Message-ID: <7790eli$9801251941@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: The Naked Trucker Subject: Trucker Encounter V: "At the Top of the Hill" (m/m) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: NakedTrucker@juno.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34CA73A1.73E8@juno.com> ------------------------ Trucker Encounter V: ------------------------ "At the Top of the Hill" ------------------------ By The Naked Trucker ------------------------ (NakedTrucker@juno.com) ------------------------ "Miles to go before I sleep." That's what it's about for a long- haul trucker: miles. The more miles you drive, the more money you make, especially when you're paid by the mile. Even if you're a regional driver who is paid a percentage of the run, you still make more money by driving more miles, thus being able to do more runs and get better-paying trips. When a trucking company recruiter interviews a prospective employee, one of the questions they sometimes ask is, "I see you have a hazmat endorsement. Do you like running hazmat loads?" Any trucker that says he likes to do so is nuts. "Hazmat" refers to hazardous materials - anything from gasoline to chemicals to explosives. The hazmat endorsement is one of several that can be earned through a written examination that truckers take when their earn their CDL (commercial drivers license). Like any other federal law, the endorsement is chock full of regulations from how far from the vehicle you have to be to light up a smoke and how far you are required to park from a building to how to handle chemical spills. Among all of the endorsements, which include double and triple trailers, tankers, and passenger vehicles, the hazmat endorsement is the one most commonly required by trucking companies. Even though most people think of gasoline tankers when they think about hazmat loads, they can also be shipped in dry vans and other types of tractor-trailers. And you never know when you're going to have to deliver a hazmat load. When you do, it's often more of a pain in the ass than it's worth, which is why most drivers don't want to be bothered with them at all. And since I drive a dry van or reefer most of the time, it's something I don't have to be bothered with myself - most of the time. It was a few late August when I had taken a load from Galveston, Texas, to Parkersburg, West Virginia. After punching in "Delivered and Waiting" on my Qualcomm, the on- board satellite computer in most tractor-trailers, I received a message from the dispatcher sending me to a plant in Nitro, West Virginia, just down the road from Parkersburg. I didn't realize how aptly named the town was until I got to the shipper and found out that I was going to be carrying a hazmat load up to New Jersey. Any truck that is carrying more than one thousand pounds of most hazmats, or hazardous materials, has to have placards or signs on all sides of the vehicle identifying the load as hazmat. As my truck sat at the loading dock in Nitro, I watched the lumpers - contracted laborers who load and unload trucks - drive their forklifts onto the trailer with pallets on which large chemical drums had been loaded. Most of the drums were filled with the raw materials for household cleaners, but four of the pallets were classified as hazmat. "Shit," I thought. Out of some 38,000 pounds of freight, only 1,800 pounds consisted of hazmats. But the law said that I had to placard my vehicle with signs indicating the hazardous nature of the shipment. Why was it such a pain in the ass? Because, to get to New Jersey from West Virginia, I would have to travel the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Midway along the turnpike were two areas where trucks have to pass through tunnels, and with few exceptions, trucks carrying hazmats were not allowed in the tunnels. That meant that I would have to take two detours off the road, bypassing the tunnels, and go through the mountainous terrain of Pennsylvania's local roads. "Yeah, yeah," I imagined, "nice scenery." But I knew that trucking up the steep Allegheny Mountains would hang me up for time, since a fully loaded tractor-trailer weighing some 80,000 pounds tended to chug up hills with less speed and energy than The Little Engine That Could. What would normally take 30 minutes going from exit to exit via the turnpike tunnels would take two hours of keeping my foot frozen to the accelerator pedal while the rig struggled to gain any respectable speed on the almost- vertical hills. And on the way down the other side of the mountains I'd be cursing out the air brakes that would lose power from constant application, smelling like the charred remains of burning rubber. I had been driving for several hours as I pulled off the turnpike on to U.S. Route 30 eastbound, where I would bypass the next couple of turnpike exits to avoid the tunnels. After trudging up the mountain I came to a cutoff in the road with a sign directing, "Trucks: Stop Here Before Descending." The cutoff was a chance to test their brakes and to build the air pressure up to maximum, as well as to give the breaks a rest before they would be constantly used going down the other side of the mountain. If driving a tractor-trailer is an art, the air brakes are one of the many hues and colors that make up the big picture. Unlike the hydraulic brakes on a car which respond to the touch of a foot on the pedal immediately, air brakes have a millisecond delay before responding. When a driver uses them for the first time, their lack of immediate response often causes the driver to press the brake pedal harder, resulting in the truck lurching to a stop. That sudden stop is something every newbie goes through, so much that it's almost a part of the initiation ritual to driving a truck. The art of using air brakes is so deft that truckers are required to pass both a written test and to take their actual road test on a vehicle with air brakes in order to be licensed to drive tractor-trailers. Air brakes also have a temperament of their own and, if they are overused, they actually begin to burn with a scent that is indescribable. The smell of burning brakes can so permeate your nostrils that you can "taste" the brakes. Overuse of the air brakes can also cause them to lose their pressure and become ineffective, which is why you see "emergency truck ramps" on highways along steep downhill runs. The *real* art in going down a steep grade of five percent or more is controlling your speed with a combination of using a truck's "Jake brake" (an engine retarder named after its inventor, a man named Jacobs), engine braking by using lower gears, and a light constant pressure on the brake pedal (which tends to make the brakes less hot than if you were to pump them off and on). Yet all three methods must be used, since the force of an 80,000 pounds pushing the vehicle down steep hills would otherwise cause the rig's speed to increase to an unsafe level, especially on downward hills that were several miles long at a time. Even though it's not recommended, some drivers also use their trailer brake lever to help pull the tractor back during the rig's descent; this tends to be done by company drivers who switch off trailers on a regular basis and want to keep their tractor brakes in good condition. Running Route 30, or any other mountain road that has steep hills, is truly a pain in the ass. A 30-minute portion of the run would take well over three times as long, chugging up the mountain and holding the speed back as I descended. I pulled into the truck cutoff, checked the air pressure in my brakes, then applied the parking brakes on both the tractor and trailer to give the foot brakes a rest before descending. I looked out the window and, as much as I was pissed off by having to take this damned detour because of a minimum-weight hazmat load, took in an atmosphere that was too damn beautiful to pass up without a sanity break. There were no other vehicles within sight or sound (hell, even cars were smart enough to avoid this precarious stretch of road), and I turned off the engine to take a breather before beginning my descent down the mountain. The cutoff was fairly small, big enough for only two or three rigs. It didn't have to be any bigger, since any driver not carrying a hazmat load would be smart enough to stick to the turnpike and it's easier tunnels. It was a fairly hot August day, but the temperature at the top of the mountain was a good ten degrees cooler than down on the turnpike. The cutoff was on the side of the road along a forest, and the truck was shaded from the sun that had been hitting the cab on parts of the road that were more barren. As usual, I was driving bareass, and after stopping the rig in the truck cutoff I switched over to the passenger seat, opened the right-side door, and kicked up my feet to enjoy the breeze. The quiet at the top of the mountain was undisturbed by other cars or trucks, and after a few minutes I moved back to the bed in my sleeper cab to rest up for the remainder of the trip over the mountains. I laid back and, as the cool air came through the truck, began stroking my cock in a slow, lazy manner. Even though the trip would take longer because of the hazmat detour, I had time to spare, and had the humorous thought that laying back and popping a load would make the truck a fraction of an ounce lighter going down the hill. As I was laying back and enjoying the feel of my hard cock and the juices that were beginning to churn in my balls, I heard another vehicle begin to approach from the distance. It was more than a car, but less than a tractor-trailer; I concluded that it might be a small truck, perhaps a pick-up. A minute or two later I heard the truck pull into the cutoff, parking to my right, between my trailer and the woods. I quietly cursed the driver - probably some yahoo boondock farmer - for pulling in and disturbing the peace and quiet. At the same time, I was horny as shit by that point, and couldn't resist looking out to see who had come upon the scene. I got into the driver's seat of my cab and, using the electric mirror adjustment, positioned the mirror on the right side of my cab to see who had arrived. I caught sight of the driver getting out of his Dodge 4x4 pickup - a guy that looked to be in mid to late 20's, about 5'11" with medium brown hair, husky although by no means fat, wearing a t- shirt and cutoff shorts. The word that came into my mind was "do- able." He walked around the back of his pick-up, stood next to a tree, opened his zipper, and began to take a piss. He wasn't trying to be an exhibitionist, but as he stood sideways I could see his ample meat releasing its flow against a large pine tree. He finished his business as I moved back to the passenger seat of my tractor, then he opened the right-side door of his truck, pulled out a beer, stood against the side of the truck and popped the can open. It was then that he looked over at my truck, as if he had seen its open right-side door for the first time, and seemed to catch my face in the large right sideview mirror. "Hey, driver, want a beer?" he called out. I leaned out of the door and said, "No, man. I can't drink when I'm driving a big rig, but thanks anyway." I didn't bother telling him that I didn't drink alcohol at all, in part because of the strict federal regulations governing commercial drivers. While states set their own standards for driving under the influence of alcohol, the federal blood alcohol concentration standard for commercial drivers of 0.04 percent is far more strict than that of any state. "Oh, okay. That's cool," he said as he began to walk toward my cab. As he approached the door he noticed for the first time that I was sitting there naked. "Wow, man! Do you actually drive like that?" "Sure," I said, "it's a lot more comfortable hangin' loose when the weather is like this, and it's a lot hotter down the mountain than it is here." "Yeah, I guess I never thought of it that way." He leaned up against a tree near my door, and I began to get the impression that this wasn't the first beer that he had that day. That was a turn-off, since I normally don't like hanging out with people who are drunk or stoned, let alone getting it on with them. It was also a concern because, though he wasn't smashed, he was obviously high enough that it would make him a dangerous driver. And here he was, drinking again while he was out with his pick-up truck. "You know, dude, if you're gonna be drinking that, you ought to hang out here for a while before you hit the road again." "Yeah, I know," he acknowledged. "It's just that I've had a bitch of a day, so I wanted to loosen up before I went home. Sometimes I just come up here to the top of the mountain just to mellow out." I couldn't help but notice that as he spoke, his eyes were drawn to my semi-erect cock. Each time he would look down, then look away as if he was afraid of being caught checking me out. I decided to take a risk and push his glance back in that direction. "I know what you mean. I've been driving all day and still have to get down this damn mountain with a big rig. I figured I'd hang out here for a while, maybe get my rocks off, and then head on out." "Yeah?" he asked. "That's what I was planning to do until I got into an argument with my girlfriend. I split her place, picked up a six-pack, and came up here instead." "Well, you can always take things into your own hands," I said as I leaned back in the seat and gave my cock one subtle stroke. "Yeah, I am kinda horny," he declared, leaving me the opening for the natural follow-up. "Well, maybe we can give each other a hand." He paused a moment as he thought about whether I was serious, then said, "Okay, what the hell," walking over to the truck. I knew that this guy was an amateur and that he had probably never gotten it on with another guy, but that he was just high enough to give it a try. As he approached the door of my cab, I stepped out to meet him. Beginning to slowly stroke my cock, I reached out and unzipped his pants, lowered his underwear - he was wearing briefs - and gently pulled his cock, which was already getting hard, out into the open. He leaned against the outside of my cab, looked down at his own meat and then at my now-hard cock. With the trepidation of someone who was obviously inexperienced with another guy, he reached out and took my rod in his hand, starting to stroke it with the same gentle rhythm I was using on him. As his dick began to get harder, he leaned back and let out a gentle moan. I continued to stroke him as I eased his shorts and underwear down toward the ground. There were two steep steps leading to the inside of my rig. As I rose, I put my foot up on the second step, exposing my balls to his view. I put my hand on his shoulder and leaned back against the open door of my cab to let him give me long, slow strokes. He couldn't take his eyes off of my meat, as if he was looking at the details of another man's cock and balls for the first time. I knew that I was making an exception to my usual rule of not getting it on with someone who had been drinking, but at this point I was horny as hell. I also knew that it was better for him to be occupied with me than to get back in his pick- up and head down the road while he was high. But I wasn't using that as a rationalization; based on his inability to take his eyes off of my hard rod, I felt that I was satisfying a curiosity that had been intrinsic in him before he ever had the argument with his girlfriend and drove up the mountain. I put my hand around his neck and gently pulled his head down toward my waiting cock. "Go ahead, man," I said, "check it out closer." "Huh?" he asked as his head moved down toward my legs. "Get a real taste for what it's like to get it on with another guy. Take it in your mouth." He followed my leading and bent down on his knees, beginning to stroke his own meat with one hand as he held my cock in the other. He was obviously taking in the scent of my crotch as he watched my rod pulsating with his strokes. As I pulled his head toward me, his mouth opened and he slowly began to lick my head and go down on my cockshaft. I began to pump his mouth, feeding him a little more of my shaft with each thrust, leaning his head backward so it would be easier for him to go down on me. It was obviously his first time sucking cock, but the tendency to gag lessened as he stroked his own meat faster, his breathing getting heavier as he worked up his load. "That's it, man," I said as I lifted his shirt higher toward his head. "Let's lose the shirt." He pulled back for a moment as I slipped his t-shirt off, then I led his head back down on my cock. "Do it," I said as I fed his eager mouth, "take it all. Make me cum right in your mouth." Any objection that he might have had was rectified by his own hard meat, which he was now beating with abandon. His moaning grew as he was about to cum, stroking me with one hand and himself with the other as his mouth continued to move up and down my shaft. I was on the edge as his body began to tense and told him, "I'm gonna shoot, man...now!" His own load shot out against my leg as my wad of jism exploded into his mouth. As I held him down on my cock he drew himself closer to me, taking my load down in one swallow as his own cock was emptied of its juices. Out of breath, he slowly stood up and leaned back against the cab. "Looks like you could use a break," I observed. "Why don't you come on in and rest for a while?" "Yeah, I could dig that." He had never been in a tractor- trailer, so I motioned for him to get in ahead of me to make sure he wouldn't slip while climbing into the rig. Shirtless at this point, he slipped out of the shorts and underwear that were down to the ground and climbed up the steps into the cab. "Hang a left," I said, directing him back toward the sleeper. "Wow," he exclaimed, sitting on the bed, "this cab is big." I sat down next to him, moved toward the back wall, and gently pulled him down next to me. "Big *and* comfortable. Hell, man, that was a pretty intense scene out there, and it wouldn't hurt you to get some rest before you start driving again." "Shit, you're right," he said, "I *am* tired." I turned on my side and eased him onto his side, his ass up against my cock. "C'mon," I offered, "let's catch a few zzz's." With the combination of the beer he had earlier and the exhaustion that came with his intense orgasm, he easily drifted off as I held him, his neck resting on my arm. Thanks to my driving most of the day and my buddy's partiality for beer, we actually slept a few hours, waking in the early evening as the sun was beginning to go down behind us. His neck was still resting on my right arm, although he had rolled over and was laying on his stomach - a position in which I've found a fair number of supposedly straight guys like to sleep. As he nuzzled in closer I began to massage his neck with my left hand. It was only a few minutes before I was on my knees, straddling over him and massaging his back. I put some lotion on my hands and, working his neck, my hands ran down his well developed back muscles, moving down toward his ass. Of course, I was already eying the tube of K-Y and condoms that I kept in the cab's bedside compartment, betting that as the massage got lower his ass would be as hungry for sex as the rest of him. My cock was already hard by this point, nuzzling in the crack of his butt as I worked my way down his back. As I massaged his butt cheeks, I slipped on a condom. I felt the crack of his ass loosen and begin to welcome my ready cock, moving slowly into him - first the head, then the shaft. His ass muscles slowly began to flex, and it was obvious that he was working his own hard-on against the sheets. As he was straight, I didn't expect to hear him say, "Fuck me," and though he was primed to welcome my rod, he spoke no words at all as I entered his virgin ass. His ass muscles continued to relax as I moved at a slow pace, and I felt his butt rise up to welcome the rest of my advancing cock, burying it inside him. I took his hand and put some K-Y on it, saying, "Work your cock, man. I want you to get off on this, too." He reached down and started stroking his own rod as I continued to pump my meat deep into his butthole. The right-side door to the truck was still open, as was the driver's side window, creating a cross-breeze through the sleeper cab. The quiet at the top of the mountain magnified our increasingly heavy breathing as he proclaimed, "Shit, man, I never knew this could feel so fucking hot." As he stroked himself harder his breathing became heavier. By this time, my own cock was pounding his asshole with long, deep thrusts. Hi breathing became even more labored as he began to shoot his load, and I felt his ass muscles tighten around my rod as my own cock began to explode inside him. I rose and straddled him once again, returning to massaging his back as he said, "Maybe I don't have to worry about getting back to my girlfriend after all." As we turned to lay on our sides, my cock still buried deep inside him, I began to hear another tractor-trailer ascend the long climb to the truck pull-off. We separated, and I stepped out of the rig to take a piss next to a nearby tree. As I stood there, I saw the edge of a Peterbilt tractor come around the final bend leading toward the top of the mountain, pulling a fuel tanker and slowing down to pull in and rest its brakes before the descent. The truck parked behind mine, and it's driver watched as I made my way, still naked, back to my own rig. I heard the Peterbilt's engine turn off, and a few second later footsteps began to approach my truck. My buddy from the Ford pick-up had begun to doze, and I sat on the passenger seat next to the open door enjoying the cross- breeze at the top of the hill. "How's it going," asked the tanker driver as he walked up to my open door. He was an older driver who looked to be in his early 50's, obviously fit from working a tanker and well- tanned from standing outside during fuel fills at gas stations. "Not too bad," I answered. "I'm gettin' ready to head down that damn hill there." "That's a shame, he said, seeing that I was still naked. "I thought you might want to hand back for a while." This guy was obviously looking for some action himself before descending the mountain. "Afraid I've already had my fill," I said, thinking about the third guy who was still back in my sleeper, "But I may be able to accommodate you." I stepped outside and told him about my new buddy, still asleep in my cab. "I've got him sobered up some, and think he's in need of some more action before he starts driving again." I could see the bulge in the tanker driver's jeans already beginning to grow. I climbed back into the cab and gently shook my buddy awake. "I have to head out," I said, "but there's someone here I want you to meet." We shook hands outside the truck, looking at each other in a way that there was no need for words. He had just been introduced to man sex, fucked for the first time, and knew that our scene at the top of the hill would be a special one regardless of what he or I did in the future. As he began to walk back toward the tanker with the newly arrived driver, I knew that my friend from the Ford pick-up would be spending a lot of time at the top of the hill. I started my engine as they got into the truck at my rear, watched my airbrakes charge up, and began the long trek down the mountain and back to the turnpike, ready for new adventures. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |