I still had some time to kill before heading back up to Knoxville so I did a U at the next exit, another at Cleveland and pulled into the southbound scenic view. The sun hadn’t started coming up yet but it was a bit after six am by then and there might be a trucker or two waking up with morning wood.
I got the same parking spot as before but this time, several spaces along, there was a big pickup with a couple of guys standing next to it. Strolling down the sidewalk I obseved that one was tall, lean and white haired. He leaned against the side of the bed near the bumper, smoking, one arm propped on the bed wall. About three feet in front of him was a gray headed fatty in a cowboy hat. I couldn’t hear any conversation but Hat watched me walk past to the next trash can. Being careful, I stepped behind it to make sure that nobody could actually see my p**** while also making sure there was no doubt about what I was doing. Hat watched me carefully but Whitey continued to gaze straight ahead as if focusing on the southbound taillights. I thought he might have had the zipper to his pale, blue jeans open but wasn’t sure. Strolling back towards my car it was still to dark to tell so I leaned against the guardrail by the Caddy, lit one up and kept an eye on them and the incoming traffic. The rigs all got the b******* sign – you know, a fake yawn – the cars got ignored.
Before I’d got done with my smoke, Hat strolled over and struck up a conversation. Whitey might as well have been a statue. Aside from putting his cig to his mouth, I never saw him move or so much as turn his head. Hat, otoh, was feeling chatty and quickly the conversation turned to s** and cruising.
“So what’s up with the guy at the truck?” I asked.
“Dunno. I tried talking to him but he didn’t say much. Just standing there with his zipper open.”
I digested this. “Probably looking for head. Did he have it hanging out?”
“Naw, just unzipped.”
“So what are you looking for?”
He shuffled his feet and looked down at nothing. “Not much. Just taking a break from the road.”
“You driving a rig?”
“No, the minivan.”
Indeed there was a minivan farther down the pullover.
“So . . . you lookin’ for d***?”
“Me?” He chuckled nervously, “Not me, I don’t s*** c***.” Then, tugging at his zipper, “Do you?”
I grinned as wickedly as I could muster, “Only when I have one in my mouth.”
He laughed, “How many have you had tonight?”
Being downwind, I’d caught a slight whiff of you-could-use-a-shower and besides, he was way too fat and tugging at his crotch too crudely into the bargain so I figured I’d scare him a bit, maybe chase him off. “Four came in my mouth and another one came in my a**.”
He looked shocked. Good. “Did they use a rubber?”
I shook my head, “Hell no! If I wanted rubber up my a** I’d buy a d****. I like the feel of skin and the slime of a guy’s load leaking out after. Besides, I’m old school – a man ought to take it like a man.”
He looked surprised but then grinned and took a step closer. I caught another whiff. “That’s cool. I respect a guy who takes the load.”
I’d been keeping an eye on Whitey. His hand had been propped on his hip but was now in front of him and below the belt. I couldn’t see it but the regular motion of his arm could have been a c*** stroke or a random scratch.
“I been out here all night looking to get a load off, actually.”
I continued to watch Whitey and failed to take the bait. “I think he’s groping himself.”
Hat kept trying to engage me in conversation so I painted myself as a c*** s*** who does this every weekend, who’ll s*** anybody, anytime, anywhere. It wasn’t true of course. I hadn’t been to this rest stop in nearly a year and I sure wasn’t about to s*** *him*.
As the conversation dragged on, his suggestions that I drop and blow got ever more obvious. Finally he took his tiny uncut d*** out of his jeans and showed it to me. Now, I’m no size queen. I have no trouble showing a small dicked guy a good time but not if he smells bad and is so fat I can’t get his d*** in my mouth because his belly’s in the way, it aint gonna happen.
He tried again, “Yeah, I love hittin’ the road and getting sucked off by strang . . .”
I cut him off mid sentence, “He’s groping again. I think I’ll go check him out.”
This time when I walked past him it was easier to see his fly was open because he’d spread the zipper out. Probably what he was doing earlier when I thought he was groping. I spun on my heel, walked over to him and bummed a smoke. He dug in his shirt pocket and pulled one out. “Thanks.” I stuck it in my mouth and stood there looking at him. From another pocket he produced a lighter and handed it to me. I fired up and handed it back. It disappeared into the pocket and he continue looking off into the distance at the shrinking taillights of the southbound traffic stream.
I tried again. “Your fly is open.”
He looked down but made no move to do anything about it.
“I could take care of that for you.”
He shrugged, then nodded still gazing at the traffic.
Hmm . . . It finally occurred to me that his schtick was to stand there minding his own business and then suddenly discover he was getting his d*** sucked – he’d probably be at a glory hole somewhere if there were any left around here. I hunkered down, stubbed out the smoke and dropped it into my shirt pocket – waste not, want not – then stuck my nose into his open zipper and took a deep breath. Squeaky clean. My hand fumbled around a bit, pulled out a respectable uncut d*** and promptly stuck it in my mouth. It wasn’t anywhere near hard but slowly responded to the attentions of my tongue and free hand. The other one was steadying my squat by gripping one of his a** cheeks. I looked up a couple of times but he was still staring at the traffic, one arm propped on the bed of his truck, the other hand on his hip.
His meat continued to swell in my mouth eventually reaching my throat though it was still plenty rubbery. Sucking and nibbling on his soft hood, I skinned it back and worked my tongue around his helmet. His breathing changed and his hips moved slightly forward. Stroking his tube more earnestly now, I felt a hand lay itself very delicately on the back of my head. Every now and again a rig or car would pass by but squatting behind his truck bed, what we were doing was invisible. Still, his d*** noticeably stiffened every time somebody passed. Another clue.
With each stroke of my mouth, his c*** seemed to get a little bigger, a little stiffer and finally came the push that popped the head down my throat. His grip tightened and his pelvis pushed and slowly pulled back. Between his h****** and his hand, he set a slightly different rhythm that I quickly settled into. Longer, thicker and harder it got until every stroke was burying a couple inches in my neck and then three. His breathing got loud, the pace steady and just as I was about to twist my head around to a different angle, “Don’t stop!”
His hand tightened, his other one found the back of my neck and gripped me securely as his he took full control. Now my face was getting as thoroughly carelessly fucked as a bride’s p**** on her wedding night at the end of the third time. His breath rasped in his throat, “Unggh! Here it comes!” and it sure did.
Three rapid shots of thin, slimy s****, sourish and tasting slightly of urine fired into my mouth on the outstroke. I gulped, he shoved and then squeezed off another couple of shots in my throat.
He held me tightly, c*** buried up to the p****, body shuddering, a** muscles clenching and meat still twitching for another minute or so before pulling out so fast the head came free with an audible smack. From a pocket he took out a handkerchief, wiped spit and c** off his d*** and shoved it back into his jeans. The hanky he wadded up and tossed over towards the trash can, then spun on his heel, walked around the bed and got into his pickup. I had just barely got back on my feet when he started moving off.
Not the most fun b******* I’ve ever given, not even the most fun that night, but in a curious way it had provided a certain satisfaction. After all, that’s what we truckersuckers do, right? Relieve guys on the road? Nothing wrong with a bit of blow-and-go. It ain’t as if it was about love.
Hat was standing next to my car when I got back to it, jacking his d*** just like he wasn’t standing in full public view. “Did you s*** him off?” What was with this guy? Was he blind or just conversationally impaired?
“Yeah. Why didn’t you come over and watch? I thought you would.”
“I didn’t want to spook him.”
Inwardly I rolled my eyes. How in hell can you spook a guy who’s standing on a public sidewalk f****** another guy in the face? “Well, I think my jaw is wore out now so I’d best hit the road again.”
Hat looked disappointed but had the decency to put his d*** away. “Yeah, me too. Almost dawn and I got to be in Dalton in an hour. Maybe see you around again?”
“Sure. There’s an old Thruway truck stop down in Georgia on exit 335 with an old fashioned shower room,” Hint, hint. “I hang out there a lot. Maybe see you there sometime.” Not!
“Ya, maybe.” From behind the wheel of the Caddy I watched him get into his minivan and pull away. Now there was just a pickup with a horse trailer down at the end on the right and one dark rig on the left, and ahead of it, one down near the horse trailer with it’s running lights still on. ‘Probably not going to find any morning wood in here after all,’ I thought and started up.
As I pulled up slowly on the horse trailer, the truck mirror showed the inside light on and the face in it, looking down at something in his lap, seemed somehow familiar. He didn’t look up as I passed but the feeling got stronger so I whipped over in front of him so quickly that my back bumper wasn’t more than a car length from the big chrome grille of his pickup when I stopped.
Shoving the gearshift into park and shutting off the lights, I adjusted my mirror a bit and checked him out. Dark blonde, slightly longish hair, thick moustache and still busy in his lap. He came up with a clipboard or notebook, tossed it onto the seat next to him and then fiddled with something in the middle of his dash. Maybe changing the CD or checking his satnav.
Satnav. Satnav guy! I was sure of it! I’d gotten a pretty good look at him when he’d parked behind me earlier and was sure he wasn’t in the Valley View when I left to meet Mike. That could mean only one thing. He’d driven the double U and come back to the pullover! Just as my brain made this connection, the dome light went out, his door opened and he stepped out.
He’d left his running lights on and I watched the shadow of his body cross in front of them to disappear around the passenger side. I got out and strolled casually towards his truck. It was a big F 250 duelie, the hood almost as high as my shoulders. It was still quite dark and the big truck cast a shadow black as Mordor into which he’d gone and I couldn’t see him at all. I figured he’d walked on around the back and I’d meet him behind the horse trailer. There was light there and we could size each other up before deciding anything. But just as I got even with the front bumper, a rich, deep voice gently called out, “Hey.” Southern born and bred for sure. A yankee would have called out, “Hi,” or “Yo,” or something.
I did a quick left face and stepped around the truck. He was standing just behind the wheel well with his left arm up on the fender and his right slowly stroking a clearly promising shaft of ghostly looking meat. His left wrist glittered with a gold watch, his ring finger displayed a bright gold band and a gold chain gleamed around his neck dripping yellow starlight down his hairy chest. The scent of expensive after shave slithered into my nostrils and made my d*** instantly hard. I sank to my knees without another word and slipped my mouth over his uncut c***. His hand moved quickly away and took up battle station on top of my head.
He smelled sweet and fresh. His jeans were snug and he wore tighty whities but I could see enough to tell he was shaved bald as an egg. Normally that would be a turn off but the fabric of his clothes felt as expensive as his after shave smelled and the depth and richness of his voice when he moaned was driving me wild.
I kept working his seven inch shaft. The skin was baby soft with blue veins standing out starkly against the pale, white flesh under the crescent moon and pre dawn light. Thick but not enormously so – Mike, even College Boy could have shamed him in the shower – it was arrow straight and perfectly round in shape. Only the heavy bulge of his plumbing along the bottom marred the perfect symmetry of his ready freddy f*** tool.
I wasn’t in a hurry and he didn’t try to speed me up. I can still feel, smell and taste him in my mind, softness and sweetness laid over a steel pipe that drove ever deeper into my hungry gullet. His gutteral moaning got louder and deeper. The pitch and timber was like the mating call of a bull ‘gator, almost too low to hear but I could feel it in my forehead every time I pressed it against his belly. Since my hands had nothing else to do, one of them pulled down the waisband of my sweats and the other pulled out my hard on. The cool air felt fresh on my hot c*** skin and I knew that if I wanted to, I could come in a dozen strokes but I didn’t want to. Not yet.
By now I was working the whole length of his pole with my lips and tongue, c*** head steadily pumping deep into then just out of, my aching throat. Through the gap in his tightie whities I could see the bare patch of skin just above the root end of his business – that little hollow I love to lick on a man – and focused on it. He sucked in his gut and started rolling his hips in rhythm with our strokes and shortly began to mutter and gasp. “Yeah . . take it . . . take ALL my f*****’ c*** . . .” then, “here it comes, buddy.”
He expertly twisted the hand tangled in my hair snatching my head off his meat and backward. My mouth hung open and his d*** head rested on my lower lip as he oozed thick, sweetish cream onto my tongue. “Swallow it.” I managed to gulp it down without closing my mouth first. “Goddamn . . .” I licked a pearl off, swallowed that too and then before he could stop me, grabbed his c***, skinned it back and plunged his now naked pork knob as deep as I could get it.
His body jerked and his hand flailed at my head as if he couldn’t decide whether to yank his d*** out of my face or shove it deeper into my throat. He settled for deeper and within seconds muttered, “S***! I’m gonna f*****’ come again!” And he did, but this time with his granite hard f*** stick buried all the way down my battered throat. His meat flexed in my mouth, his piss pipe swelled against my tongue and more of his gooey c** oozed down to top off my still hungry belly. Finally he’d had enough and pushed me away. “Jeez . . . f*** . . . I NEVER done that before!”
I grinned up at him glad not only to have been of service to a hot man but to have surprised him as well. His wedding ring glittered as he struggled to get his still hard d*** back into those tight jeans. Wifey probably wouldn’t be getting any d*** anytime soon. Not from him anyway. I stood up and looked down at the hard rod standing out across his thigh. He winked at me, “Thanks for the b******, buddy.”
“Thanks for the sperm.”
“Anytime.” I started to walk away. “Hold up.” I turned and he had his wallet in one hand and was digging out some bills with the other.
“I don’t need that, man, I sucked just for the fun of pleasuring you.”
He shook his head, “I don’t cheat on my wife and if I pay for it, technically it isn’t cheating. Besides, I came, you didn’t.”
I mulled that over. if he really wanted, no, *needed* to give me the cash, I’d take it just as part of pleasing him. “Ok, I’ll take your money but you came twice as I recall,” I winked.
He threw his head back and belly laughed. “Ok, you’re right, baby,” and handed me two more bills.
Twenty minutes later, northbound on 75 and headed for the family holiday with a hot cup in the console and a sausage biscuit in my hand – both paid for by my trick, I tried to recall the last time I sucked six c**** and took eight loads in a single night of cruising.
I couldn’t.
