.

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First published in Tantalizing Tales on Medium