Roadside Mayhem part 2: Men Trucking
It wasn’t enduring love after all. I had been rescued that cool September night from a dubious fate. The bikers had dragged me into the woods, and I had already been fucked senseless. I was holding on to sanity by a hair when Red came storming into the clearing with his pistol aimed at my three attackers. They fled like cowards, as I ran for the shelter of Red’s semi truck. Safely in the warm cocoon of his bunk, Red soothed and calmed me. Eventually our sexual desires were awakened, and despite having been raped raw (my tender asshole still aching) we made incredible love by the blue light of his screen. He was impossibly sexy, masculine and covered in red fur from neck to toes. His enormous cock filled me completely and the fiery shots of Jack Daniels dulled , making it seem like a fantastic illusion.
I took a couple weeks of vacation, and went on his next run with him. I was his fuck-buddy; he plowed my several times a day. He was insatiable. I never met a man with as aggressive a sex drive as ‘ole Red.
I took him happily, sucking on his huge cock until he was iron stiff, then rolling over on my hands and knees, arching my back to position my butt in front of his swollen cock. He liked doggy-style the , although we screwed from every posture and angle he could come up with. What a great imagination he had.
I knew almost immediately that what I thought was love was actually intense gratitude for being rescued. With his awesome physique and sexual prowess, Red assured that I had a fabulous vacation. But I was happy to get back home to my apartment in New York, and the mundane reality of my life. We stayed in touch by Internet, and cammed with each other on several of his lonely nights on the road. I was happy to watch him jerk his big meaty dick on cam, happy I could still turn him on. One weekend he made a run to Hunt’s Point, and stayed with me at my apartment. I drained his dick several times that night, and I woke up in the morning in his arms.
One night, I logged on the server to see if Red was around. I had some off-line messages that I read and deleted. One caught my eye, from “TruckStopFuck” so I opened it with some anticipation.
“Hi, Jimmy. What’s up, man? You don’t know me; I’m a bud of Red’s. We hang sometimes on the road and look for good times together. We got similar interests, if you catch my meaning. I’m gonna be in Jersey this week, and Red thought you and I might wanna meet or whatever. He showed me some cam stills of ya, and I’m interested in hookin up! No pressure, but here’s a pic of me. Check it out! Mickey”
I opened the attachment. What I saw made me jump. There on the screen in high resolution was a very , his shaved head and handsome face covered in a light rusty-brown beard, white teeth breaking through a wide grin. His thick neck disappeared into round muscular shoulders. His arms looked like railroad ties, the harp and shamrock tattoos popping off his huge fleshy biceps. His chest rose high off his frame, covered in creamy white skin and a flurry of brown hair. His torso tapered in ripples to his crotch, where I saw perhaps the most perfect cock I had ever seen. Not the biggest, but eight rock-hard inches of unflawed creamy white that stood erect from a generous pile of fluffy pubic hair. His soft curly hairs ran down the sides of his legs and trailed off on his powerful inner thighs.
As I sat there gazing lustfully at the awesome specimen on the screen, an instant message flashed in the corner. An IM from TruckStopFuck. Do I want to accept? I clicked yes.
“Hey Jimmy! It’s Mickey. Wassup?”
“Not much, Mickey. Got your pic. Amazing. You a trucker too?”
“Yeah, Red and me are good buds. We share a lot on the road. HeHeHe. He thought you and I might hit it off. Wanna hook?”
I wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea. I didn’t know Mickey, but I assumed that Red would not have him get in touch with me if he were a danger. After all, Red had rescued me that night. He wouldn’t want me hurt, right? I arranged to meet Mickey at a diner near Rahway, off the interstate. As I pulled into the lot, I saw a lone 18-wheeler in the side parking lot. On the door panel was a red bull, snorting steam as it stomped across a green shamrock. I guessed it was Mickey's.
Inside Mickey sat alone in a large booth. He was very tall; his clean-shaven head towered over the other patrons. The waitress was chatting with him, her hand on his knotted bicep. I heard his booming laugh as I stepped up to the table behind them.
“Okay, Sugar, I’ll bring that right out. Anythin’ else you want from me, baby, just ask, Okay?”
The middle aged waitress was checking Mickey out, her eyes flickering over his broad shoulders and the big meaty package straining to escape his jeans. His eyes followed the waitress’s butt until she slid behind the counter. I approached, and his eyes lit up.
“Heeeeey! You look fine. Better than that crummy picture Red showed me! Have a seat. I’m starving, hope you want somethin’ to eat, too.”
Oh, I wanted to eat. I wanted to immediately drop under the table and devour his incredible cock. I was hungry for the huge dick I had seen in his picture, which was now stuffed into his tight Levi’s. My mind drifted for a second as I contemplated the perfect stud sitting before me. When I snapped back to reality, he was talking.
“...Yeah, probably a big stretched out cunt. She’s been around the block a few times, ya know? Still, who am I to turn down an easy fuck when it’s offered to me? Maybe I should get her number.”
A fictional account of two fishing buddies...
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