I don't remember exactly when I met Molly. I had stopped off for the night in Des Moines on a long coast-to-coast haul It was a long night, with lots of drinks, and the earliest I can remember we were chatting like old friends. She was one of those girls with no barriers: everything she thought came straight through her mouth, and she had kind of a dirty mind. There need to be more girls like her.

"So," Molly said, slamming her beer on the table with the authority of a judge's gavel. "What's your biggest accomplishment in life?"

I was taken aback. It was never something I had really considered. "Well, uh... I've been driving a truck for three years without flipping it over and dying in a fiery wreck. That's a pretty major one."

She laughed. Molly had this weird way of laughing where she would throw her head back, her shoulder-length brown hair whipping back to hang straight down, and let out a deep, guttural belly laugh. Then she would tilt her head back forward as if resurfacing and give you a wicked grin. It was off-putting the first time, and attractive by the third (though that may have just been the beers).

"So what about you?" I said. "You have any big accomplishments?"

"You bet." She put her arm on the table and curled it, showing off some muscles. "High school girls' state wrestling champ two years in a row. Grip like an iron... tool... thingy."

"Cool," I said. "You go do that in college? I've heard people are nuts about wrestling down here."

"Not for the girls, really. But I gave it up in senior year because I wanted to seem more feminine. It has its practical benefits though."

"Like what?"

Molly put on a shit-eating grin. "Best handjob in Iowa." She pumped her fist suggestively.

"You sure about that?"

"Hey, have you ever gotten a better handjob here?"

"Maybe you should have a tournament or something. State Handjob Championships."

"I would dominate that, baby."

"Well, I don't really have any proof of that, do I?" I hadn't intended to flirt with her, just get drunk together, but here we were.

She raised an eyebrow. "What, you want to give it a shot?"

"Let's do it." I wasn't entirely serious, but neither of us wanted to call each others' bluff.

Molly got up and pointed to the bathroom. "Alright, but I might spoil all those sloppy truckstop hookers for you."

I followed her, vaguely realizing that this was actually going to happen. We entered the men's room, passed a guy washing his hands who gave me an "I've been there before" look. Hell, he probably had.

Molly all but shoved me into the nearest stall, locking the door behind her. I tugged my jeans down around my ankles. She turned around and looked a little surprise, then examined my dick in detail. It was at quarter-mast, as confused as I was.

She whipped off her shirt and bra, dumping them on the ground. I guess toplessness is required for any decent handjob. And Molly was a good girl to have kneeling in front of you topless. Her breasts were small but firm, and her body was tone and muscular, like an elegant machine. She slowly slid to her knees, batting her eyelashes at me. My cock was now fully ready to go.

Molly's grip was shocking. It was like she said – a steel vice. For a moment there I was worried that she would rip my dick off, but as her fist began to lightly job up and down my shaft my fears were relieved. The virginal tightness felt amazing. Molly spat on my dick, one of those filthy-sexy acts I love so much, and soon the warmth of her saliva made her thrusting fist, slowly increasing in tempo, feel almost like the real thing.

When I told her as much she just looked up at me with that cocky "you ain't seen nothing yet" smile.

Soon Molly's other hand was in play. It took me by surprise, a cold shock against my lower leg. Then it crept up, past my shivering thigh, to my low-hanging balls. With her fingertips she traced a light pattern around my balls, creating an almost feathery sensation. I wanted more, but somehow that light feeling was perfect. Meanwhile, the rhythm of he pumping fist was constant, and I was beginning to involuntarily groan. Spikes of pleasure were shooting up from my groin to my brain.

Molly's left hand was everywhere, running up my flank, under my shirt to reach my nipples, then down at my balls again, then my surprisingly sensitive thighs. And then she placed her palm on the end of my cock, smearing it with my precum. She closed her hand into a kind of shell and began rubbing it up and down. I lost my ability to think straight.

She dragged it out for a while, slowing down just when I was about to about to come, occasionally taking those maddening pauses to re-lather my cock with her spit. All I knew is that those two sensations, the tight warm fist pumping my shaft and the dextrous caressing of my cockhead, were the only things on my mind. Reports from the rest of the bar include a lot of loud moans and distinctly unmanly squeals coming from that stall, but I might as well have been deaf as long as Molly's hands were on my dick.

Finally, she had mercy on me, and let her jacking move faster and faster instead of retreating back to a slower pace. I think I warned her that I was about to come, but I may not have been speaking English at that point. At the last second Molly took her left hand away and gave one final pump with her right. And then I came.

It was a toe-curling, religion-finding, shampoo-commercial orgasm. The first jet of cum hit Molly right in the cheek. Several others painted her chest. My knee jerked up uncontrollably and banged against the metal paper towel dispenser. Cum kept oozing out of my dick for a while, as it felt like my entire body was about to be pulled through it.

I sat there on the toilet, feeling my overly sensitive dick pulse with a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion, begging for mercy. I looked down at Molly, who was wearing the cum on her cheek like a badge of honour. She beamed up at me.

"So, live up to the billing?" she said.

"Babe," I said. "That's probably the best handjob in the whole country."

Molly shrugged. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here."

"You know, that reminds me. It's not much next to your title, but I am the Tri-City Cunnilingus Champion."

"You just made that up."

"Wanna find out?"