"I thought you said this stuff is all guaranteed," I said.
"With normal use," he sighed.
CHAPTER THREE
I didn't want to go to Phoenix, so I had the salesman drop me off at the first place we encountered where there were any signs of civilization. He let me off and then roared off, accelerating to his usual hundred m.p.h. before he disappeared over the horizon. I never had found out his name.
Looking around at the terrain, I saw that I was standing in a highway rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I wasn't familiar with the surrounding country, meaning that I was far, far away from home, perhaps well over a hundred miles the way the maniac salesman drove.
It was more like a desert than anything else. The arid, hard-baked land stretched in an infinite radius around me, the asphalt of the rest stop a black patch in a sandy void. The sun was beating down unmercifully, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, making the raincoat I wore seem ridiculous. However I was stuck with it because I was as naked as ever underneath.
Not only was I inappropriately dressed, or undressed, but I still hadn't completely recaptured my sense of direction. However, I was navigator enough to know that Phoenix was in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go, and that it made sense for me to hitch a ride going the opposite way I had come with the salesman.
I looked across the road to see if there was a reststop on the other side for traffic going in the opposite direction. At first it was hard to make anything out, so distorted was my vision from vapors rising in squiggly columns from the hot asphalt. Then, squinting my eyes, I managed to make out a reststop about 500 yards away on the other side of the highway.
Before I crossed the road, I looked both ways, checking for traffic. The way seemed clear and I started walking across. But people drive fast out in the middle of nowhere. When I was smack-dab in the middle of the road, at the point of no return, the roaring of an approaching engine filled my ears, closing in on me from my right. I turned around just in time to see a huge black motorcycle bearing down on me, its driver looking like a man from outer space in his gleaming metallic helmet and sunglasses which wrapped around his face.
My reflexes took over. Intuitively I dropped to the ground, rolling away from the path of the cycle. As the roar of the engine filled my ears, I could feel the rough pavement of the road tearing into my flesh, my thin raincoat no protection for the tumbling I was taking.
I looked up expecting him to be gone. But here he came again, the identical image of his first assault. How had he turned around so fast? With no time to think, I buried my face in the pavement, my can exploding from the resonance of his tearing by as he narrowly missed me.
Finally I summoned the nerve to look up again. Good God, here he comes again! my terrified mind blurted. The same helmet, the same aviator glasses covering the same half of his face, the same unshaven grin.
Zowwww, he ripped by me. But this time I kept rolling after he missed me, willing to take the roughness of the pavement if I could reach safety off the road. I gritted my teeth, trying to fight the pain and dizziness, hoping a nice safe ditch was at the end of my journey.
Zooooooom, he went by me again.
Then again.
Again.
My mind boggled from the stress of my perilous journey across the highway and the incessant engine roar. Only when I at last toppled into the safety of a filthy ditch, practically kissing the dirt in gratitude, did my brain clear enough for me to think.
My ears sorted it out for me at first. The engine was still revving off in the background somewhere, but it was, so… like more than one. "TWO… three… four," I started counting them aloud, "five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten." Ten engines. Ten motorcycles.
Now my eyes started to focus. First they gazed down at their owner. I was a bruised, bleeding mess, with abrasions all over my breasts and belly and shoulders, legs and hips. I could see it all – my raincoat had been torn to useless ribbons in my rolling grind across the highway. I was all but naked.
When I was satisfied I wasn't seriously injured, and had gotten over the shock of my nudity, I looked beyond the vista of the ditch. To my absolute horror an entire motorcycle gang looked right back at me, bloodshot eyes boring holes in my naked body.
They were the Speed Freaks. I could see the name of their club on the back of one of their greasy jackets when one of them turned around to talk to the guy standing behind him.
From my vantage point it was impossible to tell one from the other. They all looked like images of the same person. It was as though my sight had become hopelessly thrown off from my trip across the pavement and I had five times double vision, seeing ten figures for every one that was actually there. Looking at the weathered, cruel, grimy, leering unshaven faces, I felt like I had been caught in a house of mirrors with a madman.
But it was no illusion. There were ten of them all right. I knew that because they all started fanning out around me, licking their chops at their good fortune of having run down a defenseless girl in the middle of nowhere.
Before they could completely encircle me, I forced myself up and started running into the arid expanse the highway intersected, trying to flee into desert infinity. As I ran, I shipped the remainder of my raincoat from my neck and shoulders, sprinting naked except for my red vinyl boots across the gritty sand and dirt.
I didn't hear them running after me, so after a few hundred yards I eased up, assuming they'd gotten discouraged in the hot sun. When I looked back towards the road, I saw them trooping up onto the highway, as though they had given up and were going to get back on their motorcycles and head to wherever they were going in the first place. Satisfied that I had gotten away, I stopped running and relaxed, walking away from the road so I could see what was going on.
They all mounted their choppers and revved their engines, filling the desert sky with the dark mist of burning petroleum. The one who was apparently their leader went to the head of the pack and then made a signal. With him leading the way, they moved single-file down the highway. I breathed a long sigh of relief, not even stopping yet to worry about being stranded in the middle of nowhere.
I should have saved my breath, because I was going to need it. They only continued a few hundred yards down the highway before the one in the lead abruptly veered left. He bumped off the wad and wheeled across the dirt towards me, the dust swirling in his wake looking like flames from hell and the driver like the devil.
The devil's angels followed their leader, forming a roaring snake of choppers veering towards me. The did filled the sky like a Kansas tornado as they fanned out, attempting to encircle me with their mean-looking machines.
On their choppers they moved so fast that there was no way out as when they'd been on foot. I ran this way, and then that, my legs pumping uselessly because there was no opening for escape. This time I was trapped.
There was no point in futilely running around in a circle any more, I realized. I slumped to the ground in exhaustion, giving up.
When I hit the dirt, my abused body completely gave. My legs shot out and spread on the ground. My back flopped against the sand. I was too spent to remember or even care that I was naked, my cunt probably staring at them like a bearded clam.
The next thing I knew the engines had stopped. The air was eerily silent. Then I picked up the breathing. Hard breathing. The hard breath of arousal.
I opened my eyes to see myself surrounded by ten of the greasiest human beings I'd ever seen in my life. But even though their faces were covered by grime and whiskers and aviator glasses, it wasn't hard to tell what was written on them. Lust!
I didn't have to have 100 per cent of my faculties to know that these guys had only one thing on their minds: gang-bang!