Missing Feelings
Peggy Buxton
Copyright
2011 by Peggy Buxton
Smashwords Edition
* * *
Exit 325
Guest House
Cheap Whiskey
Ski Lodge
Hotel Renovation
* * *
Exit 325
Jean sits on the edge of the bed; a hand on the belt buckle ready to undress. She glances up at Paul, the man she just met at the smoky saloon. His jeans are far enough down to see the bulging erection straining at his boxers.
"Listen, there's something I need to tell you."
"Not sure I care at the moment." He grabs a handful of the boxers including the hardness inside and strokes once. "Understand?"
"I think the liquor clouded...."
"Don't matter, sweet thing." He shoves his jeans on down his long muscled legs and kicks them free of his feet. "Well?"
"My leg...."
"Damn fine lookin' from what I can see. Go on, get 'em off...let's get to it. You ain't even got your panties off yet."
She slips the prosthetic leg from her thigh as she removes the jeans. The panties come next. "I, I, ah tried to tell you."
"If that ain't the damndest thing."
"Don't hit me." She already has her hands up protecting her face even though he hasn't made a move.
"Why would I darlin'?"
He sits beside her on the bed of the dive motel with large trucks littering the parking lot. His truck is still idling twenty feet from the room.
"Huh?" he quizzes, his hand touching the end of the stump. "Do guys hate you 'cause you just got one leg?"
"I guess. My old man did."
He pulls her down on the bed along side him. His mouth tenderly kisses her deeply, the rest of him grinding against her some. She feels his hand reaching down to take the stump, and she lets it rise to meet it.
"See, not so bad. Is it?" Jean begs.
"It's what's next to it that I care about, sweet thing."
He doesn't take long to begin grunting and pressing inside her. She is ready to be done long before he finishes. He dresses and tosses some paper money on the dresser, grins, and slaps his baseball cap on his baldhead.
"I'll look for you, next trip," he says, a hand on the doorknob.
"See, wasn't so bad fucking someone with one leg."
The door closes before she finishes. She pushes the money into her pants pocket after using the shower to clean up.
All John thinks about is Exit 136 on Highway 45 as the center lane stripes flash past his truck. Some drunken trucker had been bragging about a woman with one leg and what a good fuck she'd been. He doubted she was really a whore, but he wanted to find the woman. From the detail, she'd sounded like something from one of his recurring dreams. Dreams he'd had since childhood.
He reaches the mileage limit for a day's drive. The trip computer logs it and they'd dock him if he didn't stop. Besides, it is still another few hundred miles before Exit 136.
"A cold one," he says, pulling the stool between his legs. The bartender knows exactly what he was asking for and slides the wet bottle across the worn wood of the bar.
"Long day?" asks the busty woman with a lot of cleavage showing and a nametag that reads Shelly. She leans on one elbow, giving him an even better look. She obviously doesn't mind either.
"Nice tits."
"Why, you want to maul them for a while?" She laughs, slaps the bar towel over a shoulder and walks away to help another customer.
Yeah, cut a leg off and then I'd show you, he thinks, watching her tight ass wiggle under the short skirt, and sips slowly hoping she'll walk back his way.
"Ready?" She gives it a dramatic pause. "For another cold one?"
"Got anything to eat?"
"Besides my pussy? Yeah." She pushes a menu his way and leans forward on both hands showing him to the bottom of the blouse.
"I like my pussy raw, and not bleeding."
"Seems like mine is just like that tonight." She drags a hand under the skirt and holds a finger under his nose.
"Give me a cheeseburger for now. Maybe when you get off we can have dessert."
"Sure. I like a man that knows what he wants."
"Listen, am I going to get killed by your old man?"
"Ain't got no old man...anymore."
Shelly is naked and asleep on her back, the wrinkled sheet tossed to the foot of the bed, when John finishes in the bathroom. They had gone several rounds and enjoyed each other most every way possible. The sun isn't up, but it is time to be back on the road. He takes another look between her thighs and unfastens his jeans.
"Fuckin' good," he mumbles. The jeans slip from his feet then the briefs.
"What?" she quizzes in a puzzled and half-asleep voice feeling a thick piece of meat slipping inside her.
"Morning," he says, driving deeper and feeling her thighs part more.
"Ride 'em," she moans, draping her feet against his back. "I had a good feeling 'bout you."
Fifty miles later and John's thoughts are still with Shelly. After the second shower, he promised to look her up again. He didn't know whether he would even though she had taken good care of his needs. If he were going to rank the women he'd been with, she could be near the top of the list in every category - looks and sex especially.
He had not gone much farther when the engine began running rough. Five hundred miles from the service depot, he knew the problem would only get worse, long before then. He watches the billboards for a truck stop - fifteen miles one says. The worn sign is in disrepair. He questions if it is still there.
The message comes back on the computer from logistics and yes, it is still there and he should stop to have it checked.
"Hey," he says to the redhead behind the cash register.
She flashes him a big smile as she turns towards him. The top few buttons on the plaid-cotton long sleeved work-shirt is open.
"What'cha need?"
"Just a moment ago, I thought all I needed was someone to check my engine."
She slightly adjusts her shirt giving him a little better look. "And now?" She chuckles. "You're a long drink of water in the desert."
"Maybe I'll be here long enough to quench your thirst."
She moves to one side and casually lifts the hand that'd been dangling by her side. The hook now rests on the counter, next to some grimy catalogs for attractions in the area.
"Hmmm," he purrs.
"That going to be a problem?"
"I surely don't think so. Nope, not at all, ma'am."
"My mother's a ma'am. I'm Freda, some of the guys call me Fred." She laughs then steps from behind the counter. "Show me what you got." Her voice is suggestive, and he almost gasps. "So I can tell one of the mechanics."
He points. "The blue cab with the long white trailer." He opens the office door and holds it as she follows. He watches the hook dangling, but notices a slight limp in the leg on the other side.
"Yeah...gone." She chuckles. "Maybe I'm too busted."
"God, Fred, why would you think that?"
"Because most guys just feel sorry for me."
"Man-n...." He stops and laughs, realizing how humorous it sounds to be saying that to a woman nicknamed Fred.
She seems to get it and chuckles. "I like you." She taps him on the hip with the point of the hook.
After she listens to the noise of the engine for a moment, she looks up at him. "I think we're in luck." She laughs. "Sounds like a day to fix." She laughs. "With more luck, a few weeks." She slaps his hip with the hook. "Just kidding. Let me get someone to help."
He watches her walk away hoping he can hide any signs of lust pouring off him. A few minutes later, she and another man walk towards him. She is smiling nicely, as if she is happy to see him again.
"Sam's good. He'll take care of you." She leans very close to John's ear and whispers, "Lunch at eleven-thirty." She touches him again with the hook in a way Sam won't notice, and he nods in agreement.
After they are alone, Sam glances at her nearing the door. "She's a looker, ain't she?"
"Yeah, going to make some man happy."
"Or break his heart."
Sam turns his attention to the truck and opens the hood. After messing around with something, he looks unhappily at John. "Pull it over to bay number six. I might have it fixed today, probably tomorrow. Should I call anyone at your service depot?"
Freda sits across from John in the booth in the cafe that is part of the truck stop. The shirt still unfastened as before, seems to offer a nicer view. She rests the arm with the hook on the table, the hook seeming to be a hand wanting holding.
The chubby woman with the light green uniform waits, tapping a pencil on the pad of paper. John orders a cheeseburger and Freda orders the same.
"And ice tea for both of us," he offers just as she is walking away.
"How'd you know?"
"You just seem like an ice tea kind of gal." He laughs. "I may be here overnight."
"Excellent. I can show you the wondrous joys of Exit 325." She chuckles.
"How'd you happen to live around here?"
"Grew up in Dogwood, up the road in the mountains. It was just my sister and me after mom died a few years back. She works at Exit 136, at the Crazy Horse saloon." She shifts on the bench but leaves the hook on the table. "Jean's missing a leg too," she matter of factly says, almost like isn't every one.
Suddenly, he realizes her sister is the woman with one leg. Before he can fully process the thought, the food arrives. They take a moment to add sugar to the tea then eat a few bites of the burger. She rubs a fry in the ketchup then nibbles.
"Been a trucker long?"
"Uh-huh, fun seeing the road."
"Yeah, and hitting on all the women missing an arm." She brushes the hook against his finger, and he holds it like a hand. "Not so bad, is it?" She smiles, and he does not let go.
"Had this long?"
"About a year, I guess."
"And the leg?"
"Not as long. I don't mind." She takes the hook from his hand and uses it to balance the burger as she takes another bite. "I think I'm glad your truck broke."
"Me too." He chooses to ignore Exit 136 and ponders if Freda hops in bed as often or easily as her sister or Shelly. Maybe she will make an exception in his case.
Sam kneels by the booth, wiping his greasy hands with a dirty rag. "Bad news. Spoke to your service depot. They're sending parts, but it'll take a day, or two." He sighs. "Anything perishable?"
John shakes his head and swallows the bite.
"My brother's got a motel." Sam points across the lot.
"We've got it," Freda says. Both men instantly understand what she means, and Sam walks away.
"Thanks."
"Like I said, a long drink and I'm thirsty, very thirsty." She snickers.
The single wide trailer parked under the three tall pine trees shows its age. The dust from the long dirt road is settling at last as John swats his baseball cap against his head.
"A long ways from nowhere," she whispers, shutting the door to the old black pickup with an automatic transmission.
"A slice of heaven," he says, closing his door and following her.
Inside the trailer, everything is neatly in place and the kitchen sink empty. The well-worn furniture is still usable. The carpet seems new, at least in the past few years.
"My home," she says, as if trying to reassure her self it is good enough to have a stranger visit. "Get you a beer?"
"Sure."
He watches her take a bottle from the fridge and hand it to him unopened before reaching for another. He twists the top off his then her bottle. They clink the bottles together, neither sure how quickly to move things forward.
"You live alone?" he asks, trying to not sound like a serial killer in a horror movie.
She sips and nods, stepping closer. "I don't...."
"We don't...."
It is clear both are fumbling for words about what they both want from the other. He sets the bottle down and pulls her the rest of the distance to him. His mouth takes hers without resistance, her tongue quickly pressing between his lips. Without letting go of his lips, she puts the bottle down.
"Bedroom," she mutters.
He sits and undresses. She waits nervously. He taps the bed with a hand. "Let me undress you...take the limbs off."
"Really?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
He unbuttons the shirt and finds no bra, only firm breasts with waiting firm nipples. He fumbles with the cable, and she helps. When the arm is off, he touches the stump ending midway to the elbow.
"Nice," he coos, rubbing the partial arm.
"That feels good, having you touch it."
He pulls the end to his lips and sucks gently over the scar. She moans; her eyes closed as if in a fantasy.
"You're the first."
"No way." He pauses. "Sorry that came out wrong."
She chuckles. "No silly, the first to seem to enjoy my stump." She unsnaps her jeans, and he pulls the shoe off the foot before she stands and wiggles her hips. The jeans begin to come free of the shapely form, and he pulls them farther down.
"We'll leave the leg in the jeans."
He does as instructed, and soon the mid-thigh stump is out of the socket and all else on the floor.
Their eyes survey the other's body casually as if a fine meal put on the table, and they are inhaling the aromas, salivating in anticipation.
"You look so much better with nothing on," he says softly. "Great before, of course."
"I understand, you too."
Freda lies undressed on the patch of grass near one of the pine trees looking up into the clear night sky. Her thoughts are of John and the hours of making love that has passed. Not that there have been many men in her bed, unlike Jean's bed, but they have never taken their time or worried about her pleasure much. The only other person to enjoy giving her oral pleasure had been Jean. Those had been good times, but long ago.
A shooting star passes overhead, burning out quickly like most of her brief relationships. Living in a small town that is little more than an off ramp on the highway, doesn't offer much hope, or variety. Her hand slides along the cold aluminum of the single crutch bringing her comfort as the arm stump rubs against her face.
"Fred," John calls from the open door of the trailer.
"Over here." She sits up slightly, leaning on the elbow.
"You were gone."
"Some nights like this one, I just love to be out under all these stars. Look." She sits up and points.
He sits beside her, still undressed, and rubs her back. "I'm enjoying being with you." He pulls her close, and she rests her head on his shoulder.
"Yeah?" She quizzes. Her hand reaches between his legs and rubs the beginning of an erection still coated with their mingled fluids. "I can tell." She chuckles.
"I've never been with someone like you."
"What, missing parts?" She squeezes the shaft, letting it swell slightly in her grip.
"It's the way you are."
She rubs his face with the arm stump then presses her lips against his, letting her tongue press between them. He feels her pulling him down, and soon they are lying together.
"Fred-d," he drawls, sliding his hand past her stomach, taking her stump, and playing. "I like your missing parts." He kisses her deeply, still massaging the leg stump.
"I'm glad I have them then."
"Sorry, I don't know how to talk about...."
"Your fascination with missing parts?"
"Yeah, seems as if it's always been like that."
"I don't mind...." She kisses his lips. "Tell me, if you want."
"Ah, ah," he stammers.
"What's your favorite missing stump look like?"
"Easy, a leg missing above the knee."
"Short or long stump?" She rubs her leg stump between his thighs.
"Medium to short."
"You mean like mine?" She snickers, still rubbing.
"It's fantastic."
"Yeah, I'm kind of partial to it myself." She kisses him for a moment. "Just one leg or both?"
"I like a single long leg hanging from a short skirt."
"Hmmm, maybe we can play dress up the amputee." She laughs. "Tell me more. How about missing arms?" She rubs her arm playfully over his face.
"It's nice."
"Oh-h, don't tell me you don't like my having just one arm."
"That came out wrong."
She rubs the arm stump over his lips. "Kiss it and make me feel better." He takes the partial arm with both hands and sucks across the scar several times then nuzzles the soft flesh. "Ah-h," she moans orgasmiclly.
"There isn't a place on you I don't love."
"Yeah, I noticed." She laughs. "And my pussy thanks you." She smiles.
Wearing similar clothes from before, John sits across from Freda at the truck stop cafe. He holds her hook a moment longer before she uses it to balance her burger held in the other hand.
"Long lonesome highway," she says, swallowing the bite of burger and struggling to hold back the tears.
They had made love under the pine tree, taken a nap, and then napped a while before making love again. It had taken all of yesterday, but Sam called this morning to let him know. The repairs would be complete after lunch. She wondered what the future held, but never asked. Here is a man that obviously cares, but it needs to be his choice about her.
"Yeah, that's what they say. Have to get this load a thousand miles and I'm behind."
"
"Don't forget Exit 325."
"I'll be back."
"To fill up the tank?" She chuckles.
"What keeps you here?"
"The three pine trees and a trailer." She shrugs.
"That all?"
"Guess someone to care about me enough." She wipes the tear then eats another bite.
"It's just me...got no one, probably never will. A lot like my future, I guess...empty and uncertain."
"You've got the truck."
"That's not mine, the companies. I'd hate myself if I never saw you again."
He gives the hook a squeeze. She opens the two metal halves and lets them close over his fingers. She shrugs and smiles. "Don't be a stranger."
"Take some time off. Come with me."
"In the truck?"
"Sure. Lets deliver this load and see what happens. Hate me and I promise to bring you back."
"How could I hate you?" She takes the hook back and finishes the last of the burger. Her foot rubs his lower leg. "I'm not desperate, but you showed me something new in a man."
"I didn't think you were." He finishes his burger and sips more ice tea while looking at her face. "We're probably not ready to get married, but...."
"I know what you mean. How long, there and back?"
"A week, ten days."
"I've got some vacation."
"Take it. Let's give this a chance."
The truck passes Exit 136, and neither John nor Freda comment. Thoughts of Jean seem distant. Even the ones of Shelly, along with the few women he managed to sleep with over the years, are gone. He glances over at Freda long enough to take in her looks wearing the tee shirt and jeans without the prosthetic limbs left back at the trailer. The pants leg of the jeans is trimmed and sewn closed, outlining the stump nicely. The bare nipples press against the fabric over them.
"Nice view," she says, looking out the window.
"I like mine." He chuckles, both hands still on the large steering wheel.
"Wait until tonight and I'll give you more than a view."
"I'll never be able to tell how glad I am you came along."
"Well, I've never ridden in a truck, other than around the lot of the truck stop."
"You belong in that seat."
"Honey, I belong in your lap riding that shaft of yours."
A few miles pass in silence other than the noise of the truck. He continues to glance at her then back to the road, counting the hours until they can stop for the evening. He again looks, and she has worked the jeans from the stump, casually fondling with her only hand.
"Don't make me have a wreck," he teases.
She pushes the panties away and begins to pleasure herself in the relative privacy of the cab. "Oh-h, baby-y," she moans, her hand making obvious motions between the thighs. "You're tongue.... Oh-h, baby-y."
"Rest area coming up."
The alarm goes off too quickly for either John or Freda, but each promise some pleasure before taking a shower and getting back on the road.
"Fred-d," he drawls into her ear as he presses against her back and strokes a breast.
"You're the only reason I'd be awake," she whispers, sleep sill filling her voice. "I see the big guy is awake." She rolls over and wiggles her slit against the engorged head. "Man-n...." It begins to fill her.
He feels her arm stump rub his face tenderly as her lips take his. Their tongues bat together and soon his wins, and she lets it into her mouth for a while before they begin trading again.
"How'd I get so lucky," he says, rolling onto his back with a tug of her waist without losing the shaft deep inside her.
"Must have been my charms." She snickers, rubbing the leg stump against his hip.
"Guess its good you didn't have more charms." He laughs, and she continues riding him, her breasts swaying about. "Or shorter ones?"
"Yeah? How short should they be?"
"But, you couldn't wear your prosthetics."
"We're just talking. How short?"
He touches her leg stump. "This is quite nice, but half as long...or mostly gone."
"Oh-h, a connoisseur." She chuckles, still riding. "How about the arm?"
"Its perfect."
"If one were to grow back...."
"Keep the leg stump."
"Maybe have the other leg off too?"
"I wouldn't mind."
"Baby-y," she coos, feeling the sudden release inside her.
The truck rumbles to a halt outside the service depot. John leaves the engine on and climbs down. He holds his hands up and accepts the luggage from Freda then helps her down.
"Hey, John," the older man with a clipboard says.
"Sorry about the delay. I explained to them when I left the trailer over at Consolidated Furniture. We were only a day late."
"Not a problem." He notices her and smiles, tipping his baseball hat.
"This is Fred, ah Freda, a dear friend." John puts his arm around her waist and hugs her lightly.
"Are you ready for another load?"
"I've got some vacation I'm thinking about taking...that okay?"
The man with the clipboard rubs his hat over his head then adjusts it while looking around the lot. "Geez, John."
"Don't make me quit," John says with an edge to his voice. He steps a short distance from Freda towards him.
"How long?"
"I have three weeks, but I want at least two."
"God, man-n." He looks down at the clipboard and counts. "I can't, but I don't want to lose you. Geez, man...can't do this at the last minute."
"I don't need this job that much."
The man shrugs, holding his hands up to the side, the clipboard still in one hand. "Fuck-k.... Yeah, two weeks, but you had better be ready to take another load out and stay on the road for a while."
Freda had been watching the exchange, her head looking back and forth as if she were watching a tennis match. She rubs his arm and smiles, but says nothing.
"Yeah!" John says with some anger then walks towards the luggage on the ground.
She walks gracefully with the single crutch and stops beside him. "Don't lose the job 'cause of me."
"Fuck him...such an asshole. I want to spend time with you."
"Uh-huh, and I want to be with you too."
"Great. My pickup is over there." He points at the truck with a mix of black and primer paint. "Not much."
"Yeah, but I hear the driver is a cool guy."
The small parking area in front of the office at Blue Water Cabins, a place John considers a piece of heaven, has two cars parked in it. They close the doors to the truck, and an older woman steps out, the screen door slamming behind her.
"John, long time." She walks toward them. "Who's the beauty?" she finishes, seeing Freda.
"Yeah Sadie, until I met her, you had been my goddess."
"I better call the eye doctor for you." She rubs then pats her stomach carrying extra pounds.
"This is Fred." He hugs Sadie. "I hope you have one of the nice cabins for us."
"I have your usual."
"Perfect. How's Mack?"
"He passed two months ago."
"Shit, Sadie, I had no idea."
"We didn't either. He was out fly-fishing. His ticker stopped. He was still holding the rod when they found him." She wipes at the moisture forming in the corner of her eye.