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I’ve been driving big rigs for nineteen years. You know the ones. They have eighteen wheels and the interstate highways are littered with them. They’re ubiquitous, they’re everywhere, and you always seem to get behind one when you’re driving. You get particularly upset when they try to pass each other going uphill.

Before driving big rigs for a living, I drove big rigs for the US Army Transportation Corps, 143rd Transportation Command. They taught me how to drive under the worst conditions, including a deployment in Iraq in 2003. I was one of the first drivers in Iraq with a machine gun in the cab.

Before joining the Army, I was an athlete for the local high school in Enid, Oklahoma. I was a so-so athlete and I graduated with so-so grades from the so-so high school. I had no chance of either an academic or athletic scholarship and, as a disappointment to my parents, no college fund either.

My folks were a big deal in Enid. My father’s successful business eventually led him to president of the local Kiwanis Club and then into politics. He always fancied my following him into the business and was upset when I joined the Army instead. He didn’t understand I needed to get away from him, Enid and Oklahoma. I never thought he ever considered me worthy anyway, but I was his only son and he had no one else to take over the business. He never referred to me by name. He gave me the same name as his, Jerauld Bruce Wheatridge, Jr., which left me with Jerauld Bruce Wheatridge, III. I think he regretted naming me after himself since it caused confusion both in the family and the community. He just referred to me as “the boy.” He’d say things like, “Where’s the boy?” or “I need the boy to mow the lawn.”

I felt similarly about my name and welcomed any nickname offered. For years I answered to “Daboy” as my nickname. The military gave the name “Miles” since I drove trucks for them. I liked it and it stuck. Today I answer to Miles and few people know my given name.

I met my first wife in the Army. She was part of the Quartermaster Corps and out ranked me. I don’t know what she saw in me but we hit it off right away. We kept our relationship low key, got married right after the US withdrew from Iraq in 2003 and our tours ended.

When I left the service, I had my choice of trucker jobs, all with great pay. I settled near Oklahoma City since I had grown up in nearby Enid and my wife was from Oklahoma as well. I loved my wife but I loved driving better. Long times in the cab, in the driving groove, were addictive to me. I regularly opted for long haul opportunities where I would be away for a week or more. My wife adapted but I don’t think she was ever comfortable with it. I was selfishly unaware of the depth of her discomfort until she served me with divorce papers after seven years. We split amicably and I haven’t looked back.

I met my second wife on the road. Cindy was a driver for a competitive company also based in Oklahoma City. We traveled separately and rarely had time together at home. We did well scheduling our trips so we could meet someplace. We had liaisons all over the Midwest. We screwed in motels, back rooms and sleeper cabs whenever we could. Even when we were home together, we sometimes got it on in the sleeper cab parked in the yard just for the fun of it.

Truck drivers are notorious for their exploits on the road or at least bragging about them. I have no idea how much of what I bahis firmaları heard was true. For the most part, I didn’t participate in one upping the other drivers. I was probably doing much better than most since much of the time I was doing my wife. The women drivers had their own stories. I know this since my wife and I shared experiences and the tall stories we heard at truck stops. We had an agreement. We understood the possibilities when we were apart so much of the time. We agreed not to talk about it if it happened and never to let it bother us. What happened on the road, stayed on the road.

For years I listened to other drivers tell about what they saw and did while driving. From tall tales of women in convertibles flashing their tits to other drivers to lecherous descriptions of hand and blowjobs from hitchhikers. It never happened to me so I discounted most of what I heard.

Until I’d been driving for six years. I was pulling a load from fifty miles north of Oklahoma City to Spokane. I left at six am on Saturday. It was a good time to leave. I’d be driving in daylight and I’d miss the weekday traffic and road construction. With luck I’d make Laramie by dinner time. I had a fourteen-hour window and eleven hours of driving to keep within regulations, if I took a half hour break. If I pushed it a little I could make Laramie.

Laramie was one of my favorite stops. They had clean showers, lots of hot water, good food and the friendliest waitresses. Regulations required I take a ten hour break before driving again and Laramie was a great place to take the break. I’d been building a relationship with Lucy, a waitress at the truck stop for several months and thought this trip I might get lucky.

I fudged the driving time by ten minutes to get there, but luck with Lucy was not on my dance card this trip. Lucy had settled on another trucker and moved on. As I was sitting alone, sadly half enjoying my dinner, I was approached by Josh. Josh is a homeless guy who makes a buck pairing hitchhikers with drivers. He finds out where some transportationless traveler needs to go and then finds a trucker going in that direction. He is well known and likeable, so the staff sends folks with problems his way. Most tip him a couple of dollars for his service and sometimes more.

Josh had a short woman, maybe five foot four, in tow. She hung back, looking down while Josh talked to me. “This lady needs a ride to Seattle. I’ve asked around. Nobody’s going anywhere near there except you. If you could take her to Spokane, then maybe she’d be able to find another ride the rest of the way.”

I looked around Josh to see whom he was talking about. She was pretty in a girl next-door kind of way and looked to be in her mid twenties. She was maybe a hundred-ten pounds soaking wet. I looked at Josh and said, “I’d be glad to help if I don’t intimidate her.”

I’m six-four, two hundred forty pounds. I can intimidate almost anyone without trying.

Josh turned around and talked with her for several seconds. She nodded and Josh turned back to me. “She’s okay.”

She didn’t appear to have any money, so I gave Josh a fiver and motioned the woman to sit with me at the table. “I’m Miles. Do you have a name?”

“I’d rather not.”

I took her response to be, “I’m going as far away as I can and I don’t want to leave any breadcrumbs.” “Your choice. I think I understand, but I need to call you something. We’re kaçak iddaa sitting in Laramie. I like the sound of it. I can call you Laramie. Okay?”

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

“Okay Laramie. Here’s the deal. I need to spend the next ten hours here before we can leave for Spokane. Then we’ll spend the next ten or eleven hours pulling thirty-five tons of freight at seventy miles per hour.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

I liked her spirit. “There’s more,” I said. “I need to eat; take a shower and get at least six hours sleep before we can leave.”

“That’s okay. I can find somewhere out of sight to wait.”

This lady had no baggage, no money and no hope. “No need,” I said. “Let me buy you dinner and you can camp out in the cab of my truck while I sleep.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure. I’m a pussycat and you look like you could use a friend.”

We had dinner and, afterward, I walked with her out to my ride. I grabbed my to-go bag with a change of underwear, a razor and my toothbrush. I told Laramie to wait for me in the passenger seat while I went to get a shower. Back in the truck stop, I paid for a shower and the clerk gave me a number. Twenty minutes later, someone called my number over the PA system. I was told to use shower number four.

The showers there are above average. They have a privacy door that opens on an anteroom with hooks for your clothing, a sink and a mirror. There is an opening between the first room and the shower with a curtain to keep the shower splash in. I undressed, took a bar of soap and a washcloth, entered the shower and pulled the curtain.

I’d adjusted the shower to the proper temperature and had just started to wash when someone slid the curtain aside and stepped into the shower with me. I froze momentarily as Laramie took the soap from my hand and began to wash herself. I stammered something stupid, which Laramie ignored. She smiled up at me. It was the first time she had looked me in the eyes. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad. She began to wash my cock. She was an excellent cock washer. I was unable to do much except smile back at her. She washed as if she had done it before. I had no complaint. She vigorously washed until, without notice, I sprayed cum over her hand and breasts. She grinned mischiefly, washed herself completely while I stood there, put the soap back into my hand and left the shower.

I regained my composure and finished my shower. I shaved, brushed my teeth and got dressed with fresh underwear. Laramie wasn’t in the shower area, the market or the restaurant. I walked back to my rig and found her curled up in the passenger seat. Neither of us said a word. I just stowed my go-to bag and settled into the driver’s seat.

“I need to get some sleep,” I said. “There’s an extra pillow and blanket in the back you can use to sleep where you are.” I reached into the back and retrieved the pillow and blanket. I gave them to Laramie and climbed onto the full sized mattress to sleep.

I settled myself and started to fall asleep. Several minutes later, I felt a push. “I can’t get comfortable in the seat. Move over. Give me some room.”

I shifted over and watched as Laramie, wearing exactly the same clothing as she wore in the shower, climbed in next to me. In seconds, she rolled me on my back, pushed down my shorts and had my cock in her hand again. A few seconds later, she had my cock in her mouth. As good as she was in kaçak bahis the shower with her hand and soap, she was better in the truck with her mouth and saliva. I was certain she had done this before. When she judged I was ready, she straddled me and settled herself on my erection.

She rode me like a cowboy on a bronco. She bucked, squeezed and bounced. She leaned forward and she leaned backward. I reached up to grab her tits and she leaned further forward to help me. She bent forward completely so I could lick and suck her nipples. If it hadn’t been for the activity in the shower, she’d have finished me in minutes. Instead, I was good to go the distance. About ten minutes later, she climaxed suddenly. I was watching her face and I think it took her by surprise. When she recovered, she increased the pace. She needed another three or four minutes to finish me off. I filled her with the best I had to offer. She collapsed on top of me while I softened and slipped out of her. She rolled off me. I felt like that bronco. I’d been rode hard and put away wet. She spooned up against me and went to sleep. In minutes so was I.

When I woke in the morning, Laramie was gone. I rolled over to look for her and wished I hadn’t. My right hand found a very cold, very wet spot on the bed. I covered the spot with a small towel and looked for her. She wasn’t in the sleeper or the passenger seat. I got dressed and walked to the restaurant. Laramie was sitting at the same table as last night with a menu and a glass of water. I sat across from her. She looked at me with those sad eyes. “Breakfast?” I said.

“I don’t have any money.”

“I’ll buy.”

After breakfast, we walked back to the truck. She climbed into the passenger seat. I drove the rig to the pumps and filled the tanks with diesel. We were on the road fifteen minutes later. Neither of us mentioned the events of last evening.

Laramie said little on the trip, which was okay with me. She alternatively napped and watched the road. While she was napping, I slipped a couple of twenties into the small purse she carried. We made good time and Spokane was about a half hour away when Laramie asked, “Why are you doing everything for me?”

“I told you, I’m a pussycat. I know what hard times can be like. I’ve had help when I needed it and I believe in passing it forward. Can I ask you why did you do what you did last night?”

“I needed to show you my appreciation and I have nothing else to give you.”

“Laramie, you owe me nothing. I helped you without any expectation of return. It’s how I was raised. Now I have to tell you something because of last night. I want you to know it has nothing to do with what happened. I would have done it either way.”

Laramie looked at me curiously.

“I don’t want you to misinterpret or misunderstand my motives. I put some money in your purse. I want you to keep it. The money and last night are not related. I would never insult you that way.”

Laramie sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead until we reached Spokane. When we parked and it was time to go, she kneeled on the seat and kissed me fully on the lips. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t have words to tell you how much your kindness has helped me. More than the money. Last night I did what I did because I didn’t want to owe you, or anyone else, anything. Today I’m glad we did it. It was the first time I can remember I didn’t feel used. I actually enjoyed it. I hope I find someone just like you to be with.”

“I hope you do too.”

She kissed me again. She smiled and her eyes agreed. “It’s Sarah,” she said.

Two minutes later, Laramie was gone.

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