I keep telling myself I have to stay away from the truck stop. The police watch the place, and I have actually seen some poor bastard get arrested a time or two. My friend Ricky laughs off my hesitation. “As long as you stay away from minors and you’re not selling drugs, friend, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” So, the truck stop it is. When you’re in the mood for some random, anonymous hook-up, when you’re up for “pot luck” sex, this is the place.
I find a spot in the parking lot and get out. There are a few guys sitting in their cars, some of them are even pretty obviously jacking off, but more than a few of them have their phones out. These days phones=cameras, and I just not need that sort of headache.
I head straight over to the men’s room and walk inside. The urinals are empty (for a change), but the stalls are full. You can usually count on at least one guy, idly stroking his meat and looking around. A lot of these guys aren’t into touching; they just want to show off what they’ve got. That’s cool. I like to look.
I walk in the direction of the stalls, scraping my feet as I go (Unwritten Rule #1: Make Noise. Let people know you’re there.). In the stall nearest me, a man starts breathing in explosive puffs and I can see his feet shifting around (Unwritten Rule #2: If you want attention, do something to get it.).
The guy in the stall has my attention, so I drift over to the stall door, and peer in. The man sitting on the toilet is hunched over, his hand obviously very busy between his legs. He is wearing a pin-striped blue work shirt. If the name patch embroidered to his shirt is to be believed, his name is Earl.
I glance over to the next stall, and a youngish blonde man with a soft, round body is straddling the toilet and jerking on a nice, sturdy cock. He is wearing a dirty yellow t-shirt. His khaki-colored jams are in a heap at his stockinged feet. His white bikini briefs are clenched in one of his fists, and he lifts them to his face to inhale their scent. He looks right at me and licks his lips.
I’m interested enough to walk in and join him, but the stall door is locked when I pull on it. OK … Blondie is just doing the exhibition thing, and that’s cool. I turn my attention back to Earl.
To my surprise, Earl is now standing straight up and facing me when I look over his stall door again (the stall doors are nice and short, which helps). His hair is thick and too black for a man of his age, and it glistens with whatever greasy kid stuff he combs it with. He must buy the stuff in antique stores. His face is deeply creased and seamed, and his eyes are a pale and watery blue.
Oh, and he has a cock. My God, does he have a cock. Once I dropped my gaze to look at it, it’s hard to look anywhere else. He is uncut, which turns me on instantly. I’ve seen less than a dozen uncut cocks in the flesh, and I’ve seen a lot of cocks. Earl has a foreskin that slips back and forth over the shining plum of his cockhead. I can see a small and frothy patch of dick cheese off to one side. Earl has at least seven inches, and possibly a good eight. He cock is of the perfect thickness; not too thin to make his length look spindly, nor too fat to spoil the sense of proportion. It’s a cock Michaelangelo would have been proud to sculpt.
“I want to suck that,” I blurt out. That was embarrassing. I usually manage to be a little more suave than that.
“Come on in,” he says in a voice so low I almost missed it.
“Looks a little crowded in there. Can we go someplace?”
“Let me see what you’ve got.”
I dislike pulling out my cock “in the open,” as it were. Should a cop decide to stick his head in at this particular time, I will be hard-pressed to explain what I’m doing with my meat hanging out, at least 15 feet away from the urinal. But Earl is interested, and I’ve already decided that what Earl wants, Earl is going to get.
I fish around inside my fly and pull my hard dick out. I start stroking it, and Earl reaches over the door to grab my cock and play with it. We’ve also attracted Blondie’s attention; he is looking over his door at the action, running his tongue over his lips again and again.
“My turn,” I whisper, and reach over the door to pull on Earl’s cock. The foreskin is fascinating. He is so hard that the foreskin actually hesitates for a bit before slipping back over his gorgeous cockhead.
I decide to speak up a bit, although in the hush of the moment, it almost seems like I’m shouting. “Guys, I’m in the mood for a party and I’ve got all afternoon. Does anyone have a place to go?”
“Sorry, don’t have a place.”
“Maybe I could blow you in your car?” I offer.
“We could go to my rig,” Earl suggests.
“Lead the way.” Earl has a rig! As many times as I’ve been to the truck stop, I’m actually going to have sex with a real trucker.
Earl pulls up his pants and walks out. I fiddle around the sink and comb my hair so it doesn’t look like I’m following him. I head outside in just enough time to see Earl walk over to a big tanker rig and climb into the cab. Trying unsuccessfully to look nonchalant, I walk out to the big paved apron where the trucks are all lined up. I’m fooling no one. I’m sure every trucker in the place knows why I’m there.
Earl unlocks the passenger-side door, and I begin the ascent to get in the cab. This is another first for me …
I’ve never been in a real semi before. Earl is pulling his pants down again and pulling out his magnificent erection. He starts to stroke it again, and I can already see that fellating this man is not going to be easy. The two bucket seats are spaced widely apart, and the space between them is filled with bulky shifters and knobs and levers and other gears.
I’m still trying to work out the logistics when Earl starts panting heavily and gasps “Do you want to suck this for me?”
“You better belive I do,” I reply.
“Well, you better hurry because I’m going to shoot any second,” he huffs.
“Yeah! Go for it!” I laugh. “Shoot that thing. I want to see you pop your hot load! Shoot it! Put on a show!” I’m not really all that enthusiastic about Earl’s climax, but I don’t want him to think he’s blowing off early and spoiling things.
Right on cue, Earl grunts and a generous amount of man-juice comes pumping out of his cock and pools on the fabric of his seat. Earl pulls a roll of paper towels out of nowhere like a magician doing a trick and starts to mop up his load.
“Oh, shit! That was hot! I have to go home and jack off now,” I tell him.
“Maybe we can continue where we left off the next time,” Earl offers.
“We may just have to do that.”
As it turns out, I didn’t go home and jack off. I went home and now I’m sitting in front of the computer, telling you lovely people all about it.
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