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reprint rights or explore other uses, please email to "twylamarie at
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   It's very hard to put your life in writing like this.  If you liked what
you read, can identify with it, or simply didn't understand it or found a
typo, drop me a line.  All thoughts and input are appreciated.

######

I lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  18 wheelers
rumbled through day and night and the massive truck stops were
always bustling hives of activity.  These places were a magnet
for a girl like me.  Living as a runaway, I had freedom there.

At the truck stop no one questioned you about being out at 3 in
the morning.  You could buy a shower cheap if you were willing to
wait for time when the truckers weren’t lined up for them. There
were cheap washers and dryers where you could do a load
containing the clothes you owned that weren’t on your back at the
time and a good cheap coffee shop.  More importantly, out in the
parking lot I could sell drugs with ease to the truckers anxious
for speed and pot, which is what I was going to stay alive.

Who could ask for anything more?

The flow of vehicles and people in and out of the lot was steady
– mostly long-haul truck drivers who would be back through in a
few days or weeks, but also common travelers looking for gas and
perhaps cheap eats.  The lot population was perhaps 100 to 200
people at any given time, most of whom would be gone in an hour.

The remainder being truckers parked long enough to rest after
their maximum hours behind the wheel and those of us who lived
our lives here.  There were the waitresses and dishwashers,
hookers and the hustlers. Stranded travelers occasionally joined
our number for a while when they broke down on their way from A to B
or simply ran out of money to fuel their autos.  The cops called
us all the truck stop trash.

We were a pretty forgettable lot and mostly down on our luck in
one way or another.  People came and left all the time and you
almost didn’t notice most of the time.  Those that were gone had
just moved on.  The rest of us just lived life as best we could,
living payday to payday, trick to trick or fix to fix.

From time to time someone would come who stood out. They never
stayed long, One was the self proclaimed queen of the travel
center and commanded the attention of the truckers, travelers and
trash alike.   Everyone called her Lady.  It was never like “Hey
Lady!”  It was more like a title, as in Lady McBeth.  Except it
was just “Lady.”

She was a lady of the night.  A prostitute.

The lot ladies were a common sight at the stops- having a few
good prostitutes working your lot was very good for repeat
business with the trucker clientele so management mostly
tolerated them.

I myself was a small time drug hustler, moving small quantities
of speed and pot to the local truckers and occasional traveler. 
I, too, was tolerated by management as a necessary evil, though
not held nearly in the same high regard at the hookers. )

I remember that Lady was stepping out of a Peterbilt long-hauler
when I first saw her.  She looked like an outlaw woman from an
old western in her plaid shirt, black jeans and heavy cowboy
boots under an amazing long duster jacket.  Her red hair down her
back in elegant little curls like something from the movies and
her scrubbed beauty made her look like a polished gem in the open
sewer.  She exuded a quiet confidence about her that none of the
beaten down waitresses, drug-hooked whores or other hard luck lot
inhabitants displayed.

I knew a lot of the truck stop prosties and had sold most of them
drugs at one time or another.  Most dressed carelessly in
something warm that wouldn’t wrinkle or stain easy.  (The floor
of a truck cab is never clean and neither were the floors in the
motel where most of them would take their more discriminating
Johns.)  A few dressed like the sluts they were paid to be –
usually the very young or very old ones.  Not one of them had the
unique style or studied manner of Lady.  Lady was not classically
beautiful, but something about her drew your eye and you could
not look away.

From the moment I saw her I wanted to meet her - to be near her
and talk to her.  It was a girl-crush and I was smitten.  When I
saw here I practically ran up to her and suddenly realized I had
nothing to say.

I felt a bit tongue tied and silly – it was like I had puppy love
or something. Finally, lacking anything else more intelligent, I
simply told the truth and blurted out “You’re so beautiful. I
want to know you?”   It was totally lame opening line –
especially coming from a young girl like me.  From any man it
might have started a cash transaction.  Lady looked me up and
down – taking stock of me and I guess she deemed me worthy.  Her
first words were “They call me Lady and I was just going to go
inside to have a cup of coffee.  Would you like one?”

I followed her in a daze and we took a small booth - Something no
other hooker or hustler on the lot would dream of. (the booths
were for the REAL customers.) We didn’t say much at first as I
drank her in and she sized me up.  Finally, she asked me about
myself. I found myself telling her the truth.

Lot people didn’t tell the truth much.  We all had made up
stories of where we from, how old we were and who we had waiting
for us when we got back there.   We never talked about what
misfortunes had put us on the path to this place and we never
revealed our weaknesses, but I found myself spilling it all.

It was a small town and she’d heard of me - the plant foreman’s
girl that ran away and was living as tramp on the streets.  I’d
grown up just a few miles away and my dad was the son-of-a-bitch
that handed out layoff notices, pink slips and paychecks.  (He
was pretty hated in town for a lot of reasons.)  I talked until I
had nothing else to say really. I was only 17.

When finished and felt foolish- world’s biggest overshare.  But
she just smiled and took it all in stride, asking me about my
high school life and my boyfriends – all things I’d left behind a
long time ago.  I talked and she listened and I found myself
almost hypnotized by her pretty eyes.

When the coffee was done she told me she was heading home and
asked if I wanted to tag along.  I practically peed myself in my
eagerness to stay close to her.  “Home” for Lady was a mobile
home located in a trailer park a short walking distance down the
highway from the truck stop.  It looked like hell from the
outside, but inside was tastefully furnished and the walls and
windows were covered in textured cloths that hid the low-end
pressed board paneling and made the small rooms look bigger.

It was late - perhaps 4AM - when she poured us both a small glass
of sweet wine and showed me how to use the tv remote before
heading off to her bedroom to change.  She returned in a pretty
silk cotton robe carrying a big bong and a small vial about the
size of her pinkie finger.

The vial contained a black sticky substance which scraped out and
placed onto a bed of pot in the small chamber of the water pipe.
She offered it to me first, and I took the hit the effect was
amazing.

I laid back in perfect bliss. I didn’t know what this was, but it
wasn’t pot.  I didn’t say anything or even move for at least a
minute.

Lady cashed out my unfinished load, did another and sipped her
wine while looking at me with amusement.  For several minutes we
did not speak.  Finally she re-loaded the bong.  Again I was
offered first shot and again she finished my load and went
another by herself.

The high was beyond description – and to this day I remember is
as perhaps the most relaxes and euphoric I have ever experienced.
 I had no desire to move or speak for quite some time.  Then I
was hit with an uncomfortable wave on nausea.  Lady recognized my
situation and rushed me into the bathroom just in time to heave
my guts.  Most went into the intended receptacle though some also
found its way onto my blouse and pants.

I was horrified with myself, but she just laughed and told me
that heroin could do that.

I was much too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know what the drug
had been and huddled myself into a ball as the next wave of
nausea passed.  When it was done I found myself being stripped of
my clothing. The small bathroom doubled as a laundry room, so she
casually tossed my stray clothing directly into a clothes washer
there, then turned on the shower and gently pushed me inside.

I felt her hands wash me down and he combination of the amazing
high and the soft washing was very comforting.  There was no
modesty to her bathing – her hands and the soap passed through
each peak and valley, but I did not sense anything sexual about
it.  I hadn’t bathed in a few days so it might have just been her
sensing of my need.  Finally, she passed me a bottle of mouthwash
and I rinsed and spit there in the shower which helped take the
nasty taste from my mouth.

When the water went off, she toweled me down, slid a thin
nightshirt over my head, and led me into a bedroom where I was
promptly deposited under the covers.  She closed the curtains to
block the first rays of morning, removed her robe revealing she
was wearing a long silk negligee that was prettier than any I had
ever seen, and slid in beside me.

I lay beside this goddess, thinking – hoping – I knew where this
was all going.  I made myself available by sliding closer to the
center of the bed, managed to piece together a few sentences
about how nice she had been and how pretty she was, then did the
awkward thing where I gently touched her arm and made my way
towards her breasts. My small caresses where mildly resisted at
first – all part of the game I thought – but then Lady politely
but firmly told me that she didn’t play that way.  I was again
embarrassed for myself – so embarrassed I was dying inside. 
Sensing that she had stung me with her rebuke, she added that she
actually did swing sometimes – if a customer was paying to watch
it go down. She told me I was very pretty and she would find me
to join her if she had a customer with voyeuristic interests and
a fat wallet. Somehow that made it all okay.  I drifted into
sleep.

My hostess shook me awake and the view out the window suggested
it was afternoon or later.  Lady put finger to lips – the
unspoken instruction to be quiet and in a very low whisper
explained that a client was in the next room with a large bulge
in his pants – his wallet – that needed relief.

Next she asked me was I Interested in making a LOT of money,
quickly adding that she would make sure things didn’t get out of
hand.

My mind immediately jumped to the idea of taking a tumble with
her while her client watched – a scenario that she had hinted at
the night before – and I have to admit I was intrigued, though
the very idea of performing an intimate act in front of a paying
audience of one did not sit well with me.

As she talked though, it quickly became clear that what she was
really doing was offering me her trick.  She wanted to set me up
for a paid fuck and turn me out as a prostitute.

When you’re a young girl on the streets, proposals of sex for
money aren’t unknown and I had been confronted with the offer
before, and had always said no - sometimes rudely and always
emphatically.

I knew there were some decisions that last forever. Once a
prostitute always a prostitute – you can’t undo that. I didn’t
want that though I didn’t want to offend her by saying so.

Instead, I insisted that I totally wasn’t into men, an
explanation I thought would close the door on the matter. When
she left the room to give her gentleman the bad news, I got up
and began dressing.    (My clothing had been washed and was
folded on a chair.)  I was about half dressed when Lady arrived
in the room again, this time with client in follow and they
walked into the room to find me in my panties and bra.

I was embarrassed and a little offended,–  and when Lady dropped
onto the mattress and pulled her suitor on top of her, I was
confused as well.

I grabbed my clothing and was about to storm from the room when I
hear the man’s voice say “$50 if you’ll stay and watch.”

Lady giggled and said “$100.”

He said “Okay, $100.”

They both looked over at me expectantly, and I found myself
stopping in my tracks.

$100 was a lot of money close to a quarter of a century ago.  I
think minimum wage back then was around $2.75 an hour. Judge if
you want, but I had to eat.  I hesitated just long enough for her
man to add – “and another $50 if you take the underwear off.”

I didn’t take my underwear back off, but I also didn’t leave, and
for the next ½ hour I sat in that chair and watched as Lady
entertained her client.

Not many people have really had the benefit of just sitting and
watching someone have sex.  Even fewer are paid to sit and watch
it happen – especially at such a young age.  It was a life
changing experience.

At first I sat in shame.  I really needed that money but I didn’t
want to be there.  I felt like a prostitute rather than a paid
witness.  I wasn’t a virgin or anything, and the prostitutes were
cool, but I always felt that some lines didn’t get crossed and
accepting money where sex was involved didn’t feel right.  But I
found myself as fascinated by the dynamics of the totality of the
transaction. I was as intrigued with the payment transaction and
post transaction customer loyalty component as the delivery of
the services themselves.

From the start, Lady took control of the situation, insisting on
payment in advance.  Once that was secure, she instructing him on
exactly how to proceed with taking off her clothing and how to
fold or hang them.  She wasn’t a dominatrix or anything – it was
just part of the foreplay – but it set a tone for the rest of the
event.  She didn’t encourage or allow him to take off a stitch
until she was completely nude and on display.

She was quite striking. Not traditionally beautiful, but she had
great curves and the kind of breasts that one would expect from a
girl twice her age.  Her pubic hair was well as well coiffed as
the hair on her head.  (Shaving, or even more than casual
trimming of pubic hair was rare back then. We all pretty much let
it grown and every once in a while wacked it back with a razor
when it got too out of control.)

By the time he was naked, I think I was past the shame for the
most part.  I’d seen many male penises by now, but usually either
up close in the heat of the moment or in their more relaxed state
once the deed was done.  Being able to admire God’s handiwork
from a safe distance was a new experience and I only really
stopped looking when he started to “pose” and stroke himself
obscenely.

Once the action started, and she took her place on her knees in
front of him, I didn’t know quite where to look, but I’d watched
the transaction take place, agreed to be part of I, and now I was
on the hook, so I watched.  If it was uncomfortable at all, it
was because he was watching me for signs of discomfort or
embarrassment, and seemed to enjoy it.  He would look at me and
lick his lips, and even gestured to me open my legs a little
wider so he could see the crotch of my panties. (I didn’t.)

But Lady was good at her craft.  It didn’t take long for him to
forget I was in the room at all.

She knelt in front of him and worked him with her mouth for an
uncomfortably long amount of time and finally pushed him onto a
sitting position on the bed and then dove in   After some
shifting, I was surprised to find that now Lady was being
serviced. She had pushed his balding head down between her thighs
and was whispering these super silly and dirty words like “Get me
ready for you big cock” and “make me wet, baby.”  Every once in a
while our eyes would meet and she would give me a wink to let me
know it was all in good fun.

Men didn’t go down on women often back then – at least not in my
experience – and I couldn’t imagine a man ever going down on a
prostitute.  Yet again I realized that Lady was different.  It
was like she had a hypnotic effect on men.  I was 100% sure that
this man would never even think to go down on an average truck
stop whore and probably not even his wife, but there he was
digging deep with his tongue while she softly petted the top of
his head.

As he continued to go about his business, Lady’s tone change and
she got very vocal and commanding.

While giving him exactly what he was paying for, she made sure
there was really no doubt who was in charge.  Her voice
alternated between commands and expressions of gratitude, issuing
orders then letting him know her pleasure when he did it right. 
I would have been fooled had I not seen her stifle a yawn and
check the clock by the bed.

When their bodies switched positions again, I watched as Lady did
things to him that I didn’t know women did to men as she violated
him with her tongue and fingers.  I developed a kind of odd
fascination though it turned my stomach a bit.  Hers was a mouth
I longed to kiss and to see put to such obscene uses bothered me
so.   I found that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t look away.

From there, the part of the act I expected commenced, but even
this was orchestrated to be more athletic and intense than
anything I had experienced.  At some points he rode her like a
wild animal, and at others she rode him like a masterful jockey.
He took her from on top, and from behind, and even for a few
brief moment in a way that was ugly and degrading, though she
moved away from it with the effortless elegance of a ballerina.

At the end, she was hovering over him, alternately sucking his
cock and kissing him on the mouth, her lips covered in juices
from both warm spit and drying pre-cum.  Finally, as she gently
tugged on him while alternating between slurping on his cock and
then engaging in long opened mouth kisses, he arched his back
hard and came in a single thick fountain.

The stream of semen landed on her pillow and pooled there.

He collapsed.  She giggled, then gently slid off the mattress. 
It seconds it seemed she was tugging off the old bed clothes and
telling him he needed to get dressed.  (She remained nude the
whole time.) It was like I had been rudely awakened from a sex
dream.  I was bathed in sweat and my panties were soaked to my
body.  I felt like the time I was a caught masturbating in my bed
under the covers and my mother walked in – suddenly pulled from a
very private and pleasurable place in my mind.

Soon enough the client was out the door and Lady was back in her
bedroom, this time to redress herself, and I took the cue to
finish dressing as well.   Neither of us said a word for a few
minutes, though Lady did take time to make us some tea.

She motioned for me to sit with her and asked me how I was
feeling.  I just shook my head and told her I wasn’t sure.  (I
did not want to tell her of my embarrassment and also my lust.)
Her attitude about men was such that she didn’t even think about
what had just happened, instead commenting  that people who
“black tar” get nausea all the time from it.

I was surprised about the heroin – I had thought it was hash –and
said so.  She apologized and asked me if I had ever done heroin
before. I had to admit that I had snorted some once - also
without knowing what it was.  She asked if I wanted to try it
again and I admitted that I did.

She got back out the pipe and vial and spent the next few hours
in a chemical induced daze.  I did feel a bit nauseous for a few
minutes at first, but with nothing in my stomach I got over it
quickly.

We didn’t talk much, just listened to music and about 6:30 we
realized we should probably be getting back to work.  I was
feeling a bit overly buzzed, so she suggested I take a quick
shower while she got ready.  We chatted like school girls as we
both prepared for our evening.

We walked to the truck stop and before we parted, she slipped me
the money and asked if I would like to earn easy money like that
again sometime.  I admitted that it had weirded me out a bit and
I’d have to think about it.  She said she knew it had, but really
appreciated the way I had stuck with it and helped her make her
clients day.

As we parted – me to pick up some drugs to sell , her to pick up
some men to sell to, she smiled and said “It was nice to have an
overnight visitor who can take no for an answer…. Ask again next
time and maybe next time I’ll have a different answer.”

I walked on air for the rest of the evening.