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The Lonely Road

Just a lonely stretch of highway and speeding. Nothing to see here, officer!

Alexander Martin
15 min readJan 28, 2022


The white lines on the highway began to dull me to sleep as I drove back home. Damn holidays. I thought. But it was family. What was I supposed to do? Stay home? They would have had my head.

I turned the music up. The thumping bass should keep me up until I get to the next rest stop. On the three-lane road, I was the only one driving that I could see in both directions.

I decided to hit the gas, maybe cut my time by a little. I looked down at the speedometer… 85, 90, 95, 100mph. I decided to hold it there.

If one of the state troopers came along. I should have enough time to back it down. I felt a little more awake as I sped along. Then I saw it. The sign for the rest stop was only fifteen miles ahead. I backed it down to eight-five as I saw the lights for the rest stop just ahead.

I pulled in and headed straight for the gas station. I slid my card into the slot, punched in my information, and then pumped the gas. I had almost two more hours of driving before I got home.

Shaking my head to try and clear my mind. I looked around at the other people on the road at this time of the morning. Looking down at my watch, it was almost two in the morning.

I knew I should have said my goodbyes a bit earlier. At least I had the next week off. I looked over at the other side of the station and saw a great view.

This was one of the many reasons I loved living in the South. A nice thick pair of tanned legs, with cowboy boots leading up to a couple of daisy duke shorts, bent over a truck bed. She was cleaning what looked like thick red mud out of the back of the truck.

“Hey, that black guy is checking out your wife’s ass!” someone shouted.

Goddammit, I said to myself. Another thing I forgot about the South. Rednecks, I turned in time for one of them to come barreling down at me.

“Hey, boy!” he said as he ran at me. “You checking out my wife’s ass?” he said. With his flannel shirt unbuttoned and his hairy chest open for everyone to see.



Alexander Martin

I like to write detailed erotic stories. I love to tell a story of how, when and where.