The overhead light in the sleeper cabin behind the Mack truck cab was on dim, casting an eerie light over Buck, nicknamed for driving semis like they were rodeo horses, who was covering the young sailor. It was a little over a week before Thanksgiving. Long Beach was where he’d picked up the cute little kid in his alluring sailor whites when Buck was taking on a load off the docks there to drive to Kansas City. The very-young-looking sailor, coming off his first cruise, said he was headed south to Fort Worth—home for the holidays, he’d said—and had begged for a ride and agreed to be ridden to get it. The truck was parked at the Flying J truck center in Barstow, California, where the highways—and Buck and the sailor—split and where Buck would be taking I-15 north and the sailor would be looking for an ongoing ride west and south on I-40.

The sailor, small of body, barely able to raise a beard, cute and willowy, was on all fours on the bed that took up most of the sleeper cabin. In the dimly lit compartment, he clearly could have passed for fourteen, and Buck was enjoying him like that was how old the kid was. He was doing what he’d only recently, on his first cruise, learned to do for sailors on board ship. He was taking cock—massive cock in this instance.

He was still in his white jumper, but that was all. Buck, large and formidable, especially in contrast to the young sailor, was hovering over the boy, embracing the sailor’s chest, his hand up under the jumper, clutching the sailor’s pecs, holding the little kid, less than half Buck’s size, close and steady as he moved his hips, mining the sailor’s channel to a steady beat. The sailor was writhing and huffing and puffing as Buck penetrated him with a beer-can cock, not appreciably long, but almost impossibly thick. The boy was especially aware of the thick cock ring pressing at the latex of the condom in the truck driver’s cock head. This was the first time the sailor was being fucked by a cock with a thick stud in its head, and all of the boy’s groaning senses were focused there.

It had been all sex. They hadn’t even exchanged names. The sailor was nervous, trying out for the first time how he could get from the ship to Fort Worth without having to shell out any money, and Buck wanting to only think of his winter holiday haul pickups as convenient pieces of ass rather than young men with names and lives of their own.

Buck, in his mid-forties, was an avid bodybuilder, hanging onto youth as best he could. He also was into leather and tattoos and piercings. Tom of Finland was the look he went for when he was trucking, the look that attracted the young guys looking for adventure and manhandling.

He was a divinely built, handsome man of commanding musculature, his torso and arms covered with intricate, expensively done, tattooing, and a diamond stud in his right earlobe and gold bars in his nipples. If he were an ugly man, other men would give him a wide berth, but he wasn’t. He was strikingly good looking and had a great smile. It was obvious he was a man’s man, a Tom of Finland, but other seeking men gravitated to him, wanting to ride on the wild side and intuitively knowing he’d treat them right—and, if not exactly right, he’d fuck them totally—certainly something to think about and savor at Christmas.

Fully mounted and saddled, Buck held steady on the boy’s back. Trembling, but also holding steady now, fully possessed by the stretching shaft, the sailor settled down for the initially slow in and out, in and out fuck.

“Shit, that cock ring,” he moaned.

Buck was in his favorite gear for action such as this. His torso was encased by the leather harness, with the ring pressed under his bulging pecs, he was wearing his black leather wristbands and his black-leather studded captain’s hat, and his shiny black leather combat boots were on his feet. He was Tom of Finland, fucking his boy.

He held the sailor close under him, mounted on his tail like a dog, and thrust and thrust, picking up speed and intensity as the sailor held under him, shuddering and shimmering, whimpering and panting, taking the impossibly thick shaft and rub of the cock ring, one of the sailor’s hands moving between his legs to stroke himself off, while the other hand and his knees took the position. Even though the truck was heavy, the motion of the fuck was causing the cabin to sway a little, not unlike what the sailor felt on board his ship at sea while one sailor after the other was gangbanging him. Buck was taking most of his own weight on the soles of his feet buried on either side of the sailor’s calves, raising his arms in the concluding increasingly vigorous thrusts, and grasping strap loops in the interior of the cabin sides to hold himself in place as he drove hard to his ejaculation.

The sailor cried out in pain-passion and collapsed under Buck onto the narrow, vinyl-covered bed in the dim light as Buck tensed and jerked and came, tensed and jerked and came.

It wasn’t the first time they’d fucked in the sleeping cabin. They’d done so where Buck had picked the sailor up in San Berdino at a truck stop. But this had been a better fuck than the first time. The sailor had known what to expect—what was expected of him, which wasn’t much—and, having taken the beer-can cock before was better prepared to take it a second time.

Inside the café in the Flying J truck stop, fourteen-year-old Danny, nudging the duffel bag beside his chair, was nursing a cup of coffee, trying to come across as older than he was—old enough to be hitching on his own—and staring out of the window, looking for something out in the lot where the tractor-trailer trucks were parked. Some drivers were out and about in the lot, gathering in small conversation groups. But the drivers of many of the semis were snoozing in their sleeper cabs, building up the energy to start the next leg of their cross-continent drive, hauling the nation’s goods to market from the ports in the weeks building up to the Christmas season.

Danny, small, blond, preppy looking, saw the sailor, also small, compact, moving gingerly, looking spiffy in his sailor whites and hefting a white duffel bag, climb, with effort, out of the sleeping cab of one of the tractor trailers, a humongous Mack truck, and hobble deeper into the parked fleet. Danny scrutinized the sailor, speculating where he’d been and what he’d been doing, as the young man approached a couple of drivers who were leaning against a truck and jawing. A few minutes later, a real hunk of a guy, not too old but not too young, muscular and strutting like he owned the place, came out of the sleeper cab. He was dressed in faded jeans, topped by a fancy Western-style cotton shirt with fancy detailing and silver studs on a yoke collar and along the shoulders. The studded black-leather captain’s hat and shiny combat boots gave him a dangerous look. Danny shuddered and felt the “coming-to-life” arousal going through his tight little body.

That was the one. If he was headed east in that rig, that was the one Danny was looking for.

Mesmerized by the size and bearing of the dark-haired truck driver, Danny watched Buck strut across the asphalt separating the Flying J building from the truckers’ parking lot, enter the building, and head back toward where the shower facilities were for the truckers. Danny didn’t miss the diamond stud in Buck’s ear, the satisfied look on his face, or the baggie he was carrying in his hand containing what unmistakably was a spent Trojan Magnum condom.

The truck driver gave a little scowl as he entered the Flying J building. The place was decorated—tackily decorated—for Christmas, with a lot of stringy red, gold, and white tinselly stuff hanging around on the walls. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet and the Christmas decorations were already going up. Not that it mattered all that much to Buck, who would be on the road, moving goods, most of the holiday season—right up to Christmas. He always paused his driving to be at home, on the lake, in Gunnison, Colorado, for Christmas. There wasn’t much other for him to do at home in this season, though. There wasn’t anyone but his dog and a few casually friendly neighbors waiting for him there. This was his busy season in a job that was slowly decreasing for him. He made sure he was on the road for the winter holidays. It was all for the little gifts he gave himself while on the road.

And, speaking of gifts, Buck’s eyes had looked beyond the Christmas decorations and picked out the cute little blond piece watching him from the café as well, and he let his assessing look become blatant as the two focused on each other. He also made sure the baggie he was carrying with the spent condom in it could be seen.

The kid, the only one seated in the café at the moment, wasn’t more than fourteen or fifteen, Buck thought—just the age Buck liked the best, when the kid was on the cusp of becoming a man, still willowy and innocent, fresh, and tender of body, but able to achieve a hard-on and an ejaculation and to be aroused by being fucked. He was small, perfectly proportioned, dressed preppy, good-looking, with an eager puppy demeanor, and had a gold loop earring in his right ear. That wasn’t supposed to mean much anymore, but Buck, who was good at picking them out, knew that, combined with other signals, it did mean something. As he marched back to the showers to dispose of the used condom and to shower up for the run up to Vegas, Denver, and beyond, he also noticed the duffel bag on the floor at the kid’s feet.

What was a young kid doing out by himself at a truck stop, Buck wondered. But he didn’t wonder too much or too long. The kid was here, and he seemed to be on the move and to be hitching. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around to take care of him. He was there for the picking.

Maybe the sweet piece wanted a ride in exchange for being ridden, Buck thought. Maybe he’d still be here waiting for me when I finished my shower. This is what Buck got on the road for during the winter holiday season—this was his “gifts to myself” season.

Buck didn’t have to wait. When he came out of the shower into the locker room, Danny was there, leaning up against the bank of lockers. They stood there, Danny with eyes wide in the wonder of what he was looking at and Buck, entering the locker room from the shower, holding the knot of his towel with one hand.

Buck’s eyes slitted. “What do you want, kid?” he asked.

“What do you think?” the boy answered.

“How old are you?”

“Do you care?”

“Just curious.”

“I’m fourteen. Again, do you care?”

“Not in the least,” Buck answered and the two shared a smile.

“Shit, just look at those tattoos,” Danny said, his eyes getting big.

Buck laughed. “You like tattoos, kid?” he asked.

“Sure,” Danny said after a pause. Then, boldly, “Can I touch them?”

Buck laughed. “Knock yourself out,” he said. with a smirk, letting his towel fall and standing there naked. “Got ‘em down here too.” Would this kid really be this easy? He looked around the area. Anyone else here? No one in sight. He could take him here, but, no, there was too much risk of someone coming in. There were several trucks in the lot. The risk was high that one of those drivers would want to shower just as he got the sweetie under him. If the boy really was fourteen, Buck had to be really careful here. This was why he had the semi with the sleeping compartment behind the cab.

Danny sucked in air, “Fuck,” he said, his eyes going to the size of Buck’s dark cock and balls and to the cock ring in the shaft’s head. The cock was on the rise. Danny knew the man wanted him.

The dance had begun.

Buck was of a mixed breed—a bit of everything, including Hispanic, black, and white. His cock and balls were from black sires. Danny didn’t shy away. He moved closer and touched the tattooing on Buck’s muscular chest, covered in light swirls of dark hair that didn’t hide the tattoos but, rather, seemed to animate them. An index finger went to one of Buck’s nipples, with puffed up, and lingered there. Their eyes locked as the finger slid down Buck’s torso to below his waist briefly before going back to a nipple. There was nothing subtle about this kid—about what he wanted and what’d do for a guy, a sexy stud like Buck.

“Fuck is good,” Buck said, knowing that they would. He’d take the little piece back to his sleeper cab and fuck the hell of him—and the boy would let him do it—and if he shied away and they got that far, Buck would do it anyway. He took Danny’s free hand and moved it down to his crotch. Danny didn’t flinch from that either, but Buck didn’t push for more than a touch there with the fingers of that hand too before he released the boy’s hand. He’d already decided they couldn’t do it here—shouldn’t try to do it here.

Buck took Danny’s other arm by the wrist and moved the boy’s hand away from his chest, but he held the hand for several seconds longer than necessary, applying pressure to establish his dominance, and smiled at Danny.

“Can I buy you something to drink when I’ve dressed,” Buck asked.

“Yes, please,” Danny said, a slight look of confusion on his face. He too had thought of doing it here. He hadn’t thought of the risks like Buck had. He wasn’t accustomed to thinking of the risks of these situations that Buck was. His eyes, roving all over the man’s muscular and tattooed body, were unabashedly taking it all in.

“What’s your name?” Buck asked in a low, calm voice. Time to put a bit of a damper on this, for now. But why this way, he thought. He had a strict rule about exchanging names with his prey. Why had he abandoned that? What did this kid have that the others hadn’t? It was something, that was for sure.

“Danny. Danny Davis.”

“I’m Buck, a nickname given me because the guys thought I drove the truck like it was a rodeo horse between my legs.” It wasn’t his real name, of course, but for the months on the road, it was him. When he was on the road during the winter holiday season, he was Buck, but he also was Tom of Finland.

“I saw your truck. It’s big.”

“Everything about me is big, kid.”

“I can see that,” Danny said.

“Wait for me in the café. I’ll dress and come out to you.” And then, in not very long, I will come in you, he was thinking. We’ll both have a ball balling. But he didn’t say it. Time to damp this down until he could get the kid in his sleeper cabin. Everything was set up for games in the sleeper cabin. Buck was already thinking of positions to put the boy in there. There were hanger straps all over the place to use to trap wrists and ankles—to incapacitate his prey and put them in good positions. That’s one thing he liked about doing fourteen-year-old boys. They had a tendency to talk big until they were put into position and then they had to be restrained to go with the carry through. After they were done, though, they were always glad that Buck went ahead and did them.

He didn’t have great length, so the access had to be open. But, god could he screw them to the bed with his thickness. He could make them squeal. They all whimpered and squealed for him. He was Tom of Finland when he went on the road for the winter holidays.

He liked this kid. Not only was he easy on the eyes, a sexy little piece, or that he was being easy to get. The kid had spunk and he turned Buck on as much as any kid he’d humped before. He was raw and straightforward. He reacted well to everything Buck had said or had shown he was and what he intended to do. He wanted to have the kid for the long haul to Denver. He was a real present. Buck would savor him. He’d fuck the shit out of him, of course.

Danny obviously heard the instruction to leave the locker room, but he didn’t go to the café immediately. He backed away to where he had originally been standing, leaning up against lockers, but remained there, watching Buck dress, which the man did slowly, obviously like he liked being watched and worshipped by the kid’s eyes.

Danny’s eyes again went wide when he saw Buck pulling the black-leather harnessing onto his chest before covering it with the Western-style, long-sleeved shirt. Danny’s interest and arousal grew as he watched Buck take on his chosen character—the boots and wristbands coming on after the harness and the shirt, and it all topped off by the black-leather captain’s hat. Danny got that Buck was becoming Tom of Finland. He was Buck when he was driving and Tom of Finland when he was fucking.

Once the man got the shirt on, though, the raw sexuality of the character became tamped down—for public consumption, the boy thought. One couldn’t tell other than at the edge of the man’s exposed wrists that his torso was covered in tattoos. He looked like a whole different man than he did just in the torso harness and black-leather boots. Then, when he’d snapped on the leather wristbands, the tattooing disappeared even there. But there, for a moment, Buck had shown Danny what was on offer—that, for Danny, Buck would be Tom of Finland and all the raw, rough, sexuality that that portended.

Danny stood, leaning against the locker, unabashedly rubbing his crouch and watching Buck dress until the wristbands and cap were being put in place, and then he retreated to the café, where he had left his duffel bag. No one else was in the café.

When Buck entered, he bought two coffees without asking Danny if that was what he wanted and sauntered over to the table, putting the coffees down, and turning a chair around and straddling it in reverse. Both of them understood the uncoordinated choice of the coffee meant more than something to drink. Buck would provide what he wanted to and Danny would take it.

“Great looking truck out there,” Danny said when they were settled.

“Yes, I like it. It’s my home on the road.”

“It’s got a sleeper cabin behind the cab. That’s where you sleep with you’re on the road—rather than staying in motels?”

“Yes, it does have a good sleeper cabin, and, yes, it’s where I sleep—and do other stuff.” The words sounded benign, but they all had sexual meaning. Everything said was part of the dance. Buck’s clipped tones were a matter of maintaining control, showing who was boss—being Tom of Finland.

“Are you headed east or west?” Danny asked.

“East, from Long Beach. You?” This was a significant point. Were they going in the same direction so that Buck could take him along and use him en route, or were they separating here—would Buck have to take him out to the truck now and bang the hell out of him in a one and done? That would almost be best. He sensed danger with this kid—the danger of wanting more.

“East, I hope. I need a ride east.”

“I offer rides—for a ride,” Buck said.

“Just one ride?” Danny asked, showing a saucy smile.

“OK, rides—as often as I want them between here and Denver.”

“And if I wanted it more often?” The kid was laying it on thick. It didn’t make him less arousing to Buck.

“I doubt you could.” I’m Tom of Finland. I’ll fuck you silly, Buck was thinking. His look was intensive enough to convey that to Danny, who shuddered, but held steady.

“What are you hauling?” Danny was looking down at the surface of the table. Was it time to totally capitulate yet or did they want to dance a bit more?

“Christmas trees. Hauling them to Kansas City. You going in that direction, that far?”

“That direction, to Denver. Won’t Christmas trees dry out before you get them that far?”

Buck laughed. “They’re fake trees. From China. Shittin’ fake trees for Christmas from a heathen country.”

“You like the real better?” Danny.

“Fuckin’ right,” Buck said. “I like it real. I like it real in everything, not just in Christmas trees.”

“And raw? Do you gotta have it raw?” Danny asked. Was this another sticking point? Hardly, Buck thought.

“Naw, I do safe—usually.” He’d flashed the baggie with the used Trojan at the kid earlier. The kid knew he’d used a rubber the last time. They were just marking time, beating around the bush, at this point. That there would be a main event was settled. They were just covering details now. “But I do real. I do rough. What you see is what you get. And I like to give and give and give. Understand?”

“Yes,” Danny answered.

“And give and give,” Buck repeated. He needed to unsettle this cocky kid—and he did.

Danny visibly shuddered. Mark reached over and grasped the boy’s wrist. Danny didn’t pull away.

“What are you doing out on the highway at your age, son?” Buck asked. “You’re after a ride east—in exchange for giving a ride, right?”

“Yes,” Danny said. “I’m going to my dad’s house in Denver. I can’t take my mother’s boyfriend anymore.”

“You’ve taken your mother’s boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t want to be taken by men?”

“Not by my mother’s boyfriend.”

“But you’ve willingly gone with other men? You know what we’re talking about here? I’m in it to party, not to shock or teach some reluctant or sassy virgin who will break down on the challenge of carry through.”

“Yes, and yes.”

“So, you’ve been ridden by men before. By this boyfriend, and by others maybe too?”

“Yes.”

“You’re looking for a ride all the way to Denver, are you?”

“Yes.”

“If I give you a ride to Denver, I’ll be riding you to Denver, stopping at nearly every rest area between here and there to do my business.”

“Yes, if you want.”

“I do a lot of riding—hard riding.”

“So I hear you saying. Sounds good.”

“Drink up your coffee then, boy, and let’s get on the road.”

There had been no question that Buck was going to fuck Danny from the moment Danny stepped forward in the locker room, touched Buck’s nipple reverently, and then traced a line down to the goods. It was just a question whether it was going to be a one-and-done deal here in the Flying J truck parking lot in the sleeper cabin of Buck’s truck or whether they were going to take it on the road for multiple couplings.

They were taking it on the road. Either way, Buck took it as an early Christmas present. He’d tuck in as many of those he could this holiday season, but he already was thinking that this would be a special one. The presents compensated for having to be on the road, transporting such shit as fake Christmas trees from heathen China, during the season.

As it transpired, Buck could not wait, and Buck did not wait. When they got to the truck, Danny wanted to see what was in the sleeper cabin. Buck then could not wait and did not wait. What was then in the sleeper cabin, in the truckers’ parking lot at the Flying J truck service center in Bartow, California, was Danny, naked, on his back, his legs raised and spread, his ankles and one wrist inserted into strap loops hanging from the ceiling. Buck had left the boy one hand free to grasp himself and stroke off while Buck fucked him.

When he saw how many strap loops were hanging off the walls and ceiling of the compartment, Danny had asked, “Why so many?”

“I’d have to show you,” Buck said, as he stripped off.

“Yes, please.” Danny, of course, damn well knew what they were for.

Buck showed him anyway.

The overhead light was on dim, casting a murky half-glow in the cabin, as Buck, in his leather chest harness, wristbands, and combat boots, knelt between Danny’s spread thighs, managing close-in connection of their pelvises, getting all of his thick shaft in, and bumping his heavily balls against the tender skin of the boy’s inner thighs as he thrust, thrust, thrust.

Danny had screamed bloody murder at the relentless stretching thickness of the sheathed shaft and the rubbing of the thick ring in the cock head, with Buck’s hands gripping the boy’s throat to keep the noise emanating from the cabin to a dull roar. Once Buck was saddled, though, and Danny had managed to take him, he joined enthusiastically in the fuck, the two moving together in athletic, coordinated thrusts and withdrawals that had their hips working in rhythm and, as heavy and stable as the truck cabin was, had the Mack truck cabin rocking on its shocks.

The boy groaned with each thrust.

“Is it too ... should I...?” Marc was being polite. He wouldn’t have slacked off even if Danny had begged him to do so at this point. Once they’d been restrained, it was going to happen. He’d never encountered a boy before who didn’t thank him for carrying through. When he’d gotten to the stage to fingering the boy, he could tell that Danny had been with many men. He was open enough almost to take Buck himself without much effort. Finding that the boy was a well-used whore at a claimed age of fourteen relieved Buck. He could lose himself in the fuck.

“Fuck me! Fuck me hard? Shit, you’re thick!”

Buck fucked him hard. This piece was something special.

Danny came in a flood of cum up Buck’s hard belly. Soon thereafter, Buck, with a great groan, pulled out of Danny, ripped the Trojan Magnum off, and ejaculated on Danny’s chest.

“Don’t stop!” Danny cried out. “Put it back in. Oh, shit! That cock ring! Oh fuck! Put it back in. Don’t stop doing me! Raw. Fuck me raw!”

Still hard, all risk forgotten, Buck jammed it, unsheathed, back in as Danny cried out in pain-passion, and the fuck continued until both were exhausted.

It was a good fuck ... a great fuck ... one of the best fucks either of them had had. They both would have attested to that.

It was an early Christmas present for both of them.

Danny proved to be a delight to travel with. He was fun and humorous. He was playful and brought out the holiday spirit in Buck, despite Buck’s attempt to project as a rough-man Tom of Finland. With him coming on board, even the truck had taken on a festive look. He brought out a garish red and gold tinsel string like those Buck had seen in the Flying F truck stop, Danny having bought it on a dare from Buck, who had sneered at it, suggesting that the swags, like the load he was hauling, were just fake Christmas made in China. When Danny strung it across the top of the windscreen in the truck, Buck hadn’t sneered at it there. He’d laughed and just said it would be tossed out of the cab in Denver along with Danny. But before they left Barstow, Buck had been cajoled into buying a wreath from a table at the truck stop and hanging it on the truck’s radiator. Danny was bringing life, gaiety, and Christmas into the truck.

He was attentive to and agreeable with Buck as they settled in as travel companions. He complained about nothing. He was compliant to whatever Buck wanted, and, sexually, he was insatiable. It proved that he would have stopped for sweaty sex more often than Buck did, although Buck did it enough to put him behind schedule on his long-haul delivery. Danny showed that he would have been happy if Buck had fucked him continuously. They hadn’t been long back on the road, pointed toward Las Vegas on I-15, when Buck began to wish that Danny wasn’t going only as far as Denver and that the older man started to think of the two being together even beyond his own immediate destination, Kansas City.

With Danny sitting beside him, the monotonous miles through desert country east on I-15 just melted away. As well as being good company, Danny sexed him up as they rolled along, getting Buck to shuck his shirt and jeans when they got out on the highway, driving as Tom of Finland, in his briefs and the chest harness, topped by the leather captain’s hat and accented by the shiny black combat boots. Leaning into him, Danny ran his fingers over the intricate lines of Buck’s torso and arm tattoos and, eventually pulled Buck’s half-hard out of the split in his briefs and played with the thick cock ring in the shaft’s head, producing precum until Buck groaned, pulled Danny’s face down into his lap, and Danny gave him head as Buck worked to keep the truck on the road.

They also talked.

“Does your dad know you’re visiting him in Denver?”

“Not yet,” Danny said. “I’ve rung him a couple of times from my cell phone to see who would answer, but no one has.”

“And he hasn’t called back to your voicemail? Maybe he’s not there.”

“I didn’t leave messages and he wouldn’t recognize the number I was calling from. I’m trying to find out if Jack is still with him.”

“Jack?”

“Dad has a boyfriend too—and he’s as bad as my mom’s boyfriend.”

“Bad, how?”

“I think you know how.”

“And your dad doesn’t try to stop him?”

“My dad’s into watching and threesomes.”

Oh. “I can see how he would be,” Buck said. “You’re a sexy little piece.”

“Thanks.”

“So, your dad—” Now the question was why Danny would visit his father at all.

“I don’t really want to talk about my dad now. Look, there’s a sign for a rest stop in another four miles. Maybe we could—”

“You need to take a piss?”

“I need something, and from the feel of this”—Danny had Buck’s cock in hand and Buck’s cock was nearly at full staff—”you can use a stop too.”

“Shit, you are a bunny, aren’t you? You never have enough, do you?”

“No, I never have enough.”

They fucked like acrobats in the sleeping compartment at the Baker, California, rest stop on I-15. Throughout the afternoon they’d done more rest stopping than driving, and they still were in California. By the schedule, this semi should be in Utah by now. Danny, naked, was suspended in air over the bed, his arms raised over his head, his hands gripping strap loops on the side of the cabin’s interior. Buck, in harness and boots, was kneeling on the seat between Danny’s thighs, his hand gripping and squeezing the boy’s butt cheeks, as he pulled Danny’s channel on and off his shaft. Danny’s knees were hooked on and hugging the truck driver’s hips.