Heading to Knoxville from Macon to visit family, I recalled a couple of no-facilities stops on the southbound side of I-75 in Tennessee. The first one is little more than a paved pullover on the top of a bluff that looks down a long, broadening valley with a view to the north end of the city. A mile or so down there’s a much larger pullover into thick woods but is used mostly by truckers needing sleep and frequently monitored by the cops. The valley view is the local trick spot.
Hit or miss, like all such places, you could spend the night there and not even see a trucker p****** off the bluff over the guardrail but it was a very different sort of night I had on that Memorial Day Weekend trip. I passed both spots heading north, exited to Cleveland. Left across the bridge, left onto the southbound entrance ramp and in minutes I was at the Valley View Trickstop.
Both sides of the pullover were nearly full so I parked right at the foot of the ramp rather than risk getting all the way to the end without finding a parking spot. All but one truck had lights burning. There was a pickup truck and a couple of small cars as well. I was parked not more than ten feet back from an England trailer.
I got out of my old Caddy and strolled around to the guardrail to have a quick piss. A hot young guy about college age leaned his bottom against the rail a bit farther down. Vigorously rubbing his crotch he looked at me and then at a much nearer guy who was hurrying towards him. Gray and balding, so pudgy even his height couldn’t disguise it anymore, Baldy picked up the pace. They both looked at me. By way of reassuring them, I pushed down my sweats, tugged at my ball sac a few times then took a few steps closer while swinging my meat around.
College boy immediately pulled an impressive slab of pork from his jeans. Long, tapered, quite thick at the root, he waggled it at Baldy who dropped to a squat and immediately began a fast dance on the head. Near as I could tell he wasn’t getting more than 2 inches of meat in his mouth, 3 tops. College boy pushed his jeans halfway down his thighs and propped his bare a** against the guard rail despite the chilly May night. I stood so as to cast a shadow across the action from the steady stream of southbound headlights speeding by not more than 30 yards away.
Baldy stopped his crude sucking and jacked it a few strokes. “You gonna c**?” Not more than a two minutes of boring and shallow head bouncing and he’s wanting c** already? I can’t respect a guy who cums that easily.
College boy said nothing. Baldy went back to bouncing on the knob while jacking it but in a different rhythm. I leaned in and whispered in College boy’s ear while warming his cold buns with my hand, “I could give a better b****** in my sleep.” Not hearing my comment, Baldy kept up his boring and poorly coordinated jacking and knob sucking. Too fast, too soon and too shallow as well, he wasn’t even lubing the head properly. Nobody likes a cottonmouth b******.
A rig pulled in, flicking his lights high/low. The action was in a moving shadow and I shifted to keep college boy’s meat hidden. Baldy panicked and ran off.
I stepped into the vacuum by slowly, gently stroking College boy’s thick meatstick. He closed his eyes and sighed. I whispered again, “It’s cold out here. Nice and warm in the car. Big ol’ Caddy has lots of room in it.”
He never even buttoned his jeans. Holding them up to his thighs he hurried towards the car disregarding the nearby traffic and settled his icy buns comfortably into the warm leather seat making me glad I’d turned on both seat heaters. He found the recliner button and laid the back about halfway down.
Now, the d***. It was long and thick. Flat on the top, bulging roundly at the sides with a very prominent piss tube below, It tapered to a smallish head blessed with prominent glans ridge. Cut and hard enough to pound nails with, the skin was so tight it barely slid on the shaft when I stroked it. Holding it gently in my right hand, I slowly kissed that swollen piss pipe from the purple tip to his smooth nutsack while gently rolling his heavy balls around with my left. Men should be hairy – never shaved down there – but I do appreciate appropriate grooming. My trademark is to rub the underside of the cockhead against each of my eyelids in turn and compliment the d*** on it’s size before getting down to business. It twitched its understanding of my admiration and I heard College boy sigh again. I laid the underside across my ear, wrapped it in as much hair as I could and gently laved each nut in slimy spit until they shone in the soft gleam of headlights reflecting into the car. Pulling his lever down to low, my tongue did slow circles on top of the root end being sure to reach deeply into the little hairless hollow my tug had exposed. Flashing the wet tip rapidly left and right across the top of his shaft, I made my way almost to the glans and slowly, wetly slid my tongue just short of the rise in a full circle around the head never once actually touching it. I heard him moan, “goddamn . . .”, then in an unfamiliar foreign accent, “You like my c***?”
I kissed his piss slit and replied, “I like your c*** very much.”
He reached down and untied his sneakers leaving me to kiss whatever I could still reach. In the small space I had, his aroma concentrated. A mixture of soap, Right Guard and a whiff of the deep, rich smell of male rut that no amount of deodorant could ever completely erase. Sitting back he kicked them off, shoved his jeans down over his feet and tossed them into the back seat. Then he surprised me. Climbing up, he straddled his round, firm cheeks sideways onto the reclined headrest, braced his left food against the back armrest and his right against the front door spreading his thighs and exposing his mighty meat. Thus exposed to anybody pulling down the ramp, I moved forward, surrounded his head with warm mouth and sighed a cushion of hot breath around it. He placed a hand, fingers widely splayed, across the back of my head and said simply, “S***.”
My lips closed softly on that firm ridge and slid up and down just enough to lube the head and an inch. My tongue got busy on the loose skin under his piss slit before starting a slow clockwise swirl around it. He trembled. I worked the underside again, twisted my tongue and headed in the opposite direction. “Fuuuck!”
His wide hand pushed my head down. My mouth slid along his increasing girth until my lips tugged dry skin. He relaxed his pressure and I slid back. He pushed again and down I went, wetting a bit more. Pushing and relaxing, he set the pace as more and more of his long, thick shaft disappeared into my pie hole with each stroke only to be pulled back out again, a little bit more sweet, young cockmeat wet and glistening with my spit with each dive.
Head pumped and intermittently lit by flashing headlights, I knew it would be impossible to throat this meat. While not a monster, it was a baby maker of the first order. A stone hard, world class f*** stick, it curved up rather than down and now that I was on it, seemed to get still more rigid. I could sympathize a bit with Baldy’s inability to deal with it. He tightened his fingers, muttered something raggedly in some language and shoved my head down harder and faster with each stroke. He reached around with his other hand as well, interlaced his fingers and began putting real power into his strokes growling what were no doubt the filthiest of s***** epithets in his guttural language.
Too stiff to bend, his cockhead slammed repeatedly against the back of my throat, bruising it with exquisite pain. Louder and louder he got, practically shouting. Once in a while he’d break into English. “F*****!” and “Cocksucker!” Suddenly he screamed “Eat it b****!” College boy rammed my head down and shoved his pelvis hard into it. I felt the first urethral pulse just before a blast of slimy goo exploded not quite in my throat. He held me firm with both hands preventing escape as I coughed and spluttered. Droplets of sperm sprayed onto my hand, his p****, thighs and the headrest. Finally he let me up for a breath.
I loudly gulped what was in my mouth and started cleaning his d*** with my tongue. Then his thighs, p****, my hand and finally a couple of the splotches on the smoky leather seat. I heard him laugh and looked up. He gave me a thumbs up and said in his stilted English, “Good f****** b******.”
College boy grabbed his jeans, turned them right side out and twisted towards the front of the car swinging his hairy left leg over my head. He stabbed his sock feet into the legs and fell into them as he slid down the back rest. He pulled on his sneakers but didn’t tie them – just stuffed the laces down inside. He struggled with the door so I hit the locks and let him out. He turned towards me, jeans still halfway down his thighs, belt hanging, babymaker still pointing defiantly at heaven and gave me another thumbs up and toothy grin. He was standing like that when a rig pulled in and hit him with its high beams. College boy, apparently indifferent to being so clearly seen by a passer by casually stuffed his meat back into his jeans, zipped up and after pushing his shirt tail back into them, buckled his belt. Last I saw of him he was sprinting towards his car. By the time I got the seat back upright again, his taillights were joining the holiday traffic stream southbound.
As I caught my breath and smugly savored the after glow of the fine trick baldy had so carelessly abandoned, I heard the quick toot of a truck horn. To my left, a big white Kenworth was parked. The driver, lit by the dim glow of his dashboard was grinning. And looking dead at me.