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From: The Naked Trucker <NakedTrucker@juno.com>
Subject: Trucker Encounter VIII: "The Man in the Mirror"
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------------------------
Trucker Encounter VIII:
------------------------
"The Man in the Mirror"
------------------------
By The Naked Trucker
------------------------
(NakedTrucker@juno.com)
------------------------

I occasionally receive e-mail inquiring whether I'm really
a trucker and whether the Trucker Encounter stories are
true.  The answer to both questions is yes.  In fact,
there are many encounters that I haven't written about,
just as there are many opportunities for encounters that I
pass up simply because there are so many of them.

The story of the following encounter is also true,
although when it happened, even I had to sit back and
consider the sheer coincidence of it . . . It would be
like looking at a mirror image of myself as I discovered
the wonders of the road.

It was just after Christmas when I headed to Carlisle,
Pennsylvania, to have some work done on my tractor-
trailer.  I had made a list of repairs I needed . . . The
fluids were due to be changed, the tachometer light was
burned out, I needed a new motor on the right side-view
mirror so I could re-aim it from the driver's seat, the
four batteries on the tractor were due to be replaced, it
was time for a new set of belts had to be installed under
the hood . . .

I dropped the truck off at the terminal and checked into a
local motel for a couple of days.  It would take three
days to make the repairs and a few upgrades on the truck,
after which I would begin a run from Pittsburgh out to
Denver, Colorado.  Because the motel was booked solid, I
was assigned a roommate - Greg, a newly hired driver who
had come to Carlisle for orientation and to be hooked up
with a trainer.

Greg was a hot-looking 42-year-old who had just graduated
from tractor-trailer school and was seeking to begin a
second career as a professional driver.  Although he
almost looked too good to be straight, I didn't think much
until he unpacked, when I spied a copy of the Damron
Address Book, a popular gay directory, in his bag.
Interesting, I thought . . . this was someone who might be
looking for an adventure or two on the road.

Greg was subtle enough to leave the guide packed, and I
was subtle enough not to mention that I noticed it.  I
knew that I could have acknowledged it, but I had just met
him, knew that I was going to spend a few days with him, and
didn't want to get pressured by a potential dork who
wanted to get it on with me.  Hell, I thought, it's one
thing to have a quick fling with someone on the road when
you can simply drive off, but sharing a motel room is
almost like living with someone - you can't necessarily
avoid him.

While my truck was being repaired and Greg went to his
orientation classes, I borrowed a company van and took in
a few sights during the day.  (Strange as it may seem,
central Pennsylvania *does* have some cultural sights.)
After a few days, as we hung out at the motel, Greg said
that the classes had gone well, but that the only thing
that was hanging him up at that point was a shortage of
trainers.

"That may not be a problem," I said.  "I'm a certified
trainer."

Greg was obviously anxious to get on the road and begin
his new career, and his eyes revealed the hope that we
could hook up and begin his over-the-road training phase.
By this time, I had discovered that he was hip,
intelligent, and self-assured, so I was comfortable with
the thought of his being around for a while.  The only
significant thing that he hadn't mentioned was that he was
gay.  But then, there were two things I hadn't mentioned -
first, that I was also gay and, second, that I already
knew about him because of the Damron guide in his
suitcase.

I had decided to take a break from my own sexual
adventures on the road.  Not because I didn't like sex,
but because it's simply too damn easy to find it when
you're an over-the-road tractor-trailer driver.  Virtually
every rest area, every truck stop, every turnpike service
plaza, and everywhere else presents opportunities for
encounters.  And after you've had enough of them you begin
to think to yourself, "Been there.  Done that.  Got the t-
shirt."

But life is interesting - a game of its own sort, and here
I was, playing a game of my own by continuing to let Greg
think that I was straight.  At least it would take off the
pressure of feeling I should hop in the sack with him
merely because we were both gay, both truckers, and both
rooming together.  At the same time, there was the game
itself.  As a newbie, Greg had not yet gained a knowledge
of what being a real trucker is about, and I knew that by
the end of his training period he would probably become as
much of a road slut as . . . me.

We made the arrangements and completed the necessary
paperwork.  My truck fixed, we headed out of the terminal
and up to the Pennsylvania Turnpike for the four-hour trip
to Pittsburgh to pick up the shipment for Denver.  I did
the initial driving and oriented him to the Freightliner
condo while Greg, who proved to be adept at the use of a
computer, logged onto my laptop unit and pulled up a map
of the warehouse where we would be picking up the load.

We arrived in Cranberry, a suburb just outside of
Pittsburgh, and as we stopped at the security gate of the
warehouse we were pulling into I asked Greg, "You think
you can back this rig into a loading dock?"

"Let's give it a shot," he said.  I was impressed by his
self-assurance and, when we pulled up to the loading area,
I stepped out of the truck and prepared to guide him back
to the dock as he took the driver's seat.  After I opened
the doors to the trailer, I stepped aside as Greg used an
alley-docking maneuver to back the rig into a straight
line with the dock.  I stood to the side and watched as he
comfortably eased the trailer back to a gentle bump at the
docking cushions.  My impression of his self-assurance was
accurate: he would, at the very least, make a competent
driver.

I had been to this warehouse before, and knew that we
would be there for the next few hours as the truck was
loaded.  That would give us time to settle into the condo,
get our sheets and blankets on the beds, and put away our
gear.

As he unpacked, I noticed the gay guide in his suitcase
and, this time, decided to have some fun.  "That looks
interesting," I said.  "What's the Damron Address Book?"

"Ummm," he said with some degree of hesitation, "It's a
gay guide."

"Oh," I replied, trying to seem as neutral as possible and
feigning neither interest nor negativity.  "Are you gay?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged.  "I hope that's not a problem for
you."

"Not unless you try to boink my butt in the middle of the
night," I answered, trying to stifle my amusement.  I
wasn't ready to let on that we were alike in more ways
than one, and "boink"was the straightest word I could
think of at the moment.

"Cool.  I respect the fact that you're straight, and
you're safe with me."

I turned and bit my lip, trying to avoid laughing.  (It
was all I could do to avoid hugging him and saying,
"Relax, dude.  I'm 'one of us.'")  I did manage to catch
the look of relief on Greg's face, as he realized that I
wasn't a redneck trucker that would try to kick the shit
out of him because he was gay.

Our unpacking complete, we waited out the rest of the
loading with small talk and relaxation.  I updated my
driving log and did some paperwork as Greg climbed to the
top bunk and began reading.  When I turned to put my
papers away, I noticed that he was reading John Rechy's
"City of Night," an classic gay novel about the hustling
life in Los Angeles.  Again stifling a reaction, I found
my impression reinforced that here was a road stud in the
making - one who was literate and had done his research
before entering the trucking profession.  Still, I wasn't
quite ready to let on that I knew exactly where he was
coming from.

The truck loaded, we headed south on Interstate 79 with
Greg in the driver's seat to begin the journey, picking up
I-70 westbound into West Virginia.  I would spend the next
several hours with him, sitting in the passenger seat to
observe his driving skills and the way he handled the rig.
Later in the journey, I would be able to sleep while he
drove, but this was his first time behind the wheel as a
professional driver over the road, and still early in his
training phase.

It was early evening when we pulled into a T.A. - Travel
Center of America - truckstop at Dallas Pike, east of
Wheeling, West Virginia, for dinner.  After we ate, I
asked Greg, "You want to relax a while, or are you ready
to hit the road now?"

"I wouldn't mind taking a walk to get some exercise and
work off the dinner," he replied.

"No problem.  I'm gonna hit the truck and relax.  Take
your time, and take a walk for me."

As he headed off, I began to realize that I may have met
my match.  I had stayed at this T.A. truckstop before, and
knew that it was located just next door to Fritz the Cat,
a fairly active bookstore just off I-70 near Wheeling.  I
gambled that Greg was heading over to the bookstore for a
quick fling, and couldn't resist finding out if my hunch
was right.

A few minutes after he left, I stopped in the truck for a
roll of quarters, then walked across the road to Fritz the
Cat myself and went into a booth back in the video
section.  The booth doors at the bookstore were fairly
old, with large cracks on each side through which you can
see the action out in the hallway.  And sure enough, I saw
Greg come out of another booth, spend a minute looking at
the movie board that showed what was playing, and go into
another booth.

At that point, I could resist no longer.  I exited my own
booth and noticed that the booth next to the one Greg had
gone into had two respectable glory holes drilled into the
wall.  I entered the booth, dropped a few quarters, and
bent down to see Greg's well-endowed cock hanging out of
his jeans.

As Greg began to bend down to check out the view in my own
booth, I unzipped my own jeans and pulled out my own cock,
already hard at the prospect of some early action.
Standing back and stroking my rod so he could see it from
the light of the video, I saw Greg's own cock protrude
through the glory hole on the right.  As I gently took
hold of it, I extended my own rod through the other hole
and felt him do the same.

I was clearly at an advantage as we stood there beating
each other's meat.  To Greg, I was just another cock
sticking out of a wall.  But I knew how hot he looked, at
least in clothes, and had an image of the tall, dark-
haired, masculine  stud who was standing in the next
booth.  It was enough to make me shoot my load right
there, which is exactly what I did, pulling my cock back
out of the hole and zipping my jeans with one hand as I
continued to stroke him to the point of orgasm.  As I
continued to work his rod with my fist, I felt Greg begin
to thrust forward and watched a lot of hot jism shoot
across the booth before he, too, pulled back.

I quickly exited the booth, then the store, and was back
in my bed on the truck as Greg left the store and returned
himself.  "Well," I asked, "Did you have a good walk?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to appear as if he hadn't just
dropped a load in the bookstore, "Can't complain."

"Okay," I said, "Let's hit the road."

We performed a routine pre-trip inspection, then Greg took
the driver's seat and we pulled out of the T.A. and onto
I-70 westbound into Ohio.  He maneuvered the rig well, and
I was comfortable reclining the passenger seat and kicking
back with my feet against the dashboard.

As we moved down the interstate I asked, "So how did you
decide to go into trucking?"

"I spent the last ten years sitting on my ass in an
office, and wanted to try something different," he
replied.

I could understand where he was coming from, having spent
a few years behind a desk myself.  At the same time, I
knew that he was leaving out a major reason for his desire
to become a trucker - the opportunity for action along the
road.

"It's a great way to make a living for someone who's
single," I reflected.  "What about the gay part, though?
I've heard that there's a lot of action on the road."
(Duhhhh, I thought.  I was learning to play the "innocent"
role well.)

"Yeah, I've heard that too."  He hinted, "Maybe I'll find
out just how active it gets."

"Well, don't let me stop you," I suggested.  "I could
always use some entertainment."

I got the impression that Greg's cock was growing hard as
we drove.  Even if I was straight, he thought, at least I
was tolerant about his own obvious interest.

Greg had obviously been around the gay scene.  He was from
Harrisburg, which had a few bars of its own and was not
located far from a few active rest areas on I-81 in
Pennsylvania.  He obviously was able to function within
the adult book store scene, and felt comfortable enough to
acknowledge being gay when I had first questioned him
about the Damron guide in his suitcase.  This might be the
first time he was behind the wheel as a trucker, but I
already knew that he would take to the scene like a fish
takes to water.

I decided to feel out his knowledge of the trucking scene
at this early stage in our cross-country trip.  "I haven't
run into too many gay truckers.  Do you know much about
the gay scene when it comes to trucking?"

To say that his answer floored me was an understatement.
"Yeah," he said, "I've read some stories on the Internet
newsgroups about truckers and sex on the road."

No, I thought, it couldn't be.  If he were familiar with
Usenet newsgroups and gay sex stories, that would mean
that he had read the earlier "Trucker Encounter" stories.
Once again, I bit my lip to keep from laughing . . . Here
was Greg, sitting next to the Naked Trucker, thinking that
I was just a nice, tolerant straight guy.

"Tell me about them," I said.

"There's a guy who writes stories on the Internet who
calls himself the Naked Trucker.  He puts a lot of detail
into them about trucking and life on the road, so I almost
feel like I know the scene already."

I asked, "The Naked Trucker?  You mean he drives naked?"
I turned away and looked toward the window, barely able to
keep a straight face.

"Yeah," he responded.  "He says that the windows on a
truck are high enough that he actually spends most of his
time driving without clothes."

"Hmmmmmm . . . That's unique.  I'll have to try that
sometime," I said.  At that point I was able to laugh
openly, although Greg didn't realize that I was laughing
at the humor of the situation, which was beginning to take
on the characteristics of the Theater of the Absurd.  I
didn't bother telling him that I was the Naked Trucker,
nor that I was beginning to look forward to stashing my
burdensome clothes for the rest of the trip.

Greg was handling the rig well on the road, and I was
comfortable enough with his driving at that point to go
back to the sleeper.  "Well, if it's okay with you, I
think I'll get naked myself . . . to catch some sleep.
Will you be okay with the driving?"

"Sure," he said.  I could almost see the excitement in his
eyes as he pondered the thought that I would be back in
bed naked while he was driving.  I decided to leave him
the opening that would lead to some more open intimacy
between us.

"Okay.  Just remember to pull over if you start getting
tired.  We're making good time on this load, and the top
priority is to rest so you don't drive fatigued."  He
nodded, and I moved to the back of the truck, closing the
dark vinyl curtains at the front of the sleeper before I
stripped down and went to bed for a few hours.

It was about four hours later as I awoke to the feel of
the gears downshifting and the truck slowing down, as Greg
pulled into a rest area just inside Indiana.  I sat up on
the side of the bed and reached forward to open the vinyl
curtains separating the cab from the sleeper, then watched
as he comfortably eased the rig into a truck parking
space.

"Not bad," I said.  "You've gotten us this far in one
piece."

Greg laughed.  "Yeah, I even surprised myself.  I'm
starting to get a bit tired, so I thought I better pull
off the road for a while."

"Good thinking," I noted, as I laid back down on the bed,
still naked under the covers.  "Get some rest."

Greg knew at this point that I was sleeping naked, and he
stepped back into the sleeper and closed the curtains,
then began to undress himself.  With some light coming in
through the upper side windows of the sleeper, my cock
shot up as I watched him strip down, his well-built torso
visible in the shadows.

"So . . ." he said as he was about to climb up into the
upper bunk, "Horny, straight guy?"

I laughed and replied, "Well, I just woke up.  What do you
think?"  His assumption, naturally, was that if I had a
hard-on, it was just a piss-hard from waking up, not from
having been watching him in the shadows.

He went on, "I could take care of that for you, you know."

"Hmmmmmm . . . I'm game," I retorted.

He paused a moment and inquired, "Are you serious?"

"Look, dude, if you've got the balls to admit that you're
gay, then I have the balls to admit that I'm horny.  The
question is, are you just talking the talk, or can you
walk the walk?"

Greg sat down next to me on the larger lower bed and said,
"Look, I'll be honest.  I'll leave you alone if you don't
want to get into it, but if that's not the case . . . you
do turn me on."

"Well, you may notice that I'm not pushing you away."

I felt Greg place his hand onto the blanket as he
tentatively moved across my leg toward my hard and waiting
cock.  He gave it a soft squeeze and quietly said, "Looks
like you *could*use some attention."

As his hand enfolded my rod through the covers I turned
slightly in his direction and said, "Well, I still haven't
pushed you away."

He reached under the blanket and moved his hand up my leg
as I slowly pushed the covers to the side and raised the
leg that was farthest from him.  I quietly said, "Well,
let's see if you're what you crack yourself up to be."

Greg got off the bed and knelt down on the floor as I sat
up and leaned against the back wall of the sleeper cab,
exposing my waiting cock to him.  As he began to take it
into his hungry mouth I locked my hands behind my head,
looking down at him in the shadows as he began to work me
with his expert tongue.

Greg wanted the unexpected opportunity to last, and little
by little he began to take my cockshaft into his
experienced mouth.  By this time he was hard himself, and
as he stroked my balls with one hand while he was going
down on me, with the other hand he was now beating his own
rod.  The truck's engine was purring in the background in
the otherwise quiet rest area as I began to thrust my now
aching meat down his throat, and as his own breathing
became heavier I reached down and pulled his head toward
me, pumping my hot load into his hungry mouth.  I heard
him gasp as his own load exploded, and stroked his hair as
his mouth rested on my still hard cock.

As he stood, I laid back down, reached up with one foot
and pushed the upper bunk back toward its locking position
against the wall.  "We won't need that tonight.  Will we?"
Greg's hand pushed the upper bunk the rest of the way,
locking it into a closed position, then he sat down on the
bed next to me.

"For someone who's straight, you seem pretty comfortable
with what just happened," Greg observed.

I pulled him down onto the bed next to me and said,
"Whoever said I was straight?"

He quietly laughed, realizing he had been had.  I had
never acknowledged being gay, but never said I was
straight.  "Touche," he said.  "Do you have any other
surprises?"

"Actually, yes," I answered, "But I'll save them for the
morning.

"Okay.  In the meantime, I'm glad we're sleeping like
this," he said as he backed up against me, as I reached
around to hold him with one hand and placed my other under
his neck.  With that, we drifted to sleep.

Around seven in the morning, we slowly awoke, still in
each other's arms, as the morning light began streaming in
through the upper side windows of the sleeper.  Without a
word, Greg pushed his body back against mine and I reached
down to take his growing rod into my hand.

As his ass moved back against my cock, I reached behind me
for a condom and some lube and slowly massaged his waiting
butthole.  As I reached around him again, he moved further
back and I felt the grip of his buttcheeks on my waiting
cock.  I slowly stroked him as my cock entered his ass,
which was as hungry as his mouth had been a few hours
before.

I held him as we lay on our sides and he began to move his
ass back and forth on my cockshaft, his own dick being
stroked by my fist reaching over him.  "I want it," he
cried, as the hunger in his voice became evident.  "Fuck
me."

I reached for his hand and placed it on his own cock, then
turned him over onto his stomach and braced myself on my
hands and outstretched arms as I thrust the full length of
my shaft into him.  Greg's own cock was surrounded by his
fist, and we began to thrust together as our loads began
churning in our balls.  I pulled him up on his knees,
giving him long, hard strokes as he began to beat off with
abandon, and his breathing became heavier as his cockload
gushed out.  His ass tightened with the intensity of his
orgasm, sending me into a final series of intense thrusts
as my own load exploded into him.

Still locked together, we slowly eased back down to the
bed, laying in the same position in which we had slept -
Greg backed up against me as my arms held him.

"So," he asked after we caught our breath, "What's your
other surprise?"

I hesitated for a second, as I wanted the upcoming humor
of the moment to last.  Then I quietly whispered in his
ear, "I'm the Naked Trucker."

For a brief second there was no response.  Greg paused,
thought about it for a moment, then turned his head back
toward me and smiled.  "You are kidding, aren't you?"

I leaned up on one elbow, my slowly relaxing cock still
inside him, and said, "Look, we've just been about as
intimate as you can get.  Would I kid you at this point?
Or would you like me to quote from one of my stories?"

Greg wasn't sure whether to believe me or not.  "Okay," he
said, "Tell me about your recent trip to New England."

"You mean when my friend Mike cracked a rib and I drove
his rig up to Wal-Mart in New Hampshire for him?"

The reality began to sink into Greg's mind.  "Holy shit,"
he exclaimed incredulously, "You *are* the Naked Trucker!"

I smiled at him, lowered my head and kissed his neck, and
said, "Welcome aboard."

"Well," he said, "I guess I found the ultimate expert to
train me as a trucker."

"Hey, stud," I said, "Don't put me on a pedestal.  When
you come out of this training period you'll be an expert
trucker yourself in more ways than one.  And you can start
by getting us to a truckstop where we can hit the
showers."

We slowly separated, and Greg sat up on the edge of the
bed.  "I assume that I'm not required to get dressed at
this point."

"Why bother?" I asked.  "For the next few weeks, this is
*our* truck."

Greg stood up and moved toward the driver's seat, easing
us out onto the highway as I took the passenger seat next
to him and glimpsed over at what seemed like a mirror
image of myself.

"By the way," I said, "Remember that J.O. scene last night
back at Fritz the Cat?"

He looked over at me and, as he realized that the previous
few hours wasn't our first encounter together, we both
burst out laughing.

As the laughter subsided, we looked at each other with a
mutual understanding.  Greg had read my stories and
learned them well, and I recognized someone who was
seeking the same freedom of the road that I had found a
year earlier.  For the next few weeks of his training
period we would be experiencing that freedom together, two
kindred spirits crossing the country in a tractor-trailer.
And except for when we hit a truckstop, made a delivery,
or took on a new load, the clothes we had on board
wouldn't come out again.

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