Cade Posted Saturday at 04:46 AM Nowhere Junction Rumbling tires and the blaring horn of a diesel jolts you awake from your uncomfortable slumber against the passenger side window. You try to stretch but wince at the knot in your neck, obviously from having craned it to the side for so long. But for how long? Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you can only really tell that it will be dusk soon; the sun hung low in the sky, but street lamps hadn't flickering on yet and business signs didn't flash the roadway in electric neon colors. The road is rough pulling into the enormous parking lot of some truck stop, and you bump your head against the window trying to pēēr up at the tall pylon sign. “Oooowwwww!” you grump, frustrated you couldn't make out the sign as you rub the sore spot at your hairline. “You're awake!” I say cheerfully, turning the music down. With a sprawling yawn you ask, “Where are we?” You look around the busy lot at the various vehicles and rundown buildings, busy people walking to and fro, shopping at the station or pumping gas. You notice a cute little fluffball of a dog being walked in some nearby grass by a young lady with bright pink hair as I pull into a parking spot next to the shop. “Nowhere Junction,” I read from off the sign through the windshield. “Just some old truck stop. Let's get some snacks and drinks, I’ve got some business here.” That ominous tone in that last part sent a cold chill up your spin; you're awake and alert now. I'm out of the car before you can ask any questions though, and your stomach flips as you reach for the door handle. Fingertips pause before touching it unsure if you really want to get out of the vehicle. Ponderance and vexation, you weigh the scary things you know about me against thirst, hunger, and the urgent need to relieve yourself. Quick stepping, you race by a homeless guy hunched over a trashcan to take your spot by my side. Your pastel sundress flutters in the air conditioning as I open the door to the shop. The contrast from the outside heat to the icy air inside makes goosebumps spring up all over your skin abruptly. The din within the store was loud with chatter, alarms and loud beeping, and the occasional order being shouted to the kitchen behind the counter. People meandered around the large shopping space looking at the various products offered on row after row of shelves or making orders and waiting for hot foods, and a couple of kids run past us excitedly on their way to the candy isle. Finally spotting the soda fountain, I grab your wrist and say, “Come on…let's get something to drink.” You stumble step behind me as I pull you through the store. Sipping from the straw of my cup as you fill yours, I take a few seconds to peruse the people around the shop. Although not overly busy, there was a constant flow of customers, with the few strange stragglers here or there; an older guy beside the counter trying to talk to the young clerk, a homeless lady at the lotto table scratching tickets, even a couple boys snickering and carrying on by the hot dog rack. Your soft-spoken voice pulls me back to the fountain, “Can we get some snacks, too?” Chuckling slightly, I respond simply, “Of course.” “Can…can I get cookies AND candy?” you ask meekly but with unmistakeable excitement, adverting your eyes coyly. “I guess,” I reply as we turn into the snack food isle. “But you have to eat something more substantial first. We can order something at checkout.” You let out a little huff before saying, “Okay. I'm actually pretty hungry and something back there smells so good.” Taking a long drink from your soda, you're reminded of the pressing urge steadily growing more pāīnful. You squeeze your thighs together tightly and ask in a low voice, “May I go to the bathroom, my Lord?” “No.” The word leaves my mouth without so much as a turn of the head to see you pout. With snacks in hand, we take our place in line for the register behind a very large fellow donning a dusty and worn flannel shirt that looked like it might have been the same color as his cocked trucker’s hat once upon a time - red. You hop from leg to leg and fidget around him; partly to see the menu board over the big guy, but more so because the last drink you took made your bladder feel as if it might explode! I notice his name is “Big Jon” from the cap as he shoots you an annoyed side-eyed glance, a name fitting the 400 pound stature, indeed. “Brother,” a deep, husky voice emanates from the long light brown beard that hides his mouth, “Is ya girl ahrite?” I couldn't tell if the mountain of a man was more concerned for you or more scared for himself at your odd behavior. He didn't dare take his eyes off you. I contain you by hot palm taking hold of the nape of your neck before speaking. “I don't let her out of her box much, she's just gets all wiley and excited any time I bring her in public!” I retort with a friendly chuckle, trying to ease his mind. He eyeballs me for a long moment before turning back around and moving to the counter to cash out. You lean in close to me and whisper softly, “I REALLY have to go to the bathroom. Please - please - PLEASE can I go?” “No,” my smile resplendent at your obvious agony and desperation, even if your words weren't dripping with them. You fold your arms over your chest and stare at the dingy floor tiles in contempt. “Oh, calm down. I need to talk with someone here, he has something for me, and after we eat, I'll take you to the bathroom. All part of the plan for today,” my words feel distant and contemplative as I face forward. Cold chills creep up your spine again, and you almost forget about the burning sensation in your abdomen. Every fiber of your being wants to ask, wants to cower…wants to…RUN! But that strong grip on the back of your neck reminds you of something you know deep in your soul: you belong to me. So, you take a deep breath, calm your mind, and lower your arms knowing how much I enjoy seeing your breasts in the the stretchy-tight fabric of your pretty sundress. Despite not even a shift of my eyes, a knowing smirk tugs at the corner of my lips that somehow makes you incredibly furious with me for the casual recognition and catches your nether region aflame with wanton hunger at my near omnipotent awareness of your obedience. How do I always seem to know how to make you so comfortably uncomfortable? And that damn grin, so self assured of your capitulation - and worse still, I'm right. Even as frustrated as you are with me right now, you can't imagine doing anything that doesn't make me happy. And for some strange and unexplainable reason, that makes you smile. Damn sadists! You’re trying to be grumpy! Becoming our turn at the cashier, we place our orders with the clerk; I decide on a steak and cheese sandwich while you just go with a burger and fries (large, because you know I'm going to eat half). The lady working the register takes our payment, then hollers back to the kitchen, no funny words or flair, just what we ordered at high volume. She hands me my receipt before directing me in a much too singsong voice, “Stand in line at the pick up counter. Thank you.” We end up behind Big Jon once again, who simply smiles and nods as we take our place behind him. A few minutes pass before another individual comes out from behind the counter, a guy in his 30s with a mostly bald head, obviously the store manager from the more formal uniform. He smiles once we make eye contact, walking over as Big Jon receives his food (two large pizzas). I tilt my head towards you and say in a low tone, “Get our meals and go sit at a bench just outside. I need to speak with this man for a few minutes.” Curiosity is eating at you, but you simply nod and save your questions. He extends a hand in greeting as he walks up. “Hey! Great to see you!” “Heyya, Jerry,” I say as I shake his hand. “Looking pretty busy!” You don't try to eavesdrop, but you can't help to just naturally overhear the nearby conversation as our order is completed, right? Jerry makes an exasperated sign before responding. “Always busy. All three locations are just madhouses around the clock. Don't worry, though…that shouldn't affect what you're doing. I had Juan close off the second set for you earlier this morning, so they've become mostly abandoned on that side.” The bags holding our food finally (and frustratingly) find their way to the countertop pickup, and to your dismay, the discussion gets lost in the symphony of chaotic commerce as you obediently make your way outside. You do manage to catch a quick glimpse of Jerry discreetly handing me a set of keys as you push the door open and step out onto the brightly lit patio area. Darkness had mostly swallowed up the night sky as you pick a bench near the doorway to sit at. The loud buzz of blinking neon could be heard from the tall signpost further out in the parking lot, even over the steady flow of vehicles circling. You take another sip, instantly regretting the reminder of how bad you have to pēē and begin bouncing in your seat slightly. That's when you notice Big Jon a few tables away, chowing on a slice of pizza folded in his large hand and staring at you in puzzlement. Quickly, you avoid eye contact taking note of the pink haired lady from earlier, now sitting on a bench that must serve as a transit bus hub with a guy sporting short but frizzy dark hair. The pair were tongue-deep into each other's throats as the small dog yipped nearby playfully. Relief washes over you (but not too much, with thighs clamped together) as I exit the store, shouting my appreciation back at Jerry. I stand looking down on you with the scariest genuine smile you have ever seen. You imagine I must share that smile with the Devil, it must be the same he wears whenever he trades a ball of lint to swallow somebody’s soul. “We’re all set!” I say, waking you from your pondering. “I'm hungry, let's eat.” On the verge of a panic attack, you switch to autopilot and begin to pass out food, opening the packaging on my sandwich and laying it out for me to eat before doing your own. You watch dutifully as I sit and take up my sandwich for a bite. Seeing me quite content, you ask, “May I eat, my Lord?” I respond between bites, “Yes, eat up. I think you're going to need your energy.” A chuckle escapes as I chew. “Can I…” even your voice is trembling deliciously, “…can I ask what we're doing?” The moment stretches long in the tooth as I take another few bites. That incessant hum and clicking of lighted tubes cycling through messages from beyond the awning above has never sound more deafening. I finish chewing slowly and deliberately, then wipe at my mouth with a napkin, almost dignified-like. You startle as you feel my hand on your knee, I turn to you and say, “You'll see.”
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