My Anonymous Lover (Forbidden Fantasies 57)

Instead, I get to be alone for hours in the privacy of my cab. I love traveling from city to city, state to state, while taking in the spacious skies, purple mountain majesties, and amber waves of grain. Plus, while I drive, I listen to my favorite music, podcasts, and true crime audiobooks alike. In fact, did you know that it was a trucker who cracked open the design of Fat Man and Little Boy? Yes. Using all the hours he had on the road, a trucker figured out how atom bombs work. Isn’t that crazy? It shows that humans can accomplish a lot, given sufficient time and space to concentrate.

But I still need some human interaction because I’m not a total hermit. Besides, I have needs. Is it wrong for a woman to admit that? So much of society wants the female sex to pretend that we’re innocent little girls who have never been touched, but that’s pure horse-shit. Getting my needs taken care of is very important, so on occasion, I’ll hit up a bar or a club for a good time. And no, I’m not sitting on the sidelines with a drink in my hand. I’m meeting men, and then we do the dirty and I love every second of it.

But today, I’m not parked outside a bar or club. Instead, I’m at a truck stop that has a notorious reputation, but that’s exactly the point. Maybe only people in our community know, but all the better because what I’m about to do is hush-hush and definitely illicit.

Smiling, I take another glance at the mirror. Instead of my usual comfy clothes and messy hairdo, I’ve styled my long, raven hair in loose waves and put on one of my sluttiest outfits. My breasts are practically spilling out of a black spaghetti-strap top and my lace bra is visible through the sheer fabric. If I bend over just a little bit, matching panties peek out from underneath the hem of my tiny skirt too. And my makeup is what brings the whole look together because I went with a bright red lip, heavy eyeliner, and subtle eyeshadow that makes my blue eyes pop.

With a naughty giggle, I flip my hair over one shoulder because this outfit makes me feel so naughty and sexy. But it’s perfect because tonight I’m going to pay a visit to a truck stop glory hole. It’s crazy because you think these things are just a myth right? It’s porn that you watch under the covers when you’re alone, or maybe read about in the back of dirty magazines. But no, glory holes really do exist even if only a select few actually know their true locations.

I know, it’s crazy and even dangerous too, but I’ve never felt like I was in peril at any time. Plus, there’s something so exhilarating about the experience. Slipping into a bathroom stall and waiting for a stranger to come in to find himself some pleasure…the anonymity of it all…the fact that I can drive a man crazy without even exchanging names. It’s illicit because he’ll never know who I am, but he’ll think about me for years to come. My lips. My moans. The soft pants I let out on the other side of the barricade even as he thrashes about like a bull in a too-small china shop while roaring with pleasure. Nothing turns me on more.

A rush of excitement courses through my veins, which reminds me that I should get going and stop daydreaming. I’m a woman of action after all, so I check one last time at my make-up and then rummage in my small closet to grab my shoes. Some cute Keds bring my look together nicely, if I do say so myself, admiring my canvas-clad feet. I don’t mind wearing heels when I’m out clubbing, but there’s no way I’ll wear them when I’m paying a visit to a glory hole because these spaces are made for squatting. Comfort is a must, and I’ve learned the hard way to leave the stilettos in my truck.

After I’ve pulled my sneakers on and laced them up, I leap out of the truck cab, trying not to look too out of place. Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so I stroll casually to the rest stop and then quickly, let myself into the men’s room. It’s clean enough and with a small giggle, I enter the second stall from the left and shut the metal door behind me. It’s a decent-sized space, big enough for me to move around comfortably, and it’s obviously just been sanitized, judging from the lemon-fresh scent.

Now all I have to do is wait for a partner. When will he come? Will it be minutes or hours? Again, I’m happy to have my sneakers on because I could be here for a while. The thought of what’s about to happen has my panties sticking to my core, and I squeeze my thighs together. Ooh, that feels nice. Then, one finger slips down and I rub myself through the lacey fabric, just for the tiniest bit of relief. It feels so good and I let out a low moan as my head drops back. When will my mystery lover arrive? I just hope soon because I need it, and I need it bad.