‘Coming right up,’ she spun a quick spin for the truckers viewing. ‘Excuse me,’ Lynn said kindly and the waitress stopped. As she turned aroun..., Lynn asked, ‘Who is that.’ Lynn pointed at the painting of the Old Indian woman that hung on the wall of pictures. ‘Little Breeze? The Old woman?’ The waitress asked in confirmation of what Lynn was pointing to. Just then the door to the ‘grill’ opened and a small gust of wind blew through the doorway. Another trucker walked up to the other two and. Her lips were red and full, perfect for kissing, and her skin so white and creamy, I just wanted to reach out and touch her.Like good bourbon, dripping innuendos, she was dressed in something that made her feel good in her skin, with an obvious air of confidence. Her legs reached up to Peking. I could tell that her femininity lasted past midnight, when the mascara had smudged. She took ownership and didn't share.My gaze held hers for a brief moment but felt like an eternity. I swear I could. More

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