Sunday, September 11, 2016

Cruising Under the Hickory Trees

Rural Rest Area Near Home—July/August, 2016

After the good encounter with the trucker—the post I wrote up with his taste still in my mouth—I made time to get back to the rest area occasionally during my busy summer. 

I am sitting in my car, the radio tuned to the NPR station.  I am listening to the news at noon.   The rest area is busy.   A semi is parked behind me.  Two different pick-up trucks contain older farmers. I recognize them both as potential trade.  The semi driver has been napping.  He wakes and gets out of his cab.  He strides past me on the way to the pit toilets.  He’s early 40’s and I can’t help but notice that his muscular arms, sticking out of his dark T-shirt, are defined and hairy.  His jeans are tight, clinging to his ass.  He nods to me as he passes.  I watch him go into the men’s—not bothering to shut the door.

The old men in the trucks pay attention, too.

I wait.  The length of a good piss.

The trucker steps back out.  He stops in the glare of the light.  He squints as he turns his body in the direction of my vehicle.  And unmistakably squeezes his crotch.

I open my door.  My foot is on the ground.  I don’t care if the older guys watch us, but I’m sucking this guy off.

At that moment a minivan pulls into the lot.  It parks on the opposite side of where I’m parked and three kids and two mothers tumble out to claim the picnic table near the woman’s rest room.

I look at the trucker.  The pick-ups have already started their trucks and are gone.

I start walking to the trucker to suggest his cab.  He doesn’t wait for me to get near.  He lopes to his cab as one of the little boys runs screaming across the parking lot.  The trucker starts his engine with a huge diesel snort and is gone before I can get back to my car.

The play group is here to eat.  There is nothing to do but go home.


Another day.  Around 1pm.

I have closed my eyes for a moment.  I have not seen a soul in the 30 minutes I’ve been here.
A semi roars into the lot.  I open my eyes.  It parks behind me.  I wait.

I hear the cab door open.  The driver gets out.  I have my windows open.  I can smell him before he passes.  And not in a good way.  The man is huge and unwashed.  His clothes are filthy.  He pays no attention to me, pisses and is gone.  Not looking  to play—no need to turn him down.

I sigh and go home.


I am at the picnic table that is nearest the men’s room.  I am reading, sitting in the shade of the hickory trees.  A man drives in.  He looks familiar but I’m not sure.

Then I realize it’s a guy I used to play with regularly.  I would ask him to the playroom whenever I needed an extra cock for a load loving bottom.  He loved to seed whatever man I was fucking that day for my felching pleasure.  I thought he’d moved out of state.

But he’s here now.

We catch up.  I learn he’s back in town occasionally.  And horny.

We go behind the toilets.  He stands on the concrete foundation.  He opens his fly.  It’s a smaller than average dick, but he has big balls.

“I haven’t cum in a week,” he tells me.

“I’ll fix that.”

And I do.  In no time at all.  I swallow hungrily.  The first load I’ve had that week.


Another day.  Listening to the news.

An older man drives in.  His car is huge.  He parks right next to me, country music flooding through his open windows.

“Good to see you,” he says, still in his car.

I turn off my radio and nod at him.  I remember him.  He was regular trade here two years ago.

“I could sure use your mouth.”

Direct and to the point.  I nod.   Then I’m out and locking my car.

It’s been a quiet day. I wait for him behind the building.  He’s a good 10 years older than I, maybe even 15.  His dress is what my dad would’ve called natty.  His cuffed tan pants are pressed.  So is his open shirt with its slightly tropical design.  His gray hair—and there’s a lot of it—is perfectly combed. His mustache is trimmed tightly.  He’s tanned.  And he has just opened his fly to show me his 7 thick inches of uncut dick.  His hygiene is just as impeccable as his dress.  He sighs as I take him into my mouth. 

Oh, I remember this guy.  He can’t get fully hard anymore.  But he loves my oral skills.

“You are the only guy I let do this to me,” he croons.

True or not, I re-double my effort to please this daddy.

In just moments he floods my mouth with gallons of cum.  He can’t stop shooting and I keep swallowing.  I am totally taken aback at the size of his load. 

He pats my head with his soft hands and almost whispers “Thank you, young man.” 

I stay on my knees, watching, as he takes a perfectly white handkerchief out of his back pocket and wraps his dick in it before he tucks it all back into his white briefs.

I could so easily become this man.  He rubs my head once more.  “You know how to do it right.” He heads to his massive, older car.

I stand up and swallow again. 

Still tasting him.