Message-ID: <7794eli$9801251942@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7794.txt>
From: The Naked Trucker <NakedTrucker@juno.com>
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: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
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 <misc.transport.trucking>.)  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 |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/><http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>