The Trucker
The truck driver griped under his breath as it began to rain. Soon he would have to stop and have something to eat. He was also tired, but fortunately, the truck did not need diesel fuel, so he would not have to go into the truckers' service station.
The truck stop existed only because a secondary state highway interchanged with a major freeway. Before the freeway had been built, the place was nothing more than an illegal local dump. Now it served as an oasis for truckers and other motorists along the dark freeway.
Bonnie worked as a waitress and evening manager at one of the truckers' cafes built up around the interchange. She also helped an old friend of her mother, who ran a little motel down a dirt road behind one of the service stations. A sign along the road warned truckers that there was no place to turn their vehicles around, so those that did stay in the motel had to leave their rigs in the gravel parking lot behind the largest service station. Bonnie would often pass one or two parked rigs walking home to her house in a duplex attached to the manager's office.
Travis was watching a grade B sci-fi movie on the ancient black-and-white TV set. "Travis, I'm home. Did you finish your homework?"
"Yeah, mom, here it is." He handed it to her to be checked off.
"You didn't do this page," Bonnie said, turning off the TV. "Go into the kitchen and do it, then go to bed."
"Oh, mom," he moaned. "Oh, mom!" he said with a clearer voice this time. "Some lady checked in about ten-thirty. Wanted a room with a shower. I let her have number ten."
"Why?" Bonnie asked. She had taken off her waitress' uniform and now wore just her slip.
"Only one available. Six is still a mess. Carlos is supposed to come tomorrow."
"You should have told her to use the ladies' shower at the truckers' cafe."
"I did. She insisted on getting a room here with a shower. Mom, I don't think she's a trucker."
"Why not?"
"She was wearing a dress, lots of make-up, too."
"Hmm," Bonnie mumbled. "I didn't see any cars in our parking lot. She must have come in one of the trucks."
"You think she's a hooker? I do." Travis' comment annoyed Bonnie, but she said nothing.
"Let's go to bed." Before she turned in, Bonnie looked at the name on the registration list. "J.C. Reed." Bonnie smiled to herself.
In the old Airstream trailer that constituted unit number ten, the trucker fixed some sandwiches and relaxed. He had passed as a woman, and only the kid had seen him. He hoped the dress he had been wearing wasn't too fancy so as to arouse suspicion. At least the rain had quit before he arrived, so his make-up didn't run. The shower had been relaxing; he would get a few hours' worth of sleep, then take another before setting off in the morning.
Hours later, he was awakened by a knock on the door. It was daylight, and the trucker, though dressed in frilly negligee, didn't look like much of a woman. He stood by the door and spoke in his most effeminate voice. "Yes?"
"Brought you some eggs, Jo." It was Bonnie. She knew the truth about Jo, and was even trying to organize a support network for cross-dressing truckers. It was lonely on the road, and every trucker had his own coping mechanisms. Jo's--or Joe's--was cross-dressing.
"Morning, Bonnie." Joe used his male voice now. He put a robe on over the negligee and opened the door. "Come on in."
Bonnie stepped into the trailer. She was carrying a small bottle and a ladies' slip in one hand, a plate of scrambled eggs in the other. "Sorry we didn't get it cleaned before you came. Carlos will do the work today. Where you headed now?"
"Portland, then Seattle." Joe grabbed a fork and began to eat. "Want some?"
"It's okay," said Bonnie. "You're losing weight. You need something to help you pass as a woman in broad daylight. Try this." She handed him the bottle. "It's good for getting rid of facial hair."
"Thanks," said Joe. "I owe you one--two, in fact. These eggs are good."
Bonnie faced Joe and spread her legs. She then opened her bathrobe to reveal a denim miniskirt. She sat on his lap and seduced him.
Afterward, she said, "I knew you were straight. Most cross-dressers are, you know."
"Yeah, I know." Joe found that dressing as a woman made him feel very horny. He also found that he was more relaxed yet alert when driving in women's clothing. On the one hand, the feel of slips and silky underwear next to his legs, especially when shifting, as well as knowing that no one else could see his clothes, made him feel good. On the other hand, knowing that an accident could be very embarrassing gave him an incentive not to have one.
"Where's the boy?" Joe asked after a while.
"School. He left before I came over here."
"Awful early, ain't it?" Joe looked at his watch. "Oh, crap. I need to be in Portland by this time tomorrow." Joe began to put on his women's clothes.
Bonnie looked at him. "When you wear a denim skirt, don't wear too much make-up. It's casual wear. Most women wear only panties with denim, but you'll need to wear at least this slip to help you walk properly. If you do, the hem will swing left-right-left-right a little as you walk. You wearing these cowboy boots?"
Joe nodded. "I wore them in last night. I didn't think anyone would notice them in the dark."
"I know of some women who wear cowboy boots with skirts and dresses." Bonnie looked at Joe, now becoming Jo. "You could pass for one of them, I guess. But you'll need to wear this slip underneath regardless."
An hour later, Jo was at the wheel of her truck, listening to country music above the purr of the diesel engine as the wind rustled through her hair and the vent breezes blew up her denim skirt.
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