An Offer I Can Refuse

Warning: The following story is true, but may be a little blue for my younger readers (are there any?). Don't say I didn't warn you.




Harken back, if you will, to late January, 2003. The brickwife and I had just moved to Moses Lake, WA so I could start my first real after-college job. We were young, childless (though potentially pregnant at the time, I'm not sure), and carefree. In order to properly furnish our new apartment, we decided that we'd probably better have a couch and a dining room table. To that end, we spent the weekend in Yakima, WA (about 100 miles away) shopping and taking stuff from my parents' house. All in all, we bought a table and four chairs, a media storage cabinet, and scored a totally sweet couch that folds out into a "bed" free from my parents. In order to haul all this stuff back to Moses Lake, we needed a U-Haul. So we rented one. Pretty good story, huh? Psyche! It's not even close to over yet. (Why doesn't anyone say "psyche!" anymore? I miss it. NOT! And why doesn't anyone say "NOT!" anymore? I mean that one never stopped being funny. Am I right? But I digress...)

It's early Sunday morning, and the brickwife and I are about to head out on the road for our 90 minute trip home. I'm driving the U-Haul and she is following behind me in our newly repaired brand new car (that's another story I'll share someday). After getting gas, I get out of town about 10 minutes in front of her. It's an easy drive. There are a few big hills (mountains I think they're called back east) and a big river to cross, but since it's Sunday morning, there's not much traffic. Not that there is ever much traffic on I-90 east once you get past Ellensburg. So anyway, I'm cruising along about 15 miles from my final destination. I look to my right at the county road that runs parallel to the freeway and what do I see? I see a big ol' early 90's Dodge Ram. It's an ugly gold/tan color, which in itself is not weird. What is weird is that it's flying down this little county road at the same speed at which I am driving on the interstate. Weirder still is that the driver seems to be trying to get my attention. He's a typical central Washington farmer guy. Dirty blond hair, mustache, etc. So I look confused, give him the old shoulder shrug to say "Whaddayawant?" We starts waving more vigorously, apparently trying to flag me down. Now I'm worried. I've had a bad experience with a moving truck before so I start to think that maybe the back came open and I dumped a couch out onto the freeway. What if he floored it to catch up to me because he saw the brickwife get into an accident a few miles back and she told him to catch me and tell me? "Whew," I think, "there's an exit just 1/2 mile ahead. I'll take it and find out what is the matter." So I take the exit, turn right towards where I can see the truck sitting at a stop sign waiting for me. The following conversation ensues.

Me: Is something the matter?

Him: Can I interest you in a blowjob?

Me:..............Ummmmmmmm..................What??????

Him: Can I interest you in a blowjob?

Me: No! (while simultaneously flooring it)

At this point, my mind is reeling. What just happened? Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep on the road? All the while, I'm driving the wrong direction on the little county road. After a couple of minutes I decide I'd better turn around so I can get back on the freeway and get home. Luckily, the truck is no longer at the stop sign so I avoid getting accosted again. Fifteen minutes later, I pull up infront of our new apartment to meet a confused brickwife.

"How did I get here before you?" she wonders.
"I'm not really sure how to explain it......"

I never saw that truck or that guy again, but, to this day, I still wonder if there is some kind of weird anonymous gay subculture among the farmers and cattlemen out there in the middle of Red country.

And honestly, "can I interest you in a blowjob?" Who says that????