Message-ID: <7794eli$9801251942@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: The Naked Trucker Subject: Trucker Encounter IX: "One Ass at a Time" 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: <34CA74BF.71F0@juno.com> ----------------------- Trucker Encounter IX: ----------------------- "One Ass at a Time" ----------------------- By The Naked Trucker ----------------------- (NakedTrucker@juno.com) ----------------------- Occasionally, gay readers will post a message on the truckers Internet newsgroup. (Yeah, guys, there really is a truckers newsgroup. It's called .) One message that recently appeared read: > Hey you truckers, > I'm an 35 yrs old discreet bi male who fantasizes > about truckers. > Where in the Ottawa, Canada, area can I meet and > give a good blowjob to a trucker ? > Also, when I'm on the highway or at a truck stop, > what do I do to let the guy in the truck know that I'm > interested in sucking him ? > Any places I should know about from Ottawa to > Montreal? As you might imagine, guys who cruise on the newsgroup take a lot of shit from straight truckers, ranging from moralistic to redneck. But when the above message appeared, one trucker, presumably straight, had the sense of humor to post the following response: > Don't know for sure, but I've heard that if you wait > in a McDonald's bathroom and hum "The Marriage of > Figaro" in C sharp, pausing between verses for exactly > 4.78 sec while hopping on your left and right foot > alternately, you may attract attention. If that's too > complicated, just go to a gay bar and hang out with > your father. Humorous, yes. But also ignorant. Which means that the responding trucker probably *is* straight. He showed about as much knowledge of the gay scene as most gay guys have about the trucker scene. Well, as anyone knows, when you get a group of bigots together and you happen to be a member of the group that is the object of their derision, you're gonna take a lot of shit. But get any of them on a one-to-one basis and you get an opportunity for dialogue. Or more . . . Now, this story will have the usual erotic twist. But before we enter the usual realm of hot, humpy, sweaty man-to-man grinding and groaning, here's a little more background to illustrate the principle of homophobia in the wacky world of trucking . . . It was 3:30 on a Tuesday morning and I was heading across the Pennsylvania Turnpike with a load bound for Chicago. There were few cars on the road at that hour, but the four lanes of the turnpike were full of trucks. Cluster by cluster, the darkness was occasionally pierced by a group of 18-wheelers passing through the night, creating a sense of community in their silence. Trucks are like that when they travel deserted highways in the middle of the night. The CB radio may be silent, but trucks seem to gravitate into a group along the roadway. The song lyric, "Mercy sakes alive, we got us a convoy," is lived every day, although a word may never be spoken. When words are spoken, they are usually inane and shallow. A trucker's favorite topic of discussion on the CB is either bitching about his dispatcher or comparing engine sizes (then, if he's driving a company truck, bitching about the speed governor that prevents him from getting the best from that engine). And, the myth goes, when a trucker tells a story, it usually begins with the words, "Once upon a time," or, "You won't believe this one, but . . ." But that night, the airwaves were silent. And I was getting bored. So I picked up the microphone and spoke into the empty air, "Any horny truckers out there looking for some hot man-to-man action?" As I said it, I had to stifle a laugh. As anyone who has read the Trucker Encounters knows, cruising by CB radio is the one technique that I do *not* recommend. If there's a sure way of getting your ass kicked instead of fucked, it's to pick up a trucker via the CB. Not only is there a high chance of encountering a shit-kicking redneck who steps out of his rig with a tire iron in hand, ready to gay bash in the middle of the boondocks where a body could lay without being noticed while the perpetrator simply drives off into the night, there's also no way to "check out the merchandise" in advance. And unless you're desperate enough to get on your knees for anyone, you wouldn't want to get it on with the great unwashed majority of guys who drive big rigs. But the question had the effect I sought - it snapped up the silence and broke up the boredom that pervaded the road that night. "Shut up, faggot!" "My, my, what's this world coming to?" "Shit, these queers will try anything." "Get AIDS and die, asshole!" "I got something you can suck on, shithead. It's nine inches long, and it says 'Smith & Wesson'!" The airwaves crackled, the night becoming alive with truckers who envisioned themselves as macho straight superheroes out to rid the world of the dreaded cocksucker. I sat back and took it all in, as what started out as kick-ass comments became social commentary - a philosophical coffee klatch of truckers wondering why a guy would ever "do it" with another guy. Finally, I picked up the microphone again. "C'mon, guys," I said, "You'd think that y'all could never imagine that there would be such a thing as a gay trucker out there." Back came a gravely voice with a southern accent, "Yeah, well, if you ever find one, let us know." Another voice in the night interjected, "How many gay truckers do you think there are?" "Well," I responded into the microphone, "if you buy the statistic that ten percent of the population is gay, that means that ten percent of truckers are gay. Except at Schneider, where it's probably thirty percent." Laughter came over the radio as my fellow drivers got the joke - bashing Schneider and J.B. Hunt, two of the largest trucking companies in the country, is another favorite trucker activity. They're both excellent companies, but it seems that every profession has to have its scapegoats. (By the way, I work for neither Schneider nor J.B. Hunt.) "I hear that," another trucker came back, voicing one of the profession's most overworked cliches. "Shit," I continued, "you know what they say about Schneider drivers. You tell them to swap loads, and they get in the back of a sleeper cab." By this time, the mood lightened up as another driver spoke into the night, "Schneider, party of six, your shower is ready." "You know what Schneider drivers say after sex? 'Thanks, man.'" And so it went until yet another driver spoke up. "I still can't see it, man. There are just too many fucking cocksuckers on the road." I went for the gold. "I know what you mean. But don't knock it till you've tried it." "And you've tried it?" "You got it, dude. There *are* gay truckers out there, and I'm one of them." >From yet another trucker, "Well, I hope I don't find you, cause if I do I'll kick your fucking ass in." I wasn't worried. In a convoy of trucks, no one knows which trucker is broadcasting on the CB unless they see the microphone in your hand when they pass you. "Okay," I said. "When and where? I'm calling your bluff, sweet cheeks." Silence. "Just as I thought," I continued, laughing. "Another chickenshit." The conversation continued among the other drivers, lamenting the state of a world overcome with cocksuckers and ultimately getting back to bitching about their dispatchers. And what had been proven? Nothing. Because you can't convert a *group* of assholes when they're acting together. Each one is afraid of what the others will think if he goes against the grain. On the other hand, even an asshole has potential when the conversation is one-on-one. It was over the summer as I was passing through South Carolina on the way to drop a load in western Florida. I had done my federal maximum of ten hours of driving over a 24-hour period, and was ready for a lengthy break. It was around 9 A.M. when I pulled into a truckstop off of I-95 to fuel the rig, grab a shower and some breakfast, then catch some sleep back in the cab. I woke up around three in the afternoon, refreshed enough to stay awake for a while but not ready to get back on the road. Walking back into the truckstop, I stopped in the movie lounge, where the film "The Firm" had just begun. I had read the Gresham book but hadn't seen the movie, so I decided to kill some time and sat down to watch it. There were only two other people in the movie lounge - one male, one female, sitting apart. It was too early for the night crowd to gather, and it was almost a pleasure to be in a truckstop without a hoard of other drivers telling their tall tales around me. As the clock approached four, the woman stood up and quietly walked toward the door. With just a bit too much make-up, she didn't have the demeanor of a trucker. Which meant that, as a single woman in a truckstop, she was more than likely a lot lizard - a truckstop hooker. As she left, the other driver in the lounge, sitting two aisles and a few seats apart from me, looked over and we both grinned. I said, "A little early for her shift, isn't it?" "I'm not sure which is worse," he replied, "the lot lizards or the queers." "Awwww," I asked, "what's wrong with a little cocksucking?" "Shit." He paused. "Would you let a guy go down on you?" It was one of those one-on-one situations I had run into in the past, and I had no fear that he would react violently inside the truck stop. I shrugged, "Hell, if I'm horny enough, it's a matter of getting my rocks off." "I can't see it," he responded. "I never had sex with another guy, and don't see what two guys would do with each other anyway. I never understood that fag shit." "Hell, they do the same thing with each other that any other two people do." He paused again. "Sounds like you've had some experience," a tinge of nervousness in his voice. I began to ease up. It was an opportunity that was all too typical in trucking, yet one that I reveled in - a potential opportunity to get it on with another trucker and score a point or two at straightening out a straight guy. "Yeah," I said, "Been there. Done that." "What's it like?" I looked over at him and paused for a moment myself. This guy was not your typical trucker. He was neither hot and humpy, nor a fat slob, but somewhere in between. He had natural good looks and, without other truckers around, his inquiry was frank and straightforward. "Which way are you heading?" "North," he answered. "I've got a load for New Jersey." "Hmmmmmm," I said. "I'm heading south toward Florida." I paused again. "You know," I continued, "it seems to me that we're heading in different directions and will probably never run into each other again. If we were to do anything, no one would ever know about it. Not your family, not your friends, not any other drivers. The question is, how curious are you?" He thought for a moment and realized that if there were ever a safe time he could satisfy his curiosity, it would be with another driver who wouldn't go around blabbing about it to people he knew. "Yeah," he said, "I'm curious." Another pause. "Well, dude, I'm game if you are." I looked directly at him, driver to driver, man to man, communicating the assurance that I would be comfortable getting it on with him. We stood up and began to walk outside toward the truck parking lot. We hadn't even exchanged names, but I was comfortable with that, too. I felt that the more anonymous we were toward one another, the more my fellow driver would be comfortable experimenting. We crossed the parking lot and headed toward my truck. I felt he would be more comfortable there than in his own rig, and knew that I was more prepared for man-to-man action than he was. Hell, when straight guys use anything to jack off, it's usually Vaseline, which shouldn't be used with condoms anyway - the petroleum breaks down the latex, so condoms should only be used with water-based lubes like K-Y. We climbed into my Freightliner condo and he took a seat on the bed as I closed the door, started he engine, and turned on the air conditioning. "So," he asked, "what do we do?" "I don't know about you, man, but it's hot as shit out there, so I'm gonna strip down." It was a hot, muggy July afternoon outside, and we had both broken a sweat in the short walk out to the truck. I kicked off my sneakers, took off my t-shirt and let my shorts drop to the floor, taking the passenger seat at the front of the cab as the air conditioning began to cool off the tractor. My companion stood, hesitating as if he were uneasy with the situation. I rose to meet him and put my left hand on his shoulder. "Lesson one," I said, noticing the bulge in his own shorts. "Guys do get turned on by guys." I slowly reached toward his zipper, brushing my right hand along the fabric against a cock that was already getting hard. "Face it man, we're horny fuckers, and when you get past all the bullshit, doing it with another guy can be pretty hot." He didn't resist, and as I continued to keep one hand on his shoulder and look at him directly, my other hand moved the zipper on his own shorts down, unbuttoned them at he top, and let them drop to the floor. As I gently took his increasingly hard cock into my right hand, my left hand moved down his side and under his own t-shirt, lifting the shirt up toward his head. His own hands met the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off as he slowly kicked his own Reeboks off to lose the shorts. It was all I cold do to keep from shooting a load right there. At just over six feet tall, we were a match for each other in height and weight. We were both fresh from a shower, although we had started to sweat because of the weather outside, and perhaps because of the anticipation of the moment. Like me, my companion had dark hair, and a full breadth of hair along his chest covered a solid build - not muscular, but well proportioned and developed. As we stood and I stroked his cock leisurely, I gently reached for his hand and placed it on my own hardening rod. Then I reached up and massaged his shoulder and neck as he slowly began to relax standing next to me. As we moved back and sat across from each other on the bed, slowly stroking each other's cocks, I asked him, "Do you know what a woman's orgasm feels like?" He paused for a moment to think about it and replied, "No, I can't say that I do." "Okay. Now, do you think a woman knows what it feels like when you have an orgasm?" "I guess not." "Well, right now, I know what you're feeling down there. Because I'm feeling the same thing." I saw a look of comprehension begin to come across his face. "Only another dude knows what it feels like when your cock is about to blow a load. Only a guy knows what it's like when you've gotta get your rocks off or you'll fucking explode." I paused again and said, "Sit back," and he leaned along the back wall of the cab. As I continued to stroke him with one hand, I ran my other hand along his chest. "I don't know what a woman feels like when you fondle her breast, but I know how this feels." He closed his eyes as I stroked him and I felt his hips gently thrust forward with the sensation he was feeling in his cock. Continuing to gently fondle his rod, I moved my tongue down his chest, kneeling on the floor in front of him until my face met his extended rod. My tongue advanced down his cockshaft, circling his balls, before moving back upward and taking his cock gently into my mouth. As I continued to work it further, I lifted his legs up onto the bed so that he was now laying down. After a few minutes I rose to the bed myself and, his cock still being caressed by my tongue, laid next to him, my own rod near his face. As he gently thrust his meat into my mouth I felt his own breathing next to my cock. I placed my hand behind his head and nudged him toward me as he hesitatingly took my rod into his hand and I felt his tongue move along my cockhead. The more turned on he got, the more he took of my swollen rod into his mouth until he was moving with the same rhythm with which I was devouring him. We were now moving in a unified rhythm, driving our cocks into each other's mouths as our breathing became heavier. As I felt his body tighten, his load began to fill my mouth and I could resist no longer, shooting my own cum into him and easing my grip on his head so he wouldn't choke. He saw that I had taken his own load and did the same with mine, his mouth somehow remaining impaled on my slowly softening rod. "Uh-oh," I said as we caught our breath. "What is it?" "I think you're growing hair on your palms." He broke out laughing, as he realized that getting it on with another guy wasn't the end of the world. I moved around so that we were laying in the same direction together and asked, "You want to catch a few zzzzz's?" "Yeah, I wouldn't mind," he answered. I gently turned him so that his back was toward me, moved one hand under his neck and gently draped the other over him. The fresh orgasm had relaxed him, and we both fell asleep easily. I awoke about an hour later. My new friend was still asleep and, though the hot July weather made it searing outside, the inside of the cab was cold by that time because of the air conditioning. I never understood why truckers leave their engines on in parking lots and at rest stops until I became a trucker myself. The main reason is because of the weather. Whether its 95 degrees or 10 degrees out, it's better to run the engine and maintain a comfortable temperature inside than to freeze or sweat your balls off. The fact that a tractor-trailer can have dual tanks that can hold 200 or more gallons of fuel (since they run on diesel, we never call it "gas") means that they can literally run all day and night without harm. Fortunately, large tractors that have sleeper cabs have a separate control panel in the sleeper for air conditioning, lights, and radio, so I was able to turn the temperature up a little without having to get out of bed. I reached down for a blanket and pulled it up to cover us, then placed my arm back under the covers. My buddy had moved so that he was sleeping on his stomach, and I thought about how ironic it is that so many straight guys tend to sleep in that position. As he slowly stirred awake, I reached up and massaged his neck and shoulders. Still half asleep, he moved closer to me and nudged his head into my armpit, enjoying the massage. Taking that as a cue, I rose and straddled him, moving my hands slowly down his back, kneading the tired muscles with my fingers as my hands methodically maneuvered down toward his waist. He placed his own hands under his head as he leisurely continued to awaken, his back beginning to relax under me. "So, how're you doing, stud?" It occurred to me that we hadn't even exchanged names. But it didn't matter, for we had already gone past the point of being mere acquaintances. "Can't complain," he said, the realization obviously coming back to him that he had just gotten it on with another guy for the first time. We slipped back into silence as he continued to enjoy having his back muscles worked by my hands. Of course, straddling his ass, my own cock was hardening at the sight below me. As my hands crossed below his waist, I felt his torso give a slight thrust into the bed, and knew that I wasn't the only one with a hard-on. I moved down and continued the massage along the back of his legs and thighs before proceeding to his tight buttcheeks, which began to relax with the force of the massage. Reaching up to his back once again, I bent over and ran my tongue along his waist line and down toward the crack of his ass. I think he knew where I was headed, but was too relaxed to resist as both my hands and tongue headed down toward his ass. My own cock was starting to throb as I licked the crack of his butt, gently spreading his asscheeks and moving farther inward with my tongue. I took in a combination of the clean smell of the soap from his earlier shower along with the manly sweat we had generated an hour before. Passing a soft line of hair around his ass, I buried my tongue in his butthole as he alternatingly thrust against the bed and rose to meet my tongue, his ass becoming increasingly relaxed. I knew that his curiosity still had to be satisfied, and rose, once again straddling him with my own cock ready for action. Continuing to massage his butthole with one hand, I reached for some lube and, after putting on a condom and moving so that my cock was straddling his butt, I continued massaging his back. Since it was his first time, and even though he was willing to get fucked, I let him take control of the pace. As I continued to knead his back muscles, I felt his ass slowly rise as he took me in, a little at a time, getting used to being filled another man's meat. Little by little, he continued to take my cockshaft until it was buried deep inside him. I stretched out my legs and moved my hands up toward his head, interlocking my fingers into his, taking over as I thrust my rod into his ass with increasing force, working the length of my shaft in and out of his butthole. I didn't want him to cum yet, knowing that an orgasm would make his ass tighten and that it was harder to get fucked after you've shot your load. I was able to get screwed after I shot my wad, but he was a novice and I wanted him to be comfortable with the experience. "So, sport," I asked, "How're you doin' down there?" "This is fucking intense, man," he said as I pounded his ass, his own cock hard against the mattress. "I never knew this could be so hot." "Good," I said, approaching the throes of orgasm. "Because after this, I want you to ram your cock into me just like I'm giving it to you. But first, man . . . I'm gonna shoot!" I felt his ass rise up to meet my cock as I buried the entire length of my shaft in him, bursting with a load the force of which you can only feel when you know that the person you're with is taking a man's cock for the first time. His ass tightened around my exploding rod, as if he knew that he was milking my entire load from the shaft. I hovered over him catching my breath, then put one arm under his neck and gently turned him so that we were on our sides. "That's a little different from the way you do it with a woman, isn't it?" "That's an understatement," he said. "Exactly," I reflected. "With a woman you're tender and caressing. You can be that way with a guy, too, but you can also give it all you've got, knowing that he knows exactly what you're feeling." "I never thought of it that way." "Well, I know exactly how you felt when you were getting your ass rammed because I've been there." I climbed over him, reached down, and opened the refrigerator. Popping open a Mr. Pibb - the South's variation of Dr. Pepper and one of its great contributions to culture - we took a drink and cooled off. As I laid back down, our positions were reversed, my ass resting against his still-hard cock, his arm under my neck. As I felt his rod push against the crack of my backside I reached up for another condom and lube, then reached backward and began to guide him toward my butt. Even though I had just cum, I was hungry to have his hard cock inside me. I wanted to complete the cycle, to have him both ways before we would head down the road in our separate directions. Interlocking my fingers with his hand, now draped over me, I slowly backed toward his firm rod, inching its way into my tight ass as I flexed my muscles around his shaft. Then we began to turn so that he was on top of me, slowly thrusting in and out of my hungry butthole. After a few minutes we moved back onto our sides as he continued to move in and out of me. I turned so that I was on my back and he was thrusting sideways, then spread my legs and pushed his shoulder upwards. He got the message and began to rise to his knees, still inside me, until I was below him and placed my feet on his chest to brace him. I wanted to see every expression, every emotion, as he began to ride my ass with increasing intensity, the beads of sweat beginning to pour from his face and from the hair on his chest. As he began to pound my ass with a growing force, I moved my legs above his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around the back of my knees, locking me into a more vulnerable position as he continued to plunge into me. I reached behind his neck and pulled his face toward mine and, for the first time in our encounter, our lips locked together in a tight embrace. As he lifted his head, groaning with heavy breaths, I reached down behind him and pulled his ass toward me, feeling the glorious sting of his hard cock buried inside me. He cried out as a load of cum spewed out of his shaft into my ass, which tightened as I felt his cock pulse with each surge. His sweat was pouring down on me as he caught his breath, and I reached up and drew his head down toward me once again as we locked in another embrace, this one more tender and relaxed than the last. We turned to the side, and laid between my legs, still inside me, as we both began to cool down. "I think we're about due for another shower," I said, knowing that we both had to hit the road soon. We slowly separated and rose, dressing in silence except for an occasional hug and knowing as we looked at each other that words weren't necessary at that point. We made our way back into the truckstop and paid for a couple of showers. Walking back to the hallway with our keys, we found that our private shower rooms were directly across from each other. Opening the doors, I paused to watch my buddy enter his shower room, grab the towel and soap provided by the truckstop, then turn, look at me, and come across to my shower room. It looked like we had just made things slightly easier for the cleaning staff. Fortunately, truckstop showers tend to be fairly large, sometimes twice the size of a standard stall shower and easily accommodating two people. At that point, for lack of a better term, we were both fucked out. But that, perhaps, was one of the best moments of all. We stood in the shower together, embracing, massaging each other, washing each others backs, and even drying each other off. And again, not a word was spoken - everything that had to be communicated could be understood by touch. After we dressed and handed in our towels and shower keys, the silence was finally broken. "So," he asked, "is there anything I missed?" "Well, you've never felt anything until you've shot your load *while* you're getting fucked." "Hell, I don't think I could even think about that now. Well, actually, I could think about it . . ." "Maybe next time. You never know, sport." We walked outside, shook hands as we looked at each other and, without a word, headed off separately to our trucks and back to our trips. Homophobia, I thought . . . Homophobes are a bunch of asses, but it's hard as hell to convert a group of them at once. You've got to do it one ass at a time. I smiled as I watched another convert head down the road. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |