Heather Brown: Hitchhike wife

It was another drizzling Saturday. As usual I sat alone and horny, looking out the window at the gloom. It was almost noon, but I still hadn't been able to summon the energy to dress.

Phil. Phil. I called his name to myself. Phil Manners. Mrs. Phil Manners.

That was me. Mrs. Phil Manners. Sherry Manners. God, when he'd popped the question, I'd said yes so fast that he hadn't been able to finish the sentence. I wanted that big hunk of handsome trucker all to myself. I thought all I had to do was get him to utter those wedding vows and I'd have him forever. We'd live happily ever after.

What I didn't realize at the time, of course, was that no matter how big and handsome he is, a trucker is a trucker. Nobody owns one of those guys. Including my Phil.

Don't get me wrong. Phil still loves me. And God knows how I love him. It's just that it's impassible for a trucker to stay in one place all the time. Which means he's exposed to a lot of temptation on the road. Even though I knew Phil loves me, I also know he probably fucks around some on the road. Especially over two years after our wedding. I try and tell myself that I should get used to the idea, but it still tears me up inside.

When Phil comes home, the first thing he wants to do is fuck. Naturally, I always spread my pussy open for him faster than you can say Jack Robinson. But, sometimes, when he pulls out his long stiff cock and gets ready to slip it inside my cunt, I wonder how many other women he's been feeding his prick to since I saw him last.

It's even worse when I give him a blow-job. I imagine that I can taste the lingering scent of other pussies. Or is it just my imagination? The doubt kills me so I just suck harder and harder so he'll come in my mouth right away and maybe I can forget my doubts in a hail of cock-juice.

But frequently when his jizz starts shooting out into my mouth, the doubt and jealousy get even worse. I wonder how many other women have swallowed a load of my man's sweet sperm since he went out on the road.

Right now, though, I was so horny that I would have endured any frustration or humiliation just to have Phil's beautiful cock in my mouth or pussy, no questions asked. But no dice. It would be at least a week until he came home from the road. Longer if he had any trouble.

In the meantime, what was I supposed to do with my itching pussy? I really was as horny as I could get.

And not only was I horny, but bored. Bored of sitting around in the house all day long, day after day, with nothing to do but think about how my husband was probably cheating on me, and how starved my pussy was.

Suddenly I knew that I had to get out of the prison of the house, even if it was mining outside. I walked over to the closet and got my raincoat. So intent was I to get out of the place that I just threw it on over the nightie I'd been wearing. When I buttoned it up, it was impossible to tell I was virtually naked underneath. I pulled a rainhat over my ears, stepped into knee-high red vinyl boots, and left. By the time I'd left the yard, I felt like I had just escaped from jail.

I didn't even think about taking the car. The freedom of walking in the rain was exhilarating.

Ten minutes later, standing at an intersection, I wondered if I would ever get across the street. Just a few hundred yards away stood the shopping center. But it might as well have been halfway across the city. Not only wouldn't the cars stop moving, they seemed to be coming from every direction at once. I'd been over this traffic exchange hundreds of times in the car and never gave it a second thought. But as a pedestrian it seemed the most complicated thing imaginable. So I just stood there in the rain and waited for a miracle, being splashed by every other car.

"Hey, lady, need a lift?" a masculine voice called down as a big rig pulled up in front of me. I looked up to the yellow truck-cab, and a friendly face repeated the offer.

He'd been stopped only seconds, but already a traffic jam had started, tires screeching in the rain. The honking almost drowned out his words as he said, "Come on and get in. If don't get going, I'll get a ticket. And if you keep standing here, you'll get pneumonia."

Responding to the common sense in his voice, I stepped off the curb and dashed around the cab to the passenger's side, telling myself that I really wasn't accepting a ride from a stranger because this guy was a trucker like my husband. I'd been around these rigs ever since meeting Phil, and expertly hoisted myself inside, slamming the door closed.

"Hi, I'm Ted," he said, putting the truck in gear and moving it forward. "You might've drowned out there if I hadn't come along."

"I'm Sherry. Thanks for the good deed," I said gratefully, looking across at his handsome face. I couldn't believe how good-looking he was. His hair was copper-colored and curly, his face chiseled beneath it. There was a sexy dimple right square in the center of his jutting chin. Big muscular arms bulged out of the skin-tight T-shirt he was wearing, flexing powerfully as he guided the truck across the intersection.

"Where you headed?" he asked, showing me a sexy lopsided grin.

"Well, actually, I was headed for the shopping center right across from where you picked me up," I said, noticing in the rear-view mirror that it was rapidly shrinking from view as Ted's truck rolled away from it.

"You mean the one back there?" he said.

"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling foolish. I should have turned down the ride. Now it looked like I was some nervy broad who expected him to do the impossible by flipping a U in rainy traffic with a trailer-truck just so I could go to the store. "Gee, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have said no," I apologized.

"Don't think anything about it," he said, still grinning. "I'll get you back there. It may take a little time with this traffic and weather, but I'm ahead of schedule anyway."

"Are you sure?" I said. "Because I could just get out here and walk back."

"Not on your life," he laughed. "A trucker never abandons a damsel in distress. That's the code of the highway. I'll just pull into the weight station up the road and we can cross there so I can take you back. I just hope you aren't in any hurry. That you don't have a husband at home waiting for lunch or something."

"No," I said, "he's out on the road. He's a trucker, too."

"No kidding. It's a small world, isn't it?" he said with a wink, expertly moving the huge truck along in traffic.

The weight station was about five miles up the road. We talked nonstop all the way. Then just when Ted pointed out where he intended to cross the road, the rain started coming down in buckets. We just made it into the weight station as the rain became so intense that we couldn't see out of the windshield, despite the wipers. Then, as Ted stopped the truck and leaned his head out of the cab so he could see, the damp air was filled with the sound of screeching tires and the crash of twisting metal.

"Goddamn fools," Ted snorted from outside the window. "Won't slow down even when it's raining."

"A wreck?"

"Right smack in front of us. If you want me to get you to that store, we'll have to wait until the rain slows down and then get some of the mess out of our way."

"Can we stay here?" I asked.

"Sure, why not?" he said, returning his handsome head to the inside of the cab. His hair was drenched and he looked adorable – like a little boy with his copper curls all wet and sopping. "These places are closed up on weekends. Nobody's here except you and me."

The click of the key turning off seemed to fill the cab as suddenly there was silence between us. Without the hum of the engine I could hear him breathing, almost panting as though he were nervously waiting for me to do or say something. I felt self-conscious and averted my gaze from his face, looking down in the direction of his lap.