The turnpike lay in front of me as it had for years and decades before, and surely yet to come.  Three lanes wide on my southbound side, the same going the northbound route whizzing past me on the other side, at least at this section in southern Jersey: all those years of traveling the east coast megalopolis, between Washington and Boston with the occasional diversion off west to Philadelphia.  Family trips.  Work trips.  The rare solo jaunt just for the fun of it.  Yet, at its core, literally, was always the New Jersey Turnpike.  Stretching from northeast New Jersey opposite Manhattan to its ending crossing the Delaware, 119 miles of controlled-access highway once known as Route 700 before it was absorbed into the Interstate Highway System.

Yeah, Wikipedia is a font of useless knowledge.  I chuckle as I think of how the Internet has facilitated our travels, with all its fancy mapping apps to show us exactly how to get from A to B with the fastest, most fuel-efficient routes.  Surely, when I was first driving these roads, we didn’t have GPS and fancy phone screens to show us the way.  We used paper maps, or TripTiks, or rough directions we got from our parents, and we were damn proud of our ability to find our way with these paper-based tools.  And sometimes, a little unexpected detour might take us off the map and into a whole new adventure.  Especially around Exit 4.

 ***

It was to be an adventure for sure.  Somehow, combining my Shell credit card with my girlfriend’s smiling face, we had managed to convince the poor schmuck at the car rental agency to let us have a car for the weekend. Back in the day, a pair of twenty-year-old college students with no visible means of support other than still being on their parents’ payrolls had no chance of renting a car, let alone something roomy, highway worthy, and reliable.  But the Gremlin was available, the price was right, and the girlfriend was amenable to a little flirting to get what we needed.  And in a flash, we were off to Philadelphia for the weekend.

The goal?  To watch our college football team crush the opposition.  Or be crushed. Didn’t really matter ‘cause it wasn’t like anybody was getting invited to a Bowl game, and face it we would be smashed on the schnapps and hot chocolate anyway.  We were young, in lust with each other, and the idea of a road trip away together was too fucking hot to ignore.  A few phone calls, a Motel 6 lined up, game tickets secured, and now the car was the last item needed.

Oh, and directions.  Yeah, that was the thing.  The parents weren’t supposed to know the plans, so it wasn’t like I could just call up and say, “Hey, can I borrow your AAA card so I can get maps and directions to Philadelphia so I can screw Nancy all weekend?”  And surely her nice Catholic parents wouldn’t have been too helpful either.

Of course, we had been dating for over a year and had surreptitiously lived together the previous summer.  We were bunnies at every opportunity, including that amazing (if not eventually painful and almost heat-stroked) five-timer day in July in the unairconditioned apartment.  But the folks surely didn’t suspect a thing.  Fortunately, a senior friend stepped into the breach with a very helpful if not oddly detailed set of directions.  And as we cruised through Connecticut, navigated across New York City, and nudged into New Jersey, Bo’s guidance had yet to let me down.

“Ok, once you’re on the Turnpike, take it about seventy-five miles until you see signs for Philadelphia.  Don’t miss it ‘cause the next exit takes you far past.  Just cruise off to the right and pay the toll.  Man, the ladies in those toll booths can be a bit surly so exact change is smart too,” he added.

We got on near Teaneck and in no time, we’re zipping past Newark and its big busy airport:  Elizabeth,  Edison, and so on.  Nancy was now chatting away with me, having been charged with finding any decent tunes on the radio.  Easy when we are still in the New York City area, as we both knew WNEW and some of its amazing progressive DJs like Elsas, Muni, and the queen of overnight Alison Steele.  The folks who weaned us on Springsteen and ELP, and taught us Costello and Ramones.  But as the tunes faded into static, our off-key singing turned to conversation, which turned invariably to sex.  It had been at least eighteen hours since the last time we coupled, so naturally we were ready and randy yet again.

“You know no one would see us in the car,” she said, reminding me of her all-time fantasy of highway sex.   “And my finger in your pussy like this isn’t enough for you right now?”  And at that, I wiggled my right middle finger that was firmly secured under her jeans, inside her flimsy panties, and nestled inside her very wet folds.  As we flew past Exit 6, and the highway shrank to only three lanes each way, I had been fingering her for at least ten minutes and two orgasms.  Her soft curly pubic hair, a lovely shade of chestnut as I recall, was soaked with her juices and perspiration as she climbed to yet a third orgasm, the heel of my palm rubbing and pressing against her clit as she hit that last peak.

“I’m not pulling over to fuck you, not when we’re only a couple hours from a real bed.” And with that I laughed and extricated my wrinkled finger from her open pants, tasting the last succulent drops between my lips and inhaling the always-delightful smell of eau de pussy.

Nancy knew though that I couldn’t resist her charms.  She just needed to dial in another fantasy.  One we both had shared.  With both my hands on the wheel again, she swiveled in her seat and reached over to unbuckle my jeans.  “Goose and gander time,” she chuckled.  Her well-practiced fingers quickly had the pants undone and the flap on my underwear opened, pulling my quickly hardening young penis out into the cool car air.  “Mmm.  Snack time!” she muttered and with that she leaned over and swirled her tongue around the swollen head of my cock, wasting no time pulling it into her skilled mouth and bobbing away.

Past Exit 5, I realized I was a bit distracted, alternately concentrating on the incredible sensations her mouth and tongue were generating down below, yet trying to steer and navigate.  Didn’t that sign just say Philadelphia? What did Bo say, about not missing the exit?  Why the fuck did I hear Bo’s voice when Nancy’s sucking my cock so damn well?  A bump in the road and Nancy uncharacteristically gagged as my cock pushed unexpectedly far into her mouth.  But the trooper that she is doesn’t skip a beat.  Or a suck.  Or a stroke as she adds her hand to the mix.  Exit 4 coming up, better get off here for Philadelphia, and I warn her I’ll need the toll ticket and the cash we set aside for the toll. 

Nancy sat up and grabbed the needed items from the glove box, handed them to me with a smile, and said, “Be sure to be nice to the toll booth lady – we don’t have exact change!”  Of course, my cock was now standing at full attention, glistening in the reflected light from the roadside lamps and quickly cooling in the fall air.  “Hey, get me covered up,” I told her, “I’m getting off here.”

“Oh, is that what you want,” Nancy replied, and with an evil giggle, she covered my still-hard cock with her mouth and proceeded to bob up and down in a most exaggerated fashion.  The exit glided off to the right, and the lit toll booth was only yards away!  Still, Nancy made no move to straighten up, instead moaned and groaned with each effort to swallow my cock. No choice, I can only hope the toll taker doesn’t look too far in!

I pulled up alongside the narrow booth, enclosed within a fifty-ish-year-old-looking woman with a permanently engrained scowl on her face.  My cock near pulsing, Nancy ready to swallow whatever erupts, and there I was handing over the ticket and some cash to Scowl Lady.  Always perfect with her timing, Nancy pulls up with a loud “plop” off my thick and hard cock, and smilingly said, “good evening” to Scowl Lady, making sure she gets an eyeful of my manhood.  And then humming to herself, she returns to her oral ministrations while Scowl Lady painfully cracked a smile, told me to have a great night, and kept my change!

“I fucking can’t believe you did that!” I exclaimed, fully aware that the little scene had pushed me that much closer to cumming.  As we steered west toward Route 73, I realized that the signs were pointing back to the Turnpike for Philadelphia, but onward I must plunge down the one-way road.  With little warning, I exploded into Nancy’s eager, hungry mouth as we barrelled down the darkened state highway.

A few miles further westward, we hit Pennsauken and I was looking for a place to turn around.  I was frantically looking for a sign that showed the way back, to get me to familiar ground.  Yet, ahead, new signs pointed to Philadelphia via Cherry Hill, and I once again pick up the scent towards our goal.

Across the highway, a strip club came into sight.  “You won’t be needing to go there tonight, that’s for sure,” Nancy offered.  And I smiled.

 ***

 The interview went well.  I had been in Philadelphia to look at graduate school, having stayed with my cousin who was in college there.  I liked the school, and they seemed to like me, which was kind of par for the course this interview season.  Things were going well senior year, despite the long distance between Nancy and me.  She had graduated the year before and now was living back at home in New York.  Her applications hadn’t gone as smoothly, and so she had a year out of school to try to reconstruct her plans.

We hadn’t seen each other for four months, partly the distance and partly my parent’s disapproval of her after two years of dating.  Seemed she wasn’t their type for me to be marrying.  Oh well, their loss, I thought.  Once I’m out on my own, I can marry whoever I fucking please, and she’ll be the one.  And damn, she sure knew how to fucking please!

I left Philadelphia and steered across the bridge into Camden.  By now, I was more familiar with these roads, the path back to the Turnpike and New York.  The goal was to get to New York by late afternoon and meet up with Nancy at her folks’ house before we joined some of her friends for dinner.

The road wound and curved and soon Pennsauken loomed ahead.  Well, a small township, so perhaps “loomed” is too grandiose a term. Appeared ahead.  As I headed eastward, a familiar sign was visible as I came out from the underpass, the strip club I had passed on my way into town two days previously.  I laughed as I realized it was the same club from the year before when we were headed to the game.  Yeah, didn’t need it then.  But maybe a quick stop off to check it out couldn’t hurt now!  Nancy’s folks would be around and there was little hope of getting off with her tonight, so why not!

I pulled off the road into the gravel parking lot, driving toward the back out of the way.  As if I should be concerned that I would be recognized by someone in that neck of New Jersey!  The dark inside the club contrasted with the bright sunshine outside and I felt temporarily blinded as I walked inside.  The entryway opened into a small adult bookstore, with skin magazines and dirty books, the occasional monstrous-looking dildo vacuum-sealed in its plastic packaging. 

This was 1981, so no DVDs or VHS tapes for sale, just your basic Beeline double novels and Swedish Erotica porn mags featuring Ron Jeremy and Seka, and a curtained doorway into the live-action club inside.  Now, this was not your standard bar and dance floor strip club with runway and stripper pole and dancing writhing girls.  This was simpler, more direct, less artistic and more focused.  The entertainers were walking around an open area, and if you caught the eye of your desired partner, with a few signals you could find yourself in a closed-off booth, doors on either side with a Plexiglas partition between. 

She entered hers, I entered mine, and with the doors firmly closed behind each of us, we began to talk using the intercom phone on the wall.  A roll of tissues visible on my side.  A chair and a towel on her side.  Spare furnishings, but it was clear what was expected.  Brief negotiation completed, bills passed through the slit in the wall, and we were off to the races.  The goal?  How quickly she could get me to cum by masturbating in front of me on the other side of the partition.  No touching, just sight and sound, no expectation that she was going to orgasm.  This was transactional and it didn’t take long for me to spurt my semen all over the Plexiglas as if aimed for her body.  No facials here – just plastic.

After cleaning myself and the partition, she surprised me by continuing to talk.  I zipped up, ready to get on my way and a bit embarrassed over the whole affair to be honest.  I had a girlfriend waiting for me 100 miles away, and I had no business jerking off with a total stranger in a seedy booth in Pennsauken.  However, my masturbatory partner didn’t want to let go.  She asked me where I was in school and what I wanted to do.  She told me she worked there part-time, but her boyfriend had gotten ill.  A few minutes and soon I was hearing her tale and sharing some sage advice from my twenty-one years of life experience.  Maybe that was why I was headed into my chosen career.  People seemed to trust me, to feel that they could share with me their most personal concerns and want my help.  I cautioned her I was no expert, but probably if he drank less, her boyfriend’s liver might improve.  We smiled, exchanged remaining pleasantries, and as she donned her robe finally, I dashed out the door, through the curtain, and into the bright sunlight.

A bit more than an hour later, I came over the hill south of Newark and could see the airport to my left, the NY skyline to my right.  This view never failed to energize me, bring me back to my roots.  The busy flow of planes in and out of the airport reminded me of the incessant hustle and bustle of daily life in the great metropolis, which still coursed through my bloodstream.  Certainly, this feeling accompanied me every time I had passed there before and would be there every time again to come.

Crossing the Bronx, I followed Nancy’s directions and found my way to her house.  There, she hugged and squeezed and kissed me and grabbed my butt, “so happy to see you again!” she murmured.  Once inside, I said hello to her mom, who smiled back but as usual said little to me.  Frances was a quiet woman, not one for much visible show of emotion as I learned. She accepted me as Nancy’s boyfriend, though of different faith, but she trusted that I was a “good man” and believed we would one day marry.  In fact, the last time I had seen her, a few months previously, she had quietly subjected me to the Inquisition, trying to understand how my parents could disapprove and what were my plans to overcome their negativity toward her daughter.  Time was moving fast, we were almost 22, and surely we needed to be making wedding plans by now.

Nancy needed to go upstairs to get changed for our dinner arrangements.  We were meeting some of her friends at another’s house, including her old high school boyfriend, the one with whom she learned all the intricacies of oral sex so that they could maintain their official virginities, the boy she could make cum in his pants just by dancing a bit too close Yeah, I suspect I knew too much about him, but they were still friends, so I could put up with him for the evening.

“I’m heading out to the store, Nancy,” shouted Frances from downstairs.  “Back in an hour or so.  Have a good time tonight!”  As the front door slammed behind Frances, Nancy pulled me up into her room.  “Quick,” she hurriedly whispered, “I’ve been waiting for this for two months.”  No matter that it had been four months since we last fucked, but I didn’t ask questions.   And with that, she knelt in front of me and began to pull my pants open and off.  Down came the underwear, and my cock and balls were free for her.  Instantly, her mouth engulfed me, working me in and out and swirling her tongue around the glans.  “Mmmm.  Isn’t this good enough,” she asked while looking up at me. 

Despite the months since we last were together, I was only half-hard at this point, and it was clear my deeds earlier in the day were coming back to haunt me.  “Remember the Turnpike and Exit 4 last year,” I asked her timidly, figuring I would see how she responded to the truth.  “And that strip club?”

She laughed heartily, “Fucking hell, of course I remember the trip.  Sucked you right off at the toll booth.”

“Yes, well there was that strip club just past on the road, and um..I stopped off there today on my way up here.  I didn’t think we were going to do anything like this.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Nancy shouted, “you jerked off instead of waiting for me?  Now I have to work harder!”  And with that, she resumed sucking my softened cock deep in her mouth.  Working her lips, rotating her head, bringing her hand to the base and wringing it around the growing shaft, eventually her mouth was no match for me.  I was hard.  I was ready. 

She pulled off her blouse and bra, displaying her beautiful chest to me and again stroked and sucked and licked and nursed her way.  Quickly she pulled down her jeans and bent forward over the side of her virginal bed.  “Never fucked on this bed before, so better make it good,” she half-laughed, half-warned me.

I stroked myself a bit more while her fingers slid under her to reach her lips, separating them for me so I couldn’t miss my target.  I stepped forward, and the swollen purple head nudged its way into her wet slit.  A moan escaped her lips.  Or was that from mine.  Damn, this always felt good.  Always felt like home to me.  Inside Nancy, her tight warm pussy engulfing me like no other.  We moved to the rhythm of unheard music, building to a crescendo.  She reached first, gasping as her inner walls stroked and pulsed around me.   She knew I needed to finish myself off and turned on the bed  to watch me masturbate until the swollen head was deep purple and it was time to return to her mouth where I deposited my second load of the day.  Home again.

 ***

The night was dark and quiet, my rental car steadily making its way south.  Past a quiet Newark Airport, empty and dark.  I thought of my journey, the trip up to New York just a few days before when I passed Newark again in the bright sunlight.  Not a plane in the sky.  None taking off.  None landing.  To the right, as I drove northward then, the cloud of smoke and ash still hanging over lower Manhattan.  That moment coming over the hill that always filled me with excitement had turned to despondent sadness.

The purpose of the trip only compounded the unexpected tragedy we all witnessed in real-time.  My father, seriously ill, and needing my help, my turn to be the provider, the caregiver.  For all he had done for me, to make it possible for me to have the life and career I had, despite choices he didn’t always understand or approve.  Battles of the past were just that: memories.  Nancy was long gone from our lives as we broke up soon after that last fling in the Bronx.  A whole new world had arisen, new opportunities, a wife, children, and of course career.  But now, he was ill and had needed me at the worst possible time, and yet somehow, I managed to get a car from DC to head up to New York and to him.

Knowing that he was more set now, at east with his situation, it was now my challenge to return home, to somehow get back to my own family 1500 miles away and share the tragedy and grief with them, as I had been away from home when the planes hit.  Just miles away from the one that landed near DC.  My wife, frightened and alone with our children, wanted me home. Somehow, I needed to get there.  If it meant driving all the way back from New York as the planes were still grounded.  And so here I was, on the Turnpike, headed home somehow.

Around midnight, halfway through New Jersey, it was announced that some flights would resume in the morning.  The first commercial planes allowed back into the sky.  My phone buzzed and the wife called to tell me she had done it: gotten me a ticket.  I just had to get to Philadelphia and catch that flight to come home to her and the kids.  Please.  Just come home, she entreated.

And so, here I was again, driving the Turnpike to Philly.  Past Newark, Elizabeth, Edison.  Exit 6.  Half a smile forms.  I remember.  It had been more than twenty years, but I remembered.  The blowjob at the toll plaza.  My cock stirs a bit, muscle memory, I assume.  Exit 4, and I swerve quickly to exit.  Pay my toll and head west again along that familiar road.  The strip club in the distance.  Over the years, it had become a place of comfort, not shame.  I needed that familiarity.  Now, with the world literally collapsing on us, I needed to seek the pleasure of years past. After all, until our dotage, all we truly have are our memories.  And I had those aplenty.

I pulled again into the gravel lot.  Seemingly nothing had changed outside, but once through the door, my memories betrayed me.  The bookstore up front now was filled with videos and discs, but really, how different was that from the skin mags?  Inside, the booths were gone, replaced by a bar, a pole, and corners curtained off for private shows.  I paid my cover, drank my half-watered beer.  And thought of Nancy.  And blowjobs.  And normal times.  A woman with fake tits and bad makeup came offering a lapdance.  No touching, she said.  The Plexiglas meant the same thing, after all, am I right?  Still, it was a first for me, and by now what new experiences were left?

She wriggled and she grinded, and I was allowed my hands on her waist.  But it was to no avail.

Memories were all I had.  Exit 4 had lost its magic.

 ***

Another twenty years has gone by.  Another tragedy and disaster has befallen us.  Masks to prevent us from inhaling dust and ash, replaced by masks to prevent us from exhaling virus.  The long road down the spine of New Jersey feels the same though.  It still has the same industrial sense as I pass through its various northern towns, and the rural suburban feel of its south.  I pass Exit 4 and chuckle.  A lot of memories around that one ramp.  Muscle memory takes over.  I glance at the phone, and Maps tells me only about two and a half hours to go until I reach my hotel for the night.  Tonight, I will remember the girl in the booth.  My Exit 4 Plexiglas partner.