My Way or the Highway
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/mt, Consensual, Reluctant, Gay, True Story, Orgy, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation,
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Long distance trucking can be a lonely, monotonous career most part of the year unless one takes advantage of 'runaway teen boy' season! June through August they flock to truck stops seeking free passage from good samaritan truckers to wherever the hell they are headed, or more likely, to put as much distance between them and what they are running from. Soon they learn that there are no free rides, everything has a price in life! Very few truckers take on riders, those that do play the game.
I noticed the two boys as I rolled my rig into the truck stop just west of Toronto. About fourteen years old, younger than the usual runaways looking to hitch a free long distance ride with a trucker to whatever destination they were running away to; or to be more precise, putting miles far behind whatever the hell they were running away from. After fifteen years on the road, I knew their look all too well.
With warm temperatures, spring and summer seems to be the migration period. Not only giving them away are the over-stuffed backpacks, bursting at the seams with all their worldly possessions, most of which have no basic survival use, just hard to leave behind electronic gizmos; they tend to overdress in layers of clothing.
Disheveled and soiled appearances reduce the chances of good Samaritans, that in today's age are already leery of strangers, makes thumbing a ride on the side of a road next to impossible. As well, unwanted attention by police keeps most juveniles off the highways, instead, using the captive audiences of rest areas and truck stops to hitch a ride.
Scouting the busy parking lot, avoiding several cattle liners and opting for a spot downwind between two bedbug haulers, trucker's metaphor for household movers: before finally shutting down the Kenworth that when all was said and done, exulted a great sigh of relief in the form of compressed air.
Grabbing my shaving kit from the small, but practical walk-in bunk and opening the door to descend the ladder; quicker than expected, the two fresh young faces were awaiting me.
"Hi, mister, which way ya headed?" the tallest and blondish of the two fair haired youths asked in a friendly manner.
"South;" I replied, and pointed, "to that building over there to have a shower and something to eat."
Caught off guard by my cynicism, he stammered, "I -I meant on the highway, sir."
He was cuter than I noticed earlier, distracted by navigating my way into the lot. Complementing his unruly, longish sun-bleached hair tucked under a Blue Jays ball-cap worn to the side, his eyes shone a bright green above rosy red cheeks and pug nose that had obviously endured too much sun.
I guessed to be of the same age, his silent dirty blond traveling companion stood a good head shorter wearing a New York Mets cap in the same fashionable style. His dark blue eyes under gold framed lenses wandered nervously between me and the asphalt. He wasn't as attractive as the taller boy, but a kind of dumb look gave him appeal, nonetheless.
"Maybe you didn't see the sign on the door, it clearly says 'No Riders' under the name of my company." I pointed out.
Such notifications were common on trucks, as many trucking companies, for insurance reasons, had a no passenger policy. It gave company paid drivers the polite excuse to deny passage to vagabonds who were not female and pretty enough to take the chance on bending the rules for.
However, I wasn't on any company's payroll or subjected to their many strict regulations. As an independent, I owned my own rig contracting the exclusive services to haul trailers belonging to a major department store chain with locations scattered throughout Canada. Hence, I could haul around my grandmother's ass and that of her quilting club if I was so inclined. The sign was for polite let downs, as I mentioned before, unless the potential of my generosity was young men willing to make the long journey a lot less lonely!
Standing at six feet, two-hundred pounds and with only a slight gut, contrary to the reputation of the industry, at forty-two I was still rather fit and handsome. Many truck stop waitresses occupied my time in the bunk during ridiculous government regulated rest times when I wasn't fudging my log book to deceive some over-zealous weigh-station official's scrutiny.
Always having been a closeted admirer of youthful male nudity derived from high-school showers and public swimming area change rooms, it became an obsession to explore over the years. Later, in my trucking career, I discovered rest-area bathrooms and their surrounding green spaces as a source of such desires.
Middle aged and older men sufficed my appetite for male sex, until one day when I experienced a sixteen year old boy looking for a ride and willing to take me for one as ample compensation for the thousand mile journey to both our coincidental destinations. I was hooked on young cock thereafter.
Teen hitchhikers became my source of sexual fulfillment, The seduction phase went on for many miles until I blatantly came on to them, usually sharing the rear bunk. Depending on reaction, a few were abandoned in desolate locations, others ceded to my overtures.
The game was intriguing at first. The agony of defeat, or the triumph of victory, never certain of what the outcome would be. My attitude of 'put out, or get out' finally grew wearisome over time, and I developed a straight forward approach to save all concerned from the uncomfortable situation.
I answered the boys question, "West young man, go west!" sorta bastardizing the famous quote of pioneer days.
"How far?" he queried, somewhat shy from my nonchalant interest in his quest.
"Depends on how far you and your buddy are willing to go." I chuckled, closing and locking the bunk door.
He looked bewildered, trying to define the words."Wha -what do ya mean? ... Oh! We're going to British Columbia to pick fruit for the summer! he replied, my gist naively misconstrued.
British Columbia's Okanagan Valley is one of Canada's most treasured resources. A valley, nestled on the south-west side of the Rocky Mountains known as the 'fruit-belt" for its prime growing conditions and home to a few fine wineries. Many youth and adults alike, seek short, seasonal employment picking grapes, cherries and various other luscious fruit and vegetables.
Putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into my face, I reiterated, "--Read my lips! As I said, ... depends on how far you're willing to go to get to the Okanagan Valley."
Feeling his body tense up at my blatant intrusion of his personal space, he quivered, "I -I don't know what you mean?"
The other boy was oblivious, his nervousness intent on what I gathered to be police patrols, his head bobbed to and fro like one of those novelty figurines on car dashboards. He wasn't too bright, I assumed in the short time of not even slightly knowing him. The older boy was the dominant figure to be reckoned with.
"Let me make it simple for you. It's the five-hundred mile rule. After every five-hundred miles, I shut 'er down for the night. After a day of harboring and worse yet, illegally transporting runaways over provincial lines, and feeding them free of charge, I expect certain reciprocated ... favors, in return for my hospitality." planting a quick kiss to his lips for humorous emphasis.
There was no need for me to elaborate, the kid's eyes were like saucers and he pulled away from me, fully understanding the implications.
"I ain't no fag, ... so, so fuck off, man!" he scathed, looking utterly disgusted.
I shrugged uncaring and smiled at him as I made a move toward carrying on to the showers, "I never insinuated you were a fag, young man. --It's called survival concessions to achieve your safe, direct transit to where ya's are going."
Again he cursed me, "Fuck you faggot!" and strode off at a good pace with his no-brainer in hot pursuit.
I yelled to him, "Good luck finding another trucker, --if that's you're plan. You ain't female, ... and even if you were, the same terms would apply!" I laughed mockingly, " --Ya all change yer mind, I'll be here for a few hours yet."
I did feel sorry for them, watching as they cowered under a nearby semi The Provincial Police often made a tour around the huge lot before going inside the restaurant for coffee and a bite to eat, compliments of the proprietor. Nor could the kids dare wander inside to use the facilities or have a meal, lest some motherly waitresses would call the cops.
Showered and shaved, fed and watered, I wandered back to my rig to continue my familiar journey westbound on the coast to coast Trans-Canada highway until fatigue would call it a night.
Obviously hidden between my rear duallies, the kid scared the hell out of me making his sudden appearance to my right as I fumbled my pockets for the key.
"Well hello again!" I welcomed unsurprised, and without emotion, knowing the reason of his reappearance. The other boy, I assumed, was still hunkered down under my chassis to faithfully await summoning from his mentor. My unfounded opinion of him being a subservient, type 'B' personality prevailed.
Stern faced, trying to portray an air of aloofness, but failing miserably and reeking of fear, the cutie struggled for words before building the courage and uttering, "Doogie will do it, ... I mean if blow-jobs are what you really want."
The statement caused me hold back a chuckle, he had undoubtedly sold out his dumb friend, whom was even labeled with a suitably dumb Irish nick name for Doogan. The sacrificial lamb to secure passage aboard my eighteen wheeler.
Facetiously beaming in delight, I replied, "Good news! --Tell him to come aboard, ... you, my young friend, can eventually catch up with "Doogie" in the valley sometime in the fall maybe; ... it's a long walk, ya know!"
Hearing his name, Doogan peaked out from behind the left tandem looking befuddled as to whether or not he was being hailed.
Just then a cruiser paused in front of my rig, the lone officer leaned out his window and inquired, "Everything okay, mister?"
Doogan's head disappeared again and the other boy gasped in panic. I thought sure that he would bolt any second had I not placed my arm firmly around his neck and laughing. Just as he tried to wiggle free, he stopped dead hearing my reply to the officer.
"Yes, Sir. All is okay. My young nephew here has glamorous aspirations of becoming a trucker!" I laughed aloud, "I'm trying to sway his misguided notions by giving him a summer long taste of the drudgery and boredom of it all!"
The cop laughed, obviously aware of the occupational hazards, and said, "Looks like it's working, good luck!" Focusing his gaze upon the boy, he advised, "Stay in school, young man. --Learn to design those bloody beasts of boredom for the likes of your uncle, ... not drive them!" he bade a good afternoon and rolled away.
Opening the bunk door and staring the kid down without a word or a gesture, he climbed inside. I called for Doogan and ushered him up the ladder, following close behind. The tension inside the small confines was even greater than the musty odor emitting from the boys.
"So, favorite nephew," I peered at the tall kid, "what the fuck's your name, anyway?"
"Branden." he replied sheepishly, gazing down to scrape something invisible off his runner with the toe of his other foot. "What's yers?"
"Just like the sign on the door reads, Mike Miller Trucking, ... and my last name isn't Trucking, by the way." I joked, hoping to break the ice while offering them a Coke from the small bar fridge that they both guzzled down and belched repeatedly. Most probably hungry as the were thirsty, I surmised.
"There's a McDonald's up the highway, if yer interested." A foolish question to ask any teen boy, their eyes lit up in anticipation. Assuming my position behind the wheel, the monster machine named Annabelle, woke and roared to life, blowing smoke from her stacks before sighing again, begrudgingly knowing that she was expected to perform her duties for yet another leg of the endless journeys. She was overdue for a day at the spa, being pampered by mechanics and let me know it every chance she got!
Finding a safe place to park on the shoulder of the busy highway, I gave the boys twenty dollars with strict instructions to bring me back a vanilla milkshake along with their take out. For all intents and purposes, it was a test of faith. If they came back, fine; if not, so be it! Fifteen minutes later, in my right mirror, I saw them jogging back with bags held to their chests.
The smell of fast food saturated the air as Branden and Doogan wasted no time devouring their meal, sitting nestled side by side upon the passenger seat even before I pulled away into the flow of traffic. Smug in the satisfaction that the two-thousand miles ahead would be like none other!
Experience told me not to inquire into their plight, it was none of my business and I really didn't give a shit. Funny, but not really in that sense of the word. after transporting them to their final destination of choice, the realism of the error in their ways sets in. Offering a return trip home with no questions asked, many take me up on the offer. Bonus round-trips for me.
The smell of their clothes soon resumed, and after a strong suggestion to strip out of them was ignored, a more serious recommendation had them on their feet and scrambling to the bunk area. After only having to drop a few gears while pulling over to the shoulder, they got the message.
Looking back occasionally, I saw the several layers of t-shirts, two pairs of jeans and an unknown quantity of socks that they pulled off in one quick mass. Two pairs of underwear were soon discarded before down to wearing only a single t-shirt and boxer shorts that I considered having them shuck for good measure, but settled on just the t-shirts being removed before they re-entered the cab and sat clad only in their shorts.
"So, Branden, ya ever had a blow-job?" I asked out of the blue to break the monotony of silence that ensued and have a little fun with him.
He swung his head in my direction, even through my peripheral vision the shock factor was seen, responding in a hushed tone, "Noooo!"
"Sorry, thought maybe Doogan was doin' ya already. I mean, ... like the way you offered him to me and all, thought you were being nice and sharing him with me."
"I'm not a fag, I told you that already!" he retorted sharply.
"Ya don't have to be a fag to enjoy getting yer cock sucked. And please quit using the word "fag," --you're insulting me."
"Sorry." Branden apologized without a hint of meaning it, staring straight ahead at the windshield. His attitude pissed me off and he had to be brought down a few notches.
"Doogan my man!" I called out.
He looked past Branden's chest, "Y -y -yes, sir?" he stuttered, the first words I'd heard him speak.
"You know what a blow-job is, don't you?"
"Y -y -yes, sir."
"Ya ever given a guy one?"
"N -n -no, sir." He was polite, I had to admire that.
"But you are willing to do it for me, right?"
"I g -g-guess so." he shrugged his shoulders, "Brandy toad me iss'okay."
My intuition that the kid was dim witted was correct. "Why don't you get on the floor between Brandy's knees and give him one first?" I instructed more than posed it as a suggestion.
Branden shot me an evil look, but said nothing as Doogan lowered himself from his perch and obediently knelt exactly as I requested. Uninhibited by underwear, my cock tented my gray sweat- pants, a spot darkened and expanded over the material exactly where the source of the leakage was uncomfortably restrained. The thought of watching was the most erotic feeling ever experienced, other than having two youth's, whom were younger than usual, at my beck and call!
"Go ahead, Branden. Feed it to him!" I urged. "Give him some practice for us." Everything depended on Branden's final decision, and I hoped my statement would be misinterpreted as alleviating him from any commitments he may have logically assumed that I would expect.
Branden hesitated, peered out the passenger side window and lowered his hands. Looping his thumbs under the waistband of his black boxers just above his groin area, he slowly pulled the elastic down, exposing a patch of blond pubic hair that surrounded the base, then over his flaccid shaft and secured it under his balls, removing his hands after a long pause of embarrassment.
Doogan stared at the package displayed before his eyes, I also admired the young lads cut, meaty three inches propped upward and resting against his large, underwear supported, taut scrotum. Unobscured by hair, the protruding veins indiscriminately spider-webbed every which way around the two chestnut size orbs.
My concentration was divided equally between the road ahead and the sight on my right. Branden looked everywhere other than at his best friend hovering over his genitals, who I saw was in need of direction on what to do next.
"Take his cock in your mouth, Doogan. Roll your tongue around it..."
I continued giving him explicit instructions on the fine art of fellatio. He was definably a quick learner that the affects of his stimulation, had Branden filling the boys mouth in length and girth. It was a sight to behold; six chubby, saliva laced inches seen when Doogan paused to replenish his lungs, only to eagerly return to his task in hand, noisily slurping and several times, gagging himself.
Branden put on a bored appearance, sighing as if he was only humoring me and wanting it to end. Guaranteed he wasn't going to blow his load. I must admit that it would have been hot seeing both, him orgasm, and Doogan accepting it. That bonus feature that I would have had control over, I would have insisted upon.
Doogan had his first taste of cum when I became fully aware that I wasn't going to prevent cumming in my pants if the erotic scene continued any longer. His mid-section laying over the dog-house, I presented my seven inches from under my sweats to his mouth and held his head with one free hand stolen from the steering wheel.
Less than two minutes later, I erupted my pent up sexual frustrations. Like a trooper, he never missed a piston, despite the strange texture and taste invading his taste buds, leaving him to milk the very last drop from my withering shaft.
Literally forcing him off me, he sat back down with Branden, whom at some point, tucked his jewels back in his shorts.
"God, ... your breathes stinks!" he exclaimed to his friend settling in beside him, fanning his face with his hands in an exaggerated disgust.
Not letting him get away unscathed for that unnecessary comment, I blurted, "It's okay, Doogan, we'll drop him off at the next town to fend for himself."
Doogan looked more shocked at my threat than Branden. W -w -why? What d, d,, d, d, did he d, d, d, do wrong?" Doogan stammered a whole sentence with a great deal of effort, almost in tears by the time he finished.
With compassion for his loyalty to his friend, I backed off, "Just kidding, kiddo. Branden can stay!"
Branden's eyes met mine. I mouthed the words, "don't fuck with me!" The message was very clear.
Two hours or so, and one-hundred miles later, being a creature of habit and having a strict personal schedule, I put Annabelle to bed along side one of my many favorite secluded spots. A pristine lake off the beaten track by a mile of dirt road with ample space to turn the rig around.
Nightfall had set in, and a full moon glimmered off the ripples of water. It was much needed bath time for the boys. Tossing them each a towel and a shared bar of soap, adding a bottle of shampoo, we all went skinny-dipping in the warm, serene beach area, that only a few times before, others were enjoying the sanctity of nudism.
Mostly teen boys, sometimes with girls whom freaked with inhibitions seeing my unexpected presence thunder to a stop, their clothing seen in my headlights, strewn haphazardly on the sand. My own initiative to join them usually set their minds at ease.
Once, I got lucky with a seventeen year old boy who spent the night with me, dropping him off in the morning with one less possession he had arrived with, his virginity. Never saw him again after that, but hoping all that summer that fate would repeat itself. Maybe he made up with his girlfriend, who drove off abandoning him. A story for another time.
Branden and Doogan frolicked and rough-housed, enjoying their first unencumbered, nudist experience. I joined their melee of dunking each other, or precariously climbing atop my shoulders and diving.
In a moment of much needed rest, standing waist deep, I fondled both in each hand. Doogan got hard, four inches, thick as my thumb. His cherry size balls hung surprisingly low. At first, I thought he was void of pubic hair, but after more careful inspection, I felt bristles, undoubtedly, just making their debut to garnish his crotch, perhaps I misread his true age, or simply, he was a late bloomer.
Branden wasn't long before becoming fully erect, nor was I, with the reality of masturbating two youths. Forcing Branden's hand to reciprocate was easier than expected, leaving him to it's own devise, I pushed the pendulum and had him jerking off Doogan, as well. I wouldn't call it a circle jerk, per se, more of a circle fondle, but enough to have sparked some sexual interest in Branden, who was letting his guard down.
The reason for finding such secluded Edens was to enjoy as much time as possible outside the day-long confines, kicking back in my leisure time at night. Swimming was my only source of exercise, and restricted to the short summer months. Winters were spent parked at local aquatic centers, but not near the enjoyment of the many tranquil lakes I discovered over the years.
Keeping a small charcoal Hibachi barbecue stored in a compartment, I would often stop at a supermarket and purchase steaks and salads to treat myself to a feast after a long day. A big lover of beer, my little fridge was stocked. The company at the moment was right to share a few with after exiting the lake, waterlogged.
Wrapped in towels, we sat around a picnic table chit-chatting and telling silly jokes awaiting the charcoal to burn down before roasting frozen smokies, less a proper bun, but bread slices served as an alternative, accompanied with potato chips and pretzels. The boys certainly didn't complain about the lengthy wait, savoring their first taste of beer, or so they claimed, and giving them the feeling of maturity, circumventing the age gap to a degree.
Chipping in to help garbage the paper plates and plastic cutlery, putting away condiments, we left the barbecue to smolder and die over night, retiring inside. Against all odds, Doogan was the first to question sleeping arrangements.
"We all sleep right there." I said, pointing at the small bed meant for two adults.
The never used upper bunk over the slightly wider lower bed was crammed with paraphernalia, and it was going to stay that way. Looking like like a typical boys bedroom, I made the kids pickup their earlier discarded clothing strewn everywhere, and place them into a large green garbage bag. I was do for a trip to the laundromat myself, a chore I hated and procrastinated.
As anticipated, Branden grabbed a pair of boxer shorts, I quickly intervened and told him they wouldn't be necessary, The familiar look of shock crossed his face and he opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind.
Doogan didn't seem to care either way, dropping his towel and crawling to the far side of the bed, his pink hole in plain sight for a few seconds. I was going to fuck him sooner or later, sooner it would be, letting my own towel fall to the floor in pursuit and snatching his hips before he could swing around and lay down.
Looking back at me over his shoulder in utter dismay, my tongue excavated his tender pug. It was the sixteen year old from the rest area who showed me that disgusting but wonderful foreplay before the main event, during a complete role reversal of me getting fucked for the fist time!
Not seeing Branden, but feeling him sit down on the edge of the bed, he was most probably watching me eat Doogan and equally stunned as to why anyone would want to go there. Aided by lubricant an arm's length away in a drawer, one, then two fingers reamed him.
Only on the third digit insertion did he complain of pain, craning his neck again to look at me, wondering what the fuck I was doing to him, and why, before quenching his eyes and clamping his teeth.
Branden came into focus on my left, laying half on the bed, his head casually supported by a hand. We made eye contact for a few moments as I guided my cock up and down Doogan's crack, searching for the bulls-eye.
"Ya want yer cock sucked again?" I asked him, and not waiting for a reply, ordered, "Get up there and help me keep him in place."
Branden scooted ahead, squatted with his back resting against the wall and unfolded the towel from around his waist. His beautiful cock was already hard and he pointed it at Doogan's mouth, who obviously heard the conversation and wasted no time complying.
I swear my cock grew another inch, so hard that it hurt. The first thrust was painful to both me and Doogan. He yelped, I winced. Branden held the wiggling boy in place as I gained entry and made headway up the incredibly warm, tight chamber. The boy whimpered, but surprisingly didn't scream out.
"It's okay, Doogie." Branden soothed, "Yer doing great!"
"It herst, Brandy!" he pleaded, "It willy hersts!"
"Do ya 'member the time ya broke yer arm falling from that tree? You were so brave then, and that really hurt, too! --Right?"
I bottomed out, fully planted inside the boy's anus. "It's all the way in, little man, ... it's all the way in, --you can relax now." Heeding my own words, so did I.
Branden urged his cock back into Doogan's mouth. We looked each other in the eye, I smiled, he smiled, some kind of silent pact had been made at Doogan's expense. OR at least that's what he thought.
Slow and easy, then building up momentum, I fucked the little trooper until nature took it's course spewing my second load of the night inside the boy's body. Collapsing atop him, I was rewarded to be inches from Branden's manhood still being serviced. Exhausted, I found the breath to relieve Doogan of the chore and took the treasure from his lips to sample for a while, I had other plans for his prized possession. He looked at me, judged that I wasn't kidding and took position.
Branden slid easily into the well traveled orifice pre-lubricated in semen that I positioned in place for him. I played with his lovely balls while he banged his best friend, sweat dripping from his forehead and temples down to his jaw, face red as a cherry, that if I didn't know better, would think he was bawling his eyes out.
Laying with my head under the action, I watched both sets of balls slam together along with Doogan's flaccid and uncircumcised gherkin sized pink dick. Once again I was awe struck on how devoid he was of pubic hair. Scarcely forming were tiny dark hued perforations that stood out in contrast to his milk white groin, like seedlings poking through the soil of a garden. Raspy to the touch, as I had first discovered in the lake, the very onset of puberty by maybe only a week or two. I recalled a boy in school who was fifteen before he flourished, yet his genital attributes were of equal maturity to any of us other boys.
Branden announced he was ready to cum. As per our previous agreement, he pulled out and before the cool air could surround his cock, it found a new warmth in my mouth.
The initial taste of his cock was bitter, somewhat metallic with what I gathered to be my own cum andother substances that I put out of my mind and concentrated on draining the two cream-puffs resting against my left cheek. One, two, three pulsations felt on my tight lips, loosing count thereafter to savor his offering, the velocity of which hit the roof of my mouth and back of my throat.
Bored, sitting In my doctor's office, I once read in a medical journal that ejaculate travels at twenty-two miles per hour on exit. Some scientist must have had a lot of time on his hands, but exactly how he came to that hypothesis remains a mystery to me.
Branden's load wasn't near the volume of older teens and men, however the purity and sweetness of it by far exceeded my sense of taste. Milking the last possible drops up his deflating shaft became obsessive to the point that he backed away, sensitive, as many guys seem to experience post-orgasm.
Doogan was praised, I told him he was a born man-pleaser, to which he took as an exceptional compliment, gloating in pride, none-the-wiser. Branden seemed a little out of sorts afterward.
"Hey. Dude! It's all about having fun, feeling good, and making others feel good." I tried to instil, "You're not a fag, and neither is Doogan and nor am I, --if that's what yer thinking."
"I guess." he replied solemnly, unconvinced.
We slept naked in the smallish bed, Doogan under my right arm with his head on my chest and a leg over my thighs, Branden, with his back to me and ass pressed against my hip. I was in seventh heaven, the luckiest pervert in the world! Branden had his daemons to contend with, and I had mine.