A Trucker & Mack
5 Nov 2021 8886 readers Score 9.2 (94 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
The lingering odor of stale cigarette smoke hangs like an invisible mist in the wee room. He tosses and turns, waddled in the sheets, like some celestial babe. He rolls over, a sheet intertwined, wrapped betwixt his muscled legs, covering the treasure of his precious jewels within the soft cotton.
“Uh! Uh!” he moans aloud in a quiet utterance, “Uh! Uh!”
A mounted small fan whirs its tiny blades in the corner of the sleeper cab, moving what air there is, about in the little room. He sits up in the bed, the sheet falling off his matted sweaty fur and bunching about his slender waist. Wisps of light blonde pubes peak out from underneath the gathered bed sheet; an equally dense growth of similar shaded ‘fur’ covers his muscled chest of similar color.
“Oh, shit!” he moans as he brushes his hand threw his long wavy and curly blonde locks, “I drank way too…too much, last night.”
He is greeted by the bright morning sunlight as the rays hit him, squarely in the face.
There is a tan and blue, two-toned pick-up parked in the front of his semi.
“Mmm.”
“Uh! Uh!” a voice, not his own, reverberates through the sleeper, “Is the sun-up, already, man?”
He looks to his darkly handsome coverless dozing bed-companion, he is as naked as he is, seeing the beads of sweat appear on the man’s back and shoulders.
“Yep,” he answers.
He slides from the cramped corner of the bed and sits at the edge where he had just unzipped the divider. His bare soles hit the clothes-strewn floor. A brown bag falls from it propped perch against the bed and only he hears the muffled sound of glass on the floor.
“I found your bottle, Mack.”
“Where?”
“My foot jus’ hit it,” he says.
“It is still quite full, I think. Want some?”
He sees the swell of the man’s taunt buttocks. A light sheen of dark fine hairs dots the man’s exquisite derriere as he shifts about on the bed.
“You do have one looking ass, Mack.”
Mack yawns and rolls over on his back while he stretches his arms upward to the sky, as another yawn escapes from his mouth. The man’s cock flops from one thigh to the other in its piss-hard readiness.
He slides up next to him from the foot of the bed.
Mack’s cock is steely-hard, and it has an Eiffel Tower-like perkiness on this Sunday morning.
“You rarin’ to go again, aren’t you?”
“Always,” Mack says, coyly, “Always!”
He smiles as he creeps closer to Mack on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, he sniffs the air close to his companion.
“You smell like a…ah, ah, a good fuck. A really good fuck.”
Mack smiles, a bit of devilment in his tone.
“You covered me in your milky-creamy spunk, last night, I should smell ‘like a good fuck,’” Mack smiles and laughs, slightly.
He returns the favor as he kisses Mack, roughly on his lips. The odors of stale cum wafts into his nose.
He scoops up the man’s balls in his hands, squeezing them, rolling them about in his clutched grip. Mack coos as he is fondled to ever-increasing readied-hardness between his legs. Mack’s cock stirs to absolute hardness, the skin stretched to the maximum on his cock to its glistening redness.
“Ahhhh!” Mack fidgets on the bed, due to his genital sensitivity, “Ahhh!”
Slobber oozes out of each of their mouths, mingling of their juices on each man’s lips, as the emotions between the two men, intensify. He feels a growing stiffness creep to life between his legs, just like, his buddy, Mack.
Mack slides down on the bed from resting against the back of the sleeper cab.
He stands and looks down, Mack’s massiveness and the liquidly cum-drops seeping from his glaring red pee-hole, makes his ass muscles twitch in anticipation. He squats over the man’s towering impressiveness, feeling it snake through his hairy crevice. The sparks from such intimate closeness, shoots through him, feeding his own building excitement.
He can feel Mack’s hardness, as the cum-dripping cockhead glides across his hairy crack, the juice of the throbbing member releases its abundance locked up in his balls, in a stream of wet wonder, Mack’s juices leak steadily.
“Your cock feels good,” he tells Mack as he continues his forceful pivoting on the engorged cock.
“Just like yours did last night when you fucked the hell outta my hole,” Mack says, “Now it’s my turn.”
“Slide on down,” Mack coos as he awaits the tightness he knows is coming.
It is a snug fit as the truck driver eases down his upward hard-standing flesh-rod.
“Ahhh!” Mack squeals as the beast of man, who is riding him like a bronco.
The trucker’s tight ass is devouring his cock.
“Ahhh!” Mack sighs.
“You do feel good!” The trucker compliments.
The truck driver’s face winces and contorts as the hefty cock fills his hole as it sinks deeper into him.
“You didn’t know what to expect when we met three years ago, uh, Mack?” he says as he has sunk to the furred hilt on Mack’s swelled tool.
“No, who knew answering a Craigslist ad that read, ‘Trucker Needs Head. Passing Through Town Tonight. Cum On’”
“I have not been disappointed since that first time,” he says, “Why do you think I keep comin’ back for more?”
“I know why,” he squeezes his ass-muscles.
Mack lets out another, ‘yelp’ as more juice is pumped from his buried cock.
“I just wish I knew your name, Trucker, your real name.” Mack sighs as he pounds his cock roughly into the rider mounted on his groin.
“Trucker is all you need to know,” Trucker says as sweat begins to bead up on his brow.
He flings his hair from face, as he rocks back and forth on the member buried deep up into his ass.
“OH! OH! OH! OH damn, you feel good!”
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Someone is banging on the driver’s side door of the cab.
Then a shouting man’s voice erupts through the harsh bamming.
“YOU IN THE TRUCK. CAN YOU STEP OUT HERE FOR A MOMENT?”
Silence.
“Oh, shit!” Trucker exclaims, as he ceases with his gyrations.
“I AM WITH THE COUNTY SHERIFF DEPARTMENT.”
That familiar voice from before yells out. Again.
Mack slides up as Trucker lifts himself off his still hard, still throbbin’ and still pulsin’ cock.
“Gimme a minute, Deputy!” Trucker proclaims.
“OKAY, SIR! HURRY UP! TIMES A-WASTEN.”
“Where are my jeans?” Trucker barks as his eyes dart about the sleeper cab.
“Here! Here!” Mack says as he flings the jeans from his side of the bunk at Trucker.
“SIR! SIR!” comes, the loud booming voice from the deputy outside.
“I AM COMIN’ DEPUTY!” Trucker shouts, as he puts a finger in front of his mouth, trying to ‘shush’ Mack’s mouth. It does not work.
“No, you’re not, “Mack says, as he attempts to fondle Trucker’s rapidly disappearing cock as he tucks it inside the jeans as he is slipping them up each of his legs.
Mack holds back a chuckle as Trucker fights to contain his raging hard-on within the snug jeans.
“BRING YOUR LICENSE AND REGISTRATION WITH YOU, TOO, SIR!” the deputy barks out another order from beyond the vision of each man in the sleeper cab.
Trucker claws his way off the bunk and out the unzipped sleeper cab. Once on the other side of the divider, inside the semi-truck cab, he opens the glove compartment to get what the deputy requested in his last yell.
Trucker has the jeans pulled up, barely covering his muscled waist, the pants are not buttoned, and the zipper is unfurled, an open fly, revealing his deep bushy blonde pubes beyond the open zipper tracks, as the parted ‘V’ of his pants, hides nothing, from all eyes.
“I am comin’ deputy!” Trucker yells out, sensing another yell from the man, outside.
He opens the passenger door and turns to get down but before he does, he tells Mack, “You best get dressed.”
Mack nods his head as another wisp of cum escapes from his still hard fleshy-red knob.
***
Trucker is sternly greeted with that of a fresh faced clean-shaven young man, of about twenty-two years old, attired in the brown uniform of the county sheriff’s department. The deputy is quite compact in his built as his muscles strain to be contained within the shirt of the deputy’s to-tight uniform.
“You are gonna hafta to move this truck and trailer, Sir!”
The young man says as Trucker feels and sees the eyes of the deputy sweep over him in a quick curious glance.
“Can you button your pants and …ah, zip them up, Sir,” the deputy says as his hand drifts, ever so casually, to his groin, adjusting the hard-on that is growing under the brown slacks of his monochromatic uniform.
“I am missing the snap-button and the zipper is broken, too. Sorry, deputy, I was in a rush, you know, “Trucker smirks at the mention of his vivid genital display and the deputy’s reaction, he is trying, miserably to hide.
“You have what I asked for, Sir?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He hands the deputy the requested paperwork.
Trucker stands shirtless and barefoot in the parking lot of the abandoned restaurant, tucked away opposite, north of a bustling chain grocery store and parallel to a sleazy looking Motel 6. His hands cover his ‘bare’ almost-exposed essentials, he is not embarrassed by his freeballing ‘exposure,’ but it is a cool morning. The hilt of his cock is clearly visible among his furry pubes, which is clearly seen by the deputy. His nipples are hard against his down-stretched arms as each one rubs his rosy nips to sensitivity. The electricity still pulses through him from the interrupted, in progress, fuck.
Trucker can see the clearly stimulated penis outline of the deputy’s cock as it presses ever harder against his right-side pants leg.
“Mmmm,” Trucker says as he wipes his tongue across his lips.
“Excuse me, Mr. McLeod, is there a problem?” the deputy says as he looks over ‘Trucker’s’ license and registration.
“No, Sir,” Trucker says as he sees a wet spot form in the crotch portion of the pants of the buff-built deputy.
“Do you have someone inside your truck, Mr. McLeod?” the deputy asks, knowing the answer before he even asked the question.
“Yes.”
“Is it the owner of this truck?” The deputy asks.
“I am the owner of this here truck. It is a friend.” Trucker says as he points to the parked pick-up near his truck.
The deputy points to the two-tone pick-up truck.
“Yes,” Trucker says, “Do you want me to call them out?”
The deputy nods his head.
“Would you, please,” the deputy asks.
“Mack, can you come out here,” Trucker yells, “please.”
Trucker looks up and into the front window of the truck and sees Mack.
Message received.
Soon Trucker and the deputy are joined by Mack, the threesome stand, in the empty parking lot, as traffic on the four-lane highway nearby whizzes by, as the masses prepare to go about their Sunday morning.
“Here is your information, Mr. McLeod,” the deputy says as he hands the paperwork back to Trucker.
Mack looks at him. He knows his secret, now. He knows his real name.
“You need to find another place to park, Mr. McLeod, this is a busy road and not made for a semi to park overnight.”
Trucker smirks to himself. He has been parking here for years and there has never been any problem, until now. This kid is trying to be tough.
“Yes, Sir.”
“This is my area to patrol, I am assigned here, so I am always around. I will be watching for your compliance.”
“Yes, Sir,” Trucker answers.
“Have a good day, gentlemen, and be about your way, soon.”
The deputy turns and walks hurriedly to his patrol car. He removes his headgear and hastily gets inside the waiting, still running vehicle. There is discomfort as he squirms to get himself seated behind the steering wheel. He does a three-point turn and prepares to exit but before he does, he glances in his rearview mirror seeing the pair, still standing there, before he pulls into traffic.
“Did you see the cock on that dude, Mack?” Trucker exclaims, not hiding his astonishment.
The deputy sheriff’s cock outline was painfully obvious in the man’s pants. He adjusted the strained member in his pants as the minutes ticked away. His right hand never left the front of his crotch.
“Yeah, “Mack says, “There was a noticeable wet spot on the front of his pants, too. Did you see how long he was, it snaked down his right leg, like a striking viper.”
“You saw it, too, huh.”
“Uh-huh, Interestin’,” Mack says.
“Yes.”
“You stood out here, like that?” Mack says as he glances at Trucker’s obvious ‘commando’ presentation.
Trucker fondles his bulge, while he snaps the button and zips up his fly, he had lied to the deputy about the state of his jeans.
“You tease,” Mack says.
“Wave to the nice deputy, “Trucker says, as the tires of the patrol car screech on the asphalt as he speeds out of the parking lot.
Both men wave but the deputy does not seem to notice.
“I’d better go, “Mack says, “You gonna be back through here on Thursday, like always.”
“Yeah, you know my schedule.”
“Why doncha park over there in the grocery store parking lot?” Mack says as he points across the road.
“I will,” Trucker says, “Usual time? See you then.”
“Maybe the next room we should be in, is over there.”
Mack points to the motel across the way.
“Where?” Trucker asks.
“There. The Motel 6?” Mack explains.
“Yes.”
“That kid was no Fife, was he?” Mack says, happily.
“Hell, no, “Trucker says, “He was no Barney Fife. That kid played sports, dammit. He is built like a brick house.”
“Probably at the local high school?” Mack says, “He liked what he saw, you know.”
“You think?”
“Hell, yeah,” Mack says, “I told you, you look like some mythical Norse god.”
“Now you are gettin’ me hard, again,” Trucker says as he squeezes the bulge in his jeans that never went away.
“We best git,” Mack says, “See you soon, bud.”
***
RING! RING! RING!
The cell rings on the seat next to him as he drives through the lakes, the community he calls home.
RING! RING! RING!
He looks on the face of the phone and recognizes the number.
“Hey, man,” Mack says, “Are you here, it’s me, Trucker?”
“I am. I am at the ‘Y’ in the Shops, working out, can you pick me up, let’s say, in about a half hour?”
“Sure, I am headed that way. Want a workout partner?” Mack asks.
“Sure, c’mon. My truck is parked behind the plaza, safe and sound. I will be inside. You are a member, right.”
“I am. Be there in a bit.”
The line goes dead as Mack turns onto the boulevard, passing over the railroad tracks as he heads toward the interstate and to the shops. He is a mile away from Trucker.
He can feel his ass, tighten, and constrict, in anticipation of Trucker’s cock in his hole. He fondles his cock in his jeans as his erection stiffens. There is a noticeable tent in his worn Levi jeans.
***
Mack walks into the ‘Y,’ the area is the size of three storefronts but there are very few working out on the floor. There are random clanks of metal on metal, throughout the room as individuals are occupied on the machines and the regular weights. He glances and sees Trucker on the weight benches across the back wall, alone in the corner.
“Hey, man,” Mack as Trucker lifts a weighted bar up and down.
Mack’s eyes pivot to the sight before him.
“8…9…10,” Trucker slams the bar on the bench.
Trucker is in a cut-off red tee and a loose pair of noticeably short black shorts. The blonde hairs on his legs shine out against the dark material. The red of his cut-off highlights his Nordic ancestry. His furry cock hangs out of the left leg of the shorts, amidst the animalistic appearance of this beast of a man.
What Mack sees brings out his own inner animal.
Mack tugs on his jeans at the sight of this ‘exposure.’
“Looking damn good, Trucker.”
“My cock is hanging out, ain’t it?”
“Oh, yeah, “Mack says, “That big ole fucking head of yours is not even trying to hide, itself.”
“It felt the cool air.”
Trucker does not even bother to shove his tool back into his shorts, there is no one around the pair, to see or hear their private discussion.
Mack looks around, while he squeezes his swelled cock in his jeans, he then notices something.
“OH, SHIT!” Mack says. His face turns red and almost fevered with an inner excitement.
Trucker darts up from laying down position on the bench with alarm in his voice.
“What?” Trucker says, caught off guard by Mack.
“Your deputy is in here.”
“Oh!” Trucker sighs, “Where?”
“Oh, is right,” Mack says, “Oh, is right.”
Trucker runs his fingers, on his right hand, over his dangling cock. A whisper of man-juice drips from his piss-tip.
“Let’s go say, ‘hi,’” Trucker says as he stands.
As he stands, Trucker adjusts his cock, the bulge is readily apparent, as the ‘massiveness’ is glaringly obvious in the small cotton black shorts.
“You think, we should?’
“I do, I really do,” Trucker says, “C’mon.”
The deputy is wearing a white tank top with his muscles on full display, each lift of weight-fed bar, strains his arm muscles, and moans from his exertion coincide with each upward thrust of the bar over his face.
“UH! UH! UH!”
The guttural moans carry throughout the room.
They approach him and the man standing behind him, spotting him.
There is a rise in his shorts, up the short’s legs, it is easily discernible that he is not wearing any underwear. Hair blankets his flexed legs and up towards his crotch. The man is a beast in his almost hidden nether region.
Truckers lip smack, loudly, as he and Mack approach the younger pair.
“Deputy!” Trucker calls aloud as the deputy clanks the bar back down on the perch of the weight bench. The metal-on-metal sound echoes at its re-placement.
As the deputy rises from his laying position, he is greeted by the approaching pair and in clear sight of Trucker’s bulge, which is right in his face.
The deputy’s hands move swiftly to conceal his crotch, tucking down the round-tower that has arisen in his shorts.
“Mr. McLeod!” the deputy exclaims, “How are you?”
“Call me, Leif,” Trucker says, “…but you already know my name is Leif Erickson McLeod, you saw that on my license, remember?”
The deputy’s eyes do not stray from Leif’s mid-section, the package of this god-like man has garnered the attention of this younger man. He fingers his bulge, still covering his endowment, as with each flow of blood through his organ, he fidgets more and uncomfortably on the cushioned weight bench.
“You work out here?” the deputy asks, in an alarmed voice. His voice strains against being caught unawares.
“My route takes me through here, quite regularly, so I ‘work out’ here, quite frequently,” Trucker replies.
This response invokes a muffled giggle from Mack, who is standing next to him.
“We just wanted to come over and say ‘hi’ to you, deputy,” Trucker says, “We will let y’all get back to your work-out.”
Mack nods.
“A man working out as intense as you are bud, I mean, deputy, leaks a lot of sweat, like you are.”
Trucker looks to the crotch, of the still seated deputy, there is a wet spot on the front of his blue shorts.
“My name is Sanchez,” the deputy says, “That’s what my friends call me.”
At the introduction, the deputy stands, a tent of his manhood aims itself out of his groin like a warning sign.
“It is really nice to see you, again, Sanchez,” Trucker says, “Maybe we’ll cross paths again.”
“Maybe, we will,” Sanchez says, “Good day, gentlemen.”
Sanchez does a curious-longing glance over the truck driver, both are sportin’ impressive visible packages, concealed cockfight, and comparison between the two Alpha-Males.
“Until next time, then,” Trucker says.
Trucker and Mack walk off to their respective side of the gym. Mack is visibly readjusting his cock and Trucker’s right hand is tucked deep into his shorts, fondling the massiveness that has been invoked by the presence of the deputy.
“I want that kid’s cock!” Trucker says.
“Me too,” Mack says.
“Let’s get outta here,” Trucker says.
“Yeah!”
While over at other corner of the gym, Deputy Sanchez, and his friend stand.
“Who was that guy, Randy?”
“A stop I did a few days ago,” Sanchez says, “That one guy looks like he could be that guy from that marvelous superhero movie, maybe a little older though.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.”
“It’s your turn,” Sanchez says.
“I know, but you are gonna have to lose that,” he says, “I ain’t gonna have that monster hittin’ me in the face.”
The man points with his eyes at the glaringly obvious projection extending from his lower muscle.
Both men laugh.
“You know I always sport wood when I work-out,” Sanchez says, “Coach ragged my ass back in the day when we were in the Field House at the high school.”
“He told you to wear a jock,” he says, “…but you refused to.”
They laugh again.
“That man, Leif, looked good for an older dude.”
“Yeah,” Sanchez says, “…he does, he really does.”
Sanchez adjusts his bulge, feeling the juices seep, ever so readily, from his pee-hole, with the ever-widening and growing wet spot on his shorts. He smears his leaking cream on the inside of shorts and on his bare thigh. He sighs under his breath, as the electric pulses surge through his body from his dispersing seed.
“You aw-right, man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am fine,” Sanchez answers.
***
The pick-up rumbles down the battered asphalt road.
“You wanna go to the Tavern, Trucker?”
“Sure, “Trucker answers, “Why not, but I ain’t gonna wear these.”
Trucker squeezes his elongated tool and sneaks it out of his shorts-pants leg, fondling the rosy-red velvety crown, as gooey clear liquid seeps from deep down within his balls.
“That kid has quite a piece on him, doesn’t he?” Mack says, “Did you see that bulge?”
“He was fuckin’ horny, “Trucker says, “Just like I am. He was oozing more of his spunk than he did the other day.”
“It is that Viking blood,” Mack says, “Ain’t it?”
Trucker does a deep guttural grunt after Mack’s speaking of the fierce warrior blood running through his veins.
“No, kiddin’,” Trucker says.
“That boy sure liked what he saw, when we walked up,” Mack says, “Did you see the kid’s eyes, bug out, when he was eye-to-eye with that damn cock of yours?”
“His eyes never left my crotch,” Trucker brags, “I noticed.”
Trucker smears more of his juice over his swelled cockhead.
They bump over the railroad tracks that intersect with the four-lane road going north to the Tavern.
“You’d better hurry, we are going to be there, soon enough.”
Trucker slips the shorts off. His cock pivots from thigh to thigh on the potholed road. He is bare from the waist down, as he slides up his grey sweatpants, and over his still obvious hard-on.
“That didn’t do much, to help,” Mack says as he sees the grey fleece tent, created by fabric.
“It doesn’t, does it.” Trucker says, “Oh, Well!”
“Man, I don’t wanna go in there with you, having a ragin’ boner like you do,” Mack says, “Those guys will be doing eye exchanges at me. Leering at me in a way, I do not like. I do not need that. I hafta live here, man.”
“Aw-right. Aw-right,” Trucker whines.
They sit a minute as Trucker self-talks down the little warrior Viking in his sweatpants.
“There. There.”
“It went down, finally,” Mack says, “Good. C’mon, I wanna a beer. You want a beer?”
The rounded crown of Trucker’s cock is still visible as it fights against the smooth fleece of the pants, but the hard-on has shrunk but not shriveled.
They get out of the truck and go through the door, while the beating drums and the strums of many a guitar as a moaning country song greets them as they pass over the threshold of the bar.
The find their way to the bar, Mack takes a seat next to the wall and Trucker on the empty stool with his back to the door.
“Whatcha have?” the humpty-dumpty-like bartender asks as he walks to them.
“Gimme a Bud.”
“Me, too,” Mack says.
The brown longneck bottles are sat down in front of them on the bar top.
“Heck of a thing to have after a strenuous workout,” Trucker says as he takes a long swig from the bottle. His Adam’s apple rolls as he swallows the sweet nectar.
Mack lifts the bottle, matching the same drawn-out gulp of the precious firewater.
“Ah! I needed that.”
“I need more than a beer,” Trucker says.
“Will see to that, “Mack says, “…in a bit.”
“I can’t wait,” Trucker says with a playful raised eyebrow.
The music booms about the room from the coin-fed jukebox.
“So…so, Leif, is your name?”
“Yep,” Trucker answers while his head down.
“You married?”
“Yep,” Trucker says, he is tapping his foot on the dingy tile floor.
“Kids?”
“Yeah,” Trucker says, there is noticeable irritation in his voice, as if he is holding back a deeper anger.
There is a marked silence between them, while the music rages on in the bar.
“Mack, “Trucker says, flatly, “…if you want to continue our ‘thing’ you need to let all this go. When I am with you, I am with you and when I am in Ft. Myers, I am in Ft. Myers.”
There is another moment of silence.
“Okay,” Mack says, “Okay.”
There is some disappointment in his tone.
They both look up, and into the eyes of the other, as smiles slowly creep across both of their faces.
“Okay,” Trucker says, in a marked relaxed mood.
“Oh, shit!” Mack says, loudly, breaking through the glaring music as two men have just walked in.
“What? What? What?” Trucker says, bouncing on his bar stool.
“Your deputy, just walked in, “Mack says, “…and he ain’t by himself.”
“What’s in the next room, which, that, kid is gonna show up in, with us?” Trucker says as he turns and looks at the pair walks and seats at a table, nearby, “…but he is always, welcome.”
“He can put me in handcuffs, shove me in a cell, throw me on the metal cot…and shove his cock deep in my hole,” Mack says.
Trucker rises on his stool and shouts, “AMEN! AMEN!”
“Cool it, man,” Mack pleads.
The bartender walks over.
“More beer guys?”
“Yeah,” Trucker says, “…and put Deputy Sanchez’s and his friend, first drinks on my tab.”
“Sure thing,” the roly-poly bartender says.
“Here’s my card,” Trucker says as he hands the man his card, “Maybe this will make the cuff thing happen a little sooner.”
“Excuse me?” the bartender says.
“Nothing. Nothing,” Mack interjects.
Mark smiles. Trucker smiles.
***
He fidgets, he rocks back and forth in his chair.
“Dammit man, what the fuck is the matter with you?”
“A fucking hard-on,” Sanchez says, “You know why I am so uncomfortable.”
Sanchez glares at his pal.
“Is it that damn monster, in your pants?” the friend says, “…but you insist on wearing tight jeans.”
“I am vain.”
They laugh, as Sanchez shoves the monster down his jeans-leg.
“If he wouldn’t fight me,” Sanchez says, “My life would be so much easier.”
They laugh, again.
“What brought out the beast?” the friend asks as the music booms in the small room.
“The workout, and the distraction,” Sanchez says.
“Yeah, and he’s sitting at the bar, behind us,” the friend says.
“I know,” Sanchez says, “Who knew we’ve come across him in one of the three bars around Parks Lake.”
“Yep.”
Sanchez lifts his bottle to his mouth, finishing what is left in it.
“Two more beers, Vince,” Sanchez says as he shouts out.
The rotund bartender plops the sweaty bottle onto the table, in front of the two men. Sanchez attempts to hand the cash to Vince.
“They are already paid for,” Vince says, “The guy, the blonde haired one, paid for this round. I guess you know him?”
“Yeah, I do,” Sanchez says, as he pushes up against the back of the chair, while he shoves down the fighting monster in his jeans, “Thanks, Vince, appreciate it.”
“Sure,” Vince says, noticing the discomfort of his regular patron.
“Damn!” the friend says.
“Damn, is right,” Sanchez says, “…and he is leaking his venom, too.”
Sanchez turns and faces the bar. He lifts his bottle and mouths, “thank you,” to the Viking-God-like Trucker. He looks into the man’s bright blue eyes, of the one who has bestowed the beers upon him. Trucker mouths back, “No! Thank you,” back to the deputy with a wide grin on his scruffy face.
Sanchez chugs down the beer, leaving drops in the base of the bottle.
“We need to get the hell out of here, Pete,” Sanchez says, hectically, nervously.
“We just got here.”
“Yeah, we did, “Sanchez says, “We hafta to get the hell outta here. The man has me creamin’ in my pants.”
“…and that’s a bad thing?” Pete says, “I knew you liked ‘older’ men, but I have never seen you react like this, to someone.”
“Pete, look at him, look at him, “Sanchez says, “The morning he stepped out of his rig, he was more than I could take.”
“Get yourself, together, man,” Pete says.
“Why?”
“Mr. Thor and his sidekick are coming over,” Pete says.
“Oh, man! There is a battle ragin’ in my pants,” Sanchez says.
“What battle is ragin,’ deputy?” Trucker says with a smirk-filled tone.
Sanchez wiggles in his chair, as the beast squirms in his jeans, the beast cannot be hidden.
“Mr. McLeod!” Sanchez with a marked high pitch in his voice.
“Leif,” Trucker says, “Call me, Leif, please.”
“Leif,” Sanchez says, “We were just on our way out the door. Thanks for the round.”
“So, were we,” Trucker says, “Where you off, too?”
“Back to my apartment,” Sanchez says, “Pete, has an early morning, tomorrow.”
“I do?” Pete says.
“You do.” Sanchez says with knowing eyes towards his pal.
Sanchez glares at his friend
“Y’all live., uhm, together?” Trucker says.
“Hell, no!” Sanchez and Pete answer in unison.
“Well, if you get a hankering, for company, or a beer,” Trucker says, “I have a room over at the Six, Room 115. Stop by. If you want.”
“Okay,” Sanchez says, as uses both hands to cover his lap.
“Well, we’ll see you later, “Trucker says, as he and Mack charge out the door.
Once outside, Trucker looks over at Mack.
“Now, we wait.”
“Yep, will he take the bait?” Mack says.
End Part 1.