The Trek

Jerry walked out the back door onto the screen porch. He moved barefoot across it to the swing hanging at one end. One foot propped up, the other on the floor, he rocked slowly back and forth. He laid his latest read, a novel revolving around trees and their place in our lives, on his lap not yet ready to pick up where he left off. Looking out across the valley, he realized there was a dryness in the air, some slight change that had some of the summer heat missing, and he knew fall would soon be upon them. It was evident in the leaves of the trees that circled the rear yard, their leaves dark green and growing dull. They would soon be bright red, yellow, and brown, the colors of fall, then they would be gone, the limbs bare, revealing the winter sky in whatever form it chose to take.

In the rear yard, hoe in hand, working gently along the edge of the flower bed, Andy was scrapping the ground, cutting off the weeds and grass that made one more attempt at growing, then seeding, before cold winter ending their growing cycle for the year. Jerry watched him move in a slow easy pace along the bed, head down lost to his own thoughts. Andy was five years younger, still in his prime to many’s way of thinking, but Andy had been able to retire first, three years ago, and he had spent the time since getting the house ready. It had served them as a vacation house outside the city. Long weekends with friends driving up for the day, or crashing over the weekend, it had been their perfect getaway, despite its flaws. An old kitchen that looked custom made by someone without skill at fine cabinetry, the bathrooms with their fiberglass showers and lavatories in old wood vanities dull and marred from years of use, and all the floors had been scuffed, scratched and dull.

But the house was solid, and Andy spent weeks at a time working with contractors getting it renovated and expanded. A new master suite on the back, freeing up the original master bedroom as a guest suite, along with the two other bedrooms. The floors refinished, new kitchen and bathrooms, the house lost its primitive laidback feel and took on the character of Andy, who sought neatness, order, and a solidness that would seem to last for decades. They had debated whether, or not to screen the large porch, and in the end, Andy relented, knowing it would be utilized more often if screened.

Andy had been in a large engineering firm in Boulder. Environmental and civil engineering, where Andy had first made associate, then partner, working there since 1995. With his military pension and the retirement portfolio accumulated over the years, Jerry knew Andy alone could support them. But he found his own path in life, eventually owning his own landscape company. It was something he had worked his way into by chance and a lot of luck. With only a high school diploma, he had set himself up for a hard life. But circumstances had not given him a chance at college or even the support of family when he needed it. It would be two decades after he left home before his parents finally accepted him as gay. It felt like a long time ago, but still saddened him to think of the lost time of his life that should have included them. But he knew life wasn’t always fair or orderly, and one had to take the opportunities when they came your way. And despite his leaving home right after graduating high school and making his way west with all the hardships of simply getting decent meals and a place to sleep at night, he had made it. And it had led him to a small bar in Portland in 1991 where he met Andy.

Jerry leaned back and rocked back and forth, leaving the novel unopened on his lap. He watched Andy while thinking about it again. The trek across the country and how it had not been all bad. There had been good times too. But it had not begun that way. He remembered how it started, the event that drove him to pack up and take off. There were times it seemed like only yesterday, he still a teenager, with long hair and flared leg jeans and shirt open halfway down, who was trying to be a part of one of the cliques. It was 1977, Jimmy Carter was president, and the country was in a recession that seemed determined to last a long time.

* * * *

The music blared over the stereo so loud the speakers were on the verge of blowing out. There was distortion that just seemed to add to Steven Tyler’s vocals as “Walk this Way” reverberated through the living and dining rooms. The party was fully underway, the graduated seniors celebrating their freedom from the public school system, unconcerned about what tomorrow may bring. They would worry about that later. 

Jerry came out of the kitchen with another toxic brew mixed up by Paul. He staggered a little as he made his way around the dining table where others stood munching from a spread of chips, nuts, candy, and pigs in a blanket. He came into the crowded living room and sat on the floor, his back against the ottoman Travis was sitting on. In one corner, Anthony, Mark, and Ellis were arguing over something to do with one of the baseball teams, and on the sofa, Susan and Roger were making out, as usual, while Mary Ann and TJ were on the other end talking to Deanna sitting at their feet. Behind him, he could hear Travis talking to Donna who was in the armchair. Of all the voices, it was Travis’ that he found himself focusing on.

“…the Beatles are the greatest rock band ever” said Travis.

“I disagree. They are great but I think they the Rolling Stones are a better rock and roll band,” Donna replied.

“You’re fucking kidding me. No way.”

Travis was the one guy in Jerry’s class that made him feel different. The one guy who drew his attention like none other. The deep husky voice, the dark brown eyes that looked black, and the thick black hair that curled as it grew long. Travis played football, what position Jerry wasn’t sure, but he could see the results. The muscular arms and upper body that stretched the skin-tight t-shirt, and Jerry knew when Travis stood, his around ass and bulge at the crotch filled out the tight jeans so provocatively he was surprised Travis’ religious mother allowed him out of the house in them. 

Jerry felt his sexual attraction toward Travis like none other. An attraction he didn’t understand, for why him, of all people, had to be like this. He knew the derogatory comments others made about faggots and queers. The derisive nature of every reference to someone who was gay. It was an evil lifestyle. They were communists out to destroy the country. They were psychologically damaged, something wrong with their brains. They choose to have same sex to be evil and go against the church. 

Jerry didn’t feel any of it was right. Especially the notion he chose to be this way. He didn’t choose to desire other guys. He just did. He tried in eleventh grade to date Mary Ann, then Donna, but each time it felt like a lie. A performance for his parents and friends that in the end he failed to carry out.

Donna got up to refill her glass and Jerry felt Travis turn on the ottoman. Legs moved up against him and his eyes followed the flared pant leg of the one pressed against him, down to the toes of the brown shoe that were just visible. The leg pressed against his shoulder as Travis joined in the conversation going on at the end of the sofa. The leg pressed against his shoulder again.

How it happened, Jerry wasn’t sure, but some time later he was following Travis up the stair, down the hall to the bedroom that belonged to Jason, Paul’s younger brother. Paul’s family had taken off for the lake after the graduation ceremony, leaving him the house for their celebratory party. As Jerry followed Travis, he saw Jane and Sara come out of the bathroom wiping their noses and giggling, and Paul’s bedroom door was cracked open to where he could see several others crowded the bed talking. At the end of the hall, Travis pushed the door to Jason’s room open and moved into its darkness, not looking back. Jerry followed him into the room, closing the door, pushing the lock. It seemed so loud, like a declaration of his intent.  

“We finally made it,” said Travis as he sat on the bed.

“Yeah,” Jerry replied, not sure if he meant their graduating, or maybe, it was this moment they found themselves alone.

Jerry eased down on the bed, daringly close to Travis, so close their knees bumped. 

“I’ve seen how you look at me,” Travis whispered.

Jerry was too afraid to respond, remaining silent as he looked down into the darkness along the floor, only a faint light from the undercut door washing across it. It made the carpet look like some rough terrain, an alien landscape. Travis reached over and took him by the wrist and pulled it over to his crotch.

“You can touch me,” said Travis.

“Can I?” Jerry whispered, as he moved his fingers over the denim fabric that covered what lay within. The fabric was too thick. He could only get a sense of the cock that seemed to stir within the tight jeans.

Travis leaned back and undid his jeans, spreading them open. The white briefs seemed to glow in the dim light of the room. And they bulged so seductively, Jerry couldn’t take his eyes from them. He reached out, hand shaking, and lightly touched it, felt the outline of the flared head, then along the hard shaft. 

“I’m so horny,” Travis uttered, as he put a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. 

Jerry felt the hand squeeze his shoulder every time he squeezed the hard cock. Then it moved along his shoulder until it cupped the back of his neck.

“Come on, Jerry, help me out.”

A pull, one meant to get Jerry to slide off the bed and down on his knees. He resisted at first, for all his old fears surfaced. He worried Travis would tell others what he had done.

“I won’t tell…come on Jerry. Please,” said Travis, as if he could read Jerry’s mind.

Jerry slid off the bed to his knees. He moved up between the spread legs until the white briefs were in his face. He was breathing hard, so nervous and scared he wanted to jump up and run. But his cock stirred in his jeans and despite his fears, his desires were stronger. He leaned into the briefs and mouthed the head through the white fabric.

“Jesus…fuck,” Travis uttered in a low strained whisper. 

Jerry mouthed the cock until the briefs were wet. Travis pushed his head back and he watched him lift his ass and push jeans and briefs down until they were laying around his ankles. Jerry looked at the hard cock hovering in his face. It curved upward and the head was flared wide. He grasped it at the base and saw a few inches protruded from his fist. He stroked it a few times, then leaned to it, slipping the head into his mouth. 

It filled Jerry’s mouth, moved slickly over his tongue, and choked him when he pushed forward too far. He moved his lips up and down the hard shaft. When his teeth caught the head, Travis jerked, but said nothing. His moans and grunts said enough to spur Jerry to keep going. 

It seemed to take too long, but perversely, it happened far too soon too. Travis jerked, then pushed upward with his hips, and Jerry’s mouth filled with cum. The cock flexed with each ejaculation and Jerry held it in his mouth, unsure if he should swallow, but with his mouth filled with spurting cock and cum, he soon swallowed, until only the cock remained. 

Jerry leaned back, sitting on his heels, wondering if Travis would do him. He knew not to expect it. He was the cocksucker in this scenario, and he held no expectation it could be otherwise. But Travis seemed no hurry to dress and leave, instead he sat stroking his still hard cock. Jerry stared at the hand moving up and down the slick shaft. 

“Take your dick out and let me watch you stroke it,” Travis whispered. 

Jerry moved robotically, leaning back, undoing his jeans, then up on his knees pushed everything down until his own cock stuck straight out. He took it in hand and stroked to the same slow rhythm that Travis had, the same slow stroke that worked the head a little before sliding the tight fist back down. 

“Can we try something else?” asked Travis.

“Huh?”

“Can you get on the bed? Up here…I think on your hands and knees would be best.”

Jerry realized what Travis wanted. The one thing he was the least sure. He had toyed with his hole, slipping one, then two fingers in it when he masturbated late at night, or when he had the house to himself. He pictured the last time he did it. Home alone, up on the bed on his knees, shoulders down on the bed and his right hand pumping one, then two, and finally three fingers into his tight hole. His organism had been one of his best. He had worked his hole and cock until ready for release, then flopped over on his back and stroked himself off. Cum had hit him in the face, then rained down on his chest and stomach. 

Now he pictured himself in the same position, only its not his fingers pumping inside his hole. He moved to his feet, slowly stroking his cock, and up on the bed. The bed rocked beneath him as hands took him by the waist. He felt cock, then abdomen press against his bare ass. The push against him, with cock sliding up and down has ass. One hand released his waist, and he feels the cock guided to his hole, then a push. He’s scared, and aroused, and finds himself pushing back against it. It breaches his tight opening and penetrates him. It feels like it is twice as thick and far longer, and he shudders while putting a hand against one thigh. 

“Hold still,” Jerry utters through clinched teeth. 

Travis holds still until the pain of entry subsides and Jerry finds himself pushing back, impaling himself on Travis’s cock. The hands hold his waist again, the fingers digging into his sides, as Travis begins to fuck. Inward, all the way, then the slow tug outward. Over and over, Travis sinks into him then tugs outward. He feels his stretched hole loosen, and Travis moves easily through it. The pace of their fuck increases, the bed beginning to protest. They are unconcerned about the noise of it, too drunk and aroused to care. Travis hammers cock into Jerry’s depths.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re tight,” Travis utters as he increases his pace. 

It is brutal, one neither can sustain. Jerry strokes his cock until he feels his release. It surges through him until he shudders and jerks with the first ejaculation. He comes hard as cock pummels his hole. Head down, he sees the spatter of cum over the bed but is too consumed by his lusts to worry about it. The hands tighten on his waist, then Travis shoves inward so hard it pushes him over, shoulders pressed down on the bed, ass up, taking the spurting cock buried in it. Travis cries out, grunts with every ejaculation, then he falls over Jerry’s back panting hard.

They didn’t hear the doorknob turn against its lock. A few seconds later, they don’t hear it being released, but they hear the door swing open. Travis pushes up so hard it forces Jerry down on the bed. In the light of the door, they see Paul and several others staring in.

“Jesus, Travis? Jerry? What the fuck?” asked Paul

“It was nothing…just horsing around a bit,” Travis exclaims, his back to the door as he gets his jeans back in place.

Jerry rolls off the opposite side of the bed and fumbles to get dressed. He feels cum trickle down his thigh and the stare of his classmates. He knows immediately it’ll be him, not Travis that will bear the burnt of their judgement. It was he, that was on bottom, letting Travis fuck him. It was he, that took the role they considered the woman’s, and it will be he, that is in the wrong. He fights back his fear and tears that begin to pool in his eyes as he races around the bed. Travis is already gone. He pushes past Paul and the others, seeing their damning expressions.

“You a faggot?” someone asked.

“Cocksucker,” someone else utters, as Jerry runs past them. He rushes down the stair, straight out the front door to his mother’s Pinto. He sees Paul and Susan and Roger come out on the porch. When he had finally gets backed into the street, he looks one more time at the porch, now more crowded, and Paul pointing his way. He floors the accelerator. 

Pinto in its spot under the metal canopy, Jerry eases into his home. It is dark except for the light over the range. A signal his parents have turned in for the night. He rushes to the bathroom and throws up. Gagging and crying while on the cool tiled floor, while wondering what to do. He knows his parents, and their attitude toward anything that is considered different. The hippies that protested the war, the clothes and long hair that caused them to fight constantly with him, women who dress like whores and the faggots in San Francisco who are going straight to hell. He had heard them get riled up watching the news night after night. He knows when they hear about what he had done at the party, and they’ll hear in a matter of hours, not days, they will no doubt put him out. His dad had gone on a rant when the news reported Harvey Milk won election in San Francisco and cheered Anita Bryant’s efforts to repeal ordinances that gave rights to gays and lesbians. Jerry had no delusions about what his dad thought, or his mother’s quiet nod of approval each time his dad voiced them.

In his room, he paced around the small room, too keyed up to even think of sleep. He looked around at his few possessions. The small stereo with a record sitting on it ready to play, the posters on the wall and the few books on a shelf over his desk. A model of a plane hung from the ceiling, one of the last things he and his dad had done together. It seemed so long ago now. He rushed to his closet and pulled out the old military backpack his granddad had given him. He went to his dresser and pulled out underwear, t-shirts, and socks and stuffed them in it. He went to his closet and pulled down jeans and shirts, stuffing them down in the backpack. He saw his coat hanging to one side and knew he better take it for in a few months he would need it. Back at his desk, he pushed aside the gifts that he had no need of, instead he went through the cards, pulling out the tens and twenties, stuffing them in his pocket. He opened his bottom drawer and pulled out his stash, money being saved for a car. He knew there was nearly six hundred dollars in the shoebox, and he started to stuff the roll of bills into his backpack. He hesitated, thinking about the latest stories of hitchhikers getting robbed, and he unrolled the bills, folded them in half and stuffed them into his front pocket of his jeans. He grabbed up his boots and pushed them down on top of the clothes and cinched the top. He stood back, still breathing hard and feeling like a trapped animal, and surveyed his room again. He wondered if he should take anything else.  Laying on his desk was a novel his older sister had given him. Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice. It had just been releases back in April and she had seen him looking at it in the bookstore. He picked it up and slipped it into an outside pocket of the backpack. 

Light shut off, Jerry eased out of his room, down the stair and into the kitchen. He filled one of the thermoses with water, took a few can sodas from the refrigerator and raided his mom’s snack drawer for cheese and peanut butter crackers, peanuts, and bags of M&M’s. As he rounded the counter, he saw his mom’s note pad, the one for making list and leaving messages to his dad or him. He took up the ballpoint pen, letting it hover over the page. He had no idea what to write. He wanted to say so much to them, knowing most was futile. He put the pen down and began to move it across the page.

Mom and Dad,

I’m sorry. I have to go and by the end of the day, you’ll know why. 

Jerry

Jerry laid the pen next to the pad, then his keys that held one for the house and one to his mom’s car. He eased out the door into the quiet darkness of the early AM hour. Backpack slung into place, he started down the drive. He stood at the street, wondering which way to go. He knew the direction he wanted and saw no reason to deny himself this one thing. He turned to the west and began to walk. 

Jerry looked at his watch when he realized the eastern horizon was losing its inky darkness. It was six in the morning. He had been walking for four hours. There had been the hike into town, where he picked up the road that headed south, which he followed until he finally came to the old truck stop where the road intersected 84. He needed a map, something to confirm his suspicion that 84 was the road he should take heading west. He was going to hike and hitchhike his way across the country. California was his destination, a place as far removed from his hometown as any he could think of. 

With feet burning and stomach growling with hunger after he had purged it of all its contents, Jerry made his way up to the building that sat among two large canopies. One in front for passenger vehicles and one in back, longer and wider, for the rigs that needed diesel. The store inside was old and worn, the floor missing tile and the paint faded and flaking off the wall. The aisles were narrow and crammed with product. He spotted the sign for toilet rooms and headed that way first. He stood at a urinal, feeling the relief of emptying his bladder, and soon began to read the graffiti on the wall. There were references to the Confederacy, communists and Nixon not being a crook, and mixed in with them were sexual references. ‘Do you want a blowjob?’, ‘Call XXX.XXXX if you want your dick sucked’ and ‘Candy puts out. Call XXX.XXXX’, ‘Be here at 3 AM for blowjob’. It was so blatant, these requests for sex Jerry couldn’t stop reading them even after he stopped peeing. The door swung open and a guy came in and took the other urinal. 

Jerry felt his face flush hot, wondering if the guy saw him reading the wall while holding his dick. He zipped up and went to the sink to wash his hands. He looked over at the guy, sizing him up. Mid-thirties, mustache and a five o’clock shadow along a strong jaw. A baseball cap pushed up on his head, revealing the blonde hair beneath it. The guy looked his way and he turned back to his hands rinsing them again. 

Back in the store, he picked up a cinnamon bun and a soda, and paid the older woman behind the counter. A cigarette dangled from her lips and she stifled a cough as she rang him up. 

“Thirty-two cents,” the woman uttered in a cigarette damaged voice. 

Jerry laid a dollar on the counter then took his change, dropping it into his pocket. He started to go out the front doors but realized if he were going to find a ride, it would more than likely be with a trucker. He turned and headed to the back, passing the guy from the bathroom. The guy smiled at him as they passed and Jerry nodded his head, unsure how he should respond. 

Outside of the store, he moved to one side and sat on the edge of the sidewalk and tore into the cinnamon bun. He devoured it in no time, then started on his soda. It was cold and quenched his thirst to such a degree, he took one long swallow after the next. When he took a breath and just enjoyed being off his feet, he saw the guy come out and cross the drive until he was at a red cab-over rig. It was pulling a box trailer, one that stretched out for nearly fifty feet in length. The company name on the side was just initials and meant nothing to Jerry. He watched the guy slip the fuel filler into the stainless-steel tank, then step back. The guy walked out from under the canopy and lit up a cigarette, blowing smoke up and into the wind. 

Jerry stared at the lean body; one he knew was slightly shorter than his own five eleven. With straight leg jeans so tight nothing was left to the imagination and a western style shirt; the guy looked the role of trucker. And to Jerry’s eyes, the role of a masculine man. The guy looked his way more than once, then dropped the nearly finished cigarette on the concrete, smashing it out with his boot. He strolled back to his rig, replaced the fuel filler back to the pump, secured the tank and started to climb up in his rig. He stopped, then stepped back and headed toward Jerry, who watched him approach with a wide-eyed stare.

“Hey, where ya heading?”

“West…California.”

“That far. You have a long road ahead of ya. I can get you to Laurel, Mississippi, if you like.”

Jerry looked up surprised. Laurel, Mississippi seemed like a long way away from Webster, Alabama. It would be a good start in his escape from this place.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“I’m Buddy,” the guy informs him as they approach the rig.

“Jerry.”

The seating position is surprising. So high up and right at the front of the rig. They rock with the twist of torque from the big diesel engine and bounce over rough surfaces as Buddy negotiates the parking lot, bringing them out on 84. They slowly gain speed, as Buddy shifts through gears. They motor along the highway when Buddy reaches for the radio, switching to a country station. He hums along with one tune after the next, while Jerry watches the scenery pass, mostly pine and open fields, but also houses, barns and the occasional church. They cross the Alabama River, and by their shadow stretched out in front of them, Jerry knows they are heading northwest. Grove Hill is the largest place Jerry sees for several miles, and as soon as it is behind them there is nothing but woods on either side of the road. 

Buddy turns down the radio.

“You know, I usually don’t pick up hitchhikers,” said Buddy.

“Well, I appreciate you giving me a ride.”

“I saw you looked a bit desperate.”

“I just need to get to California.”

“And I’ll take ya as far as I can.”

Buddy drives the big rig along the highway, letting Jerry watch the scenery along the way. Jerry listens over the radio for any Buddy to say something, anything to break the silence between them that begins to feel awkward. He knows it is because he struggles not to look at Buddy with admiring eyes. He likes the look of him.

Jerry looks over and sees Buddy adjust his cock while giving him a smile. He wonders if Buddy is like him, attracted by other men. He watches Buddy manipulate his cock until he realizes his own is trying to stretch out in his tight jeans.

“You horny too?” asked Buddy. “I can see that bulge in those jeans looks bigger.

“Yeah…I guess,” Jerry admits, feeling his face flush hot. Was Buddy teasing him, setting him up for a beating like he had read about, or was he really like him? Gay.

“You want to see it?” asked Buddy.

Jerry nodded his head, unable to utter the words. He watched Buddy undo his belt then tug on the front his jeans, popping each button free until the jeans were spread open. Bulging white briefs became visible and Jerry tried to adjust his own painfully erect cock. Buddy let go of the steering wheel, raised his ass, and slipped his jeans and briefs down to his knees. A long thin cock angled up between thighs, hard as a rock. Buddy stroked it, moving a hand slowly up and down its length. He began to breath hard and occasionally, he pushed upward, bringing his cock in full view to Jerry’s staring eyes.

“You like what you see?” asked Buddy.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to show me yours?”

“Huh?”

“Show me yours.”

“I don’t know.”

“Please.”

“Okay,” Jerry replied, and he began to undo his jeans, first slipping the button free, then tugging the zipper down.

“Hey, you’re not driving; why don’t you take off your clothes. Let me see that body.”

“What?”

“We’re up high, so no one can see you. It’ll just be for me. Come on, take off your clothes. I want to see your body.”

Buddy’s voice is so calm and reassuring, Jerry finds himself not thinking about what he is going to do. Instead, he begins to unbutton his shirt and work it off. 

“Nice body,” Buddy whispers, an encouragement that keeps Jerry moving.

Jerry raises his ass and slips the jeans and briefs down his legs. He struggles with his shoes, then socks, and finally frees each leg of his jeans and briefs. He sits back, letting Buddy have his full view of his body. He daringly turns toward him, moving his left leg around, giving a full view of his cock. He strokes it while watching Buddy’s eyes. Eyes that look from the road to his hand moving up and down on his cock.

“Boy, you’re hot,” Buddy whispers, while he strokes his own cock. 

Not a mile passes underneath the rig when Jerry feels it, his hand suddenly slick with precum. He is so horny, he is leaking. 

“Hey, will you do something for me?” asked Buddy.

“What?”

“Will you suck me?”

Jerry wants to do it. More than anything he wants to lean over the central console and Buddy’s lap and suck his cock. But he hesitates.

“After you do me, I’ll pull over somewhere and do you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I want to suck that dick you’re holding so bad, but…” Buddy chuckles, then looks over at Jerry, “I really do like getting sucked off while I’m driving. Does that sound crazy?”

“A little.”

“Will you do it?”

Jerry nods his head, slips off the seat and gets on the bed in back, then crawls out on the central console, and moves up next to Buddy. He leans over and Buddy wipes the leaking cock over his lips. He licks them, capturing the taste of Buddy, then leans over and takes the cock into his mouth and pushes down, taking as much as he can.

“Fuck…that feels good,” Buddy utters as he holds the steering wheel with one hand and runs the fingers of the other through Jerry’s hair. 

Jerry thought of his first time, just the night before with Travis, and for a brief second, he compared their cocks, the differences. Travis having a thicker cock, but Buddy’s was longer, and Jerry quickly focused his attention on how much he could take. At first, he took the head to the back of his tongue, but gradually, settling his breathing, he let it slip into his throat. 

Jerry moved his mouth up and down the cock, lips tight around it. He would push down as far as he could, holding still savoring the fullness of it in his mouth. He would slip his lips off, and with a tight hold to the base of it, lick the head, making Buddy shiver with this manipulation.

“Fuck, take it…take it…” Buddy groaned.

Jerry sank his mouth down on the long cock and felt it flex in his mouth, then fill it with cum. He swallowed, and swallowed, until the cock stop spurting its load and he licked the head clean. Turning to his side, he looked up at Buddy while he took his cock in hand and slowly stroked it. 

“Don’t get off,” Buddy uttered. 

The rig slowed, then bounced as it pulled off the road. Jerry raised up and saw they were pulling into a parking area of an abandoned general store. Before he could comprehend it, Buddy had the rig parked and was guiding him to lay back on the bed. 

“My turn,” said Buddy as he moved next to Jerry in a sixty-nine position.

Jerry felt his cock enveloped in Buddy’s mouth. The warm, slick feel of it made him shiver. He gasped when the mouth took every inch and Buddy’s nose pressed into his tightened sac. Buddy’s half hard cock hovered in his face and he moved to it, slipped the head between his lips, and sucked down on it.

Buddy moaned and pushed with his hips as he worked his mouth faster up and down the length of Jerry’s cock. He reached around the narrow waist and held each ass cheek while sucking. Jerry began to push upward, and he let him. He wanted to Jerry to fuck his mouth, and he encouraged him by pulling upward on his ass. 

Jerry understood what Buddy wanted, and he began to work his hips, pushing upward until he felt nose and chin bump against his sac and abdomen. Fingers flexed, massaging his cheeks, and it spurred him to move faster and faster. Buddy began to grunt and moan, occasionally choking as Jerry shoved upward. It was too much, and he began to shudder, then jerk with release. His cock spurt wad after wad and only after he was spent, did he feel Buddy swallow. 

Jerry rolled to his back breathing hard. He looked at Buddy’s cock, hard again after his sucking it, then he looked down at Buddy. 

“Do me,” Jerry uttered, then rolled to his stomach and spread his cheeks apart.

Buddy didn’t say anything as he moved over Jerry, and pushed wet cock down letting it rake along the spread ass. He rubbed up and down the ass until it was wet, then the pushed against the tight opening. 

“FUCK!” Jerry exclaimed, as inch after inch sank into his hole. Buddy pushed into his hole, slowly, letting him feel every fucking inch. It seemed as if Buddy’s cock had gotten longer for it never seemed to stop. The penetration went on and on. Then Buddy was fucking him. Slowly at first, but soon hammering away at his insides. Buddy thrust inward so hard their bodies smacked together and Jerry cried out.

“Fuck me…fuck me, don’t stop.”

But Buddy couldn’t keep going. Jerry’s tight grip on his cock as he piston it inside him was too much. He was too aroused by the lean body, the feel of it against his own and the way it took every thrust. He bellowed, shuddered with the surge of his second release, then jammed cock into Jerry’s depths as he came again. 

Jerry saw the sign for the state line announcing their arrival into Mississippi. After crossing the imagery line, he saw a sign for Laurel. Forty-six miles to their destination.

“…I wish I were going further west, but after dropping this trailer in Laurel, I’m heading back to Mobile to pick up another for a return trip to Montgomery. I hope you get to California safely…”

Buddy had been talkative ever since they got back on the road, and Jerry enjoyed hearing it. The sound of someone giving him advice, warnings about what kind of men to avoid on the road, and suggestions on how to save money, getting rides at night with truckers that would let him crash for a few hours. The one suggestion by Buddy that puzzled him was to take the time to go north from Laurel. North to Jackson, then to Memphis before heading west. The interstate from Memphis, I-40 would take him through some rough terrain for a hitchhiker but not nearly as bad as I-20 would be from Jackson, cutting through the hottest parts of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. He remembered how Buddy reminded him, laughing as he said it. ‘You’re not on the clock, are you? Take your time and enjoy yourself.’

‘Enjoy yourself’ Jerry repeated to himself, realizing how easy it would be since he was answering to no one, but himself. But he also remembered the warnings too. 

Outside a warehouse facility on the edge of Laurel, Buddy pulled to the side of the road. 

“I think you should get out here. This company frowns on strangers being on their property,” said Buddy.

“Okay,” Jerry replied, pulling his backpack over and climbing down. “Thanks Buddy. I really appreciate the ride.”

“I wish I was going further,” Buddy replied, smiling down.

Jerry smiled back, knowing what Buddy meant. “So, I look for 49 going north and it’ll take me all the way to Memphis?”

“It will but you’ll probably just take it to Jackson and catch someone heading north on I-55 from there.”

“Thanks,” Jerry replied, closing the door, and stepping back. The rig pulled forward slowly until finally back on the road. Jerry watched it drive up the highway to the entrance of the facility and turn in. He straightened the backpack, looked up at the sun realizing it was not yet noon, and began to walk. 

 To be continued.