Yes

Tom slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder past the girl. She was hot enough that he was thinking he wouldn't even ask for gas money unless she offered. Just looking at her would be payment enough. He watched in the rearview mirror as the girl trotted up to the passenger side of the car; her jugs were bouncing like she wasn't wearing a bra. It was poetry in motion. Tom lowered the passenger window as she approached, and she leaned in the window. He got a good look down her shirt that confirmed his assessment about her lack of a bra.

She smiled those pearly white teeth at him and said, "How far ya headin'?"

"Well, in the long run, California, but today, probably Lincoln, Nebraska. Where you goin'?" he replied. He tried hard to keep his eyes looking up at her face, but when she looked down the road, he snuck a peak back at her delightful chest. His lap was getting a little tight.

"I'm going to Kansas City, but if I can ride with you 'til Des Moines, I'd be grateful," she said, giving Tom another award-winning grin. "I don't have any money for gas, but I've got a joint I'd share with you. Will that be enough?"

He was reminded of the old Sixties hitchhiking slogan, “Gas, Grass or Ass,” meaning “Gas money, Marijuana, or Sex will pay for a ride.” He grinned back at this ebony Amazon and enthusiastically said, “Sure! Hop in!”

She opened the door and slid into the seat next to him, putting her small backpack between her feet. Her legs went on forever, and, at this close distance, Tom could see that her skin was perfect: dark chocolate brown and smooth. Her belly showed below the cropped t-shirt, and he could see the curve of her breast through the top of her shirt. She extended her hand to him, saying, “I’m Jo, short for Josephine, but if you call me Josephine, I’ll clock ya. Pleased to meet ya.”

Tom shook her hand and said, “I’m Tom, which is not short for Thomas. The pleasure is mine.” She lingered a bit long in the handshake and then released his hand and sat back in the seat. Tom put the car in gear and headed down the road.

After about five minutes of the tritest small talk, Jo dug around in her backpack and pulled out a big fat joint, about the width of a cigarette. “Do you want to start now or smoke it later?” she asked, rolling it lightly in her fingers.