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It took me a while to realise I’d been standing motionless in the open cubicle for several minutes, simply letting the encounter replay behind my defocused eyes. That really had just happened. I’d sucked a hot stud of a trucker and swallowed his load.
Wow.
At last, I stepped over tiles splattered with cum and spit and I left the cubicle. The toilets were all mine.
I washed my hands and splashed my face with cold water, then looked at my reflection in the hazy polished metal panel that served as a mirror. My hair was in disarray and my skin was still flushed but my eyes gleamed with wild joy.
The face of my new friend came back to me then, masculine and unassumingly handsome. My dick stirred immediately.
I wanted to see him again.
The realisation hit me like a thunderbolt. Of course I did! He was the closest thing to fucking perfect I’d ever had. How many people were lucky enough to cross paths with that? Not many, and fewer still would find it again after letting it slip away. I had to catch up with him, now, and secure another meeting. We lacked a common language but I felt certain I’d make myself understood somehow. I’d have to.
Without further delay, I ducked out into the night. After the bright simplicity of the Gents, the park was a vast black mystery. I stepped cautiously at first, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and soon enough I began to make out dark shapes: the tree line against the night sky, the crowded planting beds below, the pathway at my feet. A slight wind had picked up and the very first drops of a summer shower started to fall.
I headed out to the main path. It curved off behind the trees and quickly disappeared in both directions. Nobody was in sight. I guessed the guy would’ve turned left and continued his walk downhill, heading the way I’d come from earlier. That was where the park came closest to the road. If my assumptions about him were correct and he was a trucker, his rig would be waiting not far from there. And if I was wrong, well… he could be slipping away from me in just about any direction. All I had to go on was my gut. I turned left.
I jogged down the meandering path, hoping to spot him every time I rounded a bend. It didn’t happen but he’d had a good head start on me. Five minutes? More? The grade of the incline began to level off, the trees thinned and the main body of the park opened up before me once again. I scanned the lawns and avenues all the way back to the main gates. A single silhouette moved towards them and I tracked it, my heart in my mouth, until a pool of lamplight revealed it to be a late night dog walker. Otherwise the place was empty.
Retracing my earlier footsteps, I followed the path to the edge of the park. The wind was stronger there at that open spot and it flung heavier raindrops at me. I studied the steep slope that fell away to the road below, looking for a way down. A few moments later I found it: an old flight of steps, no doubt a more popular entry point before a busy dual carriageway had been laid across its approach, but now overgrown and almost entirely forgotten.
I jogged down the steps. After a while, they hooked to the left and I stopped at the landing. Through the trees below I could now see the orange glow of street lamps and patches of tarmac here and there. A car shot past in a blur of metal and light.
Not much further.
Soon the bottom step was in sight below me. A footpath of compacted earth led off through the trees towards the road. The wind dropped momentarily and I thought I heard the powerful grumbling of a big engine from somewhere nearby. It had to be him!
I jumped down the last few steps and ran along the path. The trees abruptly ended and I found myself looking out over all four lanes of the carriageway, an orange-coloured world redolent of exhaust and damp road grime. I’d driven here many times. I recalled the ‘beware pedestrians’ sign just down the road, warning drivers of people crossing from this very path. I also recalled the lay-by, just slightly further on around the bend. That was what I wanted.
I ducked into the trees and found a track through the undergrowth. It wasn’t far at all, perhaps half a minute’s journey. Finally I skirted a tangle of branches and the lay-by appeared before me. It was nothing more than a wide arc of tarmac, maybe three hundred metres from entrance to exit. Tall bushes screened it from the road while trees pressed close on the steep bank above, lending it an air of seclusion.
And it was empty.
My heart plummeted. The guy was not here. I wandered forward on autopilot as I realised I’d made all the wrong assumptions and, in doing so, enabled him to slip away. Maybe he was no trucker. Perhaps he hadn’t headed this way at all and instead had retraced his steps back uphill from the Gents.
Then I noticed something about the ground at my feet. The tarmac was heavily spotted with raindrops now and had turned from dusty grey to shiny black everywhere mardin escort except for one area up ahead. One long, rectangular patch.
The size of a truck.
I walked alongside this lighter strip of ground to its far end, watching the gentle rain slowly darken it. A cigarette butt sat on the tarmac, pressed flat by a shoe. It was on the left-hand side, the side an overseas driver would climb into his cab.
Him.
Numbly, I watched the rain remove all signs that his truck had ever been here. It took perhaps two minutes. And he had been here, I felt quite sure of that now, but he’d driven off and been swallowed up by the world shortly before I arrived. Had I got here just one minute sooner, I might have caught up with him.
On the heels of that awful realisation came one more. I knew nothing about him; not his name, his nationality, the company he worked for… I wouldn’t even know if he drove right by me. I had no way to find him.
A rumble drew my attention to the right and another truck pulled into the lay-by, sleek and black. The driver turned his head as he trundled past me, no doubt suspicious of the strange man revealed by the wash of his headlights. It was my cue to get going, and I struck out back the way I’d come. Home felt a million miles away.
The trucker preoccupied me as laid in bed that night, keeping my mind too busy to sleep. I recalled his strong hands seizing my hair as he force fed me that heart-stopping cock right down to the root. My own dick became an iron rod and demanded attention. I threw back the covers and beat it furiously, arriving at the brink and hurtling past it in next to no time. With my libido sated, I rolled on to my side and was able to nod off at last.
But as soon as I woke the following morning, he filled my thoughts again. I got ready for the day, I went to work, I met friends for Friday night drinks, but whenever my mind was idle it returned to him like a needle seeking north. I’d lost count of how many times my dick stirred into a raging hard on that day. I was horny as fuck and drinking in a bar did little to relieve me of the condition. Somewhat rudely, I divided my attention between my mates and my phone as I scrolled through my contacts, looking for a hook up. For a second I even considered texting Darren, my ex, but then I kept on scrolling.
Eventually I settled on a guy I’d met up with half a dozen times over the last year. Wayne, a tattooed thirty-something divorcee who occasionally indulged his passion for male company. Usually I ended up pressed into his mattress as he fucked me, but this time I dropped to my knees the moment he closed his front door behind me and I blew him right there in his small hallway.
As I settled back on my haunches and wiped the last of his cum from my lips, Wayne looked down at me with a bemused smile. I’d devoured his thick cock with a fervour he’d never seen before.
“Jay, are you okay?” he asked, only half jokingly.
I looked up at him and realised why I’d come here. Wayne was thickset, blue-collared and effortlessly masculine. I hadn’t come for him; I’d come for his similarities to the trucker.
That was my last hook up for a while. I didn’t plan it that way; I just wasn’t hot for the sort of action I could find with my usual roster of fuck buddies. I didn’t message them and I made excuses when they messaged me.
As my sexual exploits tapered off, other behaviours ramped up. I walked to and from the gym almost exclusively now and called into the park toilets on every homeward journey, hoping to encounter the trucker again. Some evenings I crossed paths with other furtive visitors, all of whom I politely avoided, but most of the time I found no one at all. Once or twice I even trotted down the steps to the lay-by and discovered trucks parked up for the night, but their cabs were curtained and dark. I had no way to know if my trucker was inside and the whole endeavour was simply an exercise in frustration. Instead I concentrated on the Gents, certain I would bump into him again within a week or two.
I never spoke of my growing obsession but my friends noticed signs of some change in me. To those who knew me it seemed I had entered a period of celibacy. I shrugged away their curiosity and they soon stopped asking about it. Behind closed doors though, celibacy was the furthest thing from my mind. Each time I had a wank, I was back with my trucker and the things we did were far from virtuous.
But that’s all I had. Reality stubbornly failed to mirror my imagination. Weeks passed without any sign of the guy in the park where we’d met. Instead of dulling my enthusiasm for him, it only increased my appetite.
By the time summer faded into autumn, I’d expanded my search. I took to driving along various main roads heading out of town and I discovered all the places truckers were found: lay-bys, service stations, industrial estate cul-de-sacs. They all became nodes van escort in a web I routinely traversed. I began stopping off to nurse coffees I didn’t want, visit bathrooms or simply stroll around, giving myself every chance to spot the one face I wanted to see.
And still I didn’t.
There were plenty of other hungry men out there though. I came to recognise their watchful eyes and the very particular way they hung around, presenting themselves to opportunity. Yet every time a pair of eyes met mine I quickly looked away. More than once that unmistakably direct stare came from a guy I found hot but I was not tempted.
Autumn turned stern and threatened to give way to winter without any sign of the trucker but, after so many evening forays, other faces became familiar to me. I ran into a guy who had openly appraised me before, this time smoking a hand-rolled cigarette beside his cab at a rest stop. His eyes followed me as he brought the roll up to his lips, broadcasting his readiness to play. For the first time in a long time, something inside me seemed to stir at the immediate prospect of another body pressed to mine, hot breath against my neck, a hard cock promising pleasure… My pace slowed and for a moment I teetered on the very edge of letting it happen, but it was not this man I wanted. I walked on, leaving us both unfulfilled.
My resolve couldn’t last forever; this I knew. No matter how fixated my mind, my body had needs of its own and they would only be held in check so long. At some point I’d cave and grasp for some release; any release.
It was in December that change finally came. I stopped at a service station a few miles out of town and bought myself a coffee. This was far from my first visit and I knew exactly which table to choose to give myself a clear view of the concourse. I could watch all those who walked along it, although I wasn’t as watchful now as I had been in previous months. Constant disappointment had to begun to exhaust my hope. The thought of never seeing the trucker again used to horrify me, but time had dulled the keen edge of that sensation too. Pros and cons. I wasn’t spending nearly as much time searching for him as I once had, and I’d even dared toy with the idea of giving up entirely, maybe as a New Year’s resolution. This search couldn’t go on forever.
With a whoosh, automatic glass doors retracted and a man strode in from the night. He was tall and swaddled in a big coat that didn’t hide his lean frame. A close-shaved head accentuated his large nose, pronounced ears and the hard planes of his angular face. He was not classically handsome but he was hot, no doubt about it. His sexiness was in his jaw, his heavy-lidded eyes, his rangy physicality. He looked around the place as he walked down the concourse, then his eyes fell on me and stayed there. His sure stride seemed to slow as he turned his head to keep me in view.
Usually I’d break away from such a direct stare. This time I held it until Crew Cut passed out of sight, no doubt on his way to the men’s room. I sat and waited, my heart suddenly racing, certain he’d come back and approach me.
This could be it, I told myself. I was still not quite ready to end my self-imposed sexual exile, but maybe this guy had other ideas.
A few minutes later he reappeared on the concourse and cut across it, heading toward the café area just as I expected. With a boldness I hadn’t anticipated, he walked straight to my table and stood before me. He pointed at the empty chair and asked, “You’re sitting alone?”
A slight lean to one side added a touch of goofiness to an otherwise intimidating approach. His voice was deep, his words clipped. English was not his first language, like many of the truckers I’d overheard lately, but he had a working knowledge of it. He seemed unusually focussed on my face and I blushed under his direct stare. My cock roused at this male attention.
“I am,” I responded, cooler than I’d intended. I gestured towards the empty seat. “You want to join me?”
Crew Cut smiled and nodded, more to himself than to me it seemed, then leaned forward to glance into my almost empty cup. “First, coffee.”
“Uh… okay,” I said, disarmed.
He smiled again and headed over to the counter. The place was not busy and he was served without having to wait. I watched him as he moved and guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. His appearance had the slightly rough around the edges quality that came from long hours on the road. It was part endearing, part hot, and I wondered if I was converted to truckers for good.
He weaved his way back through the mostly-empty tables, carrying just one coffee which he placed in front of me. I looked down at it then back up at him.
“What about you?”
Then he did a strange thing. Once my coffee was in front of me, he took a step back with his hands facing me, much like a person who has just completed a house of cards or successfully ankara escort taught a dog to sit for the first time.
“Drink!” he encouraged me. “And wait.”
He turned and quickly walked away; not back to the counter but over to the automatic doors and out into the night.
I watched him go in bemused silence then laughed to myself. A couple at a nearby table turned to look at me and I gave them a lazy wave of the hand. Don’t worry about it. The guy’s behaviour was odd indeed. The only reasonable explanation I could find was that he wanted to tidy his cab before inviting me back to it. I pushed away my old coffee cup, pulled the new one closer and waited to see what would happen.
After a couple of minutes, the doors opened and Crew Cut returned. He stepped inside then stopped, looking back the way he’d come and gesticulating impatiently.
A second man followed him out of the night, this one huddled inside a big jacket and wearing a close-fitting black beanie hat. Crew Cut threw an arm around him, turned him in my direction and pointed at me. The pointing hand then turned palm up, questioningly. Well?
Beanie Hat’s eyes scanned around the room until they found me. A broad smile broke across his face.
It was him!
I stood up so quickly my chair toppled backwards and clattered noisily to the floor. The nearby couple span in their seats and glared at me.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” the guy muttered as he turned back to his companion.
I hardly cared. My trucker was here!
No sooner had he spotted me than he strode through the place towards me. He pulled off his hat, throwing it on to the table as he approached, and then he grappled me in a fierce bear hug. His arms wrapped around me like iron bands and he crushed me against his deep chest, laughing. All too soon he released me, but his hands gripped my shoulders and he held me firmly as he studied me.
Obvious happiness had arranged his face in a way I hadn’t seen yet. His big smile was softer than the sly grins he’d given me back in August and his eyes regarded me far more forthrightly than they had then. His hair was different now; very short and hugging close to his head, as if he’d had a crewcut of his own and was growing it out. His stubble was thicker than before, covering his neck and the lower half of his face in a coarse down. In amongst it, and perhaps in contrast to it, his lips seemed especially full and inviting.
Crew Cut ambled over to join us. I saw he was hamming it up and affecting false modesty, but really he was pleased with himself. My trucker clamped one hand on Crew Cut’s shoulder and shook him affectionately. A brief but lively exchange took place between them, not one word of it in English and all of it a mystery to me.
“How did you know?” I asked Crew Cut when they settled down, gesturing towards my trucker and then myself.
“First things first”. Crew Cut held up one hand then extended it to me. “I’m Karl.”
“Jay,” I replied, shaking with him.
“And I believe you already know Max,” Karl continued with a knowing smile.
Max. A name at last. I took a moment to let it assimilate with what I knew of him so far. It seemed to fit, strong and solid like the man himself.
Max took my hand in both of his. “Jay,” he said, trying it for the first time. I really noticed his voice then; not quite as deep as Karl’s but somehow rounder, raspier. Sexier. I liked it forming my name. I grinned at him and he returned it.
“Do you speak German?” Karl interjected, confirming their nationality at last. “This conversation will be much easier if you do.”
I smiled apologetically. “Nein”.
He sighed. “Okay. Sit. Sit! I will get drinks and then tell you everything!” He turned and headed over to the counter once again.
Max shrugged, not exactly sure what his friend had said but catching the gist. He caught my eye and beamed at me but his face abruptly turned serious as I made to sit down. His hand flashed out to grab my arm, keeping me upright, then he reached down behind me to pick up the chair I’d knocked over and completely forgotten about. His face swung close by mine as he straightened, his eyes bright with amusement.
My cheeks flamed hot but he simply grinned at me with evident affection and began to shed his coat. I watched him closely, studying every movement, and my embarrassment swiftly faded. His jacket had seemed bulky when he’d been wearing it but, as he shrugged it down his arms, I saw it was actually quite light. The bulk was his, I realised. My imperfect memory had scaled down his proportions over time, and now the size and glorious density of his stocky body hit me like brand new news. The mass of his chest made the front his jumper into a wide plane between his big shoulders; his thick biceps swelled inside the sleeves as he folded the coat and laid it over the back of a chair. My dick stirred at the sight of him.
Max watched me as I watched him and I liked that. I wanted him to know what I was thinking. Under his stare I dropped my eyes to his crotch, just as I had done many months ago in the park toilets. The shirt beneath his jumper was untucked and covered his fly so, for now, I could only wonder what magic his package would perform on the dark blue work trousers he wore.
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