After Church

Sunday Afternoon

Before He Leaves for Work 3:40 pm

Who knew where anybody went on a Sunday afternoon? All he knew was, he had to be down in St. Paul by 7:00 pm to start his overnight run to get the goods to Chicago then St. Louis. His week always seemed to get shorter and shorter.

But Mr. Truck Driver couldn’t complain. The job was good. The pay was great. And he didn’t have to sit around listening to those kids of his whine about shit. Oh he loved them, he did, but in small doses. His wife was a gem. She managed everything just fine with him gone. Their time together seemed to be happier, more loving when he was out of town four days a week. Absence certainly does make the heart grow fonder, at least in their case.

His Buddy was an old friend from school, some twenty years ago. Truck Diver heard that Buddy's wife recently died of cancer. He and his wife hadn’t even started their family yet and she was gone. He knew Buddy must be crushed. What he didn't know, was that Buddy found his solace with men. Men, like himself, whose wives died much too young, or those who found themselves in sexless marriages.  He met up with these friends, either at Pat’s Bar in the evening, or The American Legion on weekends, when they'd sit around and listen to a ballgame together. That’s how Mr. Truck Driver and Buddy reconnected, over a game at the Legion.

One night at Pat’s, Mr. Truck Driver had an urgent need to take a whiz. But he had to wait till Chicago knocked out the Cardinals in the last of the ninth. He had only a minute so he could hear the bottom of the ninth action.

He could never figure out why Pat never much light back here in the Men’s Room. There's just a single bare bulb by the door. He walked over to the open urinal, unzipped, and let fly. He put his hands on his hips, stretched his back, let his thick dick arch away from his body, and pissed like a racehorse. ‘Ah, man, that feels good,’ he thought. 

It was like one of those really forceful pee sensations. You know, the kind when you've waited too long? And your dick feels soooooo good from pissing like a firehose, splattering against the back of the urinal. The kind of peeing that almost feels like an orgasm? (But not quite. Hahaha!) His soft moans brought attention to his pisser from the men on either side of him.

The one on his right, stood there taking a leak and started to chuckle. He looked over and stared down at the Truck Driver's hose. “You waited too long there, man, didn’t you?”

Mr. Truck Driver chuckled right along with him and said, “Sure did.” He turned to look at the guy next to him and started to say, “But you know... it feels so damn good when... ?” Then it clicked. This was His Buddy from all those years ago. The Truck Driver exclaimed, “Buddy! It is you, right? How you been?”

“All right. All right.” His Buddy glanced up, then looked down. He'd didn't want to miss watching the stream of pee as it diminished. Mr. Truck Driver didn’t seem to even notice. He was too caught up seeing his Buddy, standing there right next to him. His pisser of his just hung down there. He guessed to dry. Buddy knew there was a question in there somewhere but he forgot what it was. He couldn't stop staring down at that beautiful prick The Truck Driver had hanging between his legs. Hmmmm. It wasn’t so soft anymore. As he watched, The Truck Driver's excitement grew. His own dick responded similarly.

When Buddy didn’t answer his question, Mr. Truck Driver looked down and saw what he was staring at. He grinned at his half risen cock and glanced over at His Buddy’s to see what his was up to. When both Men were hard, they grinned at each other. 

The Truck Driver looked up to see who might still be around. But all the men that had been pissing right beside them had gone. “Follow me, man,” he said to His Buddy.

Neither man bothered to tuck himself back in. Mr. Truck Driver opened the door leading out to the hallway. But instead of going right, back into the bar, he turned left down a darkened hallway. A few feet down the hall on the opposite side of the Men's Room was a dark red door. He looked over his shoulder and gave a head nod to His Buddy to follow him in.

It opened to another dark hallway. On the left was a couple of partitioned cubicles and on the right, there were several doors, also painted a dark red. Mr. Truck Driver walked down to the last door on the right, opened it, and stepped inside. His Buddy followed him.

When His Buddy stepped inside it was pitch black. He couldn’t see a thing. Immediately he turned to leave but a hand reached out and grabbed his crotch, pulling him back in by his zipper.

“Relax, man, you’re safe with me,” Mr. Truck Driver whispered.

Then there was a glorious sensation of a hot mouth surrounding his semi-hardon, engulfing him with a heated breath. Then a hand on his pants, unbuckling his belt, then the waist button, lastly, the zipper. His pants fell to his ankles with a thud.

Then that mouth started to take him in. All the way down till his cock plunked the back of his mouth. He left it there working his with his throat. Then he slid up and down his shaft, nice and slow, just how he liked it. 

‘Never thought Mr. Truck Driver would be the guy down on his knees giving some loving to my dick,’ he thought. He gave out a low moan every time his dick hit the back of Mr. Truck Driver’s mouth.

“You gonna take me, there Mr. Truck Diver You want it? You gonna take this load out of me?”

A garbled, “Uh-huh,” was the response.

“Well here it comes, man.” And Buddy shot a week’s savings, splash after splash after splash, whining softly with each squirt.

When he was emptied and Mr. Truck Driver’s mouth pulled off. Buddy could hear him stand up. He then, squatted down, tugging on Mr. Truck Driver’s chinos to get his bearing. They fell down immediately. ‘He must have been playing with it while he was doing me,’ His Buddy thought. Then he felt around to grab that cock. When he found it, he began to repeat the service Mr. Truck Driver had just given him.

There was an "Oooof!" Then a chuckle. “It won’t take me long,” Mr. Truck Driver said as His Buddy's mouth surrounded his cock. “I’ve been worked up all afternoon.”

His Buddy increased the speed of his piston using up and down pulses on that beautiful cock. It’d been a long time since he had a man inside his mouth. Usually, there were more guys that wanted to suck him off than the other way around. He had always been open to both. Tonight was better. He got it and was giving just as good. Buddy kept thinking over and over, ‘Man oh man does he taste good!’

The small dribble gave Buddy the signal that there was more to come. It wasn’t nearly as full the load he shot, but nice enough to get a good taste of what Mr. Truck Driver had to offer.

Mr. Truck Driver pulled himself out of His Buddy’s mouth and bent to pull up his pants. “Not too much there for you today, sorry.”

“No problem,” said His Buddy as he too stood to adust himself and pull up his pants.

“Had to fuck the wife over good before I go on the road for a week.”

His Buddy laughed, “I’m glad you had some left for me.” He turned to open the door.

“Go out slowly. Head back to the head before you go to the bar. Vik and Hugo like guys to be discreet” warned Mr. Truck Driver

“Gotcha,” His Buddy said, then stepped out of the cubicle and walked toward the Men's Room.

When they both got back to the bar, they found seats next to each other. The game was already over. They didn't even bother to ask who won. They sat there spending time catching up.

“Sorry to hear that about your wife. I can’t imagine,” offered Mr. Truck Driver.

His Buddy nodding and said, “Thanks. I get by Ok most days.”

Mr. Truck Driver leaned in and asked, “What do you do about… you know...” He pointed to His Buddy’s crotch.

His Buddy smiled and, pointing to the back of the bar, signaled his answer.

Mr. Truck Driver grinned back in response, then said, “I gotta better answer for that.”

That was the day Mr. Truck Driver explained his job, how often he was on the road and his travel schedule. “I’d be glad to help out a buddy when I can. Maybe introduce you to a couple of other guys who enjoy what we do.”

And with that, Sunday afternoons became a regular weekly thing. Both men enjoyed the giving and the getting. They liked to stand in the kitchen, get naked, and take turns working on each other, prolonging the desired result as long as they could. Mr. Truck Driver was more skilled at that, probably because he’d been at it much longer. There was something about the feeling of being naked in the kitchen that both men liked a lot. It was almost as if someone might walk in. That they might get caught, literally, with their pants down.

But there was no one to catch them. That feeling wore off over time. They moved to the bedroom instead, the guest bedroom, that is. His Buddy would leave the house open. Mr. Truck Driver would come in the back door and wander upstairs to the bedrooms and find His Buddy lay there on the bed grinning up at him. Often, he was playing with himself while he waited. Mr. Truck Driver quickly peeled off his closed and jumped up on the bed landing right between his legs, his mouth ready to go to work.

On a couple of occasions at one bar or another, Mr. Truck Driver would call over the Other Guy and introduce the two men. His Buddy would learn all he needed to know about the other guy, where he lived and worked, what his schedule was like, how free was he, and when all the information the two men would need to connect. The place to meet was never a question, it was always at His Buddy’s house, which the Other Guy was grateful for.

Other Guy liked to meet up after work at least once a week, sometimes two. He was the type, as His Buddy found out, that like to come and worship. He stepped into His Buddy’s house, got on his knees, close his eyes and open his mouth wide, waiting for His Buddy to offer him his prick to suck and adore. This Other Guy excelled at prolonging His Buddy’s arousal. He knew when to pull off and suck his balls and lick his ass cheeks, neither of which had His Buddy ever experienced before. His Buddy learned, over time, how to hold back and go with the Other Guy’s skills at prolonging the inevitable.

When His Buddy erupted, the Other Guy made anxious whining noises as he lapped it all up. When His Buddy was done, the Other Guy pulled off, straightened himself up, and left. He never said a word but gave a smile and a quick nod as he hurried out the back door.

There was Another Guy that Mr. Truck Driver had introduced to His Buddy. He drove a truck as well. He didn’t live here in town, or anywhere too close in fact. But he did drive the highway the passed through town and often stopped for lunch at Tilly’s or for a beer at the end of a long drive. There were a couple of farmers north of town that lets truckers park overnight, and there was where Another Guy usually spent his nights.

Another Guy was pretty direct. He didn’t like long protracted sessions. He knocked on His Buddy’s back door. He’d step inside, no further. Unbutton his coveralls and let His Buddy take care of his need.

When he was finished, he pulled up his coveralls, buttoned them, adjusted his hat, and put a hand on the doorknob to exit. But before he left Another Guy always said, “Thanks, Buddy. Been needing that.” Then he was gone.

Sometimes Another Guy would stop by, several times during his overnight stop. He knock on His Buddy’s door when he arrived in town. He’d park his truck and walk over. He might get a beer or some grub and he’s walk over for a second round. Then before he drove out to the farm to park for the night, there’d be a third session. And finally, before he left town, he got His Buddy to take care of him one last time. Luckily for His Buddy, he didn’t come to town too often, something like every six to eight weeks.

But when Sunday came, it was Mr. Truck Driver and His Buddy who got together. They had so much fun every week, Mr. Truck Driver stopped getting it from anyone else. Well. Almost anyone else. Fifteen hours on the road makes a long day and sometimes a man just has to get himself taken care of. It’s the best way to get a good night’s sleep.

But on Sunday’s The Truck Driver and His Buddy made good manly fun. To spend an hour or so, if they could both last that long, making love to each other’s phallus, taking time to worship the other’s cock, taking it in his mouth as often as the other guy could stand it. Adoring that body across from his with his hands and mouth, exploring, discovering, teasing, making each other moan and cry out in pleasure.

His Buddy hadn’t always swallowed what was offered him. But The Truck Driver helped him acquire the taste and learn to relish the flavors a man’s seed offered. He used to take all of His Buddy’s load, holding as much as he could manage in his mouth. Then he pulled himself up, crawled over His Buddy’s chest, planting his fists on the bed above his shoulders, on either side of his face. He’d lean in and set his lips gently upon His Buddy’s and kiss him.

His Buddy was shaken by the surprise of that. Kissing was something he’d only done with a woman. But what could he do? This big bulky man was on top of him, pressing down against him, kissing him. But that wasn’t the point for The Truck Driver. He wanted His Buddy to get a taste of cum, his own cum by the way. And he did that. He pushed open His buddy’s lips, forcing his tongue in. Then, when His Buddy finally relented and opened, letting The Truck Driver’s tongue in, he tasted it. It was him. The Truck Driver didn’t let up until the seed slid down one or another throat, emptying their mouths.

After another time of that, His Buddy told The Truck Driver, “Ok, Ok, Ok. I won’t pull off. I’ll swallow. I just don’t want to kiss you!”

The Truck Driver howled laughing. “Am I that bad a kisser? I’m hurt.”

His Buddy laughed along and responded, unexpectedly with, “It’s not that. You weight a ton!” He quickly ducked a swat to his shoulders and ran upstairs to get away from his muscled, slightly over-weight friend The Truck Driver.