TRUCKER by K. Nitsua (Working Man series) Copyright 2000 by the author.
NOTE: This is a revised and expanded version of a story earlier posted elsewhere.
I'm speeding eastward on I-10, just over the Louisiana border from Texas. It's early afternoon, sunny, and the diet soda I drank at lunch is having its effect. I see the sign for the rest stop, it's one mile ahead. Good. When I see it, I get in the right lane and slow down.
I really need to pee. I practically jump out of my car after I've parked and hurry into the men's room. Disappointingly, I'm the only one in there. I zip my equipment back into my gray dress slacks and leave. It's hot but there is a breeze, it's pleasant out despite the roar of the traffic. I decide to take a breather, and sit on a bench in front of the restrooms.
There are a number of trucks, both on the main ramp and in the truck parking lot further from the road. Looking back down the interstate, I see another eighteen-wheeler lumber in. It has to park pretty far back. After a while, the driver gets out and starts toward the men's room. As he gets closer I check him out. He's about my size, dressed in blue work shirt and snug faded jeans. He has a blond ponytail, shaggy mustache, and startlingly blue eyes in a deeply tanned face. As he disappears into the men's room I see his head whip back toward me for an instant.
My eyes stay locked on the entrance until he reappears. Sure enough, he's looking to see if I'm still here. As he passes by again, his hand drops to the bulge between his legs and touches it quickly. He does not slacken his pace, but as I gaze after him he glances backward again.
I stare at him all the way back to his truck. As he climbs back in he looks in my direction yet again. He shuts the door.
After a few minutes, the passenger side door opens and he climbs out. He passes in front of his truck. His hand drops to his crotch, and lingers longer this time. Once again he disappears inside.
I stand and begin to stroll toward the truck. The windows of the cab are tinted so I can't see him. I amble down the ramp and stop directly across the street from the rig.
Nothing happens for long moments. Then, the passenger side door of the cab opens a crack. I take a quick look up and down the ramp. No one is watching. I cross the street to the truck. I can hear the rumble of the idling engine. The door opens wider. I hoist myself onto the step, then I am inside. The cab is huge, and cool. I smell leather, diesel fuel and just a hint of cigarette smoke.
I slam the door, then look to my left. He is behind the wheel, staring back at me with those vivid blue eyes, wide and frank with lust. One hand rests on his thigh. His thumb moves steadily back and forth over his basket.
"How's it going?" I say.
"Not bad, but I'm really horny," he says in a thick scratchy Southern drawl.
"Need it taken care of, eh buddy?"
He nods, climbs from the seat and slides sideways past me. For the first time I see a curtained partition at the back. He heads through this, snapping on a light, and I follow him into the sleeper cab. The bed is at the back. I sit on it.
He moves toward me, beginning to unbutton his jeans. I finish the job and push them down his thighs, revealing a decently flat stomach and below, a skimpy pair of blue bikini briefs, a surprise. I put my hands on his butt and lean forward until my mouth presses against the bulge in front. His scent is faint and clean.
He breath quickens at the contact. I draw away for a moment and pull down the waistband of his underwear. In contrast to his leathery, tanned upper body, the skin below his navel is milky and delicate. I reach inside and pull the half-hard cock out of blond pubes. It's uncut but clean too. I peel the foreskin all the way back, put it in my mouth and go to work on it. It quickly becomes rigid and he sighs with pleasure. "Oh man," he whispers. I skin his briefs down to the top of his jeans, continuing to suck him.
In a few moments he's fucking my face, slamming his crotch into me. He says, "Oh man," several more times. I'm holding on to him for dear life, trying to keep my throat relaxed and the spit flowing. He begins to grunt and, reluctantly, I pull away. "Don't stop," he protests. He's too close though and starts to jack furiously on his dick, willing himself to reach the climax so tantalizing near, grabbing my head, keeping me near the action. I see the moist purple head of his cock appear and disappear out of his foreskin. Small guttural cries rise from his throat as the speed of his hand increases to a blur.
His dick finally spits cum over my face and tongue in warm spurts. "Oh, man," he cries once again. I swallow some; the rest drips onto my shirt and pants.
"Oh, geez, sorry man," he says, panting. I'm breathless too, and sweating despite the air-conditioned cab.
"No problem," I smile. "Tastes good."
He considerately hands me a roll of paper towels from somewhere nearby. I clean myself up as best I can. I expect he'll want me to leave now. I look up to say so long, thank him maybe. The trucker looks back at me, his eyes still filled with that questioning look that I've seen so often in men's faces. He makes no move to dress himself.
"What is it, bud?"
After a pause, he says, "Fuck me?"
I'm taken by surprise. "You sure?" He nods.
"Got any protection?" I ask. In response, he moves away from me toward the head of the bed. I get a look at his butt peeking out beneath his shirttails, small, shapely, smooth and white. My cock leaps up, pressing painfully against my fly. I unfasten my pants to release it. He bends down and opens a small compartment built into the bedframe. When he turns around he is holding a wrapped condom and a small bottle.
"You've done this before," I observe. He nods, smiling for the first time, unexpectedly shy and engaging. He comes over and hands me the stuff, then turns his back, extending his hands and bracing himself against the wall, leaning over the shelf on which the bed is laid.
He's obviously ready for this. I hurry to catch up. I push my slacks down, letting them fall to the floor of the cab around my ankles. There's already a circle of wetness on the front of my white cotton briefs, at the peak of the large bulge my hard cock is making in front. I pull them down and it springs free, the dark cut head engorged, insistent. Quickly tearing the condom wrapper open, I take it out and unroll the lubed latex over myself, then squeeze the bottle and smear the cold gel over the shaft.
I see the trucker turn around, checking out what's going to be plugging his hole. Then he pulls his work shirt up with one hand, exposing his butt completely as well as the curve of his lower back. He gathers the material together in front and stuffs it into his mouth, keeping it out of the way as he reassumes his crouching stance. Somehow I find this tremendously erotic, and I quickly though awkwardly move into position behind him, hampered by the pants around my ankles. The ridiculousness of our coupling only makes it hotter. There's no finesse in this encounter, only the feverish feeding of raw lust.
I take my cock in my hand, finding the tender circle of flesh in the cleft between his cheeks with one finger. I guide the head against it and begin to push, gently but inexorably. His flesh resists, then yields. I look down and watch as the head disappears into his anus, feeling the ring of his sphincter muscles grab it and draw it into the hot smoothness of his insides. A muffled yell of pain rises from his throat and I stop myself from sliding in further.
"It's okay buddy, just relax. I don't want to hurt you," I say to him. I pull back until my cockhead is just starting to peek out, and wait. In a moment he turns his head and nods. I start to push again. This time a long "mmmm" of satisfaction wells up from his throat. His head snaps back as my cock slowly splits him open. Finally I'm buried in him completely, my pubic hair brushing his cheeks, my balls bumping against his butt.
"Fuff mmph," he says into the cloth stuffed in his mouth.
"You got it," I reply softly as I begin to move in and out of him. His hole is tight, squeezing my cock and making me see stars. My left hand grabs his shoulder, the other reaches around and grabs his cock, still wet from his climax moments ago. I begin to jack him off in rhythm with my thrusts. I look down and see the piston of flesh, covered with latex, pounding into him.
We continue this way, the speed of my thrusts increasing. Muffled cries emanate from the trucker. I lean toward him, feeling the heat of his body, catching a whiff of his sweat, mixed with the pervasive odor of the diesel fuel. The rumble of the engine surrounds us--I can't tell whether he's saying words or simply making noises.
I start to make short grunting sounds myself as I fuck him even faster, feeling the sperm start to rise from my balls. "Fuck man, I'm going to shoot," I manage to get out, before the rush of orgasm overwhelms me. A sound that is half growl, half wail escapes from between my clenched teeth as I feel myself explode into the latex sheath buried in his butt. The trucker is shouting into his gag as well, high-pitched squeaks.
Gradually, my body, which has been a machine in overdrive, begins to slow its pace. My eyes open as I gradually come back to something resembling consciousness. My right hand is still grasping the trucker's penis and I realize it's warm and sticky--he's shot another load.
Still breathing hard, I pull back and out of my partner's ass. My cock still fills out the greasy condom but it's beginning to soften. I reach for the paper towel roll with my clean hand, tear off a sheet and wipe my other hand as best I can, then gingerly draw the condom off and wrap it in the soiled paper.
I look up. The trucker has turned around and is watching me. He must have cleaned himself up too because he's pulled up his jeans, and taken his shirt out of his mouth. It hangs freely on him, open and wrinkled.
"Man, you were horny," I say.
He smiles again. I'm struck by how sweet he looks, like a little boy, now that his needs have been satisfied. "Sure was," he says.
"Feel better?" I ask.
He nods. "Yep."
I'm rapidly dressing and smoothing my own clothing. All that exertion has really made me sweat. I'm going to turn the air-conditioning up full blast when I hit the road again.
"What's your name," I ask, as I tuck my shirt in.
"Hank," he says.
"Where are you headed, Hank?"
"Jacksonville."
I reach out and clap him on the shoulder. "Gotta go. I'll get rid of this trash. Thanks, buddy, drive safe now," I say. I clamber out of the cab, open the door and jump out. It's further than I expect and I hit the pavement hard. Breathing fast, but uninjured, I start to walk rapidly back toward the lavatories. I look back once. His face is invisible behind the tinted glass, but I see his hand move in a friendly wave from the driver's seat.
A police cruiser has stopped nearby. The cop standing by his open door glares suspiciously, but we're finished and there's nothing he can do.
I walk back into the men's room and dispose of the used condom and paper towel down the toilet. I wash up at the sink and check in the mirror to make sure everything's back in place, more or less. I go back to my car. Whistling, I get in and start the engine. It's still a long drive to Lake Charles, but I think I can make it by dark.
END