Lawrence screwed his wife two more times that night because I could hear them in there. Making up for lost time. So that gave me the idea to try the truck stop. That one over on Fourteenth and Carson Streets. Lots of truck-drivers over there and I heard they're always on the make.
I wasn't disappointed. The very first guy I gave the come-on took me up on it.
"We gotta shower in the back of the, cafe," he told me. He was a big guy with massive arms and he chewed tobacco because I could see it in his beard.
He made sure nobody else was in the shower before he called me in, and then we got in the water together. He stood me up against the wall while the water splashed in my face, and he rammed his big naked cock right up my steaming cunt.
"Do it hard!" I begged. "I need a good one, Mister! Do it hard!"
Wow! Did he ever!
That guy fucked me halfway up the shower stall, holding me right off the floor on the end of his cock, and when he busted his nuts it damn near killed us both. He was stabbing that prick between my legs while I wrapped my legs around him for more, and he got to humping so hard it knocked my head on the shower spout. By now the water was running cold but I could hardly feel such inconsequential things.
"Do it harder!" I screamed. "Fuck me hard!"
He pumped so furious it rattled my teeth, and when he jizzed it took his strength. We fell on the hard tile floor and he almost broke his kneecap, while it knocked me senseless against the shower wall. Still we had a great little fuck and I was grateful, except he said he'd have to lay over a day or two.
"I can't drive with a sore leg like this!" he groaned as he massaged his knee.
"C'mon, let's go in the cafe and I'll buy you some lunch."
So I got paid for that screw after all, with a sandwich, and the guy let me talk on his CB radio. That was fun and I met some nice people on the CB, and I got to wondering if a girl could set up a rolling Vespers. Maybe travel around the country screwing truck drivers or something. Except, those guys met lots of girls, they told me, and they didn't have to pay for pussy. A sandwich or a glass of beer, that was all their women expected.
"The highway's full of broads," the driver told me as we ate. "Hell, I save a thousand a year in taxes that way. I show on my forms I paid for motels, when I stay with somebody's wife. Fun, eh!"
I had to agree, and I was beginning to wonder if the World's Oldest Profession was a thing of the past it's hard to sell bread when doughnuts are free.
Anyway my birthday was coming up and I was going to be sixteen, the time of life when dreams are real and you have a fire in your blood that turns the universe bright. There was still time to learn the tricks of the trade. If other women could get screwed and make money then I felt sure my future was secure. After all I was bright enough to keep a B average in school, so how much harder would it be to learn what comes naturally?
And how many people are lucky enough to get fucked and have a ball while they're learning their chosen profession!
CHAPTER EIGHT
When a butterfly finds a special bush that has delightful sweets, it keeps going back to that precious pasture.
The same with me, at that truck stop. I figured that when things got real bad, when I needed a fuck so much it made me have cramps, I could always slip into that shower and let one of those bully drivers have a go. The problem was the guy who owned the place. It seemed I wasn't the only teenager who found this land of milk and honey.
"Take your fucking someplace else," the guy told me when he saw me near the gas pumps. "You want I should get closed down?"
It was the same at malt shops, drug stores, or the parking lots where us school kids sometimes hung around. Nobody wanted young hotshots on the premises because it gave the place a bad name, and besides we didn't have the cash to help any businessman. I suppose they had a point all right because shoppers didn't like to go into a place where a gang of restless kids were goofing around. We didn't have much finesse then anyway, because some of the kids went to feeling each other up right there on the car hoods, proving to the world they were very adult when it comes to sex. Some of the girls, even flashed their titties at married people. The men liked that okay but the wives got skittery.
Actually I didn't get a big bang out of hanging with the other kids because they seethed so immature, still I had to have friends so I went along with the scene. I even let a couple of the boys fuck me once in a while and it wasn't too bad, except they always got on a love kick. Young boys are too romantic for my blood. They get serious over a little thing like a healthy screw, and they always want you to be a steady. Keep true blue. While they go ahead and fuck around with other girls.
So even if I tried it was impossible for me to be very serious about my school chums and their limited outlook on life. The only time I found they showed a bit of vision was when they smoked grass, or popped a pill, but of course their futuristic extensions were twisted by their "high" and didn't have any real foundation.
"You're too fuckin' serious, Angie," Carlos Zapeda told me one day. "The world's gonna get blown to hell anyway, so we might as well have a ball."
"People said the same thing a thousand years ago, Carlos."
"Maybe so. Maybe so. But none of us got a future and you know it. They're gonna turn us all into robots for the politicians. Might as well enjoy things while we can."
Carlos echoed the fears of every kid in school and we were frightened. Looking down the road to faraway years there wasn't much hope. Perhaps that's why we lost our morals and found it difficult to be serious about anything.
Still I didn't want to face any years without a little cash in hand. So many times my chums couldn't even afford gas for their cars, new spark plugs when they were needed, and they were so penniless they sometimes had to sneak into the drive-in movie because they couldn't afford a ticket. Bombs were bad, politicians were sneaky, earthquakes made me tremble, but the most horrible concept I could summon had to do with poverty. If I got killed in the holocaust or was sucked into the ground by natural disasters then nothing could help and it didn't matter anyway. Yet the prospect of getting up one day, and being hungry, without a dime to my name, was the most terrifying fear I could imagine.
Above all else I wanted money.
And there is only one way a young girl can make a lot of dough.
"Let's go fuck somebody," I told Paula one day just after my sixteenth birthday.
"Who you got in mind, Angie?"
"Somebody with money. Before school's out for the year I wanta have a thousand dollars saved up."
"Gee, I'd like that too. Only who's gonna pay us that much for a little sex?"
"Nobody. But maybe we can think up something?"
I went to see Alfred DeMarco, and he hadn't bought tickets for Switzerland yet.
"Maybe I'll do it one of these days," he said.
He refused to have anything to do with Paula and me. Said that Susan Lovely put out the word to keep away from jail bait. None of her friends would pay a dime for pussy.
"And if you girls cause trouble we're prepared to fight you in court. You can't afford a lawyer, and we have lots of power. Some of the judges are our friends, you know."
"Aw, fuck you, Albert. And Susan Lovely, too! We wasn't gonna make any trouble."
"Just thought I'd remind you, Angie."
"You rich people stick together, don't you?"