Crossing Texas – Chapter One
Prologue
I was driving across Texas on a late autumn afternoon. The landscape was dreary, the sky gray, and I had been driving all day when, about six p.m., I pulled my car into a small motel just north of Dallas. After settling into my room, I called the lobby to request an extra blanket. Shortly thereafter a young lady brought a blanket to my room.
As I had been alone all day driving across this seemingly endless state, I asked the young lady to join me for dinner. I needed company. She agreed and, after checking with her manager, she joined me. We went to a Luby’s cafeteria located about two miles away.
As we ate our meals, I mentioned that I was headed home to Iowa, and that I had grown up near the Iowa border. This fact seemed to affect her strangely. I asked her how an articulate, seemingly educated woman such as herself had come to work as a motel maid. Expecting a typically vague reply to my routine question, I was very surprised as tears formed in the young lady’s eyes, and she began to tell the shocking tale of her own journey across Texas.
Intrigued, I stayed three more days at that motel. I interviewed the young lady and many others whose lives had intersected with hers. Based upon these interviews, I put her most unusual story down on paper.
At the end of my stay, as I loaded luggage into my car and prepared to resume my own journey and my own life, I asked the young lady for a final statement.
“Just tell everyone,” she said, “never attempt to cross Texas. Texas is like a true love: you may love her, then you may hate her, but you’ll never leave her.”
What follows is her story.
I had just passed Dallas when my troubles began. A few miles north of the city, in a town which was fast becoming a big city suburb, my car overheated. Perhaps it was caused by the transmission, which had been slipping badly since I crossed the U.S- Mexico border. At any rate, I had to pull over. Luckily, I spotted a small motel a half mile up the highway. With steam trailing ominously behind, I pulled into the parking lot of the Paradise View motel. The engine shook violently as I turned the key off.
Save for a half dozen cars, the motel’s parking lot was empty on this sunny March afternoon. The motel appeared to have formerly been a chain, like a Best Western or La Quinta, but no more. I guessed that it had about 30 or 40 units, a restaurant, and a small pool. From the motel, which was seated atop a gentle rise, I could view rolling prairies to the north, while far to the south I could just make out the Dallas skyline.
Warm, tired, hungry and very thirsty, I entered into the restaurant, which also served as a bar for the motel’s patrons.
I sat down at the bar and ordered a hamburger and French fries and a beer.
The waitress was a young Mexican-American girl with long wavy black hair and expressive brown eyes. Her name tag identified her as “Sara”. She wore a yellow blouse and navy blue skirt. Tall for a hispanic girl, at about 5’6″, thin, with her full lips painted bright red, Sara was simply, undeniably beautiful. I was stunned.
As I downed a couple of beers, we conversed about the weather, the traffic, and other typical small talk subjects. But after I had finished a couple more beers, I began to spill out my life story. I told her I was returning from spending the winter on the Yucatan coast; how I had left Des Moines for Mexico on my 20th birthday, seeking an escape from Midwestern boredom; how I was now returning to Iowa, hoping that I could get my old job back at the bank there in my hometown.
More beers continued to loosen my tongue. I told Sara how I was alone, nearly broke, and now had serious car troubles to boot. How there seemed to be no one in this world who cared about me. How no one even knew where I was on this particular day, nor cared.
“So”, she asked in between waiting on the customers who came and left while I rambled on, “why go back to Des Moines?”
Why indeed, I wondered as Sara set a stiff rum and coke be before me.
“On the house,” she said.
Feeling dizzy, I moved to a booth. I recall Sara gently stroking my face as I enjoyed another drink, again on the house. That’s all I can remember, until..
SMACK! Stunned, I opened my eyes. A young, tall blond woman stood before me, pointing a handgun directly at my head. Frantically I tried to block her hand as she swung at my face again. SMACK! My hands were somehow secured behind my back.
“What is it? What’s going on,” I yelled at her, frightened.
“You can have all my money! Go ahead and take my wallet!”
“I’m not robbing you, IDIOT”, she replied in a stern voice, before slapping me yet again.
“I’m arresting you!”
“What? Why? I don’t understand?”
“RAPE, you pervert! You raped Sara,” she yelled, glancing towards her left.
Looking there, I saw Sara huddled in a dim corner of the restaurant. Her yellow blouse was torn, its buttons ripped off, and her hair was messed. There were blood stains on her blouse and on her right cheek. Half undressed, wearing no skirt or panties, she appeared to have been crying. Sara turned away from me, as if she did not want me to see her.
“No..no way.I couldn’t have.,” I muttered as I again turned towards the blond woman and the gun pointed at me.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, looking down towards the floor.
“You could, and you did, and you’ll pay big time for it, idiot. My uncle is the sheriff here. You know, idiot, that this is Texas, not some liberal little yankee state. You’ll rot in a filthy Texas prison. I guarantee it. You’ll be an old man before you ever again walk a street as a free man.”
“No., please.” I turned to Sara.
“Please, I’m sorry. I must have been drunk. I can’t remember anything. I’m sorry, very sorry.” Sara turned away. The room was dark. I couldn’t see for sure, but she appeared to be grimacing. Or grinning.
The blond continued, “Don’t even try moving. I’ve already called the police. You’re history, asshole.” Then she slapped my face again. I couldn’t help it.the alcohol, the stress, the violence. I vomited all over myself. I was so frightened I actually began to shiver uncontrollably, and then I began to cry.
“Please,” I begged.
“I’ll do anything if you’ll leave the police out of this. Anything at all. You can have all of my money and my car.”
“IDIOT! Your car is a piece of junk, and I already have the little money you had.”
“But please, please.,” I begged, sniveling.
At this point Sara spoke up.
“Amanda,” she said, “maybe we should hold off on this. He was really drunk and all. Maybe he didn’t really mean to hurt me.”
“What! That pervert raped you!”
“I know. But., wait., I don’t know what to do. Maybe he could make it up to me somehow, but without going to prison. I just know he’d be dead within a year or two behind those bars, and then I’d kind of feel bad, you know., sort of responsible for his death. Do you know what I mean, Amanda?”
Just then we saw a police car pull into the parking lot. Luckily, the parking area was well lit while the restaurant was quite dark, which made it impossible for the officer to see into the restaurant window.
“Please! Listen to her. Please!” I beseeched the young blond woman to spare me from the hell of Texas incarceration.
“OK.OK.”, she said hesitantly, “so., you will work for me.., do exactly what I ask., with no complaints? None at all. And you’ll do anything that Sara asks.., no questions asked?”
“Yes, I will! I promise! Please!!!”
“OK. Sara, you win, for now. Take that creep out the back door and lock him in room #17. Then come right back. We’ll report the rape to the officer, but hold off for now on turning the idiot over to the police.
With that, Sara, wearing only her torn blouse over her bra, led me to a vacant motel room, pushed me into it, then locked the door and left. Alone in the dark room, still shaking uncontrollably, I collapsed onto the bed, my hands still bound. I could feel the sticky vomit and, maybe, semen, which covered my legs and groin. Exhausted and poisoned by alcohol, I again slipped from consciousness.
The End of Crossing Texas – Chapter One.
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index