Thread: On the road [Cherubian & Mr. D]

The satisfied grin he made when she accepted his offer was a horrible sight - it was obvious that he had other priorities then paying for a dentist. To make room for her he moved down a six pack of beer and a couple of old rugged porn magazines from the passenger seat. She got a quick look of a picture of some big busted blonde porn star getting a cucumber pressed down her throat, with the header Good girls eat their vegetables written in big letters over it, before he pushed the magazines down on the floor. Well, jump in then. he said and opened the door. The complete stranger with whom she had just agreed to spend hours, if not days, wore a pair of since long ago washed out blue jeans and a baggy t-shirt with the text FUCK THE GOVERNMENT printed on it in red. The sweat spots under his arms were huge, and the wunderbaum that was hanging from the rear mirror did a poor job in covering up the ingrained smell of sweat. His belt buckle, a big brass one with the lone star flag of Texas engraved on it, was opened. Maybe it was to accommodate his huge belly, or maybe he had been doing something while looking at that picture. With a beautiful young girl in the passenger seat, he wouldn't need any pictures no more. I'm Chuck, and I'm driving so far north you can possibly get in this country, so if you want to get the hell out of here, I'm your man. he croaked with a ingratiating voice. I'm heading for Minneapolis, to deliver some cargo for a customer. You see, I am in the special deliveries business. While he spoke, he took the liberty to judge her body with his eyes, carefully examining it from top to toe, stoping for a long time at her cleavage. This unbrushed fatso did not bother to try to hide the fact that he was staring at her breasts. And I don't mind bringing some extra cargo as long as it is fine looking like this. he added with a laugh. Chuck was indeed in the delivery business. For many years now he had travelled the roads across the continent in his old pickup truck, making sure that his customers property was delivered safe and sound to its intended destination. He owned a trailer that was parked outside Houston, and maybe you could call it his home, but he was only there once or twice a year. The rest of the time he was touring the states, and there was not a single highway in the hole nation that he had not drove. That was the way he wanted his life - always on the run, no attachments to anyone or anything, freedom in its purest and most complete form. He slept in the car most nights, and sometimes at cheap motels when he needed a shower after a week or two, and he ate at truck stops or Hooters. In fact, his real home was not that old trailer - his real home was the highways. The jobs he took was just to be able to pay the few expenses he had, mostly food and beer. And his business payed quite well - It was mostly drugs and weapons he transported, and the risk of getting busted by the cops made it a profitable occupation. But there were no drugs and no weapons under that tarpaulin now, no, there were something that would land him in far more trouble if that big wooden crate back on the board would be opened.