"What's a boy like you hitchhiking out here; you'll catch a cold something fierce." The woman was in her mid-thirties, wearing faded blue jeans and an old plaid shirt. She had sandy hair and a soft face with kind eyes, though they carried an inexplicable tiredness to them. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I'm just drifting, ma'am..." The warmth of her truck's cabin was a welcome relief from the drizzle outside, a soft sigh escaping my lips as the semi's warmth enveloped me. "Going nowhere in particular."
Her eyes remained glued to the road, yet she seemed more interested than concerned about my presence. "Where you headed?"
"North," I answered vaguely.
She glanced at me again, this time with curiosity. "Anywhere specific? You look a little young to be staking out on your own," soft green eyes studied me intently. "How old are you?"
"17."
The answer made her laugh. It was a warm sound, rich and full of life. "You're kidding me, right? You're a baby—but I suppose that's old enough to know what you want to do with your life."
Changing the subject, I asked, "So, what's your name?"
"Oh, so now you're asking? Anyone ever teach ya not to hop in a stranger's truck?"
"Well, I–"
A throaty laugh filled the space between us, "How cute, but don't get flustered, hun; name's Jamie."
Jamie. It was a fitting name.
Something about this woman was genuine and rich, and while she lacked a traditional feminine appeal, there was a motherly aspect to Jamie's overall cadence that made me feel safe and wanted. I found myself telling her more about my journey than I intended, and by the end of it, we were laughing together. Her softly wrinkled, mirthful expression settled, "What a treat you are. My son was a lot like you." I wanted to prod further but decided against it.
It wasn't hard to tell that there was more to this woman than met the eye. The slight dishevelment of her flannel that exposed tawny flesh, the subdued hug of her jeans; even Jamie's grease-stained, callous hands were unmistakably feminine. My mind wandered.
"Mmm, there's a waystation up ahead," she began, a low purr that cut through the silence, "sleep would be nice." She admitted. Just by the intonation of Jamie's voice I could tell that sleep was nowhere on her mind. The semi pulled into a vacant lot, its engine settling to a low thrum, "I'm gonna have to call it quits for a couple hours, hun, the road can wait."
"Oh," my gaze was downcast.
I shivered, but not because of the cold; Jamie had cupped my knee, massaging it in a way that betrayed a certain yearning, "The cabin's got plenty of room, and you look so tired; I don't bite, hard." Her touch was electric, a subtle pressure that hinted at more. "I bet you're still cold from the rain..."
Her bosom was inviting, a meaty pair of breasts pushed together by her shirt, the exposed sliver of cleavage speckled by freckles. A shiver ran down my spine as older woman leaned over, her head brushing the underside of my chin. The aroma of Jamie's shaggy mane was a musky scent that tickled my nose, making me feel slightly dizzy; oil and sweat.
"You sure?" I asked.
"Positive."
I swallowed hard, my heart beating faster. All I could muster was an understanding grunt.
Jamie cooed, "That's a good boy." She reached for the door handle, pausing before opening it and leading me to the truck's nook. It was a cramped space, offering seldom space between Jamie and myself—I could feel her warmth against my back. The trucker's arms, firm yet tender, encircled me, pulling me close, "You're a good kid, you know that? It must be tough being so far from home, alone; you need some guidance."
The subtle pinch of her teeth against the shell of my right ear elicited a shaky yelp, "Jamie I—"
Her weight applied in full, Jamie pushed the both of us into the soft nest of blankets that lined the truck's bedding. Strong, calloused fingers brushed my cheek, "Just relax, hun. Let me take care of you."
"Y-Yes, ma'am." So warm. So safe. Jamie was so much stronger than I, a fact that both of us acknowledged and accepted; I willingly submitted to her, giving in to the overwhelming physical and emotional stimulation. Her breath was hot, smelling of mint and tobacco, "I–I'm not very good at this, you know?"
"Shh, it's alright. I've been doing this a long time, hun. Just let go."
Jamie's voice was a lullaby, a song of comfort that calmed my racing heart, her hand running soothingly along my spine.