“Let me guess. You’re hungry. You’re tired. You want to eat and then crawl into your truck and go to sleep.”

Ben looked up from his menu. He wasn’t annoyed by her tone, but was somewhat surprised by the accuracy of her statement. Somewhat. It was a truck stop, after all. And he was a long-haul trucker. As were probably ninety-nine percent of her customers. The odds were in her favour. However, he was surprised by her appearance.

“How old are you?” Ben asked.

“Old enough to work here,” Peach replied. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know… “

Peach cut him off.

“Hey, look, mister. I’m here to take your order, bring you your food, and hopefully get a nice tip. That’s it.”

Peach silently but sternly stared at the older man. He wasn’t that old, certainly of an acceptable daddy-issues age. He even had a hint of handsome under his Peterbilt hat and plaid flannel Eddie Bauer shirt. Having rolled up his sleeves, probably learned at the skirt of his mother’s dinner etiquette training, he exposed some dated ink on both forearms. Generic looking, but ink nonetheless.

Ben stared back at Peach. She was cute, exceedingly so, but was filled with fire. An as of yet, undefined passion. He felt chilled. A force had chased age-appropriateness up his spine, which had paralyzed his filter. He’d crossed a line he didn’t realize he was near. He didn’t mean to imply anything other than she looked too young to work in a truck stop. Fuck. Trying to not appear too creepy, he looked at her name tag pinned against her smallish breast.

“Peach, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just meant, I mean, you’re not like the others.”

“The others?”

“Other waitresses,” Ben clarified. “You’re a lot younger. I didn’t expect that.”

“Is it a problem?” Peach asked. “Do we have a problem?”

“No. God, no. NO problem. None whatsoever.”

Ben rubbed his face like a genie’s lamp, hoping this whole situation would magically get sucked back into the bottle and go away.

She didn’t.

“What’s your name, mister?”

“It’s Ben.”

“Ben? Like Ben there, done that?”

“Sure. But I just go by Ben. Just Ben.”

“Well, Just Ben. I put up with bullshit all day at school and then all night here. I can either take your order, bring you your food, you eat, leave me a nice tip, and we go our separate ways, or… “

“No or,” Ben interjected. “That sounds like a wonderful plan. “I’m ready to order.”

As respectfully as motherly expected, Ben placed his order with Peach. She disappeared behind the swinging saloon doors to the kitchen, to return a few moments later with a glass of water and a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

“Just Ben, would you like some crackers?”

“Yes, please. If that’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s my job,” Peach snarkily replied. “No trouble at all.” She then reached into the pouch of her apron and offered several packets of saltines. Ben hesitated, but cautiously picked three packets, careful not to touch her hand.

“Sixteen.”

“What?”

Peach looked around before answering. “I’m sixteen. I told them I was eighteen. I needed the job. The money. It’s the only place I could work and go to school, without anyone finding out. On slow nights, I can do my homework and study. We usually don’t have busy nights." Peach then abruptly straightened up, realizing that she had inadvertently leaned over too far, invading Ben’s personal space. His blue eyes sparkled. He smelled like sandalwood. The comforting scent made her heart swell and her eyes water.

“I’ll be right back with your food.”

Ben quickly finished his soup and then quickly ate his meal. Anything would have tasted good. He was famished. He was also beat. Long day. But unfortunately, he continued with his unintentional awkwardness. When Peach returned to clear his plates, Ben tipped his hat and said, “My compliments to the chef.” He was trying to be funny. It was a lead balloon. Peach didn’t respond as expected.

“Dessert?”

“No. I’d better not.”

“Are you sure?” Peach asked. “We have a wonderful selection. It’s all homemade.”

“I guess I could take something back to the truck,” Ben replied. “Surprise me.”

Peach smiled for the first time. She had a lovely smile. A perfect smile, actually. Straight, perfectly proportioned white teeth. Genetics, yes. But also probably due to the clear bracket braces she wore.

“Surprise you? Okay, I will - Oh shit!”

While clearing the table, Peach accidentally let the remaining gravy drip from the dinner plate onto Ben’s phone, which he had been using to play a word puzzle game while eating.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” Peach exclaimed. “Please, let me clean your phone. We have some hydrogen peroxide in the back.” She quickly grabbed Ben’s phone and again disappeared behind the kitchen’s doors. When she returned, she brought the bill and an antiseptic-smelling phone.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” Peach said. “Sometimes, I can be such a klutz.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben replied as he looked at his phone. “It’s probably cleaner now than it’s been in years.”

Ben quickly looked at his bill and handed Peach some cash, including the nice tip she’d suggested. She smiled a second time. Ben then rose, thanked her for her service, and immediately exited the restaurant.

Ben walked across the parking lot, climbed into his truck, and closed his door. He exhaled as if he’d narrowly escaped some harrowing event. He sat in his seat for a moment debating if he should pee before bed, acknowledging that he should have tried before he left the restaurant. Should have. He decided he didn’t need to go, but he also knew his bladder had other plans. Usually around three. It always did. He’d deal with it then.

Ben locked the doors, climbed into the double sleeper cab of his truck, drew the privacy curtains, and stripped. He knew as soon as his head hit the pillow, he’d be out. But something bothered him. He had forgotten to brush his teeth. But that wasn’t it.

Dessert.

He started to feel like shit again. He didn’t mean to upset Peach. It was just a question. Maybe it was how he asked. Maybe he should have just kept his fucking mouth shut. Not the first time that’s been suggested. He had upset her. Made the whole evening awkward. And she was so flustered by his uncomfortable presence that she spilled gravy on his phone, and then forgot to bring him his dessert. Ben felt compelled to go back and apologize. The whole awkward evening bothered him that much.

He peered through the privacy curtains to see if he could see Peach working. Even though his rig was across the lot, the lights from the open twenty-four restaurant acted like a beacon in the night. And there she was. Ten in the evening and she was still waiting tables. Not many. It wasn’t busy, as she mentioned. Someone had to do it. But why her? Why did Peach, at sixteen, need to work there while still going to school? Was she on her own? Orphaned? Was there rent to pay? Did she have a kid? Maybe a loser, unemployed pothead for a boyfriend? Was she even telling the truth?

Ben closed the drape and reached for his wallet. He thought, if she charged him for dessert, he’d have a reason to return to the restaurant. He could brush and pee then too. He could mention the missing dessert but more importantly, he could apologize. Ben smiled. He was proud of himself. It was an excellent plan.

He opened his wallet and looked at his receipt. Sure enough. She’d charged him for dessert. Fantastic! Ben was about to get dressed and race across the parking lot to ease his guilt and filling bladder when the light from his phone lit his darkened sleeping area. It was a text from an unknown number.

Do you like?

Do I like? Do I like what?

Ben texted back.

Who is this? And do I like what?

Ben saw the flashing dots indicating the other person was typing their response.

Your dessert.

It was Peach. Ben quickly replied.

I’m sorry. I didn’t get dessert. I think you forgot to give it to me before I left. I forgot to ask too. No biggie.

Ben saw that she was typing again. He felt like a kid. Like he was under the bedsheets, in the middle of the night, using a walkie-talkie to chat with a friend.

I didn’t forget.

She was typing again.

Look at your receipt.

I did. You charged me for dessert.

Look again. Peach added a winkie emoji.

Ben again looked at his receipt. He re-read each itemized line and stopped after reading dessert. He looked on the blank flip side and then back to the text. Just regular restaurant stuff. Name. Address. Date. Time. Water. Chicken soup. Meatloaf dinner. Peach pie. Then the numbers. A big thank you at the bottom. That’s it.

Ben was about to send Peach a text when he saw she had texted again.

Look at your pictures.

Ben froze. Pictures? What had she done? He then recalled that Peach had grabbed his phone while it was opened and unlocked on the word puzzle game. What did she do? Ben let his mind go there. He immediately felt a tingling sensation in his groin. His cock started to harden. Ben opened the picture tab on his phone. And there it was.

Peach pie. Not what he was expecting. On a white truck diner plate. Flaky golden crust. Gorgeous thin slivers of peach in a gelatinous amber sauce. With a dollop of fresh whipped cream. He could even see the vanilla bean seeds indicating that it was real whipped cream. And the good stuff too. Homemade. Not from an aerosol can. Again, not what he or his cock was expecting. Ben went from feeling aroused to feeling like a creepy old man. What the hell was he thinking?

Fucking. Idiot.

But why did she do this? Why take a picture of his dessert and intentionally not give the pie to him? It was clearly premeditated. Was she fucking around with him for the ageist comment he made? People were too damn sensitive these days. Did she intentionally spill the gravy too? But why? Seems like a lot of work. For what?

Before Ben replied, his phone pinged again. He opened his text message and this time, his cock’s intuition was right. Tonight, he might’ve been thinking like a creepy old man, but his unit was still in good and instinctive working order.

I wanted to give you a choice.

More dancing dots…

Which of Peach’s pies do you prefer?

Ben knew that Peach knew he’d seen her picture and read her text. A bolded Read would have been displayed directly below both the picture and text. He knew, she knew. He had to respond. But how? In kind? A dick pic?

She then texted again.

My break’s over. Got to go back to work. I’m off at midnight. Let me know by then.

Ben’s whole body twitched. He curled and uncurled his toes. He clenched and unclenched his butt cheeks. And his hardened cock rubbed against the blanket every time he moved.

“Geezus,” Ben whispered under his breath. He touched the photo to enlarge it, touching it where he thought her clitoris would be. He imagined that he could hear her moan.

Peach had one of the most beautiful pussies. Maybe it had been too long. But it was pretty. Smooth pink lips, not amber, like the pie. But it had a sheen to it, just like the tasty gelatin filling. The skin around her pussy was uniform in colour, pale, smooth, and blemish free. The image looked as if it was AI-generated or photoshopped. But it wasn’t. He could tell. At one end, there was the hint of a small, puckered bum hole, and at the other, a hint of soft, blonde pubic hair. Just enough to see that she had some, but not too much to distract from the baldness of the rest. The thought of the possibility made him drool.

Ben instinctively grabbed his cock with one hand and slowly stroked it as he held his phone in the other. He knew he had to be careful. It could be over before he even began. It had been a while. A trucker’s life is lonely. Too many hours on the road often resulted in an estranged wife. Loss of friends. An estranged family. But not in Ben’s case.

Ben worked those long-haul hours to escape his reality. His high school sweetheart had been gone now for almost three years. Cancer. Motherfucking cancer. And the kids were scattered around the globe chasing their dreams. He couldn’t be more proud. He knew whenever he travelled to Brisbane or London, he always had a place to stay. Especially with grandkids on the way in both locations. The other one was touring South America by motorcycle. They planned to meet in Mexico next time he hauled across the border. But still, it had been a while.

Ben kept grabbing and releasing his cock while staring at that delicious picture. Peach pie. Unbelievable. Never in his life. That girl had a set of balls on her. Girl being the operative word. Cock tease was more accurate. But sixteen? Come on, Ben. You can’t be serious.

Benjamin. You can’t be serious, can you?

Ben noted the time on his phone. It was almost eleven. Had he really been teasing and playing with himself for almost an hour? Maybe it was closer to thirty minutes, but still. He decided to peek through the drapes to see if he could see Peach. He looked. He saw. The hornier he got, the more attractive the idea became.

From a distance, he watched her work. He watched her move. She looked so grown up in her waitress costume. Almost like cosplay, but this was her reality. There existed adult urges, and with adult urges come adult responsibilities. They aren’t always fun and games.

“And it’s fucking creepy!” Ben yelled at himself as he slammed closed the drapes in disgust with himself. “Jesus, man, your daughters are older than her. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I’m horny. That’s what.

Ben lay back and stared at the ceiling of his sleeper cab. He chuckled. Another night, another inner voice conversation. He rationalized that she could spend the night. They could fuck. He’d make her cum like she’d never before. Multiple times. She’d do the same to him. Maybe two or three. They’d then fall asleep in each other’s arms. He could then drive her to school in the morning.

Ben burst out laughing. Yes. Good plan. He’d pull up in his truck and trailer to whatever high school USA, and the old man would drop off the teenage girl he’d just fucked, just in time for her eight o’clock English class. Yah. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

Although he resisted the urge, he didn’t resist hard enough. Ben looked at the picture again and it breathed new life into his cock. Ben groaned as he squeezed it. He knew a few vigorous strokes and it would be over. He wouldn’t even clean himself. He’d just fall asleep and peel himself free from his crusty blanket in the morning. A quick trip to the laundry and all would be forgotten. The sheets needed to be washed anyway. Not like it would be the first time he jerked off to fall asleep.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Ben jumped from the knock on the side of his truck. He quickly put on a T-shirt, remaining hard and naked from the waist down. He looked through his drapes, expecting some asshole trying to break in, or another driver, returning to his rig, drunk and confused. But Ben was greeted by Peach’s smiling face while she stood on the top step looking in. Their eyes met as soon as he had peered through the drapes.

“Just a minute!” Ben yelled as he looked for his shorts. He then grabbed his key fob and unlocked the door.

“Door’s open,” he yelled to Peach. Peach opened the door and the interior cab light came on. Anyone that wanted to see, could.

“Peach?”

She was now smiling bigger and brighter than before. It looked good on her. And she looked great. Initially, Ben saw her as sex and what might be. She then handed Ben a slice of peach pie on a paper plate, with a plastic fork, all covered with cellophane.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ben,” Peach began. “I realized after you had left that I had forgotten to give you your dessert." She then handed him the pie. Ben was confused. Didn’t they just clarify this?

“I had other tables, so I couldn’t follow you out. But I saw where you parked. I was going to leave you a note. However, when my last table left, I looked and saw that your light was on. So, here I am.”

Here she was.

It was strange. Her speech sounded rehearsed. She also seemed nervous. But Ben didn’t care. He was a raging hard man behind the curtain. However, on the proper side, he knew there was only one way this evening should end.

They looked at one another for what seemed like a movie-magic moment. It reminded him of the last scene from Lost In Translation. The taboo longing. The intimacy. The tears. The embrace. And that incredible, inaudible whisper. Ben wanted to say something. Anything. But no words came to mind and nothing came out.

“I know,” Peach whispered. “But I thought, maybe.”

Maybe it was the cool air. Maybe she had something in her eye. But Ben thought he saw tears. He certainly felt his and the gravity of their mutual lonely moment.

“Another time? Another place?” Peach whispered as she looked back at the restaurant, implying that she should return.

“Maybe next time,” Ben said.

Peach smiled and stepped down from Ben’s truck. “I’d like that,” she said before closing the heavy door. “I’d like that a lot.”

Ben watched Peach cross the parking lot. She briefly stopped, turning to look back in Ben’s direction, before entering the restaurant.

As Ben reluctantly deleted the picture, he whispered to himself, “I’d like that a lot too.”