TRUCK STOP

TRUCK STOP By Michael London (Honcho.Sept.1981) Jesus Christ, it was hot. The goddamn air conditioner was broken and I had four more hours to go before I was going to be home. I was plowing along at 70 mph, south on I-71 — at least there weren't any cops around. I was trying to keep cool by using my old 4-70 air conditioner — all four windows down at 70 mph. Up ahead of me, off the right shoulder of the highway, there was an old '72 Dodge. The car was jacked up and there was no tire to the left rear of the car. There didn't seem to be anyone around, so I didn't pay much attention at first. Just as I'm coming right up next to the car, I saw this young guy jump out of the back seat of the car and start running the same direction that I was driving. As I passed the old Dodge I kept watching in my rear view mirror. This guy was still running in my direction and then I saw this other guy, much older, get out of the car and start chasing the first guy. The young kid was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and tennis shoes. He kept checking over his shoulder at the older guy, who had no shirt on and was holding his left hand over his side. As I pulled off the highway onto the shoulder, I thought to myself, 'Well, if you're going to get involved in this you might as well be dramatic.' So I stopped the car with a squeal and a skid, and a small cloud of dust for effect. I grabbed my thirty eight, that I kept under my seat, and jumped out of the car. I stuck the gun in the waist of my jeans with my shirt over it and stood at the rear of my Pontiac wagon. As he came closer I could hear the young guy yelling, "Help," over and over again. When he got up to me he was breathing hard and looked scared. "Please, man, you gotta help me," he puffed. "What the fuck's goin' on here," I yelled. "I'm hitchhiking and this guy picks me up and he's tryin' to make me give him a blow job, and now he's tryin' to kill me." I ran around the side of my wagon and opened the door, "Get in the car." As I got to the back end of my car the older man was almost there. I could see blood around the hand that was holding his side, and I could hear him yelling, "That's my son. That's my son." I thought to myself, "Holy shit, what the fuck did I get into this time?" Finally he stood in front of me. "Listen, man, that's my son. He's run away about six times and he's not gonna do it again." "OK, mister, just calm down. He tells me that he's hitchin' and you picked him up. He says you want him to give you a blow job, and you're tryin' to kill him. What gives?" "Listen, buddy, this is none of your business. This is family. You keep your goddamned nose out of it. That's my fuckin' son in your car," he wheezed. "Now get him outta there." "What's wrong with your side? You're bleeding." "The little sonofabitch cut me with a knife, tryin' to get away. You're helpin' a fuckin' criminal there." "Well, look, if he's a criminal, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'll take him straight down to the Highway patrol. They're about two exits down the highway." "We don't need no highway patrol. I'll take care of him. Now get the fuck outta my way." "No way, Jack." "OK, FUCKER!" He pulled out a knife. "Move it. I want that kid." I pulled out my thirty eight. "Mister, if that's your kid and he's cut you up, you ain't gonna have nothin' to hassle about with me. I'm goin' to the highway patrol right now. I'll have this gun on him and he won't go anywhere. So back off. I don't want to have to use this, but I will." He started to shake. "I said back off!" He started to move away slowly. Looking me strong in the eye, he spit, "You son of a bitch!" And with that he turned and ran. I saw the blood on the ground. I ran around the car and jumped in. The kid saw the gun aimed at him and cowered in the seat. "Listen, friend, this guy has a whole other story. We're goin' to the highway patrol and let them figure it out." I pulled that old station wagon back on the road. I kept my right hand on the wheel and my left on the gun. The kid didn't say a word. Neither did I. I tried to sort out the jumbled stories in my mind. One thing was clear — the prospects of any sexual encounter with the fiftyish man with his sagging tits and bloody side was distasteful at best. The next thing I heard was his crying. He was trying to stifle it, but it broke through the noise of the road. I thought to myself, `That son of a bitch was taking advantage of this guy. I don't need to scare him with this gun.' Then I thought again, `Maybe the kid's a hustler.' Shit, I didn't know what to think. I kept the gun aimed across the seat. "Please mister, I don't want to have to go to the cops." "Why not?" "Please, I just don't want to have to go to the cops." He was still crying. "Look, you want to tell me what really happened?" He kept crying. "Hey, do you want a cigarette?" "Yeah," he sniffed. "Fine, light me one too." I handed him a pack off the seat. His hands were shaking, but he got the cigarettes lit. "I think it's time you tell me what's happened." He stuttered for a moment, and then he began. "I was hitchhiking down the highway. This guy stops and says, `Where you goin'?' I told him that I was headin' for Cincinnati. He said, `Great, I'm goin' to Cincy too. Get in.' So I got in the car with him just south of Cleveland. I figured it was ok. I never had any trouble hitchin' before." He stopped. He was staring out the front window and I thought he was going to start crying again. "Yeah, so what happened?" "We didn't talk a lot. But when he did, I got sort of a funny felling. I figured that he was just a little off the wall . . . and then, all of a sudden he started sayin' that there was something wrong with the tire in the back. And . . . and I didn't notice anything wrong with any of the tires. But he . . . he kept sayin' that there was something wrong with the tire back there. The tire was goin' flat or somethin' was wrong . . . and . . . and so finally he pulls off the road back there. And he's standin' out in the highway lookin' at the wheel. People are drivin' all around him so as not to hit him, you know. And it's like he didn't know they were comin' at him. He kept lookin' at the tire and shakin' his head. Then he tells me I got to help him fix this tire." "He took off his shirt and starts jackin' this car up. He gets the tire off, and it still doesn't look to me like there's anything wrong with it. Then he started lookin' real weird and . . . and he hands me this crowbar and then he faints like or . . . somethin', and falls out on the highway. So I drug him off the road. I figured he had a stroke from the heat or somethin', you know. I kept askin' him if he was okay, and he kept sayin', 'The heat, the heat.' Then he said, 'In the car . . ." He started to cry again. "So, I got him in the back seat of the car and all laid down and everything, and he . . . he started mumblin' but I couldn't hear what he was sayin'. So I tried to get my ear close to his mouth. I was practically layin' on him . . . tryin' to hear . . . and he stopped mumblin' and opened his eyes . . . and he was smilin' real funny . . . I was so close to his face . . . and he looked so strange . . . He pulled out a knife. He . . . ugh . . . he started sayin' that I was goin' to help him now. I kept sayin', 'What's wrong with you?' Then he grabbed my shirt and pulled me to him when I tried to get away . . . and then he put the knife to my face and told me that I'm . . . gonna be real calm . . . and I'm not gonna make no fuss and nobody's gonna get hurt . . . he kept sayin' that I'm gonna be real nice and that I'm gonna give him a real nice blow job . . .Then he started laughin' and . . . he . . . he undid his pants . . . and he . . . he pushed my face on his dick . . . and I was so scared. I started playin' with it . . . and . . . and . . ." He was crying so hard now he couldn't talk, and I was feeling uneasy with myself, even a little guilty. For a while his ordeal raised my bitterness with the older man, a fantasy of sex with my passenger raised a bulge in my already too tight jeans. I pulled off the highway at the next exit and into a little drive-in root beer stand. He couldn't stop crying. I put my weapon away and ordered two root beers from the bellhop. I paid the bill and pulled onto a country road. I drove slowly and eventually handed him a drink. He sipped a little at a time, trying to drink between sobs. Finally he quieted down. There was nothing to hear but the silence of the country and the hum of my Pontiac. "What're you gonna do with me now?" I sat quiet for a moment. "How did he get that cut on his side?" He hesitated. "He finally let go of my collar an' I went to jump back out of the car. We struggled and somehow he cut himself with the knife. That's when I got loose and out of the car and started runnin'." He was still shaking as I made a U-turn on the county road and headed for the interstate. He was still quiet when I hit the entrance ramp and moved on down I-71. "Why don't you want me to tell the cops about what happened?" Silence. "Look, you're gonna have to give me some kind of explanation. They should know about this nut." He didn't say anything for a long time. And then, "I can't tell you." "Well, that's up to you." I headed toward the next exit. After a few minutes he spoke. "I'm gay. If the cops find out they'll never believe me. They'll never believe that he forced me. Please?" "Yeah, sure." I didn't know what to think. The one thing that I thought I was sure of, I was wrong about. I could have sworn he was straight. Ever since that day in the showers when our school's number one track star brought me out, with a bite on my fifteen year old neck and a proclamation of his admiration for blonds, I prided myself on figuring out who was what. I swallowed my pride and drove on down the highway. When the next exit came up, I pulled off and drove on into the parking lot of the patrol station. "Please don't do this." I thought he was going to start crying again. "You just stay here in the car. I'll be back shortly and this will be over with." I disappeared into the station for about fifteen minutes. When I came out I could see him looking behind me to see who was with me. We were back on the road in a few minutes. "What happened? What did you do? Did you tell them?" "They'll take care of that sick bastard. Just try to forget it. Are you going all the way to Cincinnati?" "Yeah," he sighed. Less than a mile later I noticed that he was sound asleep. I drove for about an hour and a half with a road silence that seemed almost like any other trip home from visiting my lover. Brad and I had been lovers four years. I couldn't wait for him to finish his doctorate and end these long trips and expensive phone bills. If Brad were with me I wondered if he would share my fantasy of a three-way with my sleeping friend — definitely. Although insistently monogamous, Brad was a true adventurer. I was just south of Columbus when I heard him speak. "Why didn't you tell them who I was? That I was just out in the car?" "I'm gay. Just forget it." With that announcement he seemed to come alive. For the next thirty minutes I heard about his major in college, his mother and father who didn't know that he was a member of the royal family, his first date with a girl, and his first time with a guy. He wasn't quite as young as he looked. He was twenty one, only seven years younger than I. In the middle of one of his stories he stopped dead at the sound of a crack. One of my front tires blew. I was losing control of the car. I tried to put on the brakes, but nothing helped. The accelerator stuck. I didn't know what to do. We weaved and bounced back and forth. I finally reached for the keys and turned off the ignition. We crossed both lanes again and the old wagon headed for the right shoulder and on into the deep gully alongside the road, ending up laying nearly on its side. We had been thrown around quite a bit. I was pushed up against the door with the kid laying on top of me. I was rubbing the side of my head when I saw the tears start to run down his face again. But he cried silently this time. I put my arms around him and told him everything was going to be OK. I stroked his face and kissed his forehead. His hair smelled of highway dust and his skin tasted of nervous sweat. No one stopped to help. They all passed by. I held him for what seemed then to have been an eternity. All of a sudden he started to chuckle. The chuckle grew to laughter and the tears kept coming, till finally he was laughing out loud. I pushed his face off my chest and looked him in the eyes. "What the hell is so funny?" He laughed and laughed, each moment more hysterical than the last. He seemed genuinely amused. He threw his arms around my neck and kept on laughing. I pulled one arm from around my neck and looked him in the face. For the first time I noticed what he really looked like. Beautiful deep blue eyes, and dark chocolate thick hair, with a bronze smooth skin backing a full dark moustache. His face was framed with a firm angular jawline set atop a thick strong neck. Finally I asked, "Can you calm down for five minutes and let me in on the joke?" He stifled his laugh just long enough to rush out, "Well, now that you have a flat tire, I suppose you're gonna want a blow job." I burst out laughing. We both lay there laughing until I felt the tears on my face too; tears of relief from the tension of his ordeal, our accident, and my wanting to touch him. We held each other laughing and crying, crouched in a corner of that wagon on its side. As our laughter subsided he leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. I took his face in my hands and kissed his full lips. I could feel him shaking. Slowly his tongue entered my mouth and in seconds we were clenching in a tender yet hard embrace. At one moment he pulled away from my mouth and put his hand on my face closing my eyes. I felt his lips touch my eyes, then my mouth, then my ears at which point he whispered, "I think we'd better move before we stop your blood from circulating." I whispered back, "Sweetheart, you just started my blood circulating." We climbed out of the car and sat on the bank of the gully. After a few moments he removed his hand from his crotch, he stood up, leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, took me by the hands and helped me stand. "Don't you think we ought to take care of this tire?" I said. He smiled, "Don't you think we ought to take care of this blow job?" We both laughed as we walked back into the woods off the highway. We stood in the dusk facing each other as he put his hands to my waist and pulled my shirt over my head. I unbuttoned his shirt and moved it off of his shoulders. It fell to the ground. I pressed my mouth to his and somehow we undressed each other without ever parting lips. My hands went to his waist and his arms to my shoulders. I cupped my hands around his smooth buns and pressed him close to me. I could feel his hard excitement against me as we fell to the ground and began to play. I licked his nipples and tasted his neck. Suddenly his tongue shot over my ear and his hands squeezed my sides. His skin was so soft. Like someone had wrapped these full muscles with velvet. He rolled me to my back, sitting on my legs. He held our cocks in his hand. With one arm supporting him, he leaned over me and his tongue came into my mouth as we gyrated our cocks together. He tasted so sweet. Then his lips left mine and his hand left my cock. He sat over me and I felt the sweat from his balls as his ass slid along my gut and onto my chest till my mouth surrounded his cock. His excitement seemed to grow as I took his cock deeper and deeper into my throat. Each thrust moved his stomach closer to my face, and his cock closer to its peak. Pulling out, his cheeks pushed down my chest, and with the aid of his saliva, carefully onto my cock. We rolled on our sides, laying face to face. His tongue circled my lips as I began to fuck slowly, and then not so slowly. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and mine tightened against his back and his legs wrapped my waist as I fucked deeper and warmer with each movement. Our intoxication grew and grew. I could feel his hot, hard cock pressing my stomach. The rhythm in my mouth seemed to follow the rhythm in his asshole. His tongue searched quicker and quicker the heat and wet of my mouth as my thick, hard cock drove furiously in and out. He pulled his mouth away from me as his smile broadened and his eyes opened wide. Quickly he pulled me to him and shot his tongue to my throat and at that instant I shook with the thrill and warmth of my cumming inside him. He began rolling me in the grass and I felt his hot cum shooting over my chest and neck. There was no movement. We held each other tight and then carefullly, then tenderly. Laying there, his lips wet my eyes with a kiss, then my cheeks, then my ears, and he whispered, "Now, what about that tire?"