Trucker’s Luck Ch. 02

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After several requests, I have penned another story of the lucky trucker. You don’t need to read the first one first, but if you like this one, you will probably like the original, too.

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I’m a cross country trucker and I want to share a very special experience with you.

I’ve been driving for more than 22 years and recently “celebrated” my 53rd birthday. I admit I look kind of dumpy these days, and have gained some weight. When I was younger, I was considered pretty good looking. I played football and was a middleweight boxer in great shape. Back then, girls were never a problem. I was a genuine stud with more one-night stands than I could count until I got engaged and then married at age 28. I settled down with a great gal and was 100% faithful to her for more than 10 years. We had two great kids, who are now grown and moved out. After so many years of marriage and many long separations over the road, things got a bit stale My wife knew about but didn’t object much to my out-of-town dalliances with strippers, lap dancers, and an occasional prostitute after I started driving long haul and was away from home so often. As long as I used a rubber, she didn’t care much. Our sex life had become pretty infrequent anyway. But eventually, the boredom and long separations got to both of us and we separated last year. The divorce will be final in a few more weeks.

I work for a trucking company based in Carson City NV and drive my rig weekly between homebase and our east coast satellite warehouse in Trenton NJ. It takes almost all week to make the one-way trip. I drive Mon thru Fri and spend one weekend in NJ, drive back, and get a weekend back home in Nevada. Then I do it all over again. Technically I live in Carson City but my Kenworth condo, I-80, and the motels along it are my real home. It’s an independent, solitary life and I still like it, but it does get real lonely much of the time. And now that I’m about to be single again, there’s not even the two weekends of sex a month I used to be able to count on over the years. The strip clubs and lap dancers are still there if I am in the mood, but it gets old and REAL expensive, so my laptop, wireless internet, and some favorite porn sites have become my best companions.

A month ago, I finished up a cross country trip and dropped the trailer at the Trenton warehouse late on Friday afternoon. I was at my usual Motel 7 “home-away-from-home” by 5pm. I checked in as usual, but was surprised to find a new girl behind the desk. Not really new, actually. I recognized her as the same girl who had been the maid the last 15 or 20 times I had stayed there. Her name badge said “Brenda.”

“Aren’t you the gal who used to clean the rooms?” I asked as she ran my credit card. I almost always get room 106. I kind of have a standing reservation every other weekend.

She smiled and confirmed. “I still do housekeeping, but I can’t make enough money as a maid. And my husband says I need to make more money, so now I do double shifts. I work days in housekeeping and cover the swing shift here at the desk from 4 to 10.”

“That must be tough,” I started to say, but was interrupted by the loud ringing of the girl’s cell phone. The lobby was deserted except for me, so she looked at the screen and said she had to take it.

I waited patiently and tried not to listen in, but whoever was calling was extremely angry and I could hear the yelling even from several feet away. Eventually, from her side of the conversation, which consisted mostly of a string of humble apologies, I figured out that it was her husband. He was really lighting into her, and she gradually got more and more upset. He was calling her dirty names and refused to accept her many apologies. Tears welled up in her eyes and she couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. She made a “wait a second gesture” at me and turned away while she continued to get chewed out. Finally she was able to break in and say she had to serve a customer. That time I could hear the screaming and name-calling clearly — how dare she interrupt him! There was a sheepish “I really have to go…” then a sudden click. He hung up on her, and soon she was apologizing to me instead of him.

“It’s okay.,” I said supportively.

“I’m really sorry about that, but let me finish checking you in.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes and blew her nose.

I had to say something. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Was that your husband?”

She nodded. “He gets so mad over the smallest things. He has a bad temper.”

“What was he so upset about?”

“Nothing… it was really nothing. Nothing to ME, but to him…”

“What?”

“I left some dishes on the kitchen counter when I left this morning. It was just a couple dishes but he hates it when the kitchen isn’t perfect…”

“All of that over a couple of dirty dishes?” I asked incredulously.

She made a wry face and shrugged. “That’s how he is.”

I showed interest, and it didn’t take much prodding to get her to vent her emotions. bahis firmaları The flood gates opened and she told me all about him and the cruel way he treated her. I tried to be a good listener, but found myself focusing on her tear-stained face and her lean little body. I figured she couldn’t be much over 25 and, though not a knock-out, she was quite attractive in a girl-next-door kind of way.

“Hope you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am, but he sounds like a real jerk.”

“I am thinking of leaving him but I don’t dare. He’d kill me. And that’s not an exaggeration. He really WOULD kill me. He would never let me leave him. He’d rather see me dead than out of his control.”

“Have you called the cops on him?”

“Yeah but that only makes him madder. Last time I did that, he acted polite and waited until he cops left and then he beat and raped me so bad I couldn’t go to work for three days. He’s got a nasty temper, and it’s worse when he drinks.”

“He hits you?”

“Sure. Lotsa times, but what can I do? His brother is a cop, and even if I went to a shelter, he’d find me. So I stay. He always apologizes afterward, when he sobers up or calms down, and I always forgive him.

For the next 20 minutes, Brenda told me story after story about how her husband controlled her every action. He’s a security guard now, after being fired from the police department for “using excess force” (a code name for police brutality). He sounded like quite a character. I know the type — a bully – and I hate guys like that, especially when they pick on such a sweet young thing like Brenda. A wedding ring doesn’t give anyone the right to beat up on a little, defenseless young woman like her.

After a break to check-in another customer, I asked her more questions and she poured her heart out to me until finally, she realized she had talked nonstop for over an hour.

“I should really let you get to your room. Sorry for talking your ear off.” Her eyes were still moist and it was obvious she was frightened and upset. I wished I could have gone around the counter and hugged her.

“Not a problem, ma’am. I’m gonna get a shower and some dinner across the street. Okay if I stop back later and… check on you – see how you’re doing?

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well,” she said. “I like talking with you, but if my husband saw me talking to you when he comes to pick me up at 10, it wouldn’t be good. I’ll be okay, thanks anyway.”

“I’ll see you later,” I promised and kept the promise. I walked back to the office right around 10 pm and was shocked to see a man slapping a woman around next to a black Dodge Ram pickup. He was really waling on her pretty good, and when I saw it was Brenda, I ran over, yelling at him to leave her alone.

When I got close, he turned his anger on me.

“Get the fuck outa here old man. She’s MY wife and I can yell at her if I want to. Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

“You can yell at her, but you can’t hit her like that. Cut it out or I’ll call the cops,” I said pulling my cell phone from my pocket.

“Go ahead. Call them. My BROTHER will be right over, just in time to watch me kick your ass. Now get the fuck out of here.” Then he turned back to his wife and backhanded her across the cheek and began cursing and yelling at her again.

I took a step forward and he once again threatened me. “I SAID, get the FUCK OUTA HERE old man!” He lunged at me to shove me away.

I’m an ex-Marine and that was a big mistake on his part. I grabbed his wrist and had him flat on the ground in a microsecond. He rolled away from me, scrambled to his feet, cursing and threatening. I kept cool and told him to calm down, but the calmer I was, the wilder he got. He got up, grabbed his wife’s wrist and literally threw her toward the open passenger–side door. He flung her so hard, she hit her head on the doorframe and she looked stunned.

Instinctively, I intervened and got between him and her. When he cursed and threw a punch at me, I went into full military defense mode. I am not as young and agile as I was when I was his age, but I was still good enough to take the little prick. One hard jab to the jaw, a quick uppercut, and a hard punch to the solar plexus and he collapsed like a dynamited building. I waited for him to get up. He didn’t for the longest time, but eventually clambered to his feet, cursing and swearing, and continuing to threaten me.

“I think you should get in your truck and drive away now,” I said calmly but firmly.

“Not without my wife,” he protested, trying to reach past me at the trembling, terrified young woman.

I grabbed his arm and twisted it until I had him in a tight hold. “I don’t think so. You better leave now before I call the cops and have you arrested for assault. Unlike her, I WILL file charges.”

He twisted out of my grip and started walking away to the driver’s side of his truck, threatening me all the way. Other people had witnessed it and were standing back, watching.

The he scowled kaçak iddaa at his wife. “I’ll get you later, bitch.”

“No you won’t,” I said, not really knowing how I would back that up. But I had made my point and I let him save face by calling me dirty names. I didn’t care what he said as long as he kept walking away. He roared the engine and flipped me the bird as he raced off with spinning wheels.

I turned to Brenda and she was horrified and shaking like a leaf.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” she said to me. “Now he’s really mad. He’s going to beat the hell out of me now. I can’t… I can’t go home. I don’t know what to do. If I go home, he’ll beat me worse than ever.”

From before, I already knew she didn’t have any friends she could crash with. Her only girl friend was more afraid of Brenda’s husband than Brenda was. Her only relatives were back in the Oakland area.

“C’mon. I’ll buy you a coffee and we’ll sort this out,” I said, laying my arm around her shoulder and leading her toward the diner.

She sobbed and kept saying he would kill her. After we got a table and sipped some decaf, I began to panic a bit myself. She really WAS out of options and I felt like maybe I HAD made things worse. I didn’t know what to tell her and it was approaching midnight.

“What am I going to do?” she asked sadly.

“I need some sleep, and you do too. You can stay in my room. There are two beds. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”

She gave me a distrustful and frightened look.

“No, no, whoa,” I said quickly, holding up both hands. “No funny business. I’m not looking for anything. I just want you to be safe. The bed is yours if you want it. And that’s all I’m offering.”

“Thanks, but I can’t do that,” she said. “My husband will come back here looking for me. He knows I work tomorrow. If he ever found me in your room, … hell, if he ever found out that I had stayed in your room overnight, even if nothing happened, I’d never be able to go back to him. He’d kill me. He’d really kill me.”

“Well, obviously it is up to you. We’ve discussed all the other options I can think of. You don’t want to call the cops, you won’t let me take you to a shelter. I don’t know what else to suggest.”

She looked at me for a long time, weighing my words. The tears dried and her face relaxed.

“Just sleeping, right?”

“Absolutely. You can trust me. I think you already know that.”

“I do. Okay. Until I can figure out what else to do….”

We walked together back to my room, both of with our eyes on a swivel to make sure her husband hadn’t returned. The card key on the outer doors was a nice extra measure of security and I was pretty sure no one had seen us go inside.

Once in my room, I offered her use of the bathroom first.

“I don’t have anything,” she said. “Everything’s at home. My clothes, makeup, toothbrush, contact lens case, everything.”

“Hmmmm, let’s see what I have.” I gave her one of my clean long-sleeved shirts to use as a night gown. Then she washed her panties out in the bathroom sink and hung them over the shower curtain rail. I tried to be fatherly, but just knowing she was naked under that long shirt was very erotic. My shirt tail fell almost to her knees but it was still very sexy and I tried not to let her see how aroused I was by it.

When I finished my turn in the bathroom, she was already in bed and under the covers, curled up in the fetal position. Her eyes were moist.

“Are you going to be able to sleep,” I asked her.

“I don’t know. I am so scared.” Then she proceeded to pour her heart out to me again, venting her fears about what would happen to her if she went home. I sat on the edge of her bed and listened like a professional counselor, saying mostly “uh-huh.”

Finally, I suggested we both try to get some sleep, and I was soon out cold in the other bed.

When I awoke the next morning, she was awake and laying eyes open with her arms folded behind her head.

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked in my morning-cracked voice.

“Not much. I turned my cell phone off so he couldn’t call me. But now there are 12 messages on my voice mail. I’m afraid to listen to them.”

I got up and she didn’t even seem to notice that I was wearing nothing but my boxers. We exchanged some awkward small talk as I got dressed. Then I suggested we get some continental breakfast.

“I can’t. I work here. The breakfast is only for guests.”

“Ok, stay here. I’ll get some and bring some back for you.”

“Ok,” she said sheepishly.

Standing next to the bed, and looking down at her, I could see down the front of my loosely buttoned shirt and got a quick glimpse of her fleshy mounds. I didn’t see everything. The nipples remained hidden, but I saw enough of her tits to cause my penis to stir slightly. I rushed off before she caught me gawking.

Over coffee and Danish we discussed options again. She was now dressed in her Motel 7 uniform and the dried panties were gone from the shower stall. Nothing kaçak bahis I could say persuaded her. No cops. No shelter. There was nowhere to go. So she left to start her housekeeping duties at 9.

I spent my Saturday at the motel pool, reading and relaxing. It was much too cold to swim, but it was a good vantage point to look out for any black Dodge Ram trucks. I resumed my lookout duties from a windowed booth at the diner. Fortunately, the bastard never showed up.

I relaxed in my room, thinking about Brenda and how cute and sexy she was. Not her face. That was rather plain. But her slim body was very sexy. I took out my laptop and thanks to the free wi-fi, I was soon surfing my favorite porn sites, getting more and more horny. Whenever I saw a girl with a slim physique like Brenda’s, I imagined what Brenda looked like naked and tried to imagine if her tits and pussy resembled the beautiful girls on the screen. My cock stirred and I was just about to whip it out when I heard the knock. I scrambled to close my laptop and zip back up before opening the door.

“Hi Brenda, everything ok?”

“Yeah. I just finished my rooms and I will be moving to the desk in a few minutes. I just wanted to thank you. I know you won’t be checking out on Monday, but do you think I could stay here again tonight after I get off?”

“Yeah sure. Are you going to be safe in the office by yourself?”

“Yeah. He knows we have security cameras. Plus, the manager is close by and there are lots of people around. He knows better than to bother me in the office. But, when I leave….”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come and get you at 10. I’ll have some food waiting for you here, and I’ll make sure he’s not lurking around, okay?”

“Okay. Be careful though, okay?”

“I will. You too.”

I posted myself most of the night at the diner where I could eat, nurse my decal, and keep an eye out for black pickups. I saw one drive by, and it might’ve been him. It was dark, so I wasn’t sure — maybe it was a Chevy. At 9:30 I walked over and waited with her while she finished up. Then I walked around the complex a few times before escorting her to the room. Brenda walked with me nervously, her head spinning in all directions. We used the interior halls where the card keys offered greater security.

Once inside my room, she breathed a deep sigh of relief and gave me a bear hug. It felt nice and I was reluctant to release her.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I appreciate everything. It’s really nice of you.”

That led to another long venting session with her doing almost all of the talking and occasional sobbing. After she changed into my long shirt again, I was thrilled to steal glances at her long lovely legs and delicate feet. Her breasts were too small to push out the thin fabric of the shirt, but every once in awhile, when she stretched and reached for her can of soda on the nightstand, she twisted just enough to give me a few accidental peeks at her tits. One time, when she leaned forward in my direction, the shirt bloused outward and I got a good long look at her sweet tits, hanging below her and begging to be massaged and sucked. I was sure she had no idea what I was thinking and imagining.

Sitting at the foot of the bed and with her sitting by the headboard talking, I asked her about happier times, before she had met her abusive spouse. In an animated fashion, she talked my ear off again, seeming much happier and relaxed. In fact, as her comfort with me grew, she crossed her legs and sat Indian-style on the bed. She kept the shirttail pushed down between her legs, but every once in awhile, she gestured wildly and I could see pretty far up the inside of her thighs, all the way up to a dark triangle. I had to adjust my body to hide my growing erection.

Damn. I had seen her tits a couple of times. Now I could almost see her pussy. Still, I didn’t dare make a move on her. I was certain the peeks at her body were inadvertent and besides, she was only a couple years older than my own daughter. There was no way….

But it turns out I was wrong. As her story moved past her high school years and to how she met her husband, she became sad again. Her eyes got wet and tears streamed down her face as she told me about how good things were at the beginning. Then, came the stories of domestic violence. The bruises. The broken arm. The nonconsensual brutal sex he insisted on when he came home drunk. She said she longed for the early days when he treated her nicely and made love to her like a loving spouse.

When she broke into a full cry, I moved forward and embraced her in a fatherly hug. But it didn’t stay fatherly. I felt her soft breasts press against my chest and I got aroused. I pulled back and wiped the streams of tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. Then, on impulse, I leaned down and gave her a light peck on the lips. I looked in her eyes and she looked back lovingly and gratefully. I kissed her lips again, a bit longer. Then again.

She wasn’t resisting. After an awkward pause, I kissed her full on the lips, and to my surprise, she kissed me back. In fact, she was the first to push her tongue in to meet mine. For fifteen minutes, we deep kissed as my erection grew.

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