Truck Stop

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

The sounds, sights and smells of the American trucking world, warts, moisture and all.

Billy’s Gas, Guzzle & Go had been an essential evil on Arizona’s Route 66 highway. Truckers from all colours and creeds, stopping to gas up and spill their seed.


Billy’s had been around since the late 1950’s and had fallen into disrepair, the pumps still worked, but the attached diner and toilets looked like something lost in time. Despite its remote location, Billy’s had once been a tourist attraction after being featured in the film Easy Rider. People from all across America would arrive on Harley Davidsons to pay homage to the sacred film site, before setting off on their Route 66 motor-pilgrimage.


It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see 30 to 40 18 wheelers all parked round Billy’s. Truckers from all parts stopping by the last fuel up point between Kingman and Flagstaff, eager to have their gas tanks filled and ball sacks drained. 

In trucking circles Billy’s resident prostitutes were known as the vampires, because they’d bleed the truckers dry, and often leave them with incurable ailments. It wasn’t uncommon to overhear  truckers ask each other ‘did you get bit boy?’ after a stop at Billy’s.


An academic once posited that Gas stop prostitutes and truckers belonged to a closed circuit ecosystem of sexually transmitted diseases and adulterated amphetamines. For an outsider to dive into such a shallow gene pool would break ones neck.


By day time Billy’s looked like a sun damaged tumbleweed rat nest, a dinosaur from another era, but as night fell, the music would boom, the lights would beam, the trucks would arrive and the meth addled prostitutes would skitter.


Hank had set off from Delaware days ago and as the meth high faded, exhaustion and hunger began to set in, he decided it was time for some well deserved R&R.

The big red lettering appeared on the horizon. “BILLY’S”


Hank stepped out of the freshly painted royal blue truck cab with pride, his legs numb and his bladder full. He didn’t love trucking, but it paid a lot better than working at the old mustard mill back home. Hauling cargo across the country gave him the chance to see new places, and meet new people, it was a lonely road, but Billy’s had always been a beacon of light on his long journeys.


Hank tucked his lumberjack shirt into his jeans, shlicked back his greasy hair and strolled over to the diner.


‘I’ll have a Bud and BLT darlin’, I’m gonna drain the main vain, I’ll be back.’


The door to the male toilets was hanging off its hinge, and a solid boot print impression sunk into the middle of the door aside the word ‘fuck’ written in capital letters. The floor was presumably tiled but black with cigarette ash, gum and grime from a lifetime of neglect, debauchery and ten minute trysts.

Graffiti in the toilets ranged from the usual scribblings

‘Larry was here’

‘for a great fuck call x’ 

‘Winona 4Ever’

‘I got bit at Billy’s 2/3/79’


A low volume deviant Texan voice could be heard from one of the stalls.


“It’s good water isn’t it bitch how do you like that, it’s fucking Christmas little lady, Christmas is cumming”

The cubicle flung open, and a morbidly obese trucker with jaundice let out a bellowing groan as he squeezed the last drop of his dignity onto an unenthused and meth addicted face.”


What would usually be shocking for a non trucker didn’t phase Hank, it wasn’t uncommon to happen upon sex acts in the bathrooms at Billy’s. The trucker who’d just ejaculated was Burl, a friend of Hanks and a famous personality amongst truckers and gas station enthusiasts alike.

It was rumoured Burl had contracted an incurable form of Chlamydia on a long haul to Arkansas, and had knowingly been bare backing as many prostitutes at as many truck stops as he could as payback.

He had said once ‘Hank, I wanna leave my mark in this world, and it sure ain’t gonna be from delivering 200 chalk boards and chairs to Mississippi, no no, I’m gonna be remembered, and sterilise these women in the process.’

Hank remembered when women contract Chlamydia and cannot rid themselves of it their ovaries are eventually affected and they are left barren. Burl was a man of the world, and a thoughtful person, he said ‘Hank as much as I adore these gas station lovelies I just couldn’t bare to see a little junior skitter a, b and c runnin’ around. These whores pump em out like flys, and I won’t have it. This is an adult place for adult tastes, it’s no place for children.’


Burl wasn’t the most attractive of men, his arms and legs were covered in thick black hair. His gut was distended and rotund, barely balancing on his short fat legs. Burl looked like a man everywhere except his head. His bulging eyes adorned a perpetually blushed child like face, reminiscent of a mythological Cherub gone wrong.

When confronted by less than polite truckers about his appearance, Burl would always laugh it off and say, ‘these women keep me young, I’ve got the face I deserve, that of a child.’

Hank knew it was more likely Burl was born with fetal alcohol syndrome, but didn’t have the heart to tell him his boyish cherub looks were a fault and not a feature.

What Burl lacked in physical attractiveness he made up for in body count. He’d nailed nearly every gas station lady from Boston to Baton Rouge. Everytime Hank had run into him there’d always be some new story.


‘I nailed a good lookin’ she thing down in New Orleans, the little lady sucked so hard she almost be the death of me.’ 


It was considered a privledge to become one of ‘Burl’s Girls’ and when he was in town, women would often compete for his business, often resulting in all out violence. Burl had capitalised on the women’s jealousy and set up a fighting ring in the old barn outside Billy’s. Every time Burl was in town it was customary for truckers to throw down bets on skitter fights, watching meth addicted women fight to near death for the right to felate Burl’s bulge for a bit of cash. It was one of the main attractions at Billy’s and a scene of much fanfare. Everytime Burl’s truck could be seen arriving in the distance a giant air horn would be sounded, and everyone would assume their places hurriedly like children excitedly waiting for a fathers return home from war.


Burl’s truck had a matte cherry red paint job. On the drivers side door there was a giant picture of a pig man hybrid riding a motorbike with the words ‘WILD HOG’ written in bold letters.

On the passenger side door a much smaller picture of a 1950’s styled woman could be seen bending over to expose her rear end. Burl took took good care of his truck, and treated it like the child he’d never had, and deprived his women from having.


Billy’s was bustling like an Arabic Bazaar, people inhabiting all different sections of the property, breathing, fighting, fucking. It was on fire with the broken soul of humanity.

In the diner a waitress oozed from table to table, attempting to solicit weary truckers for a slice of ‘pie’.

At the petrol bowsers bikers exchanged anecdotes about a time before STD’s and the halcyon days of amphetamines.

At the garage grease monkeys spent their time carefully peeling apart the sticky pages of antique Playboy magazines at the slim chance of getting a peak of a likely now deceased model.


The toilets were a revolving door of sex work, drug abuse and bowel movements. Anyone worth knowing at Billy’s was a lavatory loiterer.

The disabled cubicle was currently occupied by a drug addicted hitchhiker named Andy earning his keep by performing a sex act on a road king.


‘Yeah get that cock n-n-nice and hard for me.’ he said as he serviced the flesh flute of a 50 something year old Billy’s regular. ‘I’m g-g-gunna make you c-c-cum you foolish old man’ Andy stammered.

The erect trucker was short and stocky, his armpits wept with sweat and sorrow. His stomach bulged and groaned as if it were housing an over ripe foetus. As Andy sucked the puss out of his fuckstick, the trucker sensually fingered his belly button in lust, as if to induce some kind of guttural labor, which would bring forth the dormant and stagnant flood of aged semen into the mouth of a dress wearing and overly eager Andy.

The truckers eyes rolled into the back of his head as he came, ‘you’ve got yourself into a hell of a pickle now boy’ he moaned as he let loose the stale and pressurised nectar of the open road into Andy’s mouth.

The yellow skinned gereatric finished depositing his warm zygote and hurried out of the toilet gleefully muttering the words, ‘boy can these ladies bite’.


Hank returned to the diner, his BLT and Bud sat waiting for him on the bar counter. Charlene the waitress looked curious.

‘You sure took your time in there Hank, is everything ok?’

‘Yeah everything’s just fine, I couldn’t exorcise my demons with all the riff raff goin on, it’s a bloody circus down there.’

‘What’s new I guess.. we’ve had a lot of vagabonds from out of town pouring in, it’s been busy as hell.’

‘What time you finish Charlene?’

‘Bout 5 O’ clock’

‘What’s say you and I get out of here once you punch the clock.’

‘Sure, but where you wanna go?’

‘I got a delivery I gotta make to a Cheesery down in Memphis, I’d enjoy the company if you’d oblige.’

‘I’d lurve to Hank! See you after I clock off.’


Hank knew Charlene could suck the bend out of a crowbar, but his intention in bringing her along for the journey was born out of loneliness and not lust.


With another hour to wait till Charlene knocked off, Hank decided to walk down to the truck bays and have a cigarette to kill time. He pulled his last Lucky Strike out of its crumpled packet like a cowboy drawing a gun. As he slowly walked through the jungle of trailers, Hank could overhear two truckers having a conversation.


‘Burl will kill us if he sees us lookin’ in here Larry, close the fuckin’ door!’

‘I will I will, I just wanted to see what he was haulin’.


Hank walked over to the men and could see they’d opened up the back of Burls truck, presumably out of curiosity.


‘You know he’ll have your heads if he knows you been pokin’ around in there don’t you.’


Larry and his curious homosexual underling friend Dobby shot Hank a dirty look.


In the center of the truck lay a heavily rusted wrought iron bed which appeared to be civil war era in age. Atop it lay a soiled mattress that had been undoubtedly used and abused by the spills of semen and time. A large rectangle mirror had been poorly bolted to the roof, facing the bed. Hank imagined Burl looking up at his own blushed cherub face in action as he unleashed the dogs of war on a POA. (Prisoner of Amphetamine) whilst the smell of fermented apricots and bourbon stung the air.


The walls were covered in stains, engine oils, and posters ranging from sepia pictures of John Wayne to the tv show M.A.S.H. General refuse littered the sticky floor amongst piles of clothes and tourn blouses. At the back corner of the truck container several glass jars of yellow fluid were stacked upon each other with pieces of paper stuck to them with scribbled dates, going far back as the 50’s.


‘I think I’ve seen enough here boys, close her up, he’s runnin’ an antiquated fuck barn in here and it ain’t none of our business.


Larry and Dobby scurried fearfully into the night, and as they left view, the deep red face of a seemingly demigod child with high blood pressure appeared.


‘What were those boys doin’ noseying around my truck Hank?.’


‘Sorry Burl, they’d jimmied the door open, I shoulda stopped them, but you know how it is. Curiosity killed the meth addicted trucker and all that.’


‘Haha, well that’s ok Hank, I’m sure they didn’t see anythin’ they aint’ already seen at Billy’s anyhow.’


‘Well I actually saw you had some yellow ja..’


‘Oh you mean John Wayne? Yerp, greatest American who ever lived.’


‘No I meant the..’


‘Yep, they say when The Duke kicked the bucket he had 35 pounds of impacted shit in his colon. Made Elvis look like a choir boy. Yessir, they had to bury him in a big ole’ piano box. Brings a tear to my eye just thinkin’ about it..’


A loud pitched voice rang across Billy's truck yard.

‘Hank! I’m all finished up darlin’, you ready to hit the road?’


‘Sure am Charlene! Meet you over at my truck in five.’


‘Gee I’m sorry Burl, I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got a road date with the little diner lady, takin’ her down to Memphis to see the ole’ cheesery.’


‘Not a problem Hank, I hear Charlene gargles yoghurt like it’s mouthwash, you two have a good time.’


‘Where did you hear that?’


Burl struck Hank a devious knowing smile and shook his hand. ‘See you at the next Skitter Scramble, hopefully we get less K.I.A POA’s next time if you know what I mean, best of luck to ya’


Hank met back with Charlene and they climbed aboard his freshly painted royal blue truck cab. The unique smell of Pall Mall cigarettes filled the air and it was the first thing Charlene noticed. Hank had always smoked Lucky Strikes, so it was unusual to smell something so different to his usual taste.

The truck cabs' sun damaged dashboard was littered with old tourist postcards, coffee stained road maps, discoloured burger wrappers and cigarette ash. Despite the rubbish and general disarray there was a warmth and comfortability about Hanks truck that put Charlene at ease. He was like the father she never had and the boyfriend she always wanted.


Hank turned the key to the ignition and the diesel 18 wheeler roared into action. ‘You ready to hit the road honey?’


‘Sure am!’


Hank undid the zipper to his pants.


‘When you’re ready darlin’, safety’s off.’


Charlene gave him a confirming glance and put her head in his lap.


As the sun began to set, the blue truck slowly and sensually pulled out of Billy’s onto the highway as Hanks road choad was felated in a sublime act of mutual respect and drug fueled duty.


As Charlene raised her head she noticed a small  tattoo just above the base of Hanks penis. It was a classic love heart with an arrow through it, with the name Frankie written below.


‘Hank, may I ask you, who’s the lucky lady?’


‘Oh the tattoo? Well.. she’s just someone I knew once, in another life. I don’t really care much to discuss it darlin’.


‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it, just curious is all, forget I asked. Anyhow, how long is it ta Memphis?’


‘I’d say we got about 9 hours of drivin’ ahead of us, so sit back and relax, we’re gonna be driving all through the night.’


Charlene awoke from a deep slumber, her mouth layered with the strange but familiar taste of window cleaner and field mushrooms.


The truck was enveloped by ink like darkness, the headlights illuminated a seemingly infinite road to nowhere. The dim warm glow of the petrol gauge revealed Hanks' determined but sad face.


Submitted: October 21, 2020

© Copyright 2020 greyvelvet. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Serge Wlodarski

I've never been to Billy's but this reminds me of some stops I've seen the health department and the sheriff didn't pay attention to.

Wed, October 21st, 2020 11:37am


That's crazy! There's lots of filthy places out there! Thanks for taking the time to read my story!

Wed, October 21st, 2020 4:43am

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