Trucker revisited

My cock led the way no matter how hard I tried to stick to my guns and snub the kid.  I reached out to a trucker that had a profile on the apps.  Younger guy.  Didn't realize it was the same guy that I chatted with months prior, the same guy that spun vehement fireballs of disdain for the flake that he pegged me to be, despite the fact that he was the one that disappeared at the appointed time "because his cell phone died." But fuck I wanted him.  Or at least the romanticized notion of what he'd be like in my head.  Turns out I'm glad I did.  In fact, I'm secretly hoping he strokes my ego a bit by dropping a note next time he blows through town.

Roll back to twenty years ago and I was reading this blog from a trucker that posted his exploits on geocities...  or was it the nifty archives.  I don't remember which, but what I did remember was the eloquent prose that drew me in.  And the cowboy motif that peppered his pages like rococo.  The sexualization of the stoic solitary masculine figure spending hours upon hours on vast open landscapes, only to reach out to others in fleeting, momentary encounters of raw, primal sexual instinct.  That struggle of the solitary introvert, tumbling out in majestic paragraphs of personal truths way before what Brokeback Mountain came to the table.  So, I'm completely aware of the fact that I've come to him both with heavy expectations and a filter that skews the truth, wanting some sort of vague prophecy fulfilled or quintessential archetype confirmed.  Regardless of whether the joys I experienced were just a fiction I've created in memory, I'll humble myself to throw myself at him again and again despite the previous misunderstanding.

Yes, the sleeper cab of a big rig is surprisingly huge.  Or maybe it felt especially big given that I'm only 5'8" and he's a good four to five inches shorter than me.  Quintessential cub.  I'm amazed that this kid, just a couple years older than what's deemed appropriate to drink is taking on the responsibility of hauling tons of equipment over miles and miles.  And I feel protective as he fits into my arms snugly.  His knees buckle under him when my fingers spider crawl up his back.  His skin leaps off his body in ripples of bumps as I caress his back.  His body aches for touch.  And perhaps that's the source of his frustrations.  The promise of someone to hold him snatched away by a dying cell phone.

When my fingers dug under his shorts, they found furry mounds that made my cock lurch.  Soft fuzz, not just peppering his globes but a soft pelt.  As smooth as he is above the waist, he was just as inexplicably furry under the waist.  That turned me on so hard that I pulled him even closer than I thought I could and started to devour his neck.  Bending him in impossible angles, we tumble to his bed and I continue to explore his sensitive areas with my tongue.  A flick over the nipple, a twirl.  Nibble.  Suck it in deep and hold with my teeth before simultaneously flicking the tip with my tongue.  The sides of his stomach are equally sensitive.  I play on the bridge of laughter as he squirms under me, never quite crossing but dancing on the cusp.  And his balls are equally sensitive.  A flat lick from his ass to the tip before lapping at the precum that pooled at the tip.  Rolling one in my mouth before lick a smooth part of his balls.  He nearly screamed when I started to chew the area between his balls and thigh, that crevice that just doesn't get enough attention.  His cock was the perfect size for me.  Not too large, but thick.  I had a good time sucking it deep to the back of my throat to let him feel the crown pop in and out of my throat as my tongue fluttered at the base.  I didn't realize I had worked him so close that when I worked my way back up and started making out with him, it only took a couple of tugs before he fired off, sheepishly.  His eyes half lidded in a permanent look of sleepiness, I could see an even deeper sense of satisfaction.

I licked him clean.  I couldn't find a handy towel to use.

And when I collapsed next to him, he curled onto my chest.  Rise and fall to my breath, and a contented sigh escapes his lips.  And he didn't need to break his tendency towards introversion to tell me all I needed to know.  I idly traced patterns of thought across his forearms in answer.  But my mind was also racing 'cause a part of me wanted more.  A part of me wanted to send the kid into the open road with a load buried deep inside him to keep him company, a physical gesture to accompany his thoughts.  And this fleeting memory of connection.