UNEXPURGATED CINDERELLA

Orignally published as Truck Stop Cinderella in Dirty Girls, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, Seal Press, 2008

Gracie Angelique DuBois drove to work that morning with the top down on her baby blue convertible, taking the country highway instead of the interchange, and singing along to Love to Love You Baby at the top of her lungs. It was the beginning of a fine summer day, the sun just beginning its slow ascent over the ridges of the mountains. She was sure this was going to be her last summer slinging hash at Riddley's Truck Stop on Route 27. She knew she was meant for better things. The fact is that Gracie Angelique DuBois had all kinds of dreams; cosmetology, modeling or even cocktail waitressing at a fancy bar in New York or L.A.

In the meantime, she always wore her tightest jeans to work, and her white high heels --- even though like Cinderella, she often went home barefoot because her feet hurt so bad. She did a survey once; she wore sneakers during a shift and averaged $15.00 an hour, but when she wore high heels, she averaged $25.00 an hour. It was hard to argue with the economics of that equation. Sex appeal and high heels provided a roof over her head. Gracie wasn't a stupid woman, she knew she was considered trailer trash, but she wore that as a badge of honor. Held her head high. Her mama and her mama's mama were trailer trash. But honestly there wasn't anything trashy about her trailer. She had real wood floors, glass bookcases and bright yellow curtains on the tiny windows that she had sewn herself. She got the idea from a magazine, using pillowcases and brass rings, and she thought, now isn't that clever.

Her bedroom, which she laughingly called the love nest to her friend Sandy, was her pride and joy. Instead of blinds or shades, she hung a pink silk shawl she found at a swap meet so that it covered both windows. Any light that shone into the room was pink light and Gracie knew this was very sexy. Her bed was covered with pink satin pillows with tiny bows across the front, and on her fake white marble night table was a crystal lamp and pictures of her mama and her mama’s mama. Gavin, her last lover, said, "Damn Gracie, all you women are sexy.”

She laughed out loud at this--- Gavin McFitch was slight, very shy, with cornflower blue eyes, but his cock was a monster. He couldn't kiss, and he didn't eat pussy, but Lord, she didn't care. She pulled herself together as she turned left into the parking lot of the truck stop. No sense thinking those kinds of thoughts now, not before she began her shift. Gracie was a true professional, and although it was a fact that every man in the diner dreamt of fucking her, she would never allow it because it gave her an edge. Again, it was hard to argue with the economics of all those men who came back to the diner again and again, always hoping for a chance.

Grace adjusted the straps on her blue silk brassiere in the car, were her boobs getting bigger? She hoped so. Her nipples were certainly erect. She scanned the parking lot and saw that all her regulars were there. The big rig over in the south corner of the lot belonged to Vinnie, a long haul trucker from New Jersey who liked his burgers rare and his coffee lukewarm. To the right, was a rig from North Dakota--- Timmy was a strange man, but his biceps were girl heaven. Despite her very strict rules, she often found herself fantasizing about running her tongue--- oh, never mind. Timmy was a nice man with a nice wife. She smiled when she saw Gus's beat up Lincoln Continental. He was an old timer who lived ten miles down the road in a tiny little town called Possum. She just loved his crinkly brown eyes, sometimes they made her melt. Yes, all her boys were here today.

All eyes were on her as she sashayed across the parking lot. Sometimes it’s good to be queen--- even if your kingdom is a diner in the middle of nowhere. The bells over the door rang sweetly as she made her entrance,

Timmy called out, "Well now if it ain't our very own Cinderella exactly ten minutes late to the ball."

Gracie replied, "Get off my ass Timmy unless you mean business."

The other men roared with good natured laughter as she continued on into the kitchen. She knew what they were thinking, Godamn but that Gracie sure is wild. No telling what she might say to you. Oh, yes, she was positive it was going to be a great day. Even Jeremiah, the cook, was smiling. She tied her white apron tight across her tiny waist, freshened her coral lipstick, combed her long blonde hair, and picked up her pad and pencil.

She licked the tip of the pencil because she'd seen other women do it in the movies, and she liked the look of it, thought it was sexy. Just then she heard the bells over the door ring, poked her head out, and saw three strangers enter. Each one more handsome than the other. Whew doggie, she thought, I'm gonna make some money from these boys. She felt her nipples harden in anticipation. The key, she calculated, was to play it cool with them at first, practically ignore them. Circle around the tables a couple of times, give them ample opportunities to check out her tits and ass. When she sauntered out into the diner, she went straight over to Gus who was sitting by the window.

"Hey, good looking," she cooed, "How's my favorite customer?"

Gus looked up at her adoringly, while she noted, with no small amount of satisfaction, that she had everyone's attention in the room, including the strangers. In fact, the tallest of the three, wearing a red flannel shirt, was fixated on her tits, so she shot him back a long smoldering look.

Gus replied, “Just waiting to see my baby so I can start my day."

"Aw, Gus," she laughed turning back to him, "that's so sweet, let me get a refill for your coffee."

"Hey, miss," red flannel shirt called out, "we'd sure appreciate if you'd stop over here with the coffee. We're mighty thirsty."

She turned and coolly responded, "Sure," even though her heart was beating faster than a rabbit in heat. Not only was he was taller than any man in the room, his hair was blacker than a thundercloud in August, and his legs were like tree trunks. Gracie, she admonished herself, you will not imagine those legs spread out in your pink sheets. But her legs sure were shaking as she crossed behind the counter and grabbed the pot of coffee. She was about to turn around when she felt someone behind her. It was the stranger, whispering in her ear:

"Don't turn around," he breathed.

"I won't," she managed to say.

"You like me," he continued, "I know you do. I've seen other woman look at me the way you just did, and I know you make a practice of not fucking your customers, I know that you think that it gives you an edge, but I don't care about your edge, you forget about that---"

"---it's forgotten", she stammered.

"--- because I'm going to fuck you before this day is over. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Me and the boys,” he continued, “are gonna eat our breakfast, scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. Simple. Then I gotta go up the road, hundred miles or so, but I will be back. And you'll be waiting."

"I'll be waiting," Gracie agreed.

"Good," he said, "And to seal the deal, I want you to go into the bathroom and take off your bra---"

"--- my --- what?"

"--- just do it."

Gracie turned to face him, looked deep into his sea-green eyes, asked,

"What's your name cowboy?"

He replied, "The bra, Gracie. Take it off."

How did he know her name? She didn't care. She hollered to Jeremiah that she was taking a break, and walked, light-headed, into the ladies. As if hypnotized, she pulled off her tank top, leaned over and unfastened her bra, her breasts spilled out--- she almost orgasmed right then and there, but held herself back. She rolled it up, walked out, and handed it over to the stranger. He smiled slowly, and never taking his eyes off her, pulled back the waist of the blue jeans, and shoved it down deep, between his legs. Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear,

"I'll be back at six. Make sure you're here, or," he threatened, "you'll never see your brassiere again." Then he flicked her pussy with his middle finger. He walked away, slowly and deliberately. Her face aflame with both arousal and embarrassment, she placed his order and deliberately ignored him the rest of the time he was there. She flitted around her regulars, Gus and Timmy and Vinny. The poor boys were so jealous! She poured coffee, cracked jokes, all the while, terribly, terribly self conscious of her breasts bobbing up and down, right and left, like a waves upon a storm tossed ocean. She knew her pussy was dripping wet. But what could she do? A tall dark stranger had her brassiere in his underpants and promised to return at night fall to fuck her senseless.

Hours later, after everyone left and she was refilling the salt and pepper shakers, she fantasized about who he was and how he was going to do it to her. Maybe, Gracie mused, he's really a millionaire businessman with a private jet, and he's going to cover me in chocolate sauce and whipping crème and eat me up like an ice-cream sundae. Or maybe he's a cowboy, and he's going to whisk me away to his ranch in the mountains, and fuck me in a field of wild flowers till every muscle is my body aches. Or maybe, she thought, we'll do it down and dirty doggy-style in the backseat of my baby blue convertible. She couldn't decide which scenario she liked best.

As the sun went down on the tiny roadside diner on Route 27, Jeremiah emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron,

"Well, that's it Gracie, another day, another dollar."

"You got it," she replied, even though she knew nothing could be farther from the truth. The truth was she counted her tips and found an unbelievable three hundred and fifty dollars. The most she had ever made on a shift was one hundred and fifty. But that was the least of it. Innocently, she said to him,

"Go on home, I got a few things to do, I'll lock up."

Jeremiah, who was no fool, said as he was leaving, "You come into work everyday with your titties bouncing around like that and you'll be a millionaire before you know it."

"I'm with you on that one."

Once he was gone, she locked the door. After all the sun was setting, and this was still wild country. She sat down to wait, it was ten minutes to six. He should be here soon. She waited and waited, she re-did her lipstick, re-filled the ketchup bottles, and then it was six thirty. The sun slid behind the mountains, and her elation turned to sadness. Her tall dark stranger wasn't going to return, that only happened in fairy tales. Shoot, she gave some fool pervert her brassiere for nothing. Well not for nothing exactly, she reminded herself, she was a rich woman. The money in her tip jar was exactly half of what she needed to get out of town. Well fine. That's how the cookie crumbles.

She slipped her high heels back on, and turned off the lights in the diner, as she prepared to leave. It was a twenty minute drive back to her trailer park, so she went into the ladies, and almost fainted. He was there. The stranger. Leaning against the white cracked porcelain sink. He said,

"It's about time Gracie."

Her nipples were suddenly so erect it was almost painful.

"How did--- didn't you--?", but she couldn't finish her train of thought, the words died on her lips. Because it didn't make sense. Hadn't he left eight hours ago? Hadn't she locked the door after Jerimiah left? Was she dreaming?

"We don't have time for the explanations, darling. We only got time for this---," and then he grabbed her, bent her over, and kissed her full and long and hot on her lips. She wanted to protest, she really did. Nobody kept her waiting, she was Gracie Angelique DuBois. Panting, she pushed him away,

"Hey mister, I waited a long time for you."

"You want me and you want me bad. Admit it."

"I guess," she replied resentfully. No man ever got the best of her. She had to keep her edge, stay in control.

"I got your number Gracie, so you might as well give it up." Here his voice became softer than honey poured on blue silk, almost a whisper, "So get your ass over here." Then he unzipped his blue jeans and slowly, slowly pulled her brassiere out, "Get your ass over here, and put this on. Take everything else off. Except the shoes. You keep those heels on."

It was so hot in the room, the sweat was pouring down both their faces. But it didn't' matter, she wasn't going to give in. She was going to strip whenever and wherever she wanted. So she started slowly, defiantly. She said,

"I'll stay right where I am, thank you."

When all her clothes lay in a heap at her feet except her high heels, he pulled off his boots, stripped out of his jeans, walked up to her and lovingly put her brassiere back on. He said,

"Gracie Angelique DuBois, what am I doing to do with you?

She asked him again, "How do you know my name?"

In response he twirled her around, forced her up against the wall, and fucked her from behind, she felt herself opening up to him, then devouring him, their juices dripped down her legs, pooled in her shoes, and she was afraid they might slip and fall. But he didn't care, he entered her so deeply, so forcefully, she briefly saw stars, then he suddenly stopped. Pulled out.

"No, no, no," she moaned, "put it back in."

"Beg me," he said.

"Baby I'm begging you, pleading, put it back in."

"What will happen if I don't?", he asked running his hands over her breasts.

"I'll die. I will, now please."

She reached behind her, grabbed his cock and put him back inside of her.

"Never forget, darling," he breathed into her ear, as he started to move inside her again, "never forget that I know who you are." Then he really started to fuck her, the way she liked it, not like the other farm boys, awkward and clumsy --- but slow and hard and deliberate, each stroke masterful, finding her G spot each time, like a hunter taking aim and never missing. Then when she was breathing hot and heavy, he went faster and faster, the world started to spin, the lights flickered, and at that exact moment, he pulled out.

"Are you crazy," she moaned through parched lips, "Have you lost your fucking mind---?"

But he interrupted her, "Suck me off, baby. Suck me off like I know you can." He pushed her head down to his cock, glistening in the fluorescent lights, slippery with her juices, and slipped her lips over the gleaming tip. Then she slowly licked the shaft, down to his balls, round and round with her tongue, enthralled with the power she had to reduce this cowboy to tears, because yes--- he was crying. He was right, Gracie loved to suck cock, always had, always will. There was just something about that stiff slick rod in her mouth that pleased her enormously. When it started to pulse inside her she knew he was about to cum, so she laid down on the cold blue tiles of the bathroom floor, and said, "Do me, baby."

When she got home that night, she took a long hot shower, used up the last of her lavender bath gel, toweled off, then, still naked, poured herself a glass of wine. Her face was glowing and her cunt ached--- the truth of the matter is that Gracie was a very happy woman that night. She found two thousand dollars balled up inside of her brassiere, and if that made her a prostitute, Lord, she didn’t care. She finished her glass and wine and began taking down the yellow curtains in her living room. She was moving to New York City and that’s all that mattered.