Holy Roughnecks

In a land far from my own I pulled into a no-name gas station to fill up my rental. A Lincoln towncar that had seen better days backed up to the pump ahead of me. Not familiar with the area, I kept my focus on my car. Safety in not making eye contact and all that.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the driver’s door open and a rugged, large, leather-skinned man emerged. I couldn’t help but look. The back door opened and a larger, muscle bound, jean clad man stepped out. I was openly staring.

They bore the marks of their trade. Oil men. Roughnecks. Dirty hands. Clear eyes. Smile lines etched on their faces.

The other back door opened. Yes. There was another. Blonde hair cropped close. Late 20s with the sun damage of 40+ year old man.

And then a last one hoisted himself up and out of the front passenger seat. His arms were as big as my thighs.

There were four of them. Four massive men.

They all looked my way in unison. Not of their world… And it showed. My skin is a pale gold, shielded every day with generous coatings of SPF. My white button front shirt was crisp and clean. Though I too wore jeans they were paired with brown leather four-inch heels.

Eyes met. They smiled. I allowed the corner of my mouth to lift. The driver nodded. I did the same. I’ve heard about roughnecks, but this was my first experience seeing them up closer.

My mind went to dark and dirty places. Their large, calloused hands on my soft, pale skin. Chapped mouths on my nipples.

And I got in my car and drove away.

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