Chapter 2
Finally the fifth wheel was secured, air brake hoses connected to the trailer, stop, tail, clearance fights plugged in, tires thumped, dolly cranked up, and Al had given her the paperwork.
"Duluth!" Ella exploded. "My god, that's twenty-five hundred miles and forty below this time of year!"
"You've got another month before winter socks in," Al reassured her. "This is just a freak storm. Besides," he added, "old Fred always said you were a better driver than he was."
Ella wondered how much of this was true. She had to think even to remember where the shifts were. If there hadn't been red and green lines on the tach she would have no way of knowing when to split a gear. She was about to tell Al to stuff it when she realized he was right. It wasn't like the old days when a trucker went out like some polar explorer.
Trucks nowadays had heaters. They had warmed bunks. They had CB radio. Even if she were to get caught in a storm there would be no struggling to put chains on duals. She would just pull over and wait for the snow plows to come. She had packed thermal underwear in her bag but Ella knew she would never really have to use it.
She checked gauges again. The air had recovered from charging up the trailer's fines. The engine was "still too cold and the shutters were closed but the oil pressure had dropped ten pounds so she guessed the rig would move. She wondered if she had forgotten anything. She ran through the checklist again and guessed she hadn't. She blew the brake and got the main box into grandma. Air hissed and she let out the clutch. The rig began creeping away from the dock, snaking through the jungle of the yards until finally she was out on the street. She accelerated and the rig moved so quickly she abruptly realized Al had not been conning her. It really was a load of baloons. She skipped two gears and held the stick in neutral, watching the tach needle. When it dropped to eighteen hundred she pulled the stick and the main box slipped smoothly into fourth. She smiled at the memory of how she had struggled and scraped gears until Fred had taught her that once you had this rig moving you never used the clutch again, that only instinct, feel, and one eye on the tachometer could make those gears mesh.
The heater was blowing warmth on her legs. She studied the stoplights over the tops of the cars in front of her and decided she had time to pull those goddam pants out of her crotch. She struggled through two miles of stop and go, then finally she was circling onto an onramp, shifting down half a gear and pushing smoothly into a hole in the traffic. There was a sudden difference in the sound of the rig and she knew the shutters had finally opened a crack to let some air past the radiator. She checked the gauges. The water temperature was just coming off zero. Oil pressure had dropped to eighty pounds. She accelerated another hundred rpm and split half a gear upward. Lazing along at fifty, she waited for the engine to finish warming up.
The rig was plowing through wet snow, throwing up a rooster tail. She checked the mirrors for smoke. Everything seemed ok. The short wheel based tractor would not settle down at fifty. It was rocking in time with the dividers in the concrete highway, jouncing her ass up and down on the seat until she found herself thinking about other times when her ass had bounced up and down, sliding up and down a greased pole that warmed her and filled her being with a joy that passeth all understanding. She was remembering that first time with Fred when she saw a bearded, long-haired youth with knapsack and sleeping bag. He saw the bow wave of slush she was throwing and hurriedly stepped back off the shoulder of the road. No damn business on the freeway anyhow, she knew. She wondered. In spite of the beard, the boy didn't look old enough to be traveling alone.
As the oil thinned out the rig began pulling easier. She eased back on the throttle and moved the brownie from under to direct. Slowly the engine recovered and settled down at twenty two hundred. Three more gears and she'd be up to top speed-providing no fuzz came along to enforce that idiotic fifty five miles an hour business. As if driving a big rig two gears too slow could save fuel! She wondered if anybody in congress had the slightest idea of how a diesel engine operated, or that you couldn't lug it like a car. Every time this rig lost five miles an hour she had to shift gears to keep that engine turning at a constant speed. She couldn't even get it into top gear until she was doing sixty-eight!
The rocking bounce of the tractor became worse as she picked up speed, pounding her ass up and down, fore and aft along the terry cloth covered seat. She tried to think of something else-would it snow more or would this melt off? It was no use. All she could think of was the lovely sensual wave of pink-frothed lust that rippled through her belly each time she jiggled up and down. Even her firm forty-twos were jouncing jauntily up and down in time with the tractor's bounce. She thanked god she'd remembered to put on a bra or they'd really be hurting after a couple of hours.
Another hitchhiker held out his hand. This one didn't have sense enough to step back in time. She glanced in the mirror and saw him disappear in a shower of slush. Poor bastard.
She felt a tiny trickle of moisture between her legs. Damn! She wondered if this rough ride would have turned her on that much if she'd been getting a steady diet of old Fred's cock. Then she reminded herself to learn to forget about old Fred's honker. Fred was dead and so was his honker. She was never going to feel that lovely piece of meat inside her again. She opened the window a bit and cold air hit her face. She snatched a kleenex from the holder and wiped tears from her eyes. Another hitchhiker. She wondered why the state fuzz wasn't running them off the freeway. This was no place for anybody on foot.
She toyed with the idea of picking one of them up. Insane. Even men who drive these trucks were damn careful about picking up strangers. There were highjackers. There were just plain baddies who wouldn't know how to drive a rig but would not hesitate to kill a driver for the change in his pocket. And Fred had told her hair-raising stories about the girls who baited badger games, the queers out for a bit of hosing and/or blackmail, which came first.
Another hitchhiker. This one was right out in her lane. He seemed determined to force her to stop. She checked the mirrors. Nobody else coming. She could move into the other lane but it would cost a hundred rpm and a full minute to get the rig straightened out again and back up to speed. To hell with him. She turned on the headlights and reached up for the lanyard. She pulled and the air horn's noise was loud enough to poach an egg even above" the diesel's racketing. The boy stuck it out till the last minute, then realized he didn't have the weight to play chicken with a tractor and trailer. He scampered for the edge of the road and managed to get a solid wave of wet slush.
She bounced up and down, trying to ignore the warm wetness in her crotch. Why did it have to feel just like the times she had sat astraddle old Fred and bounced up and down his spike? She checked the mirrors again. No smoke from her stacks, no fuzz on, her tail. She watched the tach for a moment, then backed off slightly until the brownie pulled out of gear and dropped smoothly into the next hole. Slowly the rig began recovering. The water was up to a hundred ninety now and the oil pressure had dropped to seventy. She guessed she might as well make some time.
She was half a gear from top speed when another hitchhiker appeared. Then she saw a car in the ditch. Keep moving she told herself. But Ella knew she couldn't do it. There might be lads in the car. Somebody might be hurt. Somebody might be freezing. She reached for the mike of the CB radio. It was cold. She'd forgotten to turn it on. She'd lost three hundred rpm already. She was shifting down when she came closer and saw the hitcher was a girl.
Which meant there might be a baby in that car. She touched the brakes and felt the trailer try to skid. She let off, fanned the air gently again, and the rig began slowing. She was nearly a quarter mile down the road before the tractor came to a stop. She glanced in the mirror but it was fogged. She turned on the mirror heater, and as the fog cleared she could see the girl running toward the tractor. She didn't run like a girl.
She was nearly up to the cab before Ella realized this slim long-haired creature had a hint of mustache and sideburns. Christ! Exactly what she had firmly resolved never to do. But it was too late now. The boy had climbed the ladder and was opening the door to the cab. "Thanks," he said. "It's sure getting cold out there."
Ella sighed and checked the mirror. "Anybody else in that car?"
The boy gave her a blank look then his face lit with sudden comprehension. "No," he said. "Leastways I didn't see anybody in it. Looks like it's been there a week before I came along."
Ella wondered if she could find a way to kick herself. She checked the mirrors again, turned off the flashers, and got the tractor into second gear. She ground through the long tedious business of going through every other gear to get this load of balloons back up to speed.
The boy watched her admiringly. "I didn't know women drove these things," he said. "You a libber?"
"A what?" Ella couldn't hear over the racket of the diesel.
"A woman's libber," the boy repeated. "A bra burner."
The rig was picking up speed and starting to bounce again. She saw the boy looking at her jouncing jugs. Suddenly Ella was blushing. Of all the crazy things, she thought wildly. Blushing at my age just because some kid looks at me sideways! "No," she said firmly. "I'm no bra burner. It's just this concrete pavement"
"On you it looks good," the boy said cheerfully. And suddenly Ella was blushing even more furiously. She gave a sidelong glance but he was looking out the window in the opposite direction. Her glance lingered on his unconscious profile. He couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen. There was the barest downy hint of mustache and sideburns. He was dressed neatly in blue jeans and carried a small bundle. She wondered how she had managed not to see that telltale bundle when he stood along the highway.
He tossed the bundle to the floor of the cab and put his feet on it, then after a moment's hesitation unlaced his boots and put his damp-stockinged feet where the heater could blow on them. "Aaaaaahhhh," he sighed and stretched. Ella felt her stomach do a little flip-flop at the sight and sound of his firm young body.
Get hold of yourself! If you'd ever been stupid enough to have children they'd be older than this child. But bouncing up and down, pouncing her throbbing cunt against the truck seat she could not help but wonder if the boy was getting the same throbbing, thumping turn-on she was getting from this cruddy concrete highway. She wondered if he even thought about things like that with a woman as old as she was-forty-two-old enough to be his mother! Get hold of yourself!
She saw movement from the comer of her eye and looked again in his direction. The boy was peeling off his jacket. She realized the cab must be sweltering after the cold outside. But it felt just right to her. She squirmed, trying to ignore the warm trickle that tickled her crotch. If this concrete highway didn't turn into asphalt pretty soon she was going to come right in her panties!
My god! Beneath the jacket he wore only a tank top. She wondered if she had ever seen a more magnificently muscled pair of arms and shoulders. Was he a weight lifter or something? Hastily, she got her eyes back on the road. Already the rig had strayed over the line. She concentrated on getting it straightened out again.
"Is that a five C sixty-five?" the boy asked abruptly. Ella gave a little start. "Why yes," she said. "I think it is.
"Thought I recognized that howl," the boy said. "I drove one once in a little dump truck."
"Diesel?"
The boy shook his head. "Just an old Ford with a single five speed Fuller five C sixty-five in it. I blew the engine."
Such honesty, Ella decided, was refreshing. Most kids his age would be bragging about how good they were at driving.
"Over rev?" she asked.
"Topped a hose and lost the water," the boy explained. Which could happen to anybody, Ella knew. She glanced at her gauges. Everything seemed ok. She could make about five hundred miles before the rig needed fuel. But, she suddenly realized, she was going to run out of fuel much sooner. In the rush of getting ready for this run she had forgotten to eat any breakfast. The bouncing became worse and she realized if she didn't get her mind off the warm wonderful feel between her legs she was going to pop a hose too. Then the rough section ended and they were on smooth asphalt. The bouncing stopped. She watched the tach and pulled the brownie into overdrive. The rig was doing sixty-eight and a half. She watched tach and speedo until it settled down at seventy.
Will I settle down at seventy, she wondered? Mae West seemed to be going strong with a stable of young studs and she must be well into her eighties. And I'm only forty-two! She glanced toward the boy and he had peeled off his tank top. He sat beside her in the full width cab clad only in socks and Levis. God, what a lovely hard body!
She caught herself wondering what it would feel like to Ue supine looking up into that nearly beardless face while feeling that lovely hard body, that lovely hard thing he must have sliding firmly and indefatigably in and out of her. It was even worse than rocking along on the concrete.
What's wrong with me? I used to miss old Fred when he was on the road but I could put my mind on other things. I didn't go around for two weeks at a time thinking of nothing but his honker and how soon I could get him between my legs again.
She wondered what it would be like with another man. With this boy? Then she wondered how people went about this kind of thing. She had never tried it with anybody but Fred. Was there perhaps some special signal? She had heard all kinds of stories about the young generation, how free and easy they were. But Ella had never been brought up that way. She didn't know how to begin. She wondered what would happen if she were to pull up in the next rest stop and point at the narrow bed up behind the seat and ask the boy if he wanted to get into it with her and sleep for a while.
Sleep! Hell, she didn't want to sleep. Ella wanted to fuck!