It was considered a privledge to become one of ‘Burl’s Girls’ and when he was in town, women would often compete for his business, often resulting in all out violence. Burl had capitalised on the women’s jealousy and set up a fighting ring in the old barn outside Billy’s. Every time Burl was in town it was customary for truckers to throw down bets on skitter fights, watching meth addicted women fight to near death for the right to felate Burl’s bulge for a bit of cash. It was one of the main attractions at Billy’s and a scene of much fanfare. Everytime Burl’s truck could be seen arriving in the distance a giant air horn would be sounded, and everyone would assume their places hurriedly like children excitedly waiting for a fathers return home from war.
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Burl’s truck had a matte cherry red paint job. On the drivers side door there was a giant picture of a pig man hybrid riding a motorbike with the words ‘WILD HOG’ written in bold letters.
On the passenger side door a much smaller picture of a 1950’s styled woman could be seen bending over to expose her rear end. Burl took took good care of his truck, and treated it like the child he’d never had, and deprived his women from having.
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Billy’s was bustling like an Arabic Bazaar, people inhabiting all different sections of the property, breathing, fighting, fucking. It was on fire with the broken soul of humanity.
In the diner a waitress oozed from table to table, attempting to solicit weary truckers for a slice of ‘pie’.
At the petrol bowsers bikers exchanged anecdotes about a time before STD’s and the halcyon days of amphetamines.
At the garage grease monkeys spent their time carefully peeling apart the sticky pages of antique Playboy magazines at the slim chance of getting a peak of a likely now deceased model.
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The toilets were a revolving door of sex work, drug abuse and bowel movements. Anyone worth knowing at Billy’s was a lavatory loiterer.
The disabled cubicle was currently occupied by a drug addicted hitchhiker named Andy earning his keep by performing a sex act on a road king.
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‘Yeah get that cock n-n-nice and hard for me.’ he said as he serviced the flesh flute of a 50 something year old Billy’s regular. ‘I’m g-g-gunna make you c-c-cum you foolish old man’ Andy stammered.
The erect trucker was short and stocky, his armpits wept with sweat and sorrow. His stomach bulged and groaned as if it were housing an over ripe foetus. As Andy sucked the puss out of his fuckstick, the trucker sensually fingered his belly button in lust, as if to induce some kind of guttural labor, which would bring forth the dormant and stagnant flood of aged semen into the mouth of a dress wearing and overly eager Andy.
The truckers eyes rolled into the back of his head as he came, ‘you’ve got yourself into a hell of a pickle now boy’ he moaned as he let loose the stale and pressurised nectar of the open road into Andy’s mouth.
The yellow skinned gereatric finished depositing his warm zygote and hurried out of the toilet gleefully muttering the words, ‘boy can these ladies bite’.
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