These are short stories about male prostitution, "one night stands" involving guys. If the idea of that turns you off, or if you are underage, please read no further. Otherwise, please enjoy.
All characters and events are fictional.
You can reach the author at macoutmann@yahoo.com. He appreciates your input and will answer all your emails.
Reading the story is free, but if you wish to keep this service available to all, please make a contribution to nifty.org. Thank you.
HUSTLER TALES IV
TRUCKSTOP
by Macout Mann
A truckstop is about the worst place you can find to hustle. For one thing, the only place you can go to get together is the dude's cab; and as close as the rigs are parked to each other, when a trucker and a young guy both hop out, it's a case of "We know what you've been doing!" For another, if the stop is anywhere near a city, there are usually plenty of fairy boys around willing to give it away free. Not to mention the hookers. Most truckers will choose a bitch over a dude. Then there are the homeless fuckers hanging around trying to make a buck polishing wheels, and a lot of them'll hustle too. And except for the hookers, it's hard to tell who's who.
On top of all that, the truckstop management most of the time will be looking to hastle hitchhikers or anybody else that might "bother the drivers."
Still, if you're there you might as well try.
I was at a truckstop outside of Kansas City. It was a windy but not cold. Late in the afternoon. I was wearing a grey sweatshirt and some ripped jeans. I had been wandering around the store, looked in on the screening room—nobody there—and gone to take several pisses. Was sitting in the café nursing a coffee, when this dude asked if he could share my booth.
He was your typical truck driver, over fifty, bald, weather beaten, with a belly that said he'd drunk a few hundred gallons of beer and eaten a bunch of greasy truckstop food in his time. "I noticed you been walking all over," he began. "So I guess you aint no driver."
"Nah, just hanging out," I answered. "Probably couldn't get a CDL, even if I wanted to."
"Oh, it aint that hard," he went on. I could tell his hand had reached for his crotch. "Lota things are harder."
"I guess so," I laughed. I mimicked his gesture.
"So whatcha into?" he wanted to know.
"About anything," I said. "I just need some cash." I moved my hand up, slipped it under the bottom of my sweat, and rubbed my gut, giving him a glimpse of my hard abs.
"Oh...?" He hesitated, then continued, "How much?"
"Depends on what you want to do," I said.
He dropped his voice and mumbled, "I like to get fucked."
"Forty for a quickie," I responded.
"You gotta be kiddin'," he snapped. "I'll go twenty."
"Twenty if I don't cum. Fucking cream's expensive."
"O.K. I'll go thirty. I need it bad."
"Deal," I told him. "Paid in advance."
"I'm in a Blue Peterbilt. Cross-country Express. Give me a minute and follow me out."
I gulped down the rest of my coffee and watched him from the door. When I'd spotted his rig, I took another turn around the store then headed for his cab. I expected he'd already be back in the sleeper, so I climbed in on the driver's side. Three tens were lying in the passenger seat, and I stuffed them into my pocket.
He was already bareassed and was greasing up his hole when I got in beside him. I pulled my shirt over my head and opened my jeans. Didn't bother to take 'em off. "You want to put some of that shit on my dick?" I asked.
He lubed me without saying a word and tilted his ass in my direction. "Yeah, you want it bad, don't cha?" I smirked, and slipped my dick into his chute doggie style. I had no problem ramming it all the way home. His butt had been well fucked.
"Shit, boy, that feels so fucking good," he moaned.
"It'll feel a whole lot better before I'm through." For a while I pumped just a little bit, moving up and down an inch or two. "You like it deep like this?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," he cried.
"I've got lotsa tricks." A little later I pulled up until just my knob was in him, then forced the full length of my dick back down, hesitating for several long seconds before doing it again.
His grunts told me he was getting his money's worth.
I always get to a point where I lose control. My dick takes over and I just pound ass, until I drop my load.
"Oh, shit...shit...shit!" he cried. My pubes were still mashed against him. "That was some fuck," he panted.
"I aim to please," I joked. I zipped up and pulled my sweatshirt back on. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime," I said. I went out the driver's side door like I had come in.
Back in the truckstop I took a piss and washed up, then took another walk around the store. I was pretending to look at some baseball caps, when I saw a dude staring at me.
He had to be the littlest trucker I'd ever seen. At five foot six or seven, he was a wiry little motherfucker with a thin face and a pencil moustache. Probably thirty, with brown hair and eyes. He was wearing a company uniform shirt, faded jeans, and heavy work shoes. Couldn't have weighed a hundred and fifty.
"Jake said to check you out," he told me.
"Jake?" I asked.
"You know, the Cross-country Express driver. He said you'd prob'ly give me a blow job for a twenty."
I chuckled. "I guess, since I told him my baby-making juice was expensive, he figured I suck for less than I'd fuck for."
"I need to hit the road," he said, "but I wanna get off and don't wanna use my fist."
"O.K. I'll blow you for an Andrew Jackson. Go on to your rig and I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
He was sitting behind the wheel, when I climbed up into his cab. He looked like a kid pretending to drive daddy's car. His fly was already open and he was hard as a rock. And like a lot of small dudes, his dick was enormous.
I got my money and then went down on the python between his legs. I'd liked to have sucked him in the sleeper, but he wanted to do it here. "Safe enough," he said. Then he added, "You like my big dick?"
"What's not to like?" I replied. "Big or little I still get paid."
Yeah, he'd pissed me off, but I still gave him a thrill. And it had probably been a couple of days since he'd got off, 'cause he came after only a minute or so.
Damn, I couldn't believe it. I'd hardly got back in the building when another dude came up.
Now I'm not saying all truckers are gay or something like that. But even the ones that are happily married have a tough life; and when they're horny, a lot of 'em will have sex with whoever's handy. Like I said before, you find a lot of hookers around truckstops. Rest areas too. And this dude had a wedding band on. So I wasn't sure what to think.
"I saw what you were doing out there," he began.
"So?"
"So, what all you into?"
"Gettin' paid mostly."
"To do what?"
"'Bout anything."
"I'm laying over. Might like to spend the night with ya."
Now this dude wasn't your usual truck driver either. But he looked like a fucking movie star. Broad shoulders, maybe a thirty inch waist. Rugged features. "I generally get a C note for an all nighter," I lied.
"Not around K.C. you don't," he countered.
"You headin' out in the morning? Which way?"
"East on I70. Taking a load to St. Louis."
"Give me a lift and I'll do whatever you want for fifty."
"Got yourself a deal," he said. "You really turn me on."
We walked together to his rig. He was parked right next to where my last trick had parked, so he'd probably seen it all. He was an owner-operator, so if anybody got curious about me, he could say I was lumping for him. Anyway, it was now dark.
We climbed into the sleeper and he didn't waste time. Started playing with my dick through my jeans. When it was up, he undid me and went down on me. I stroked his hair and played with his ears. "Want me to do you?" I asked.
We stripped each other and began to sixty-nine. We were a good match. We sucked and fucked each other for about three hours before we fell asleep. He admitted he was totally bi.
Next morning he waited while I got my shit from where I'd hidden it. Then we headed for St. Louis. I gave him a freebie on the way. He tasted good.
Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.