The Highway Big Titties Pale Ghost

My name is Anne. This doesn't actually matter for the story, but I'm not a good writer. Right now it's just a hobby to fill time while everybody seems to be having a life. I tried hard at poetry but I really suck. Short stories are my next step towards that ultimate big novel that will never be.

I'm a barista. At least that's how I call myself when I attend high-school reunions, like later tonight.

Let's be honest: I work as a waitress in a service area. People always passing by, crappy shifts, and tons of routine had me commuting by bus daily. The glamorous life of barista [sic].

I'm the only child of two British expats that, fed up of grey skies and cold days, moved down south to enjoy the Mediterranean life-style when I was a toddler.

I was never a good student. At least, being good at several languages provided me easy access to shameful jobs like this one. That's why events like tonight's give me so much anxiety (successful entrepreneurs, happy marriages, and the rest) but now that feeling is gone. Because today... today I feel I lived something important and my mind can't help going back there.

The staff at the area is short and quite unfriendly. The only other regular around, besides the manager's aunt working as a cook (if you can call unfreezing cooking) and three more waiters to cover 24-hours shifts, was the parking lot prostitute.

Like all of them, she didn't chose to be a prostitute. But she's a damn good one. Her habitat are national coastal highway service areas. Her preys: tourists, salesmen, maintenance crews, retired widowers in bus excursions, but mostly truck drivers.

Our area is always busy. Its restaurant spans both sides of the road, and it acts as a walkway between the two sides. Rows and rows of trucks would be constantly parked outside. Our setting is ideal for stopping, but I wouldn't dare to say she has nothing to do with that success.

This highway connects the main ports south with northern Europe so her clientele spanned from bearded German truck drivers to local ones who'd get blowjobs in front of their family photo or some religious image. Men... I always believed it was because this culture was late to modern times; until I found a stacked pile of tabloids that my dad kept in the attic, with all those third page models.

As a survivor from the old days when secondary roads were full of brothels, she's been around long before any of us. When the old bar owners went franchise she survived the cleanup by giving head to the new manager from time to time. I know because that fart always leaves his office door ajar and I've seen her several times bobbing head up and down his lap. She confided me once that he's a rapid shot. Win-win for her: easy toll and no need for pimps.

I was serving on the side facing south direction. Some days, like today, she'd make it early afternoon to pick up some guys in the restaurant area before she got out to do her business in the parking lot. She wasn't supposed to be in here, but she was really discreet and I looked the other way. I mean figuratively, because I loved to secretly follow her incursions. She must have developed supernatural intuition because I had seen no one resist her charms.

If you wanted to buy, you could really tell what she was selling. Today her soft hair was collected with a long pony tail. A tall, slim woman on high heels, with a suggestive cleavage. She looked ravishing with that summer dress that looked as if it was designed just for her.

"Face it, tiger... you just hit the jackpot!" She hit on this dull guy without hesitation and with the sexiest of the smiles.

He stopped looking down and answered, "Oh, so I really look so much like a nerd, right?" identifying her line from one of his favourite comics.

If it's me judging, darn he did: trunks, sneakers, a galactic wars movie t-shirt, and the first ever adult client who asked for a glass of cold chocolate milk.

"Sorry ma'am. If you thought I'm a family man and if you push me too far I just might, like that song... in the all or nothing, you got the nothing." He continued, proving he really was one and also that he had no clue about gambling lingo. That song was on the old-pop radio station we have in the background minutes ago. He tried to sound witty but totally failed.

"Where's she?" She asked while I was thinking how constant exposure to one-hit wonders mess up with your brain.

"In the restroom. We're way home, in the middle of a long trip." This guy wouldn't survive an interrogation.

She huffed and asked if the stool in front of his was free. He nodded. They were close to the counter and I had a first row ticket to the play.

"You sure, babe? My breasts can be your paradise," she whispered in a sultry way, while caressing his shin with her bare one under the high table.

He was legs wide open with an exhausted pose and repositioned himself a little bit more elegantly. "Really sure. No intention to offend."

She noticed no hesitation and accepted. "I'm about to start my rounds. Would a gentleman at least buy me a coffee? I won't stay long, I need some energy refill."

"Sounds fair. I'm pretty sure you'll make a lot of money. Sorry, name?"

He caused no blushing at all. Too much life on her shoulders and groin to feel anything close to that. "Alicia." She was introducing herself when I bought her coffee.

He was, as expected, the quiet type and she had to force a conversation out of him.

"So... you said no, huh? You know I go all the way, all the ways. I'm a very committed lady." She sounded naughty but truly, not being used to rejection, she was a bit annoyed.

"Never doubted that. I'm more than well served, thanks." He replied.

"The missus must be the real deal then. Can you convince me of that before she gets out?" She challenged.

"We're not talking about love and companionship here, right? You expect dirty stuff." He asked. She simply nodded while stirring her coffee.

"Well, she's the sweetest and most gorgeous woman I ever laid eyes on. What can I say?

I'll try not to abuse using idealistic adjectives, but the day we first met she looked simply stunning. I was happy just letting her to know that I existed. I had to introduce myself."

He sipped some milk.

"Sorry, I'll leave cheesiness aside. I won't ramble, given your profession.

My wife is all about traveling and I'll tell you what: the place never really matters. We usually fuck it down to debris everywhere we go.

If you're suggesting some sort of holes craving, I'm offered any of them often. Last time we went north for several days I got what she calls land-sea-and-air (she has family in the military). I came all possible ways. First day I did her butt in the shower... no lube. We were rinsing with warm water, she leaned down and damn... She was spectacular.

You'd presume she was tired, but early next day we made love multiple times. I got drained by handjob, I recharged, the next day she fucked me with her tits and when I was going to explode she engulfed my shaft and came down her throat. I feel she sucks my soul whenever she does that."

He drank more, looking away in a very evocative way.

"I... I'm awake at the middle of the night countless times. I don't know how many nights I opened my eyes to find her riding or sucking my cock. Who knows how she gets me hard in my sleep, but she does. Other times I wake up when she rubs her juicy pussy against my face or she humps my thigh. It all usually starts by spooning and cuddling. When she swings her butt against my groin, I know what's next."

"You sound resigned, though." She noticed.

"Well, I might sound exhausted. You won't believe that some years ago I was a sporty man. Now I spend all day dragging my feet.

If I die soon, it'll be knowing how it is to change bed sheets because the old ones were ripped off from so much sex.

I lost count of how many vibrators she killed these years. I hardly touch myself anymore. I don't need to. And I know now how it is for it to burn because there's a little wound in the trunk, a sore, or some cracks at the base of my glans.

So no resignation. It's me feeling depleted and literally worn out. My penis has more milleage than most old cars parked out there together."

"I don't want to worry you man, but it looks like she doesn't have enough." This was a honest remark. "Is she happy?"

"I do what I can. I can narrate hours and hours of full body massages. Touching, licking, and kissing every inch of her sensuous body..."

And continued "One night when we were still dating, she accepted coming home. All I can remember is that she looked very enticing, so I felt really lucky. We had been drinking around the old quarters of the big city. I live way out heading west; as soon as we left the city and it got dark on the road, I sneaked my right hand in her pants and masturbated her while I drove.

She came very intensely. And later at home we had a very torrid weekend together. I don't know... the truth is that not much later we were married." He shrugged.

Alicia showed an approval expression. For a not very talkative guy, he had a discourse to share.

"The most south we've ever been is Andalusia. We visited once and I remember one morning she was so turned on that I ate her up to 20 orgasms. She had a hard time walking uphill later."

"And you?"

"We took a shower together and after some good banging, she got on her knees and I came all over her face."

He paused.

"And then of course we have the evening when we visited this park with red cliffs and breathtaking views.

What a great day. When we drove home by those curvy roads in the forest it was really dark. I parked safely in a curve, facing the almost full moon. I put the handbrake on, turned the lights off, and we started making out. We tongue kissed while I kept my hand inside her panties. She was super wet. Then I took her pants down and rubbed her, as she hinted, until she came.

This happened during the month of her 40th birthday. Not having anything fancy for her I decided to go special. Look, from that night on," he said. Then he opened a notes app in his phone and explained how he took the challenge to make her come 100 times that month.

He started telling daily numbers. "4, 22, 9, 9, 8, 4, 8, 11, 13, 6, 5, 13."

"I almost fell sick from the effort, but it was totally worth it. And not easy...

That night after the cliffs, when we made it to our bed and I jumped on top of her... She was impressive. I got in her arms and I couldn't hold back at all. I came almost instantly.

You sure know from your job that guys come super fast with missionary."

She knew that and many other things, but she didn't interrupt.

"I usually can keep up much longer... I like to think there was a reason... She's incredible. Incredible!

I was extra horny because, when I joined the highway that night and drove us home, I unbuttoned her shirt and got her topless while I passed other cars; slowing down to feel the thrill of being noticed. She looked radiant. And she never covered herself."

At that moment, Alicia raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes very wide. I dropped a coffee cup. He was looking down and didn't notice, but his last revelation while trying to justify one night he was premature, totally touched a nerve on us.

Could it be possible? I had heard rumors the weeks after, but there had been tons of buzz among truck drivers about a topless lady on the road in the middle of the night. Her skin was pale, there was a full moon and she glistened with a magic bluish aura. They described her like a goddess. Her beauty was surreal, she was very well endowed and she became their dream fantasy. The highway big-titties pale ghost they nicknamed her.

I always thought it was a hallucination that gullible lonely men had passed on during their radio transmissions. However Alicia knew more about this. That night she collected many of those guys, truck drivers and not, in the following service area heading down south. All guys were super horny and willing to spend their money. Her service requests multiplied with fast easy blowjobs.

She asked several of them while sharing some cigarettes and they told her first-hand about the appearance.

She knows her craft well and investigated further. In the Internet of forums you can find any community you can imagine. From gardening, to cyclists, passing by truck drivers talking about good stops, traffic, and, of course, talking about prostitutes and prices. In one of those forums she found a thread about the big-titties pale ghost that made it to thousands of entries. The ones who claimed seeing her and the ones who fantasized, recounted how often that captivating view had helped them. There was even a competition of dubious credibility but, even being conservative, gallons of semen flowed for this lady.

During months many drivers took a detour to that section of the highway to see if they had any luck. Some of them swore they had seen her again, but there were no proofs. The frenzy faded slowly until it became a myth. Nevertheless, I'm possitive some still try this hoping to see her for the first time or again.

Alicia looked at him with some sort of affectionate and admiration smile. "Nice story dude. You seem like a lucky guy." She told him.

"I am." He answered.

He then stood up, paid both drinks, signaled that he wasn't expecting change, and turned around walking towards the restrooms.

A woman came out from the ladies' at the same time. Brunette, white skinned and pretty. Very pretty. She looked easygoing and she was wearing a comfortable plaid shirt. You could easily tell about the chemistry between them. When he turned around to open the men's restroom, she casually grazed one of his butt cheeks with the palm of her hand.

There we stood mesmerized, Alicia and I, witnessing the scene totally invisible to them.

She headed towards the bar. There was no doubt it was her. From the close distance you could see her timeless beauty and how incredibly amiable she was. Her presence felt intoxicating.

All the descriptions we had heard or read were accurate. Discarding, of course, the ones that said that she was so dazzling that you'd go blind. Or that she was so voluptuous that her tits rested on the top of the car's front tray or spilled outside the companion's seat window.

I confess I always wanted to be the flawless next door neighbor that she clearly was.

She asked for a coffee with milk, which she drank fast. She paid with credit card and our hands grazed when I handed her the terminal. I felt electrified, as in front of a celebrity. But she was much more than that. She was a real dream.

When she said bye, Alicia replied with a warmness that felt as if they knew each other their whole lives. She met with her husband by the exit door and, just like that, they left.

Why didn't we tell her anything? Personally I was blocked while admiring her alluring ways. Surely Alicia knew that not looking like an extrovert, rather than shying her out, she'd better keep quiet to leave the chances open in the future for another sexy public adventure of this passionate couple. In the end she had made a little fortune that other time, so who knows...

Alicia looked a bit gloomy when we were left alone. It wasn't common for her to think about retiring.

"All men are pigs, right Alicia?" I used her own words to comfort her.

"No Anne, not all of them. I started saying that a year after I lost a good one. There probably goes another."

She walked away. When the exit door to the parking lot opened she breathed deeply. Then walked downstairs towards the first row of trucks.

Soon later, my shift buddy appeared. I took off my apron, changed myself for tonight's reunion, and left to wait for the bus.

There's a cool breeze and I feel at peace. I don't care anymore about what my old classmates think of me. I never really liked them. I can't care less about the mean people that stop around here. They mostly never notice me, so the hell with all of them.

Today it was the first day I've ever seen Alicia fail. And I touched the legendary highway pale ghost. I touched her! I could still feel her magnetic presence.

I may not last long at that stupid reunion. I need to put this down in words soon: She's living history.