A Long Time Trucking

“About seventy-five miles in,” I said letting go of the button on the side of my receiver waiting on “Trucker Sin” to come back on the air.

I was at a crossroads as my tractor-trailer barreled down the nightly interstate. I was too close to home to have spent another night in the sleeper berth. Yet, I was still far enough away to be dragged down by the lags of fatigue.

“Well, I’m about to turn in at this truck stop, “Road Hog.” It should be within ten miles of your current position—if you care to join me for a nightcap,” Trucker Sin said seductively over the radio airwaves.

I silently smiled, knowing full well that was neither code for “turning in” nor for some sort of legitimate nightcap. And, although the offer of getting my turtle waxed sounded pretty tempting, I still had my sights set on a warm comfy bed at the end of the asphalt road, preferably at one of those luxurious extended stays, after I had turned in my truck.

“A cup of Joe wouldn’t be so bad.” I said aloud, but dared not to repeat that over the receiver, just in case Trucker Sin read a bit more into it than he should.

But the more I thought about it, the better the idea of a caffeine boost sounded.

As I pulled off on the first exit with any signs of life within those ten miles, I was greeted by a post, pointing to six different truck stops in about four different directions along the highway. Fearing I might run into Trucker Sin accidentally, I turned in to the one truck stop that looked like it was oddly abandoned, something under normal circumstances I’d be extremely wary of. Upon further inspection, however, I saw the place had some life to it, with a large sleeping lot lit in the far back.

As I got out of the truck and walked on over to the store, I spotted a short stocky guy leaning against the building, holding what looked like a hot cup of something, for dear life. He was a good-looking cub, in a scruffy sort of way, and he flashed me a half-cocked smile as I walked on by. I politely smiled back, thinking he was just the kind of layover I wouldn’t mind getting into. But then, I quickly reminded my hopping cock that he was probably nervous about being out of place and alone in the dark.

As I added sweeteners to my coffee, I couldn’t help but look over at him again, through the large windows. At first I thought he could have been cruising, which didn’t do much for me as it did for some of the other truckers. But, the more I thought about it, the less likely that seemed. He would then have been working the sleeper lots in the back rather than working the store in the front. Besides, if he was working the front of the store so blatantly, the cashier would have pushed me off on him, if nothing more than to get him off of the property for a little while.

I paid for my coffee and a couple of snacks and doodads, and eventually left.

“Heading back to Pittsburgh, man?” He looked over at me and asked, as I was coming out of the door.

“Yeah,” I answered, nonchalantly, making my way back to my truck, pretending I didn’t know what he wanted.

I was about halfway up into the trailer, when his voice came over my shoulder, and helplessly asked, “Can I get a lift back to Pittsburgh?”

“I’d like to help out, but…company policy,” I answered truthfully.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency. I’ve got five dollars left to my name, and it’s yours if you can find it in your heart to help me out,” he pleaded.

“Look, I’m just not in the business of picking up hitchhikers.” I said point blank.

“Yeah? Well…I’m not in the business of being stranded in the middle of nowhere, begging some silver-bearded grandpa for a ride home,” he snapped back at me.

“Grandpa?” I said, my ego a bit bruised, and wondering if it was about time to buy another dye kit. “Dad is more like it, and besides my beard is more pepper than salt. Now, I’m sorry you’re stranded, but…”

“Just forget it,” he said defeated, and walked back over towards the front of the store. “My problem ain’t your problem.”

“Damn, Skippy,” I puffed as I crawled back into my truck, angered more by the fact that the worthless bastard had called me “Grandpa” than over anything else. I just got the engine warmed up, when I happened to see him move from the front of the store to the back, and I thought about what I might have to do if my back was between a rock and a hard place like his. And with him looking as good as he did in a place amongst vicious wolves that’d happily pounce on any innocence he might have left.

“Wait a minute,” I shouted out of the window.

The engine must have been too loud for him to hear me, so I lightly tapped the horn to get his attention and waved him back around when I did. “Get your ass back over here.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, running over to the passenger side of the truck and climbing in. “But what about company policy? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“Who the fuck gonna tell?” I winked. “So what’s your name kid?”

“Kid?” He blinked, pulling at his scruffy brown beard.

“Yeah, considering you called me ‘Grandpa’, that would make you a kid,” I smirked.

“Sorry about that,” he said, slightly embarrassed after the fact. “I’m Pete Gallagher.”

“Dave. Dave Blake.” I said, reaching over to his hand. His mile beamed bright for about a mile and a half before he reached into his pocket and pulled out five ones.

“Here’s the five dollars. I really appreciate this, Dave.”

“Keep that shit.” I said, shooing away his hand.

I probably hadn’t even gotten back onto the interstate a good ten miles before he started sobbing and then all out bawling out of control. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” I thought to myself, trying to watch the road and him at the same time. It didn’t take long for me to understand his sudden release of emotion, though, as he told me the whole story.

A few days earlier, Pete was your average happy-go-lucky guy with his life slowly recovering from a financial meltdown. In spite of that, he was really excited about him and his business partner coming up from Pittsburgh to Buffalo to pitch a new software program to a potential new client. Somewhere between their meeting and their early celebration in Niagara Falls, they got a phone call they had lost the contract. His partner decided to head back to Buffalo without him, and in a petty temper tantrum, had left with Pete’s belongings and his ride home.

Obviously, Pete was angry. Being an eternal optimist, and always having a backup plan, Pete thought it was easy to call up his lover of three years and have him wire some money to get him back home.

Turned out, the reason for his business partner’s sudden exodus was to run off with Pete’s lover, leaving Poor Pete in the dust to find a way back home…that is, if he still had a home after learning the eviction process on his apartment had just started.

“No offense,” I said somberly, “But it doesn’t seem like there’s much to go back to Pittsburgh for.”

“Its home,” Pete offered plainly, later revealing in the last leg of our trip it was where he had built his life some twenty years earlier after his family disowned him.

“What are you going to do when you get there?”

“Expect the worst, pray for the best,” Pete said with a twinkle of eternal optimism. “I really have no choice.”

We rode in silence, as we made our way back into the city limits.

Because I wasn’t just about to drop him off any old where, I took him back to the trucking yard with me. Even though I was beyond tired, we jumped into my car, and headed over to his apartment where someone had cleaned it to the bone, barely leaving a few of Pete’s things scattered throughout the bathroom and bedroom closet.

“Like I said before,” I offered. “You’re more than welcome to crash with me at the extended stay for the week until you can come up with a more permanent plan.”

Although I was dog-tired and hadn’t expected my night to take such a strange turn, I stayed away long enough to check us into one of the better extended stays on the other side of town. My hope ten was to crash once we got into the room, but hygiene took precedence. I let Pete jump into the shower first, and after he was done, I went in behind him to wash off the road.

Usually, because I was so used to being by myself, I often forgot my manners when I got around other people. This was especially true in such a small space (that usually considered my own) from taking a shower with the door wide open to trouncing back into the room butt-naked, ready to climb under the covers.

“Oh, shit,” I said, moving from the pulled back covers over to my overnight back to pull out a pair of boxers. “Normally, I go commando. Being that the bed is so small, though, I seriously doubt you want to wake up with some morning wood knocking at your back door.”

Pete chuckled. It was then I happened to notice that he, too, was naked; sitting at the end of the bed, trying his hardest to hide a sprouting erection.

“See something you like?” I asked casually with my cock lazily swinging between my thighs.

“Uh, yeah,” Pete grinned, almost to the point of being giddy. “You?”

“Oh, yeah?” I said with my cock tip peeking out from behind my foreskin, as I looked at his nicely thick, solid body.

And while the body was more than willing, the mind and spirit was not. With the whole fallout with his business partner and lover and having to walk almost halfway home, his mind was understandably preoccupied with more than just getting me off.

Besides, I didn’t want to come off as an opportunist, taking advantage of his situation, given the fact I was pretty much providing him with a roof over his head until I left town again.

We crawled into bed naked, arm and arm, and doze off.

The next morning, I woke up with his back pressed against my chest and my arm wrapped around him. My morning wood was profoundly present against his back, and he tried to suggestively get it into the top of his crack.

“Ain’t playing fair, Petey,” I mumbled, leaning and kissing him behind his ear.

“I was wondering when you’re going to get up,” Pete said, slowly sliding his crack further against my cock.

“I’m already up,” I said smoothly.

“I can feel that,” he chuckled.

I pulled back the cover, climbed out of bed and grabbed a condom and some lube from my overnight bag and tossed them on the nightstand. I wanted to be prepared before things got too hot and heavy, as I climbed back under the covers.

“I see someone’s prepared.” Pete said, turning his attention to me.

“Always.”

I brought him in closer to me for a kiss, playing with his small pointy nipples and feeling the slickness oozing out of his stout cock, rubbing it back and forth over mine. With our tongues tied, I reached around him, gingerly cupping his hairy ass, spreading it and kneading it to the open air.

Pete gave off some generous moans, which told me he was really liking what I was doing while trying his best to pull me on top of him.

Once I conceded and got on top of him, I ground my body against his, with my hard cock against his belly. During one fevered makeout frenzy, my cock slipped between his thick, hairy thighs, allowing me to hump his hanging ballsac feverishly, into playful oblivion. Seeing the look of lust on his face; to say Pete was enjoying this would be a gross understatement.

The poor boy almost came, when I worked over his nipples again with my mouth, oohing and ahhing like I had taken him away to an erotic getaway that he’d only before read about, in men’s magazines like All-Bear.

“Jesus Christ, fuck,” Pete droned. “Thank you, Dave!”

“You haven’t begun to thank me yet,” I thought aloud.

I worked my mouth down his large solid belly, gliding my tongue and lips hungrily over his cock and balls, giving them both a good once-over, before rolling his legs over his head, and working my tongue around the rim of his wrinkled rosebud. I enjoyed watching it twitch in anticipation, waiting every time my tongue was about to poke into it, dead-center.

“Stop teasing me, Mr. Trucker Man,” he mumbled. But I kept on taunting and teasing him until I saw that his sphincter was literally dancing open into a pink, fleshy abyss.

“Get that fucking wet tongue of yours up in there!” he begged.

I ignored his pleas, teasing him some more.

Once I was able to slip my index finger down to the first knuckle, I pulled it out, and slipped my tongue deep down inside of his twitching asshole, in one smooth motion.

“Oh, fuck yeah…that’s what I’m talking about, Dave!”

I started tongue-drilling him, rimming him for several minutes, hearing his lustful cries of “Don’t stop!” from beyond the beautiful landscape of his thick hairy chest and belly.

Eventually, I pulled away, not waiting long to hear him begging for me to come back. With my face buried deep between his mounds, I slipped finger after finger after finger into his tight hole, until it became nice and loose.

“Fuck me, fucker!” he bellowed out. I think his eagerness startled him more than it did me, but the words seemed to roll off his tongue with much more ease than he would have liked—or so it appeared.

“That was my plan all along,” I said, repositioning my body so that while I continued to eat out his ass, Pete could bathe my cock in his mouth.

He gave as good as he got, working my cock overtime with a mouth trick I know would have made him a big hit with the fells back there in those trucker sleeper lots.

Coming up for breath, and not wanting to let loose with a thick creamy load down his throat just yet, I looked down at him and said, “I think it’s time to poke some butt.”

I reached over at the condom and lube on the nightstand and slipped them on.

With his legs comfortably over his head, I stood up on the bed and made dead aim for his puckered hole, which seemed to revert to its tight-fisted ways so soon after I’d dedicated so much time to opening it up.

Nevertheless, I listened intently to his pleasure and pain, carefully navigating my slow and steady invasion into his nether region.

I had him impaled on my cock, all the way down to the hilt, and held my position, letting his warm sobbing hole get used to the size of my tool inside of him.

Much like a roller coaster before the sudden drop, I pulled out little by little just enough for his hole to have tightened back up. Then, I savagely pile-drive it back in, as I began to fuck him with relentless force.

I fucked Pete long and hard in that position, finding sadistic calm in listening to him grunting and squealing every time I withdrew my cock and shoved it back down into his hungry butt-chute. He gasped and groaned for some more as I claimed his ass as my own.

Pete seized the opportunity to toy with me as well, gripping my cock like a vice with ass muscles, pulling on it as I pulled out, and opening wide as I plunged back in.

As our back-and-forth rhythm built, he looked at me with an expression in his eyes that told me there was no turning back now. He was about to blow.

With Pete’s eyes locked on mine, and his hands on my thick nipples, his body trembled. Without touching his cock, he let out a low guttural roar, and spontaneously shot at thick series of cum-ropes in the direction of his eager open mouth; landing two of the streams across his face and mouth.

Watching that, I felt the churning start in my abdomen, and traveled quickly to my nuts. I sunk my dick all the way inside him, held it for about 3 seconds, and let out an animalistic howl.

With that, I grunted hard, and released the contents of my aching nuts into the condom inside his ass. Wave after wave of orgasmic bliss shook through my body; all of it channeling down my gut and out through the end of my spitting dick. Pete smiled devilishly at me as he clinched and released his ass muscles, milking my dick for all it was worth, my sweating body shuddered and stammered to keep my balance.

After my orgasmic convulsions subsided, I slowly pulled out of him, the spunk-filled condom hanging from the end of my dick like a half-full water balloon.

“That’s for the pick-up,” Pete gasped.

I pulled off the condom, and just like a young kid, I jumped down on the bed beside him, marveling at the pool of our sweat on the bed.

We fucked like this for days. Trying to help Pete forget his troubles, I even allowed him to give me a load down south.

Once, the lust in me was tempted to ask him to do the same for me; but I stopped short of even asking him. For one, he might have wanted to get back to his life, or whatever was left of it. And secondly, while some truckers have mastered the art of driving and fucking; for me, it would have meant settling down, putting him on my company insurance and deducting it from my paycheck; something for which I wasn’t sure I was prepared.

After putting him up for a couple more weeks and having night after night of the most mind-blowing sex of my life, it was time for him to go back home.

We promised to keep in touch with each other, but a part of me realized that I might never see him again. I tried to look at it as turning a bad situation good…for a little while, at least. And I decided just to move on.

Well…that was then. Now, I miss Pete. And if he calls me, I’ll pick him up wherever he is, and take him into my arms, and we’ll be Roadmates for a long time trucking.