Pain, they say, is the great motivator. The pain of hunger led to hunting over gathering; which in turn led to the agricultural revolution and civilization as we know it. Pain is the chief product of war and war has built up and over thrown empires for longer than humans could write about the end of their particular world. But pain was not limited to government and empire; those of the authoritarian bent who had little use for law love using pain themselves. Borrow money from the wrong guy, hit a rough patch and miss a payment and you'll be visited by experts in the application of pain.

That was the situation I found myself in, lying on the floor of the hovel of an apartment in a 'neighborhood' that would be quite at home in a war zone. When consciousness returned to me, pain was a close second due to the beating I'd endured at the hands of my lender's 'business associates.' They'd been quite emphatic that I should have double my missed payment and interest as a 'penalty' for being late and that I had twenty four hours to make that payment or they would return to discuss my failings as a human being again.

Awareness brought on a coughing fit that had me curling into a fetal ball from the pain.

For several minutes I indulged in a pity party as I cried from the beating, the hopelessness and abject terror of ever laying eyes on my tormentors again. I considered packing a bag and fleeing for a few minutes, but quickly came to the conclusion that would only aggravate my situation. The arm of the law had nothing on the reach of organized crime. I slowly got myself up into a sitting position and let my mind run in circles trying to figure out where I was going to come up with double the amount of payment I hadn't had in the first place.

Robbery was out, I wasn't imposing enough to make anyone scared enough to part with their money. I had no weapons, if I could afford weapons I wouldn't have been borrowing money from a loan shark after all. Likewise becoming an unlicensed pharmacist was out, most the streets around me already had such an entrepreneur selling everything from the Devil's Lettuce to hard core chemicals that weren't remotely natural. Markets they'd likely protect, violently, from upstart competitors, who, I had to admit, had no money to get a supply in the first place.

Even in crime, it takes money to make money.

I reached for the newspaper on the floor to press into service as a tissue, when my eyes focused on an advertisement:

You didn't need my expensive and worthless college degree to recognize the lure pitch of a gay pornographer, but at this point, what other options did I have? I needed money right now, and no options left. It might be undignified, but beggars can't be choosers. I got to my feet and looked into the mirror near the door.

Don Louie's men hadn't hit my head, at least, and the rods they'd used had a bit of padding as, they'd delighted in explaining, they could work me over longer while doing less damage. After all, I had to earn their money, right? I tore the advertisement out of the paper and made myself as presentable as I could. I wasn't anybody's heart throb, but I wasn't ugly either. I guess it was time to find out what my gay score number was.

I shivered at the thought of someone using my anus and quickly steeled my will.

I had to have cash, in twenty four hours and it didn't matter what discomforts or humiliations I had to endure to get it. The address in the add wasn't far, so I put my eyes down to get through the war zone outside my apartment and walked as quickly as I could and tried not to think about what I had to be willing to do to get that job.

On the edge of the residential war zone was a complex of ware houses with tractor trailers coming and going through a guard shack and it seemed the address was inside. I walked up to the guard shack and showed them the clipping. The two large guards shared a look and a laugh that wasn't pleasant at all before they pointed at the closest building on the inside of the fence.

I felt their eyes on me as I walked across the lot to the warehouse, a bare, brick building that stretched off down the lot, one of dozens of businesses in the front and warehouses in the back that shared this lot. The door was labeled HAPI Productions, LTD in peel and stick block letters and opened into a reception area that had no one waiting and no one at the desk.

For a fleeting moment, I considered turning and running, but the rational side of my mind demanded, 'to where?'

I was out of options and this was the bottom of the barrel. “Hello?” I called, craning my neck to see down the hall way behind the desk. “Anybody here?”

Down the hall, a head popped out of a doorway, ball cap on backwards, longish, shaggy hair and sunglasses. “Finally! Get back here!” he commanded. I slowly made my around the desk.

“There was no body at the desk, and...”

When I got to conversational distance, I could see he was in his early twenties, and looked like every film school geek I'd ever seen. “Yeah, yeah, stow it, we're behind as it is,” he told me and took a hold of my arm. By that, he pulled me into the room and shut the door behind us. He pointed at another door beyond that was open and he was propelling me towards. “Strip, put it on and come back out. Hurry, alright?”

I got propelled into the door which was a little room and dark. He pulled the door shut, flicking on the light as he did so. Then the door shut. The room had a really comfortable looking recliner, a work bench kind of table and laid out on it at first glance I thought was a blow up doll. On closer inspection, I could see it wasn't that; there were holes where the eyes would go, as well as the nose and mouth with no, ahem, place to make use of that mouth.

I picked it up and it felt like skin, like someone had skinned a girl perfectly and left it here. I was repulsed, but, also, mildly curious in a macabre manner as I turned it over, finding the back open, right down the spine, like a wet suit. The hair on the head was bright red and it looked like a skin hoodie on the wet suit. There were even hands, feet, fingers and toes and neatly trimmed little scarlet bush just above what looked like a real labia. It even kinda smelled like one!

“Um, excuse me...?” I called through the door, but immediately, his voice became aggravated.

“We don't have time! Put it on!” he commanded.

I held the skin suit up to me and we were about the same height, but I didn't think...she(?)....it(?)...it was big enough as I probably had a good forty pounds on it if it had actually been a woman. Well, probably best to show him it wouldn't fit. Then we'd get this sorted. I stripped myself naked and reluctantly picked up the skin suit.

I sat down on the leather recliner and cautiously put my right leg into the opening. The inside of this suit felt like no kind of fabric I'd ever experienced as I worked my foot down the leg. It was warm, but almost moist. I was mildly revulsed, but swallowed my discomfort and got my foot all the way down with each toe in place.

Here, I got my first surprise.

The foot felt tight, but wiggling my toes I watched the foot of the suit move even though next to my other foot, I shouldn't have been able to get my foot into it. “What?” I whispered to myself. Then I set the foot down and looked at the door again.

What kind of gay porn is this?

I put my other foot in the suit and with effort, got it's toes settled too. It was tight, like the other had been, but I noted that the other foot didn't feel as tight as if I was getting used to it, or stretching out the suit. I looked into the suit and thought I saw an opening where the labia would be. Rolling my eyes at the weird kind of fetishes that generated porn, I aimed my johnson at the opening and pulled the suit up to my hips. I felt my penis slide into something warm, wet and wonderfully soft and shivered with pleasure.

I looked down, around the suit in front of me, expecting to see my very erect manhood peaking out of the vaginal opening of the suit but it wasn't. “There's no way,” I whispered to myself, and went to stand to get a better view, then somehow my hands got tangled in the suit and I stood. I pushed out my hands, as if pushing through some kind of membrane and I realized my hands were in the suit and it was pulling onto my torso. I reached up, to try and pull it back off, but that just got the head hoodie over my head.

For a moment I couldn't breath and I pulled at the hoodie as the entire suit seemed to constrict and squeeze me, then I lost my balance and fell back into the recliner. Being able to breath again, I took several deep breaths and realized I could feel the leather of the recliner being me, against the suit, like it was against my skin!

I reached down to my groin and as soon as my fingers touched my labia, I felt a wonderful tickle of pleasure up my spine. The tips of the fingers felt moisture. Sliding further in, I found the opening, and I felt my fingers slide into me.

Jerking my hand away as if I'd been shocked, I saw the moisture I felt on the skin of the fingers! I held them up to my noise and smelled the unmistakable smell of aroused female. I looked down and the empty breasts of the suit weren't empty any more, the were full and I felt the tug of their weight on my chest. I jumped up off the recliner and reached around behind me, trying to find the opening of the suit, but all I felt was skin, my skin.

Did I say pain was the Great Motivator? I take it back. Pain is a poser, a complete wannabe. Fear is the Great Motivator. I have no idea what had just happened to me, had no context with which to rationalize the complete impossibility of what I had just seen and experienced. I only knew that whatever I was mixed up in, it wasn't something as harmless as porn. I scrambled back into my discarded clothing as it was the only thing I could wear, though the fit was laughably different, I was obliged to cinch the belt all the way and practically break my shoe laces to get them tight enough to walk in.

I gently opened the door a crack and perhaps my karmic debt had been paid as my luck began to change; the outer room was empty. I creeped over to the other door and finding the hallway empty, I quickly scooted back down the hallway, though the still, thankfully empty reception lobby and out the front door. There, my nerve broke and I began to run; across the lot, away from the guard shack and deeper into the warehouse lot.

At the back of the lot I scrambled over the fence, through a drainage ditch without getting wet and then it was just running to put as many feet between me and wherever that was as I could.

It is truly amazing what fear and adrenaline do to the body. By the time I was running out of breath and having to stop to pant after it, I was on the outskirts of the big travel center truck stop on the edge of town, a good five miles from where I'd started if memory served. I'd never thought I could run that far, nonstop, but fear of your life gives you wings better than any energy drink.

As I'd mentioned, the truck stop was a big one, probably the better part of fifteen or twenty acres, ten of that just overnight truck and trailer parking. Across the lot from where I was stood the fuel islands for the tractors, a scale for them, and the building itself, a sprawling kind of affair that was kind of a tourist trap in and of itself, with souvenir shopping, two restaurants and even the kinds of electronics tailored to the over the road life style.

Once I had my breath, I started making my way across the lot, between the trucks. To my surprise, the area wasn't deserted; there were hairy, burly men in denim and flannel walking to and from their trucks in the direction of the center. Amongst them, giving me something of an evil eye, were women, moderately attractive, most more suggestively dressed than might be appropriate and when I saw one of the truckers change course to a pair of them and strike up a conversation, I realized I was looking at working girls, plying their trade in a rush that made my cheeks blush.

I suppose, mine had been something of a sheltered upbringing, and contrary to others, my collegiate experience had not been the worldly, mind opening vacation of others. Which made me turn my own thoughts to the practical. In my pockets was small crush of bills, mostly ones, that in total added up to less than ten dollars. A drivers license that bore a picture that no longer looked like me, and assorted keys.

“You ok, sweetheart?” I jerked away from the voice behind me mostly from reflex, turning to find an older man, older than me, anyway, standing in the open door of one of the tractors, in the act of getting out. He held out an arm in apology. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.” He reached in and put a towel around his neck, and finished climbing down the truck before he favored me with a sheepish smile. “I'm Charles. Are you alright? Do you need help?”

“I...” I started, then closed my mouth as my brain tried to process something I could say that would even a little explain my predicament that would also be remotely believable. “I don't know,” I managed as he drew up to me, a ditty bag in hand with the towel around his neck indicating he was on his way to one of the showers in the truck stop.

He smiled at me again and it was a nice smile, warm and comforting. Up close, he looked like he was close to the line between ones forties or fifties, but his hair was dark enough that it made making a guess of his age difficult. His eyes were green and his hair a sandy brown blonde with a full beard and a pony tail of long hair in the back in the hyper masculine way of bikers and, well, truckers. In addition to the jeans, he was wearing an obnoxiously loud bowling style shirt with a motif of fireballs and wings and a pair of cowboy boots tucked discretely under his jeans completed his look. He was taller than me, probably six one or so and what fat he had on him he carried well and the muscle under the fat was probably hard. I wouldn't want to tussle with him. “Yeah,” he laughed. “I've had days like that. You hungry? I was going to grab a shower and some dinner. Why don't you join me?”

“Oh, I,” started, and I realized my voice wasn't my voice anymore. It was a full octave higher than my normal tone and I was certain no one I knew would recognize it. I had literally no way to prove who I was any more. “I mean, I don't want to be trouble.”

He smirked at me, like a young, biker Santa Claus and with great care took my elbow and began to guide me towards the building. “Oh, it's no trouble,” he assured me. “I don't get to have the company of a pretty girl often, so it's never trouble. You look like you could use a meal, and I could use some company at dinner. It's my treat.”

Before I really knew what was happening, I was being seated at a booth in a greasy spoon restaurant in a Truck Stop with a complete stranger. Well, not a complete stranger, I knew his name was Charles. Or at least, that's what he said. He ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, I suppose as a subtle nod that everything was fair game, a massive porter house steak with all the trimmings. Call me strange, but comfort food called to me just then, so I ordered the meat loaf and hoped it was half as good as my late mother's, God rest her soul, had been. “So,” he declared as he put sugar into his coffee. “I guess we should be introduced! I'm Charles, Charles Rayburn. You can call me Chuck. What's your name?”

“My...?” I looked up, but found I couldn't meet his gaze and started playing with the straw in my tea. “You...you wouldn't believe me if I told you.” I admitted after a moment.

Chuck, surprisingly took that in stride. “That's fair,” he admitted. “But, I can't just call ya pet names. So, what would you like me to call you?”

I looked up at the TV on the far wall and decided to steal from the Five O'clock anchorwoman. “Cat.”

He put down the sugar and poured in some milk to his coffee. “Ok, Cat, nice to meet you. You want to tell me what you're running from?”

“Huh?” I demanded. “What makes...”

“You're wearing someone else's clothes,” he declared softly as he stirred his cup. “In men's shoes that only just stay on your feet and you're walking from the far side of the lot when I saw you, flushed and out of breath and obvious you'd been running. You're as high strung as a cat and a blind man could see you're not one of the Lot Lizards out back preying on my fellow drivers.” The spoon came out of the coffee and was returned to his napkin. He raised the cup to his lips and smiled at me again. “I can go on, if you like, or do you want to be honest with me?”

I'd be lying if I didn't admit his powers of observation were impressive. “I...I got in trouble with a loan shark,” I admitted softly. “Behind and I got told in no uncertain terms, I'd be making good. I...I got desperate, so I answered an ad in the paper for models...specific kind of models, ya know?”

He nodded sagely as he put the cup back into its saucer. “Dirty movies? Couldn't go through with it?”

“No.” I debated for a moment on how much to trust him, then added. “I was naked, but the guy's clothes were still there, so I grabbed them and ran.”

“Any family I can get you to?” I shook my head and stared at my tea again. “Well, I guess you're my responsibility for a bit,” he mused to himself. “So, do I take you home, or...?”

“Or what?” I asked, confused.

He smiled at me again. “You got no family to help, and you're in trouble with a loan shark so you can't have that many ties. I'm headed to Massachusetts. Ever been?” I shook my head and that he found funny and chuckled. “Want to?”

“You don't know me!” I protested. “I don't know you!”

“Sure you do,” he replied. “I'm Chuck, remember? And you're Cat. Oh, and don't worry, I have no intentions on you, other than pleasant company.” He leaned back as the waitress arrived with our food and put the plates in front of us. He reached for the A1 and started being logical. “I doubt whoever you owe will be able to find you with me, and if he does, I'm sure I can convince him to zero out his ledger.”

“How do I know you're not a serial killer or something?”

“You don't,” he told me frankly as he put the cap back on the sauce and cut an experimental bite from the slab of meat that covered his plate. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then winked at me. “And nothing I can say will convince you otherwise. So, what does your gut say?”

I picked up my fork and cut off a bite of the meatloaf, and found it magnificent on my tongue, like eating a cherished memory all over again for the first time. “Ok, how do you know I'm not a serial killer or something?”

He took a sip of coffee to clear his mouth. “If you want to find that out, you'll have to come with me.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you claiming some knowledge of me that reassures you?”

His eyes twinkled as he continued to enjoy his meal. “Maybe I'm just a really good judge of character.”

After dinner, 'Chuck' bought me a souvenir T Shirt, shorts and a set of flip flops to go along with a complete wash kit and my own shower. For the uninitiated most truck stops have showers for the drivers for less than the cost of a hotel room, especially if all you want is the shower anyway. Most will give the shower for free if the driver buys a certain amount of fuel as an incentive. You get a little slip of receipt paper with the shower room number and an unlock code that will only work once and holds the door locked out until you leave.

Inside is a little bathroom, with a toilet, sink and a shower stall. There's also a little machine selling shampoos and soaps, but Chuck saw to that for me. Alone, and with a heavy locked door between me and the rest of the world, I felt safe, finally, and a little sleepy to be honest after that amazing meatloaf.

I got out of my old clothes and made use of the full length mirror on the back of the door.

What stared out of the mirror at me was impossible. She was quite a stunner, just busty enough without being top heavy, nice ass and a waist that left no room for me...old me...to be inside her. She couldn't weigh more than a hundred and twenty and where the forty pounds I used to have on her went, I have no idea. My blue eyes were looking out of her heart shaped face under a wild mop of red hair that fell to her shoulders. I would have carded her if she wanted to buy a beer.

I took a deep breath and gently reached down to part her...my...labia. A little shiver ran up my spine when I touched it and it parted to reveal a clitoris under the folds that was actually a bit bigger than normal. I ran a finger tip over it and almost moaned it felt so good. I bit my lip and gently pulled a bit more and was able to make out the opening of my vagina. It hadn't been there before I put whatever this was on, but it was there now and there was no hint of me under it.

My bladder protested the intimate inspection so, reluctantly, I sat down on the toilet. Even the muscles felt a bit different, but once I worked out what to relax, a somewhat forceful stream flowed out of me. I was forced to wipe myself, which was novel and not in a fun way. That taken care of, I turned on the shower and in short order the mirror was fogged over with the steam of the heat.

I probed and prodded as far as I could reach on my back, but there was no trace of the opening. It was like a lobster pot, easy in, but no way out. For a moment, I hugged myself in the hot water and shivered despite the heat and had a good, old fashioned panic attack. I don't know when I started crying from the water hitting me, but the sobs wracked me and I felt like I was lost, adrift in an ocean squall.

Fortunately, the showers are fed from an on demand water heater, so despite my crying jag, it didn't go cold. After what seemed like a small eternity, I got control of my emotions, and got down to the business of washing this new body of mine. The skin was remarkably sensitive and smooth as silk under my fingers. And her erogenous zones were even more so, as a casual brush of my nipple or labia would pull a gasp of sensation. I tilted my head back to rinse the conditioner from my hair I had a long thought on my situation.

What few possessions I had in my apartment could all be replaced. I wasn't the sentimental type, and there was nothing there just for memory's sake. My mom was gone, and she'd been a single mother. I had no family I knew of and the few people I associated with barely rose to the level of friend. I could go with Chuck and disappear and make a new life. I wasn't sure I wanted to settle in Massachusetts, but it was better than where I was.

Of course, that meant I was the perfect victim if he was up to no good.

I looked at the little pile of money from my jeans and decided I'd better splurge on one of those knives behind the counter out front. Making up my mind was cathartic. I'd walk away from the troubles I'd let myself get into, I'd embrace being...Catherine. Yes, I felt like I could be a Catherine 'Cat' for short and for a last name, I decided to take my mother's maiden name of Walsh. Now, I just needed to figure out how I was going to get papers with that name on it.

I stepped out of the shower and dried myself, watching the fog on the mirror slowly fade and bringing my new face, my new life into focus. The shower had a little courtesy blow dryer permanently attached to the wall, so I dried this wild mane of hair into something a bit more presentable and little less wild. That just left getting dressed and the 'See Rock City' T Shirt and shorts took me from homeless waif to teenage tart as my nipples were almost something to 'See' through the shirt. I removed all the tags and stuffed my old things into the bag the new stuff had come in and let myself out of the shower.

There was no sign of Chuck out on the sales floor, which let me purchase my little pocket surprise with him none the wiser. Granted, I'd never want to get into a knife fight with that little folding pocket Buck knife against somebody like Chuck, but it was better than nothing. That done, I sat down by the door and halfheartedly read the front page of the local newspaper while I waited.

“Hey! Take your hands off!” someone shouted from across the store, drawing my gaze and what I saw chilled my blood. Shaggy backwards cap boy from the studio had a red headed girl by the wrist, and he wasn't alone. There was a small mountain of Bad MF-er Black Dude with him. He was just letting go of the red head and apologizing, when I realized why he'd accosted her.

Terrified, I scooted out the door hoping I wasn't seen. I took a quick right to get out of line of sight of the door and tried to keep my fear under control. I couldn't run, all I had on my feet were flip flops and I couldn't waste time stopping to try and wrestle back into my old shoes. I scampered down the side of the building, then cut back out into the truck lot, squeezing between them where they were parked back to back.

I racked my brain trying to remember which truck was Chuck's until I found it, at the back of the lot, near the fence I'd climbed to get onto the Truck Stop's property. I scrambled up the steps built into the big, gleaming chromed fuel tank and tried the door, desperate to get out of sight. When, to my surprise and relief, it opened. I clamored into the seat and pulled the door shut and locked it, panting after my breath until I began to feel a bit more safe and broadened my awareness of my surroundings.

To my surprise, the seat moved up and down freely like it was on springs, for no reason I could fathom, though it was remarkably comfortable. I was sitting at a bank of controls and switches that looked to my eye like they'd be more at home on an airplane than a truck. The console wrapped about the driver's seat, but still gave room to get out of the chair and back further into the cab.

I made my way around the massive gear shifter and found I could stand up straight and look around. There was a bit of an atrium here behind the seats. There was a microwave, a little sink and even a hot plate that folded out on the drivers side. Beside which, I could see a full on Mr Coffee that had been permanently mounted on a swing out shelf in a very clever arrangement, while on the passenger side there was tall, but narrow refrigerator and drawer at the bottom that was probably a freezer.

In the ceiling was a pretty good sized flat screen that folded down where it could be viewed on the bed. Which brought us to the back most of the cabin were there was a pair of little closets that framed a queen sized bed that was neatly made. I got a bit of a shiver looking at it, but I noted that above it was a fold out bunk that was probably a twin or so.

I heard a key in the lock of the door and my heart leaped into my mouth as I spun, clutching the bag of my things like a shield. The cab shifted as someone climbed up and then Chuck's head, with his long hair wild about it, free from the pony tail, popped in the door. “Oh, here you are! Good, I was worried.”

I sighed as if an Atlas stone slid off my back in relief. I tossed the bag onto the bed and stepped forward as he slide into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut. “We have to get out of here,” I told him. He spun the chair to face me, concern on his face. “The pornographers, I ran from, they're here. I saw two of them, they're grabbing Red heads, looking for me.”

He sighed and rubbed his chin. “Cat, I need you to be straight with me,” he said gravely. “Did you hurt anyone?”

“No,” I assured him quickly. “I swear! I just grabbed the clothes and ran...”

An eyebrow arched on his craggy face. “So, why are they chasing you?”

“I...” my throat closed over the confession as I slid into the passengers seat across from him. “You won't believe me,” I whispered.

“You must have something they want,” he reasoned. I nodded.

“If I could give it back, I would. I...I can't...” He crossed his muscled arms across his massive chest.

“You stole something you didn't want, but you can't give it back?” he demanded slyly. “And I wouldn't believe what it is, but you would give it back if you could. Why is that?”

I hung my head fought back tears. “I can't explain it,” I told him. “Hell, it happened to me and I don't believe it! If you want, I'll get my things and go. There's no reason for you to get involved.”

“Oh, sure there is,” he countered. “I'm already involved, and I don't leave women in trouble if I can help it. So,” he stood and went into the back of the cab and began to flip down the bunk. “Why don't you get some rest and we'll head out in the morning?”

“But...!”

“If they want you that bad, running out right now might have them chase us,” he assured me with a shrug. “Best thing we can do is stay calm and stay put. Let them chase all the other trucks leaving now. Besides, I'm at the end of my day. I can't legally move the truck for ten hours.” He produced a pillow and a blanket from cupboard and put them on the bunk. “So, get some rest and we'll head out in the morning.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked him softly. “People don't act this way any more.”

He took a laptop from a cubbyhole and put it on the dash in preparation for sitting back down at the wheel. “Maybe they should,” he countered philosophically. “You get some rest. I'll keep an eye out. I've got some reports to fill out anyway for my log book.”

I stood and something made me reach out and touch his shoulder. He looked up at me and smiled when I said, “Thank you, Chuck.”

“My pleasure,” he assured me. “Sweet dreams, and we'll get you some more clothes tomorrow.”

I squeezed his shoulder, though as hard as it was I wasn't sure he even felt it. Then I went and clamored up into the bunk and he pulled a thick, heavy curtain I hadn't noted before closed between this living area and the driver's compartment, giving me privacy. I laid down on the bunk, staring at the curtain between us. A few hours ago, I was willing to go do gay porn to settle a debt, now I wondered why I wasn't bothered by being so dependent on this man. Why I actually felt safe, in the care of a man just yesterday I would be terrified to stumble across in a dark alley. Chuck had more masculinity in his pinky finger than I could muster up from my entire body. Especially now.

Then the two thoughts began to merge and I wondered what it would be like to do the acts I was steeling myself to do with a stranger now with Chuck. At some point, I fell asleep in my wondering and my dreams were filled with the big, muscled trucker having his way with me.

And how much I desperately enjoyed it.

The roof of the cab had a sky light dome of frosted glass or, more likely, plastic, that let a soft light into the living space of the cab as the sun rose. As my bunk was closest to it, it woke me from my torrid dreams to find myself still female and having the female equivalent of 'morning wood'. My crotch was very damp and my nipples were erect against the cotton of the T shirt. Below me, I could hear the soft breathing of Chuck in his bed and I carefully looked over the little bar to keep me from falling out of the bunk to look at him.

His hair was now in a braid across the pillow and his craggy features relaxed in sleep. He didn't have a shirt on, and his chest was covered in dark brown hair that almost covered a collection of scars across his torso, the pink scar tissue winking through and standing out against his otherwise tanned skin. This only made me feel...safer. He was obviously not someone with whom to fuck around with. That should terrify me, I was, after all, completely at his mercy. And yet, his battle scars reassured me that my protector was up to the task, and then some.

It was a very odd feeling, to say the least.

I carefully climbed down from the bunk and pulled out the little stand that had a coffee maker on it I'd spied earlier. A little quiet pilfering garnered me coffee and a filter and a bottle of water to fill the reservoir with. With in a few moments, it was gurgling and filling the cab with a warm, rich aroma. I heard him stir and chuckle from the bed. “I could get used to this!” he declared as he sat up to stretch.

“I had to do something for you after all you've done,” I told him. He stood and my eyes immediately went to his boxers as he stepped into his jeans. He wasn't a freak of nature, but that bulge filled out the boxers pretty well, and I decided to cool the blush on my face by opening the fridge and finding cream for the coffee.

“That's very kind of you,” I heard him assure me over the sound of his zipper closing. He produced a pair of mugs and poured us both a cup to which I added the creamer, which I saw was sweetened so I forwent sugar. After my first sip, I was glad I did. The brew was very rich and strong, but the creamer and its sweetness mellowed it out perfectly. “Mmmm, the best part of waking up,” he assured me with a wink, and I wasn't sure if he was talking about the coffee or my pointed punctuation on 'See Rock City'. “So, I spied a Wally Mart on the way here from the freeway. We can stop in and get you some things and then head on. Or did you decide not to come with me?”

I screwed my courage to the sticking place and looked him in the eye. “If the offer's still open, I'd like to take it,” I announced, and a grin spread across his face.

“Wonderful!” He set his cup down to produce a thermos he poured the coffee into and capped, then, dumped out the filter basket and with it off, folded it back out of the way. “Let me get a shirt on, and then we'll have us some retail therapy.”

I sat down in the passengers seat and sipped at my coffee while he pulled on a memorial T Shirt from a Sturgis Rally that took place before I was born. Somehow, I was pretty sure he'd actually attended it, not bought it as some kind of Retro nostalgia piece. Which had me wonder about how old he was, and how I might politely find out.

He slid into the driver's seat and I learned that starting a tractor was not as simple as a car. He went through several switches faster than I could follow, then, turned the key and beneath me a great rumble vibrated the entire truck, then settled into a growl as the engine idled. An alarm, what I had taken to be the seat belt reminder, continued to wail, but Chuck didn't seem concerned about it, merely taking out a bound book from the pocket in the door and making a notation in it after consulting his watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted me watching him and and declared, “Don't worry, it's the low air alarm. It's only bad if it comes on while we're moving. The compressor is filling the reservoir now.”

As he said it, the tone went quiet and he winked at me. “See? Nothing to worry about.” He pressed a pair of large buttons which caused a loud popping hiss to sound, then worked the gear shifter to a solid chunk sound of metal against metal. “Here we go,” he added as the big truck began to creep forward.

I quickly learned the seats were on springs as the truck's suspension was tuned for it's freight, not its operator. While it smoothed out the road, it did make drinking something of an adventure, but I soon got the hang of it. We joined the line of trucks leaving the gas station, my eyes nervously glancing around for Backwards Cap or Small Mountain. There were plenty of people about, but neither of them, nor anyone seeming to take note of the trucks themselves. We bounced out onto the main road and were soon rumbling toward the freeway and the promised Walmart.

“So, Cat,” he began after he had the truck to a speed he liked. “Where are you from?”

“Here,” I told him morosely, looking out at the suburban sprawl that was sliding by. “Well, over in the Valley. Panorama City.”

He chuckled. “An honest to God Valley Girl?” His voice rose a few octaves. “Like! Oh, my God!” I couldn't help but laugh with him.

“That was more my mom's day than mine,” I told him. “She came out here from some place in Kansas. She told me once, but I forgot. She was going to be an actress, but I came along.”

“Lot of girls come out here with stars in their eyes, and end up a lot worse off,” he admitted. He took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “This town chews 'em up and spits them out. Since you said you had no family I'm guessing...”

I sighed and took a sip. “Yeah, breast cancer, when I was sixteen.”

“I'm sorry,” he told me quietly and I believed he meant it. “My folks passed when I was young too. Taught me to stand on my own two feet. But, there'll always be a hole in my heart where they go.” A Prius cut us off which caused him to slosh his coffee and he pulled a chain by his head that barked a horn that belonged on a locomotive. “God damned Yuppies,” he growled as he got his coffee back in the cup holder. “Thanks,” he assured me as I handed him some of the napkins off the dash to dry himself. “No respect for anybody else on the road.”

“What about you?” I asked him. “Where are you from?”

“Originally? Angoon, a little town, you've never heard of, on an island, you've never heard of, in an archipelago you've never heard of, in Alaska.”

I laughed with him. “Alaska I've heard of!”

“We always said there were more bears than people on that island. Probably still is. I went to school in a one room school house with one teacher who taught every grade, all at once.” He shook his head in remembrance. “I suppose you could say I am a self educated man. Ah, here we are.”

He turned into the large parking lot and parked well away from the store as the tractor and trailer took up a good number of parking spaces. Then, from his wallet he pulled three, one hundred dollar bills and offered them to me. “Here, get you some clothes, a coat and at least one sturdy pair of shoes or boots.”

I eyed the money, then looked back up at him. “I don't know when I can repay you for this...”

“I'm not asked to be repaid and I'm not keeping a ledger,” he told me, putting the money in my hand. “It's my money and I'll spend it how I like. And if I like spending it on you, that's my affair, right?”

Reluctantly, I took the money and stuffed it into a pocket on the shorts. “Where will you be?” I asked him.

“I need a couple of things myself, so I'll find you when I'm done.”

“Okay, Chuck. And, thank you.” He smiled at me again, and I had to admit, that smile was starting to have an effect on me. It made me feel...something; something I didn't have a name for yet, but I was really beginning to like the way it made me feel. I clamored out of my side of the truck and we walked together up to America's most populous department store. I got a buggy and went to shoes first and, once I found my size, bought a pair of sneakers and a pair of sturdy hiking boots like he'd told me to that were water proof and supposedly guaranteed to keep my feet warm all the way down to zero. With them I got a package of tube socks, then, I swallowed my fear and pushed the buggy into the women's section.

There, a very nice older lady helped me find my sizes. I was still five nine, though only one eighteen, which made me a size four generally, though she basically told me there were so many exceptions to women's clothing it was just a starting point. After getting over a terrible case of sticker shock over how much women's clothing costs, I bought a 'nice' bra that was thirty four 'C' and a three pack of 'sport' bras which cost the same as the nice one. Likewise, I bought a multi-pack of panties that advertised themselves as 'boy shorts' that only the most cursory of glances would make one think they 'just like' the briefs I had worn once upon a time.

The rest of the money went into a couple of pairs of jeans, T Shirts and a red top that's evidently called 'cold shouldered' due to the cut outs that was a shade of red that actually matched my hair that the nice lady said many times would be a shame for me to pass on. All of that ate my poor three Benjamins leaving me thirty two dollars. This, I tried to give back to Chuck, but he wouldn't take it, then noticed I'd forgotten to get a jacket, then took me back into women's clothing and bought me a nice water proof parka with a fake fur hood.

As I was pushing my loot back to the truck, he gave me that lopsided grin and handed me a little box. “What's this?” I asked him, more than a little concerned it was jewelry, but he just laughed and opened it, showing it to be a copy of the key to the truck.

“In case you need to get in and I'm not around,” he told me. “It won't start it, but you won't have to be out in the weather waiting on me.”

He cleaned out the little closet and drawers on one side of the bed for me, then drew the curtain so I could change and soon I had on underwear again, socks and shoes that actually fit my feet. The rest were put away and I opened the curtain to let him know I was done. “Well, don't you shine up like a new penny,” he told me with a wink. I felt my cheeks warm with a blush as I slid into the seat as he got the truck running again and we were on our way.

While he'd been having the key made, Chuck also stopped off at the Golden Arches that was operating a franchise in this Wally. So once we were up on the interstate and east bound we had greasy breakfast of McMuffins and his really great coffee. I could just make out the glimmer of the Salton Sea south of us after we'd finished breakfast and I'd cleaned up all the wrappers. The traffic was pretty light now, just the occasional Uhaul with a Tesla on the trailer behind it of yet another Cali Yuppie fleeing the third world shit hole they'd turned the Golden State into. Rats abandoning the sinking ship.

I was feeling introspective so as I stared out the window at the California Desert gliding by, I asked him, “So, Chuck, what got you into driving?”

“Never set down any roots,” he replied as he down shifted to pass the Uhual that was the current target of my scornful gaze. “I like to travel, I set my own hours, Connie here is my home and the only bills I have are fuel and tires and the company pays those.”

“Connie?”

“Nothing as complicated as a tractor could be anything but female,” he assured me.

I looked over at him to watch him drive and smiled at his sense of humor. Curiosity aroused, I asked, “You don't have a place?”

“What for?” he demanded. “Just something to spend money on paying taxes and bills when I'd never be there. And why? Some place to fill up with junk?” He made a rude noise and a dismissive gesture. “No, thanks. It's why I'm not worried about the money, I'm starting to get an embarrassingly large amount of it just sitting around in my bank account.” He shot me a glance and smirked. “I'm the hardest working millionaire you'll ever meet.” There might be some who would scoff at his statement, I wasn't one of them. Maybe it was just the off hand way he said it, I knew he wasn't bragging. A man like him had no need to.

“Well, I don't want to just be your charity case,” I told him. “I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, but I like to earn my way.”

“That's a good outlook to have,” he remarked. “So, what do you do?”

I sank down in the seat and gave the Yuppie in the Uhaul a dirty look as we went by. “Get in trouble with loan sharks,” I muttered glumly. “I have yet to actually use my degree, and now I probably never will.”

“Hogwash,” he retorted. “You can get new paper, that's nothing. So, what's your degree in?”

I sighed. “History.”

“What do you mean you can't use it?” he wanted to know. “There's plenty of work for a history teacher!”

My eyes rolled of their own accord. “I have a History degree, but nothing in education. Not even a class, let a lone a minor! I thought I'd get a job at a museum, like the Smithsonian. Take care of interesting artifacts and write papers nobody reads. I don't even have the qualifications to get a teaching certificate. And it turns out, museums are where history teachers go to retire. Nobody wanted to hire me, but they were all about me working for free and donating my time. Meanwhile, Uncle Sam made it that all the Wall Street boys can bankrupt their debts, but student loans? Forget about it!”

He up shifted and gave a glance my way to check his mirror and returned to the right lane. His eyes back on the road, he drove for a moment, then shrugged. “Live and learn, girl. We all make mistakes. You got a big one, granted, but you're young, you've got plenty of time to correct it, or even decide you want to do something else.”

I finished the last sip from my coffee and looked at him long ways. “Does truck driving make you an optimist, Chuck?”

“Hell, no!” he snapped around a grin. “Nothing like some time on the interstate to let you know what sons of bitches your fellow man is!” I reached for the thermos and unscrewed the lid.

“You want some more coffee?”

“Pour yours first, I'll take what's left.” On purpose, a bit exasperated by his white knighting, I filled his cup first, then mine and screwed the thermos closed. “Hey!” he protested, but I waved him off as I got the thermos stowed again and undid my seat belt to get at the fridge.

“Oh, hush,” I scolded him. “There's at least another cup so don't get your halo bent.”

“Halo? Me?” he laughed and held his cup still so I could add the cream. “If God let's me into Heaven He's looking the other way.” I got my own done and returned the jug to the fridge. I slid back into my seat and got the belt comfortable then stirred his cup before I did mine.

“So, what are we hauling?”

“PCBs,” he replied, taking a sip of coffee. “Whatever the hell they are. Fifteen tons of 'em.” He took another gulp, then set the cup back into the holder. “But don't change the subject. We were talking about you. You want to teach?”

I pulled my knee under my chin and rested my foot on the seat in a way that would never have been comfortable as a man, but I did so without a second thought. “I don't know. I just...this all came at me so fast. I got the crap beat out of me, then I'm so desperate I'm going to a porn studio. Next thing I know, I'm running for my life.”

He laughed darkly. “Well, you'd have to be desperate to shack up with an old trucker like me.” I felt him look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Any idea what you got they want back so bad?”

Suddenly the High Desert of California was deeply fascinating out my window. “I told you, you won't believe me.”

“Try me,” he challenged. For a long moment, I said nothing, just gently bouncing up and down on the seat and watching California go by. I took another sip of coffee, then turned to look back at him, finding him looking at me. Fortunately, this particular stretch of I10 is as straight as a ruler, but it was a little disconcerting nonetheless. “At some point, Cat, you're going to have to trust me.”

I sighed. “Alright, but I warned you that you wouldn't believe it.” His eyes went back to the road and he gave me a 'come on with it' gesture. “When I went to the studio I was expecting to do Gay porn. Male Gay porn, because at the time, I was male. When I got there, I think they mistook me for someone else. They gave me this...skin...you see. It's a suit of some kind. I put it on and suddenly I was a girl! And I can't get it off and I swear to God, Chuck, I'm not crazy or lying.”

For a good mile, he said nothing, then he nodded sagely. “Well, extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.”

“I can show you my old driver's license,” I offered.

“That could be the license of whoever owned the clothes you were wearing when I met you.”

“I have it memorized.”

He used a check of his mirrors to look at me and wink. “You could have done that last night.”

I took another sip of coffee. “I told you that you wouldn't believe me.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I didn't say that,” he retorted. “I said you needed proof. They obviously want you pretty bad, and a suit like you describe, well, that would be worth a lot. Certainly makes sense they'd chase you to get it back. Of course, that raises the question of where did they get it?”

I felt my jaw drop as I stared at him. “You believe me?”

“Let's say I'm intrigued by the notion,” he hedged. “So, this suit of yours must be a hell of a thing. I'd swear you were what you look to be.”

“It is,” I assured him. “I have no idea what happened to my junk, but all my plumbing is female now. It actually took me a minute to figure out how to pee last night. You know, come to it, I ran what must have been five miles and I'm not any kind of track and field star.” I paused for a long moment, and softly repeated, “I'm not lying to you.”

“I'm not accusing you of lying,” he replied. “Still, that begs another question. What are you going to do? Try to have somebody get it off of you, or are you happy being Cat?” It was an odd question, and brought something of a frown to my face as it surprised me.

“I...I don't think I can take it off,” I said after a long moment of thought. “I think I'm stuck being Cat.”

“They seem to think they can get it off you,” he pointed out.

“I...” I trailed off, a bit chagrined I hadn't thought of that.

“I could get you a bus ticket back to LA,” he offered. “You could put all this behind you.”

“No.” The word was out before I could even think it through, it was my subconscious making a declaration for my conscious mind to ponder. Even he looked over at the firmness of my statement. “No, I, I think I want to stay this way.”

“Well, that's a pretty sudden point of view, ain't it?” he asked. “You've been distaff for what? A day? Not even?”

“What has being male got me?” I shot back. “A small mountain of debt? A degree that doesn't work as advertised? Loan sharks beating me with in an inch of my life? In the however long I've been a woman I've been met with nothing but kindness. You, the lady at Walmart, and, I dunno, I probably wasn't cut out to be a man.”

He chuckled darkly. “Say what you will about the human race, but that's female privilege you're talking about. And it doesn't last.”

“What?” I demanded. “You saying you wouldn't have been as nice to me if I was a forty something matron?”

“I would have made sure you were alright,” he replied. “I probably would have invited you to dinner to be sure. But, let's be honest with ourselves, Cat, you're not a forty something matron, are you?” He shrugged and down shifted to go around another tractor trailer. “Think less of me if you want, but I'm as human as the next fellow, and I'm being honest with you.”

Subconsciously, I leaned away from him in the cab and asked, “Am I going to be safe with you?” He took in a deep breath, as if deciding whether or not to be offended.

“Cat, I have plenty of things to answer to the Good Lord for, but abusing a woman won't ever be one of them. Would I be interested? Sure. I ain't blind and I ain't dead, but I'm also in control of myself.” He looked over at me and his eyes practically glowed under his craggy features. “You've got nothing to be afraid of from me.”

“I'm sorry, Chuck.”

He turned back to the road and shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, Cat. Nothing wrong with making sure of where everybody stands. Let's you know you're on sure footing.”

We left California a bit after one that afternoon into Arizona at a little town called Ehrenberg. It wasn't much more than a collection of Truck Stops, Gas Stations and RV Parks. It was actually a pretty place with the High Desert and the Colorado River to look at so it made a kind of sense as a last chance before California. We didn't stop as Connie's tanks had been filled back in LA and, I was told she wouldn't need more fuel until somewhere in Texas.

We did have to get off the interstate and slow roll over a gigantic scale at what is called a Weigh Station, run by the State of Arizona. Evidently, some kind of tax thing as trucks, being so heavy, put the most stress on the pavement. We were evidently 'ok' as the sign said, and rolled back onto the freeway without stopping.

Once we were through there, I got up again and went into the back to make us some sandwiches for lunch. Not because of my new status as a female, just because he was driving and I couldn't drive, so I made myself useful. I'm not a chef, but there's not that much artistry to be had with ham and Swiss on white bread. I did cut his sandwich in half so it was easier for him to eat and drive at the same time and we shared some companionable silence eating. When he wasn't praising my sandwich artistry. Then it was just the rumble of the truck and the long, straight stretch of I10 as we rumbled along to Phoenix.

After lunch, I asked for a pit stop, and he nodded, putting on his hazards and drifting into the break down lane. “Oh, I didn't mean immediately,” I apologized. “I just meant the next gas station.”

“That could be a while,” he assured me as he brought the rig to a halt and popped the air brakes with a loud hiss of them going 'set.' “Don't worry, I'm not going to make you squat behind a cactus.” He stood and went back into the living area and unfolded a cabinet that was actually a toilet seat. “Easy, see? Just tilt it up slowly and it drains out. You can go first.” He sat back down at the driver's place and held the privacy curtain for me.

“Where does it go?” I asked, confused.

“There's a holding tank under the floor,” he replied with a smile. “It's also where the water from the sink goes. I drop it either at a Truck Stop or an RV campground.” I got up and went to the strange convenience feature as he pulled the curtain shut. The 'seat' was molded into the tray, which gave it a kind of prison feel, but I dropped my jeans and sat down feeling a bit odd peeing as I looked at his bed and remembered he was not two feet away, behind a curtain.

It was cold, but the seat was actually well molded and comfortable enough.

I wiped and stood, pulling up my jeans and carefully raised the tray. A cover in the back of the tray opened and a bit of water washed through the basin, cleaning everything, before I sat it back down for him. “Pretty neat,” I admitted as I washed my hands.

“Once you've dealt with as many gas station bathrooms as I have, it's worth it's weight in gold,” he assured me. We swapped places and I sat back down as I heard his zipper on his fly. I tried not to think about it, but some part of me was perversely curious about that part of his anatomy. Finally, the gurgle of his own relief stopped and the tray flushed clear as he stowed it and closed his fly with an authoritative zip! He got back into his own seat and soon we were rolling again, back in our lane and eastbound. “So...Chuck...” I drawled slowly. “Would you like to set any...limits...on what we talk about?”

“Sweetheart,” he laughed. “I'm a trucker, and before that I was a biker. You can't offend me.”

“You're a biker, too?” I asked. “Still?”

“You didn't notice my Shadow on the back deck?” I shook my head. “I'll take you for a ride sometime. Caught some grief at Sturgis for riding a Rice Burner, but eh, I like the looks of it.” I felt my cheeks burn a bit at the thought of being pressed up against him on the back of a motorcycle. So, of course, that's when he looked over at me and saw me blushing. He winked again and asked, “Is there something specific you want to talk about, Cat?”

I took the cap off the bottle of water I'd had with my sandwich and took another sip to give me some time to sort out how I was going to ask him what I really wanted to know. “I guess,” I hedged as I swallowed the water. “I'm a little confused. I mean, I came clean and then you said you were 'interested' and I was kind of surprised.”

“Are you trying to ask me if I'm gay?” he drawled, and I blushed again. “So, I'll answer I've never met a guy I thought I'd like to shack up with, but stranger things have happened. You tell me under that whatever you are a guy, but you also say you want to keep it. That doesn't sound really 'guy like' to me.” He shrugged. “Call me old fashioned.”

“Oh,” I muttered, feeling like the burning on my cheeks would never go away.

“Why?” he asked me around a grin. “Should I make a pass?”

I looked back over at him and stuck my tongue out at him. That made him laugh and he did so for a bit. “How long have you been doing this?” I asked, now more than a little eager to move the conversation to a different place. He shrugged.

“Long enough that I know what I'm doing,” he replied slyly. “Why? Are you working out my prospects?”

“Chuck!”

“Cat!” he echoed back at me with a grin. “How would you feel if I asked you how old you are?”

I raised my chin a bit. “Twenty three,” I declared.

He shrugged and nodded. “Ok, so I'll admit to being old enough to be your daddy. Of course, I got started young, so that's not saying much.”

“Do you have any kids?” I asked him. He changed gears and shook his head.

“Nope, never laid down any roots, remember?” He told me. “Oh, I've had my share of lady friends, but they'd want me to stay and I'm a traveling man. Offered more than one the chair you're in, but no body's taken me up on it, so far. I wouldn't mind sharing Connie here, with the right filly.”

“You can't raise kids in this thing,” I shot back.

He shrugged again and got a bit more comfortable in his seat. “Well, some come along, that might change things for a bit, that's true. Won't know till it happens.”

I let the silence rest between us for a bit, watching the desert roll by, being lulled by the rumble of Connie and how she interfaced with road. There was a hypnotizing quality to it, as if we'd always been doing this and always would, somehow adrift in time. Just Chuck, the road, Connie and me, rumbling down an endless Interstate. Finally, I shifted a bit in my seat as I got the water battle again and asked him, “I can't stop thinking about this thing I'm wearing. Where did a fly by night porn outfit get something like this? Who build it? For what?”

He snorted as he took a drink and tapped out a rhythm against the steering wheel with his fingers. “You're asking me? How would I know?”

“This whole thing seems impossible,” I agreed with him. “But suddenly I'm sitting down to piss.”

Something struck him as funny and he shot me a glance. “You ever watch the History channel?” I nodded, not sure what he meant. Then, utterly dead pan, he said, “I'm not saying it was aliens. But it was aliens.”

He absolutely got me and I was taken by a giggle fit. “Mars needs women, right?” I shot back and he joined me laughing. “Ok, professor bad hair,” I teased him. “Why would aliens make a suit to turn a guy into a chick?”

“You mean, beyond the aesthetic qualities?” he demanded.

“The what?” I demanded.

He turned to look at me, an incredulous look on his face. “Now, Cat, even you have to admit the female of the species is the more pleasant to look at.”

“Oh, I don't know,” I shot back, and a bit surprised myself by taking that position. “I mean, look at guys like Arnold. Back in the day The Governator was pretty awesome to look at.” I could sense his incredulity so I kept digging. “Or some burly guy, doing hard work, providing for his family. Or, or, a solider defending liberty all square jawed and studly. You don't think that's pleasant to look at?”

He pulled at his beard for a moment and got positively thoughtful. “Well, Arnold was a one percent guy, top of his game, and there's a certain interest in looking at a top level athlete. And the working slob or the soldier invoke different emotions for me. Admiration of another guy that gets what being a guy is about. But that's not 'art'. A beautiful naked woman, can artistically display herself in a way that's just pure beauty. Venus De Milo stuff.”

“What about David?” I shot back. “Or the Thinker? Or Atlas?”

He shrugged expressively. “I'm a guy, I like looking at pretty girls. Sue me.”

I chuckled and waved him at pass at the argument. “So, you think aliens decided there isn't enough beauty in the world?”

“You got a better suggestion?”

“Follow the money,” I shot back. “What's in it for them? And don't say pretty girls to look at.”

He kept stroking his beard like Gandalf the Trucker about to shout, 'You shall not pass on the right!' and, I found myself a little hypnotized by watching him think. I leaned on the arm rest to watch and propped my chin up with other hand. “So, now I'm supposed to theorize about the motivations of a theoretical Alien who decided to give some pornographers the ultimate costume? Maybe they think there isn't enough porn?”

“Oh, pull the other one, it has bells,” I shot back. “If there's one thing mankind has plenty of, it's Porn.”

“Point,” he admitted. Finally, he shrugged his ignorance and asked me, “So, what do you think?”

I sighed and thought for a moment. “I think they stole it. That's got to be why they're so hot to get it back. But, who did they steal it from?” I paused for a moment, then cocked my head and asked, “Do you believe me, Chuck?”

“Why would you lie?”

“I'm not,” I assured him.

“So, that just leaves what are you going to do about it?” I blinked as if the question had struck me I was so surprised. I took a final sip from the water bottle, then capped it and put it in the trash bag next to my seat. While I thought, he added, “The way I see it, you've got two choices. Get it off and do whatever, or keep it on and be Cat, right? So, what does Cat need?”

“ID,” I replied. “All the important papers, right? Birth Certificate, Social Security card, some kind of proof of schooling; I can't work without them.”

He nodded sagely. “So, I can't figure out the motivations of unknowable aliens, but I am a biker whose moved in some...less than legal circles. That's a problem I can solve.”

We stopped for the night Travel American Center in a little one horse town called Wilcox, Arizona not quite six hundred miles from LA and maybe fifty from the New Mexico boarder. We stopped by the flush out point to dump the black water tank, as it was evidently called and I topped up the fresh water tank in Connie while Chuck cleaned the windshield from it's collection during the day of kamikaze bugs. From there, we got her to a parking spot and Chuck lowered the ramp from the back deck of the tractor where the trailer connected at a device referred to as a fifth wheel. In the space between the trailer and the back of the cab there was a stand that held his bike, which he unstrapped and rode down the ramp.

His bike, a Honda Shadow 750, was a big, classic cruiser, a deep forest green and gleaming chrome. I was relieved to see there was a back rest for the rear seat, which was evidently where I'd be riding. At least I wouldn't fall off the back. As soon as he was astride it and kicked it on, I got why girls like bikers. He was already somebody not to tangle with, but on that bike he was a complete bad ass. He put out the foot pegs for me then gave me a little minimalist helmet that matched his and I eased myself behind him on the bike.

Once I was settled, I took hold of what he called the 'chicken strap' on the seat between us, dropped it into gear and rumbled back to the front of the station. Here, I learned some new things. Chiefly that motorcycles vibrate much more than cars, between their lower revving higher torque engines, the thrill of something inherently dangerous and it's much more direct connection to the road, riding that bike was...exciting.

Not enough that I had my first experience with female climax, but my motor was definitely running so to speak.

The casual ease with which Chuck mastered the bike to his will fed into it. It was like dancing with the road the way we leaned and coasted out to the center of what passed for a town to a place called Tex's Tavern. There were a number of bikes outside that we coasted down the line to an open place that he expertly coaxed us into.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed the ride wasn't longer.

I got off, which let him dismount, while I unstrapped the helmet and hung it over the back of the back rest. “First time at a biker bar?” he asked me with a smile. I nodded and he made a dismissive gesture to reassure me. “Don't get anxious, and if anybody gives you any grief, I'll take care of it.”

“Ok,” I told him and I was just going to follow him in, but he reached out across my back and took a hold of my far hip in a grip that can only be described as 'possessive.' Then he started walking, and his grip on me meant I had to walk beside him. We walked through the door and I got why he did it.

It wasn't like a movie, where the bar comes to a stop. Despite that, we were appraised, the consensus of the room was that I belonged to Chuck, and people went back to whatever they were doing. He walked me over to an open table, then actually pulled out the chair for me and held it while I sat down before he sat himself.

A waitress came over in hot pants and a T-shirt with the logo of the place on it. “Hey guys!” she greeted in a chipper tone. “I'm Mandy, I'll be taking care of you. What'll ya have?”

“I'll have a bottle of Killians. You want one, Cat?”

“Uh, sure,” I replied.

Mandy smiled at us. “Two Irish Red's, coming up.”

“Would you let Tex know Chuck wants to see him?” The waitress nodded and sauntered off to the bar. I watched her leave, then used that to look around this archetypal smoke filled room. Or, at least something in my mind thought it would be. LA had been smoke free for so long it seemed like the only places that still smoked there were movie sets. You'd think a biker bar would have burly bikers chomping on cigars and biker girls puffing on cigarettes, but the air was actually clear. It was dimly lit, with most of the light coming from TVs, beer logo neon signs on the walls and the larger lights over the pair of pool tables on the other side of the open room.

My view was interrupted by a mountain of a man in a T Shirt and a leather vest covered in patches and three beers in his hand. I looked up into a younger, harder version of Chuck, with black hair and just a goatee looking just a bit ridiculous with a hair net on his head. “Well, well, what nasty piece of road kill drug you in here, Rice Burner?” he demanded.

“Ran out of rice and this shit hole was the only place in walking distance,” Chuck shot back as he stood and for just a split second I thought I was about to have a front row seat to a bar fight, but Chuck and the vest man actually hugged and were grinning. “How the hell, are ya, Tex?”

“Walking and talking, Chuckles. Miss,” he greeted me as he casually opened a beer with his thumb and put it in front of me.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed, picking up the bottle and joined the boys in a first sip. Despite the name, Killian's is actually brewed by Coors and is a Lager, not an Ale, but it has a very malty kind of flavor that's stronger than more vanilla brands of the type. Tex and Chuck were sitting back down, now obviously old friends.

“What brings you by, Chuck?” Tex wanted to know and Chuck indicated me.

“Tex, this is Cat. She's had the misfortune of misplacing all her important papers. She's riding with me out to Boston, and knowing I'd pass this way, I thought I'd drop in and see what wheels you could grease for us in getting them replaced.”

“All of them?” he asked before a pull of his own beer. “That's a tall order. Rush job?”

“I've got a day or so before I should be rolling east,” Chuck replied.

Tex took a pad and pencil from a pocket in his vest and looked at me. “I do happen to have some friends over in vital records. What's your name, Miss?” I licked my lips slowly and looked between the two of them, realizing we were basically committing conspiracy at least. If not fraud for hire, but Chuck just winked at me like this kind of thing happened all the time.

“Uh...” I drawled. “Catherine. Catherine Walsh. Call me Cat.” Tex gave me a smile as he scribbled on the pad.

“Middle name?”

I panicked for a moment, then grabbed at the first name to come into my mind. “Anne. With an 'E',” I added quickly. “I was born February tenth, 1999. In Panorama City, California.”

“Cat's a college girl,” Chuck added. “University of Arizona, right babe?”

“Ah, the old Alma mater,” I nervously agreed, playing along.

“What did you study, sweetheart?”

“History,” I told him, then, bless him, Chuck added.

“With a minor in education. And a teaching certificate.” Tex looked up from his notes and gave Chuck a glance, then shook his head and wrote it down.

“I'll see what my friend in vital records can do,” Tex told us. “I might have to mail you some of this.”

Chuck offered a handshake and I could see a number of hundred's palmed in his hand like a magician. Tex and he shook, then suddenly his hand was empty. “I know your friend's the best.”

“I'll do what I can to speed things along,” Tex assured us. “What can I bring you kids from the kitchen?” He looked at me and picked out the the first thing I saw on the menus Mandy had left.

“Oh, uh, the train wreck nachos. But, no Jalapenos?” Tex arched a disapproving eyebrow and I shrugged. “They give me gas,” I admitted and he nodded magnanimously.

“You still like 'em bloody and mooing?” he asked Chuck.

“They come some other way?” he shot back. Tex stood and collected up his beer while stuffing his notepad back into his vest pocket before he took the two menus with him. “Thanks, Tex!” Chuck called after him. Tex waved that he heard, but didn't turn as he went back into the kitchen.

I leaned over to Chuck and asked, “I don't want to get you or your friend in trouble?”

“You can't get us in trouble, Cat, we're there already!” Chuck shot back so I sighed and just shook my head.

We shared a laugh and I watched him as I sat and drank my beer. Several big, burly men came over to the table, obviously old friends of Chuck's and some of the reunions were more raucous than others. It was apparent that many of these men hadn't seen him for a fair amount of time, which stood him good stead that he was so memorable and still held in such esteem.

The train wreck nachos lived up to their name, coming out on a plate that looked like an entire bag of tortilla chips had been used just as a base, then began to piled on from there. I could only eat a quarter of it and I still felt like a complete pig. Meanwhile, Chuck put away another slab of meat without much effort and I couldn't help but smile to myself at what opposites we were. This personification of maleness and me.

What was I?

How was it we were brought together? Was this some invisible hand balancing a karmic ledger? Fantastic luck after the absolute disaster my life had been up to this point? And was this my destiny? To be a biker chick and trucker's woman? And, honestly, was that so bad? For the first time in my life, I felt like my life had a purpose and was on track and that I was safe. Here I was, in a biker bar, more than a little buzzed off beer, that was full of big, dangerous men and I felt absolutely safe. I haven't felt this relaxed since...

Since my mother died.

It was a somber reminder that life was short and that I had no idea how many days I had left in the hour glass. Chuck looked over at me from his conversation with one of the other men, caught me staring, and smiled at me. It was a genuine kind of smile that made me feel warm. I smiled back and finished my beer. He looked up at his friend and started making good bye excuses as he dug a fifty out of his wallet and left it on the table.

We'd come in with his arm around my waist, and we left with mine around his.

We danced with the road again as we roared off into the night, but this time was different. I was so confident of Chuck's handling of the bike I wasn't in the least concerned and I could just enjoy the feeling of controlled power and being this close to raw masculinity. We drifted around a curve and I used it wrap my arms around him and I leaned my chest against his back and laid my head against his shoulders. His scent mixed with the smells of the road and the engine and with my back completely off the back rest meant my hips were canted forward on the seat.

That pressed the leather and cushion against my crotch and gave the Shadow a direct connection to my crotch. Holding him, smelling him, drifting through the air to curves of the road and the power between my legs did me in.

The orgasm rippled out from my center and was unlike any I'd ever experienced before. A man's orgasm is tense, clinching planting yourself in her and forcing the seed out of you. This wasn't anything like that. This was relaxing, like ripples in a pond, radiating out, wanting to open myself further and welcome him in. It wasn't the intense, jerking fit that is ejaculation and it lasted much longer. It took us about fifteen minutes to get back to the TA Center and I was orgasmic at least ten minutes of that trip. Just holding him, laying against him and getting off on his bike.

We rolled up and stopped in front of Connie and I made up my mind. I slid my hand down and grabbed him as I whispered in his ear, “You still interested?” That bulge didn't lie and he didn't come close to fitting in my hand.

He grunted, then reached around and pulled me out of the seat and around in his lap as he sat astride the bike. I'd never kissed a man before, never mind a man with a full beard and it tickled a bit. I did giggle, but I was so spectacularly horny I didn't care if he thought I was silly or not. He turned off the bike and set the kickstand and managed to dismount and pick me up at the same time.

He got me into the truck before I'd pulled off my shirt and by the time he'd laid me down on his bed, I was wiggling out of my jeans. Pulled off his shirt revealing that hairy chest of his, then joined me in the bed without taking off his jeans. It didn't make sense, but I couldn't really form the words. Then he took me into his arms and put the coverlet over us both.

I was ready to give myself to him, snuggled up against his chest, which was remarkably soft hair, like down, except I really couldn't get at him. He held me, and I looked up into his eyes and he smiled at me. “Sweet dreams, Cat,” he told me.

I was confused and I whined, “But, I want...”

“You're drunk, girl,” he whispered. Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead and laid my head on his chest. “Go to sleep,” he ordered me. “I don't want you to worry you did something because of the beer.”

I laid against him, frustrated, horny, this close to what I wanted and still so far away. Because he was still looking out for me. I kissed his chest, deciding to feel grateful to be where I was and I promised myself, come the sober morning, Charles Rayburn was going to get the fucking of his life.

Ah, the grandiose plans of night that recede against the bright light of day. I woke up with a pounding headache and my tongue stuck against the roof of my mouth. A mouth that felt like the desert outside that would never see moisture again. I wasn't quite hung over, or maybe I was, but just mildly, either way I woke up moaning and most assuredly not in the manner I had been planning.

Yes, I remembered throwing myself at Chuck and I actually smiled down at him asleep next to me that he had been such a gentleman and rebuffed those advances. Don't get me wrong, I intended to have my wicked way with him, just...after some water and NSAIDs. I got up and found my bladder demanding relief this very instant so I got the toilet seat and my panties down and barely got my butt on the seat before the stream let loose.

That relief was almost enough to get rid of the head ache. Almost.

So, I relieved myself, with my panties around my ankles and Chuck rolled over, away from me in the bed. I sighed and whispered, “You're awake, aren't you?”

“Not if you don't want me to be,” he whispered back and I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “How you feeling this morning, kiddo?”

“I'd kill for Advil,” I mumbled around my cotton mouth. He sat up in the bed and started rummaging in the cabinet near him. Then he found, based on the rattle, a bottle of pills, stood and backed towards the fridge, he rummaged in to get me a bottle of water without looking. “Chuck,” I said. “Turn around.”

“I'm respecting your privacy,” he replied, holding out the bottle of water he'd found by touch. Finally the stream of urine stopped and I sighed in contentment.

Standing, I flushed, pulled up my panties, then went around him via the bed to stand in front of him, in only them and my bra. “You are the most wonderful dirty old man I've ever met,” I assured him. “So, feast your eyes, I'm hoping for much more than a peep show before long.”

He chuckled and kissed my forehead, handing me the bottle of pills and water before he turned to take his turn at the toilet. While I fought with the water bottle and the damned plastic between me and analgesics, his prodigious 'tank venting' put mine to shame. Finally I got three of the pills down my dry throat which just soaked up the water before it hit my stomach. “I can't believe I've turned into this much of a light weight,” I moaned holding my temple. “To think one beer...!”

“One?” he demanded from the toilet. “Do you not remember last night?” he demanded.

I frowned and turned to face him, not realizing he wasn't finished yet. And, it wasn't the biggest I'd ever seen, I mean, I was a guy and I've seen a lot of porn. Still, it was bigger than mine had been. You could say it was as manly as the rest of him and he had nothing to be ashamed of in the locker room growing up. He got his fire hose put away and as I'd been peeking, gave me a long slow look in my underwear. “Of course I remember,” I told him. I had that nachos thing and you had half a cow worth of prime rib and we both had a beer.”

“How long were we at Tex's?” he asked me sidelong. I shrugged.

“I don't know, an hour? Two?” He smirked.

“We got there about nine,” he told me. “And we left at one. Did you ever not have a drink in that time?”

I blinked, thinking about dinner and him meeting all his friends and introducing me to them and I met their 'old ladies' as the biker slang went and they were all pretty hot actually, though I remembered them being much more friendly than the stereotype of mean pretty girls. Though, in every memory I had a beer in my hand, but I only remember finishing one when we were leaving. I remember the great makeup advice that Sara, Tex's better half suggested and that as a Mary Kay dealer she'd given me some samples and... I rubbed at my face and felt the remnants of her instruction come off onto my finger tips. I'd been drinking with her too. I looked up at Chuck and asked, “How many did I have?”

He fished his wallet out of his pocket and produced a receipt. “Six Killians, two shots of Jäger...” Through a bit of a fog I remembered drinking absolutely vile cough syrup with my arm around Sara's to seal my swearing of being her 'little' Sister she was going to mentor in a club. I think. “And a frozen strawberry daiquiri.”

I sat down on the bed and held my aching head. “I drank a full six pack and liquor on top of it?!”

He held up a woman's black leather vest the back of which was emblazoned with Desert Desperadoes Motorcycle Club. “And evidently swore in as a novice Biker Bitch,” he told me with a grin. “Sara took quite a shine to you.”

“How am I not dead of alcohol poisoning?” I moaned.

He sat down next to me and put an arm around me. “I chalked it up to you being a Biker Bitch.” I elbowed him in the ribs and he grunted, but then laughed. “Shower?”

“Hell, yes,” I exclaimed. Then I laid my aching head on his shoulder and hugged him as hard as I could. “I remember throwing myself at you last night. And I want you to know, if you had taken me up on it, I wouldn't be upset with you.” He hugged me back one armed.

“That's good to know,” he told me thoughtfully. “Cause, I'll be honest, next time I'll say yes.”

I raised up my face and kissed his cheek. “That's great to know! So, shower and breakfast?”

He stood and began to rummage for his ditty bag. “Sounds great. You want your own shower?” I stood and looked him in the eye.

“No,” I told him. “We can share, right?”

He smirked at me and put my shower stuff in with his. “I can definitely get used to this.”

The clerk that sold us the shower time didn't bat an eye at us, even though I'm sure he thought this and that was going to be going on. I'm certain if something did happen, we would hardly be the first ones engaging in it. So we browsed a bit in the shop until the automated system announced that our shower was ready and we made our way back to it. The code worked fine and, credit to the manager, the shower was actually clean. No hair in the drain, no ring around the toilet and even the mirror was spotless. He got his shirt off first and I paused a moment as I was pulling mine off. “Hey, can I ask a favor without freaking you out?”

He walked over with a smirk. “You want me to look for a seam?” I nodded, with what I hoped was an 'I'm sorry' look on my face. “Turn around.”

I finished pulling off my shirt and turned my back to him. I felt his hands on the bra and then suddenly it was loose. I arched my back a bit and removed the bra completely, feeling a little exposed as I did so, putting it on the counter next to me. I shuddered as I felt his finger on my back, tracing down next to my spine. “Well, either you got really lucky with this scar or, this is a seam.”

“I don't have any scars I know of,” I told him.

“You'd remember this one,” he assured me. “I think the only reason I can see it is these lights are so bright.” He paused significantly, then asked, “You want me to try and open it?”

“No!” I told him emphatically. I whirled about to face him, now unconcerned I was topless. “My name is Catherine Anne Walsh! That's who I am! That's who I want to be! I...I just wanted you to know I'm not crazy!” He smiled at me, then effortlessly picked me up and set me on the counter so I was closer to eye level with him.

“Darling,” he drawled. “I never once thought you were crazy.” I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest, relieved for no reason I could truly articulate. His arms came around my shoulders and he hugged me against him. I splayed my legs to give him room, then hooked my feet around behind his butt. We hugged together and I was aware of his manhood against me, straining under his jeans. I raised my head and looked into his eyes, noting a certain...hunger...in them. “I imagine,” he said softly. “You don't want our first time to be in a gas station bathroom...”

I reached up and ran my hand through his chest hair in a gesture I found oddly arousing. Breathlessly, I whispered, “Lover, I have a feeling very little of our relationship is going to be normal and I'm ok with that. So, if this isn't too kinky for you...” I leaned back, displaying my breasts and spread my legs wide in invitation. “Help yourself.”

He reached up and brought my ankles together and for a split second, I thought he was saying 'no', but then he took a hold of my panties, picked me up one handed, and peeled them off of me. It was, in fact, the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me, even more than the ride home had been last night and I felt myself flood in anticipation of being claimed by him. Then one hand went behind my back to pull me to him and the other took my breast into his firm grip just before his mouth claimed mine in a searing, passionate kiss as he kneaded my breast.

I opened my mouth to welcome his tongue into me and our tongues slid and groped around each other as my hands pawed at his jeans, trying to get him naked. Finally our mouths parted and he stood up, his hands at his jeans. I leaned back on one arm so that I was, hopefully, at an easier angle for him and with the other hand I meant to open myself. I couldn't tell you why, but it was instinctual and when my palm settled on my now very swollen clitoris and spread open my labia a jolt of pleasure raced through every nerve of my body.

He smiled, having noted I'd almost brought myself off as he dropped and stepped out of his jeans. If I thought it manly before, now, thick and hard it was full on intimidating. He stepped forward and I took hold of him and found my fingers couldn't encircle his girth. It felt like stone it was so hard and yet, warm in my grip. I looked into his eyes as I rubbed him through my folds, coating him with the flood that was all but pouring out of me. Then I pressed him down slightly and laid him at my entrance.

His eyes never left mine as he took hold of me by the hips and slid his cock inside of me.

The sensation was absolutely electric as I felt him push me aside and make room in my body for himself. It was as if I had been hollow and now was complete. I purposefully drug my palm over my clit to move my hand out of the way and I came just as I felt his abdomen against mine. I clinched on him as the orgasm flowed through my nervous system and I wrapped my legs around his hips. He grunted, “Tight,” then lowered his face and we were kissing as he withdrew what felt like forever, then was pushing back inside.

I wrapped my arms around his back and kissed him with all my might. It felt like he was in my body up to my navel and it didn't hurt, he was stretching me open, owning me, making me his bitch and all I could do was squirm on bathroom counter top and orgasm.

I have no idea how long this went on. Kissing and fucking and being fucked, it was beyond anything I'd ever experienced myself, moaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue and feeling every inch of that magnificent phallus plowing me. My nipples ached they were so erect but that pain added a sweet, spicy note to this continuous orgasm. My entire life I'd scoffed at anyone enjoying pain, but when he pulled off my mouth and began to suck on my breast I had to bite my tongue to keep from squealing in delight. I mustered the strength to pull my head up and whisper in his ear, “Give it to me, Chuck. All of it. I'm yours, you fucking stud! Now give me what's mine!”

His mouth came off my breast and he looked me right in the eye and grunted, “Mine!” He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him so he was completely buried, then I felt a new flood, hot against my insides and I died. My stomach and muscles shook and spasmed, out of all control. My eyes closed and my head fell back, limp. He jerked a bit, withdrawing just enough to force himself back in to keep fountaining his seed in me.

After a long moment, panting after our breath, we came down from the high. Finally, I could open my eyes and ran my hands over his chest while he was still balls deep in me. “I don't know,” I panted, “what possessed whatever whore who said no thanks to you and that seat in Connie, but I want it.”

He grinned at me and gently kissed me. “Then it's all yours,” he promised me. “If you want to be the old lady of an old biker.”

“Fuck, yes,” I purred at him. “Sign me up.”

This was to be a day, long remembered. Who would have ever thought being made some other man's bitch would feel this good? And I was his bitch and proud of it. At first, when he picked me up and took us both into the shower, all I could think of was positions I wanted to try, clothes I wanted to buy to tempt him, research online I needed to do to discover how to be the perfect whore for him. Then he gently lifted me up off of him and I was alone in my skin once more and with such magnificent tenderness we bathed each other.

His hands on my scalp, massaging my skin as he washed my hair; his manhood in both of my hands because he was so much a man, as I gently cleaned him, it changed me. It didn't stop being about sexual fantasy, being that close to him, naked, touching and being touched my mind was full of the ways I would make love to him. But it did stop being dirty. I was just his woman, it was expected that my body would be his plaything. It was right and just, and somehow wholesome to drain every drop from his balls and keep him that way.

I didn't even know if I could get pregnant in this suit, but as I gently washed his balls, I realized I had to find out because suddenly I desperately wanted to be able to give him children. There was nothing in my life so important as to surrender myself and make my life's work his happiness. It was primal. What I didn't know was how to express this need to him in a way that wouldn't...and how can I put this? Scare him off? Somehow I scoffed at the notion he could be afraid of anything.

But I was afraid.

They wanted me to stay and I'm a traveling man.

Those words were like ice in my heart, so I determined some how, some way, if I could have children, I would find a way to raise them for him in that truck. It was the first time in my life I can remember being so blissfully happy, and with a certain cold certainty, I resigned myself to the fact I would do anything to stay this way.

So, I gathered up in my mind, these disparate stereotypes of women, the faithful wife, the loving mother, the bad biker bitch and the shameless whore and I made all of them mine, different perspectives of the face I would show Charles Rayburn, whenever he needed them. That's who I would be. The whore would rule his bed, and if she could, tempt him into siring his children on her. The wife would keep his home and share the load of this traveling life of his he loved so much. The mother would bear the children the whore teased out of him and would find some way to make that work in Connie, and the biker bitch would keep watch over them and woe to anyone that offered to hurt them.

So I smiled at him as I dried myself, watching him dry himself off and I made up my mind that whatever the asking price for the heart of Charles Rayburn was, I'd find a means to earn it. Then it hit me, like a ton of bricks; I was in love with him. That was why it felt so foreign, why I would so happily supplant myself into his wants, this was completely unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

This bore thinking about.

I was quiet as we made our way to the greasy spoon restaurant in the TA and ordered breakfast. I couldn't help rocking my hips in the seat as I sweetened my coffee and thought about the part of him that was still inside me now. It made me feel a little strange, thinking about it, and what the consequences of it might be. While I was deep in thought, he said, “Hey, you in there?”

I looked up, startled and realized he'd been talking. “Sorry, Chuck, I was in my own little world over here. What did you say?”

“Heavy thoughts?”

I finished stirring my coffee and put the spoon back on my napkin. “No regrets,” I assured him. “Just feeling the weight of it, if that makes sense? I don't even know what this suit has done to me or how much. What we shared, just now? That was the best experience of my life, easily!”

He actually blushed a bit and made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, don't butter me up,” he scolded me halfheartedly. “I'll never get my ego back in it's box.”

“Oh, he blushes!” I teased him. “All that and modesty, too?” He winked at me over his coffee cup as he took a sip.

“I was asking,” he declared with much suffering, “What you'd like to do today? We're in a holding pattern for Tex to do his thing. Anything you'd like to do?”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “In the middle of nowhere, Arizona?” I asked him. Then a thought hit me and smiled an evil smile. “How about, we go for a ride? A nice, long ride...?” I got my foot out of my sneaker then raised it carefully until I found his crotch and gently, but firmly, rubbed him. “Then we can maybe take a...nap...before dinner.”

His hand came around my ankle and held me as he set his coffee cup down, then his other hand disappeared under the table. Then he had my foot with both hands and began to rub his thumbs into the ball of my foot from the arch as his fingers gently splayed the bones of my foot from the top. It was intensely erotic and yet perfectly innocent at the same time. “You, sir,” I whispered, “delight in teasing me, don't you? My God that feels good!”

“Tease? Me? Never!” He chuckled as he rubbed my foot and I just melted. “A ride it is.”

If there's one thing a greasy spoon gets right, it's breakfast. So, we made short work of the actually quite nice meal, then I got my club vest and pulled it on over my T Shirt. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but Chuck produced a vest from a cubbyhole in the truck himself and pulled it on. His had more patches than the one on mine, but it did increase his BMF points. Then we climbed on his Shadow and once more I got to thrill to the power between my legs.

From the back of a motorcycle, I got to experience the austere beauty of the American South West as we traveled north, away from the interstate and into the wilderness. We were on an immense, flat valley between a pair of mountain ranges with Wilcox behind us, but there was a surprising amount of people making a home out in the desert. We were following Fort Grant road out to Arizona two sixty six when, in a big circle basically when we passed, of all things, an orchard in the middle of the desert. Or, perhaps a vineyard would be a better word, as the sign proclaimed it a tomato farm.

The desert was surprisingly green with cotton wood trees and bushes. It was beautiful in its wild remoteness. We turned towards the mountains to the east. We were amazingly alone and it was a sensation I, a city dweller, was unused to. I was enjoying being this close to him, and still enjoying the ride when suddenly the engine went quiet. I watched him try to restart it, even trying a rolling compression start, but the engine refused. “What happened?” I shouted over the decreasing wind.

“I dunno?” he yelled back at me as we rolled to a stop next to this old, rusted farm truck on the side of the road. “She just quit.” I got off the back, which was nice to stretch my legs. He unscrewed the gas cap and looked inside. “We've got plenty of gas. I...”

He was cut off as the radio on the truck suddenly turned on and began to blast a trumpet heavy salsa kind of tune. We looked at each other as this truck looked like it hadn't moved under it's own power in at least thirty years. He swung off the bike and we both slowly approached the wreck and looked into the cab. The upholstery had all rotten away leaving only the frame of the bench and rusting springs, the glass from the window was scattered all through the cab, but the radio was lit up and evidently the speakers still worked. Suddenly, it began to jump from station to station, only pausing long enough for a single word to be clearly heard, DJs, commercials and songs until we realized this patchwork of words was actually coherent.

Do...not...be...afraid. We...mean...you...no...harm. Do...you...understand...us?

From somewhere, Chuck produced a pistol and honestly I felt better that he had something to defend us with. “Who am I speaking with?” he declared, and the radio obligingly began jumping again.

We...manufactured...your...ladies...suit.

An iceberg fit to sink an ocean liner rolled down my spine. “Who are you?” I shouted.

Don't...be...concerned with...Identity. Suit...reported stolen by...intended...recipient. We...have learned that...you...are...not...these perpetrators. Return...handgun to...storage. You...will not be...injured. I became aware of a high pitched tone that was beginning to get louder. It was like the Emergency Alert System, but worse and within seconds it felt like it was boring between my temples behind my eyes. Then it got difficult to keep my balance. I sat down, hard, against the truck, then everything went dark.

When I woke up, I was sitting in a remarkably comfortable Laz-Y-Boy kind of recliner. In the chair next to me was Chuck, who was also beginning to stir. We were in a room that was a brilliant, pristine white that made the exact size of it hard to guess. To my utter amazement, standing in front of us was Oprah Winfrey, smiling, wearing a rather nice skirt suit, that, I realized I could see through.

A look down found I still had breasts, which was comforting, to be honest. I sat up, still a little disoriented and asked, “Oprah?” She blinked and looked directly at me, but when she talked, it was immediately apparent that these were samples of her voice, in the way the radio had been strung together.

“Hello. I am a computer generated avatar so that we may communicate. Please don't be alarmed.”

“I figured Oprah was an alien,” Chuck muttered as he sat up, rubbing his temples. “Why have you kidnapped us?” he demanded.

Oprah's smile didn't waiver. “It is imperative that we discover your motives. We are aware you were not the thieves who originally stole the suit.” Her face turned to me and it was a little eerie to be honest the way her expression didn't match what she was 'saying'. “You took the suit from the thieves, why?”

“I...I freaked out!” I told the, whatever it was, hologram? I could see through the image so it was a projection of some kind. “They mistook me for someone else and told me to get into the suit and when I did, I panicked. I ran, they chased me and I met Chuck.”

“We understand. Do you wish to be released from the suit?”

In a very small voice, I asked, “If...if I am, can I stay female?” Oprah shook her head. “Then, I mean, I have no doubt it's yours, I just, I want to stay this way. What can I offer you in exchange for the suit?”

Oprah's face bore a puzzled expression, as though she, or whomever was puppeteering her, had not considered that possibility. “That request will have consequences to your body.”

“What kind of consequences?” Chuck wanted to know. “Is it dangerous for her to wear it?”

“For the foreseeable future, no,” Oprah replied. “We will require time to consider your request,” she finally declared. “In the meantime, you may keep the suit. We will contact you again when we have made our decision.”

“How...?” I started, but Oprah's expression was set.

“You cannot hide from us,” she declared. “You are charged to do no harm while you wear the suit.” She gestured and I noted a pamphlet in my lap. “These are the instructions. We will contact you again.”

“When?” I asked.

“Why have you...” started Chuck, but I blinked and we were sitting on the running board of the truck, next to his bike. Though there was a significant difference in time, now it was twilight. I checked my phone and discovered about eight hours were missing from our day. Chuck stood slowly, one hand going to the small of his back to check his pistol was still there.

It was.

Once he was sure of its condition, he returned it to the holster and turned back to offer me a hand up. “You ok?” he asked softly.

As I stood, a little pamphlet I hadn't noticed was in my lap fell to the desert floor. I reached down to pick it up. It was in English and it declared itself the Chameleon IV Native Study and First Contact Suit Users Manual. “First Contact?” I asked, showing him the little booklet.

“I guess there really are aliens amongst us,” he muttered.

I looked around the wilderness and other than the road, the truck and his bike, there was no indications humans had ever set foot here. This morning, I would have felt certain we could have put out a blanket and make love like minks in desolation like this and no one would be the wiser. Now? Now the warning you cannot hide from us hung in my ears and I felt like I was under a microscope. “What do we do now?” I asked in a small voice.

He walked over to the bike and swung onto it, thumbing the starter. The bike purred to life on the first try and he looked at me, a sardonic look on his face. “Now, we finish our ride, wait for Tex to get your paper and head to Boston,” he declared in a remarkably normal tone of voice. As if we hadn't just been kidnapped by aliens. He put his hand out to me in invitation. “You coming?”

“You're not getting rid of me that easy!” I told him, taking his hand and swinging up onto the bike behind him. I slid my arms around him and squeezed his chest. “We have a date for a...nap...during that wait.”

He grinned at me. “Ah yes, naps. Who doesn't love a good nap?”

The bike roared off towards the truck and our planned afternoon delight. And after, I had some reading to do. And a lot of thinking and decisions to make, but that would come later.