by Paul Modic
Late in the afternoon I stopped at a rest area but there was no shade to walk under while eating so I stayed in the car listening to the Ben Franklin biography and munching on one of the chicken salad sandwiches I’d made that morning at the motel in Barstow. There was a ratty old van parked next to me and soon a woman came walking over, bra-less in a summer dress, and her slightly sagging tits and nipples called to me.
I continued munching, listening to Ben, and wondered how to approach the woman next door. She was fiddling with something in her van, then smoking some weed, and I saw that she was an older woman, though still younger than me, with a stressed out face, but those tits man, those tits!
Finally I finished my sandwich, got out of the car to put something into the ice chest, and she called through her open window, “Hey, that’s interesting, I can hear the story, talking about electricity.”
I bent over, leaned against the door, and we talked for a few minutes, she was waiting for rush hour to be over before driving on into Phoenix.
We talked about the heat and lack of shade and she told me about walking into a wolf drinking from the toilet at another rest area and how she had run out of there when it turned around and looked at her!
She motioned to a shady picnic table where there was a breeze and I said, “Let’s go over there and talk?” We walked over to it, each sat on opposite sides, she started to fill her pipe again and offered it to me. “You smoke?” she said. “Of course you do.”
“Well, only twice a week at night,” I said, and thought about telling her why, that I used marijuana as an aphrodisiac.
She was coming from Santa Monica where she had just had a fight with her son, when her son’s new girlfriend had told the son’s daughter, “You’re going to end up just like your mother!” and Kathy had objected to the generalization. “How do you know how anyone will end up?” she had said. She was kicked out but it ended on a friendly note.
Her long time boyfriend had died in the spring, after shoddy medical care, and she had bought some scrubby land in the middle of Northern Arizona. “It looks just like that,” she said, pointing across the way to the dry brushy terrain. “It’s better than paying rent, $400 a month, but there’s nothing out there. I could stay in my van though there’s no water. Look at it, it’s one of those old ones.”
“What were they called again?” I asked.
“It’s a ‘93 Previa and some little part is always breaking down.”
I put my hand on hers, she held it a few short moments, and I asked her about her ex, what were the best and worst parts of him and also what were her best characteristics and worst? He didn’t like it that she smoked so much weed and sometimes stole it from her.
“Why would he take it if he didn’t smoke,” I asked.
“Sell it,” she said. “He smoked other things.”
It seemed like she wasn’t sure why she had bought the land, well, at least paid the downpayment, and she said she wanted to sell it.
I told her I had just shipped my stash to Texas, she offered the weed again, I almost took the pipe that time, then continued asking her questions about her life, telling her it was a good thing I hadn’t smoked because then it would have been me me me instead of being interested in her. She asked me what my story was, and I told her all about my agonizing about whether to get on the road or not.
“So you left a nice comfortable place?” she said, it looked like she was living in her van. She was funny, laughed a lot, and had purple hair.
“Yup,” I said. “I had to get out of there, get on the road, maybe have an adventure.”
I thought about it for a few minutes and then said, “Could I touch your tits? Just for a second?”
That surprised her and she said no so I started to beg. “Please! That’s why I was attracted to you when I saw you walking toward the car.”
“Yeah, I didn’t wear a bra,” she said, “because it was giving me headaches.”
“Well, I tried,” I said, and we went back to our conversation and then I tried again. Finally she lifted up her blouse and showed me her medium breasts with pink nipples and I reached over and ran my hand across them for a second or two and she sighed breathily.
“Thanks,” I said, but soon wanted more. “Can we just grope each other, through our clothes for a minute? Even for a few seconds, even for one second!”
“Are you a dirty old man?” she asked.
“Yes!” I said. “Of course!”
“When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”
“Six years.”
“Well, that would cost you something on the street.”
“I’ll pay, how about twenty bucks to sit on my lap? Can I squeeze your breast again?” I reached over and gave it a squeeze, sighed in delight, and I can still feel that soft mammary tissue in my hand.
“I have to get going,” she said.
“Stop at the next rest area,” I said. “Maybe there’ll be more trees there.”
She hit the road, I soon followed, then blew by her and stopped at the next rest area. I took out my turkey soup, walked around eating it cold under the shade of the picnic area, texted her but got no answer. She didn’t answer and didn’t stop, and when the soup was eaten I headed on toward Phoenix.
She texted me later when she made it to Phoenix but then stopped after I told her how great it was to feel her up, and most likely that will be the highlight of my trip. The last time I drove it five years before, a similar thing happened at a rest area on the second day when I stole a couple kisses from a woman I had been talking to, and that had also been the highlight of that trip.
(You might be thinking, “What a bad man trying to feel up that woman at the rest area,” but really, that might be the last breast I’ll ever touch! Would you really want to deprive a guy of his last feel?)
7/15/2023
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