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From: The Naked Trucker <NakedTrucker@juno.com>
Subject: Trucker Encounter V: "At the Top of the Hill" (m/m)
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------------------------
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.

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