Chapter 6
It was after one o'clock in the afternoon, and Tim was worried. Almost a dozen cars had passed without giving him a second look; or if they had, none of them seemed prepared to throw caution to the wind and stop. He still had a long way to go to reach Copper Mountain and he knew hitching a ride on a sparsely traveled highway mid-week was difficult enough in daylight -- at night, probably impossible, and at best, dangerous. The weather, too, despite the sun, was beginning to cool. A brisk wind had come up, blustering down from the mountains to the Northwest. His shoulders trembled.
A large diesel tractor towing a long tanker slowed as it approached. The freshly washed and waxed truck was painted bright blue, loaded with shining chrome accessories and sported a CB radio antenna from the top of its cab. The vehicle obviously belonged to an owner-operator who took a very special, personal pride in his rig.
Tim offered the driver his best innocent-youth look -- a kind of lost and helpless expression -- jerking his thumb repeatedly, as if the big truck was his final and only hope for rescue. The rig's driver shifted down and air-braked to a halt in the apron gravel several yards beyond where Tim had been standing. Lost in a cloud of dust, the teenager coughed to clear his lungs, picked up his bag, and raced up to the side of the cab. Climbing up, he thrust open the door.
"Going far?" he asked anxiously.
The driver was a burly man in his forties with reddish-brown crewcut hair, bushy eyebrows, and a round, plump face. His eyes were cautious, but friendly enough. He had a pencil over one ear and wore a red plaid lumber jacket shirt that hid several rolls of beer belly where his waist should have been. He started to say something, but the loud, metallic chatter of the CB radio drowned him out.
He grinned like a wide-eyed teddy bear and turned off the set.
"Another three hundred miles up 'fore I turn her in at midnight," he shouted. "Don't usually pick up riders, kid, but hate to see you stranded out here. Hop in!"
Tim eagerly jumped into the spacious cab and tossed his duffel in the back. "Thanks, mister!" he shouted above the purr of the big diesel.
The driver only briefly looked him up and down, then turned his attention to the side mirror and the road ahead. He put the truck through several gears and had it settled down to cruising speed before he spoke again. "That your jeep stranded back there?" he asked.
"Nope," Tim said without hesitation. "Belongs to a friend." He didn't elaborate.
"How far you headed?"
"Going to Copper Mountain. If it's okay with you, I'll hope out at the Highway 110 intersection. It's just fifteen miles up the hill from there."
The driver ginned. "Hell, I can do better than that. There's a truck stop eighty miles ahead where some buddies go through on their way up to the resort cities. Copper Mountain's on their route. We make a good connection at Trudy's Truck Stop and you got a lift all the way. Copper Mountain your home?"
"Nope." Tim paused, gathering up his thoughts. "Uh... guess I'm just going up to visit the old lady."
The truck driver nodded, then adroitly changed the subject. The teenager's manner and responses had a familiar ring to them. Many of his fellow truckers had offspring of their own that were in trouble. This kid sounded like a delinquent runaway, and he already had a sore ear listening to winged birds and their distraught parents.
"My name's Amos," he said, flatly, extending a hand the size of a baseball mitt.
Tim grasped what he could of the big paw, amazed at its size and strength. "I'm Tim Harding," he said politely.
"You're a little worse for wear, Tim." The burly driver's eyes had focused on his messed-up hair, the bruised and soiled face.
Tim bit his lip. No wonder so many cars had passed him by! He felt a strong urge to blurt out that it was his asshole that was the worse for wear, but he suspected a comment like that would come on like a bomb. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and swiftly changed the subject.
"What kind of load you carryin' out back?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"Kerosene. More than a dozen of us could use in a lifetime."
Tim nodded, settled his sore ass back in the cab's padded seat as best he could, and stared pensively out the window. He was bushed and not really in the mood for conversation, especially small talk. And this friendly but oafish Amos, from all appearances, was set to badger him the entire trip with just that -- bullshit conversation. His eyebrows knit into a furrowed frown as he sighed and closed his eyes.
"You got troubles somewhere you're tryin' to forget?" asked Amos quietly, his big hands tightening and unflexing on the wheel.
"Yeah. A few."
Amos may not have cared for winged birds, but his curiosity got the better of him. The truck driver smiled thinly and cuffed Tim playfully on his shoulder. "C'mon, kid, get off it. Don't do much good layin' back stewing over them. Want to talk about it? Old Amos here has a big shoulder."
Tim beamed mischievously. He wanted to add that the dude beside him probably had one helluva big dick, too, but he thought better of it.
"Nothing I can't handle," the youth finally said, chuckling to himself at the double significance of his response.
"Suit yourself, Tim. I'm not one to pry."
The teenager briefly considered the big man next to him. Amos looked like he'd been through some heavy weather in his lifetime, with maybe two and a half times as many years behind him as he had. Pursing his lips, he finally blurted out what was on his mind.
"Well, hell, maybe I should ask you. Been around a lot, haven't you? I mean this truck and all -- out-of-town layovers just about everywhere, I bet."
Amos shrugged and nodded, his eyes twinkling with almost childlike delight.
Tim continued his line of inquiry. "And maybe you meet all kinds?"
"Hell, yes. I can tell you about a lady wrestler down in Dallas that..." Amos caught himself, suddenly remembering the stage belonged to the youngster beside him. "What's on your mind, kid?" he asked, gesturing with his big hand for the youth to continue.
"Got a cigarette?" Tim asked boldly.
Amos grimaced and pursed his lip. "Wowee. You deaf or something? Didn't I tell you we're sitting on a Goddamn reservoir of kerosene? Jesus!"
Tim smiled. "Yeah. I forgot. Anyway, you know anything about sadists?" There was no use, he figured, in beating around the bush.
The truck driver nervously pursed his lips again, this time letting out a short whistle. Wiping his brow, he glanced curiously at Tim, then back to the road.
"What kind of sadists?" he grunted awkwardly.
"You know. In sex! Some get it off sadistically, others are what the fuck you call them -- masochists. What I want to..."
"Look, Tim. How old are you anyway?"
"Does it make a big friggin' difference?"
"To me, yes." He whistled again. "Christ, get your old man to fill you in on the details. Hell, don't they have one of those sex-education classes in your school?" He paused, hunching his big shoulders. "That's right, you probably dropped out of school. What the hell you doing to me? I'm a truck driver, not a teacher."
Several minutes later, still getting nothing from the uncooperative driver beside him, Tim fell fast asleep. He didn't wake up until an hour and a half later when Amos pulled his rig off the highway into Trudy's Truck Stop.
Even as he groggily climbed out of the rig, Tim felt horny. He was hardly eager to get fucked, but he did have an inner desire to at least jack off. And by all means, not in the company of the helpful but oafish truck driver beside him.
"Hungry?" Amos asked jovially. "You slept like a hibernatin' bear back there."
"Yeah, I guess I am. Gotta take a leak first."
"What'll you have? I'll go on in and order."
Tim wondered who was buying. Deciding not to chance an embarrassing scene, he replied, "Hamburger and a Coke."
Amos made no effort to upgrade the selection. He pointed to a long outbuilding on the far side of the diesel pumps. "Can's over there. I'll meet you inside the diner, okay?"
The two parted. Tim was fascinated by the spur of activity surrounding Trudy's. At least a dozen or more rigs of various types were parked in the large lot. Near the pump ramp, attendants and drivers alike strolled back and forth between trucks and the service facilities, taking on fuel, checking water, oil, and brakes, heeding nature's call, and just plain bullshitting.
Despite the modern appearance of the truck-stop facility from the outside, the toilet, to Tim's dismay, was run-down and crawling with debris. The walls, covered with graffiti, were sorely in need of paint and the filthy tile floor was littered with soiled paper towels. As Tim entered, a trucker had just finished taking a leak. The man shook off his soft cock, re-buttoned his pants and shuffled out of the dimly lit room, glancing only briefly at the teenager as he passed.
Tim noted that two of the half-dozen toilet cubicles were occupied with one empty stall between the two closed doors. Ignoring the urinal, he quickly headed for the privacy of the stall, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled out his prick. His bladder was full and he ached to piss, but something caught his eye and his muscles froze. On one side of the stall, next to the toilet-paper dispenser, was a crudely carved hole the size of a grapefruit and from beyond it peered two very intense, inquisitive eyes.
The other side of the toilet cubicle had a glory hole, too, but it was much smaller, little bigger than a golf ball. He was surrounded by voyeurs.
Tim's heart began to beat rapidly. The scribbling on the toilet walls appealed to his baser instincts; the invitations, odes, appointments, and boastful bragging were everywhere! Tim wanted to take the time to read more of the graffiti, but the silent eyes at the glory holes made him nervous. He was about to shove his cock back into his pants and headed for the urinal outside when he heard a voice beckon to him in a low, guttural whisper.
"C'mon, kid. Don't waste good piss. Stick that pretty cock through here."
Tim gaped at the big round hole, his eyes wide and expectant. A shiver of fear pierced him and he felt mildly excited by the challenge. He had no idea what the individual looked like on the other side of the partition, but it didn't seem to matter. All he could see was a pair of faded corduroy pants with a brown cowhide belt and steer's head buckle crumpled around a pair of scuffed boots. And no way was he about to bend over and probe through the hole himself, catching the toilet freak eyeball to eyeball. He wanted to get out of there, but at the same time the coarse, determined voice and the mood of the moment electrified and challenged him.
"C'mon, c'mon. I haven't got all night. Lemme have your cock!" the voice came again, louder.
Tim's flesh trembled with excitement. If he didn't piss before he wound up with a roaring hard-on, getting rid of it would be more difficult. Shivering, anticipating the dangerous, the unknown, he suddenly leaned against the toilet partition and pushed his cock and balls through the hole to the other side.
Immediately, the unseen hot tongue darted and teased around the base of his genitals, explored his pubic hairs with total abandon, then licked back and forth on the shaft of his meat.
Tim winced with distaste, suddenly remembering his cock had not been washed since ruthlessly dry-fucking the hell out of Dusty Shawn's asshole. He shrugged, quickly deciding not to worry about it. The feverish, consuming mouth on the other side of the toilet partition didn't seem to be bothered by a dirty prick; if anything, the stranger was devouring his cock with increasing relish and delight. Tim felt the mouth swallow up his meat; all the way to the back of the throat. His cock was half-hard and stiffening by the second. It was now or never!
Concentrating on his aching bladder for several seconds, he finally let go with a steady stream of warm, sharp urine. Tim grimaced, but was without real concern or embarrassment. He could feel the bobbing head beyond the wall flinch slightly as the acrid fluid shot into his mouth. Then the unknown face nuzzled his nose against Tim's crop of pubic hair, tightened his lips around the base of the teenager's cock and drank the ripe piss down, gulping quickly and luxuriating in the pleasure.
By the time the youth had discharged all of his urine, his prick was stiletto-stiff. The stranger's mouth savored every last drop of the piss, then started to work, with long stroking motions of lips and tongue, on the head and shaft of his cock.
Tim groaned in ecstasy as the strangers hot, saliva-filled mouth relentlessly inched its way back and forth along his shaft. He had just closed his eyes, untightened his body, and settled back for a good head-job when he heard a shuffling noise in the cubicle on the opposite side of him. He swiveled his head and looked down. There, tightly crammed through the hole in the partition, was the biggest prick he had ever seen in his life! It appeared, in fact, with its angry, pulsating red crown, too big and fat, while still stiff, to be withdrawn through the hole in the wall! Tim couldn't take his eyes off it, nor could he resist rubbing the back of his hand against it, pushing slightly downward. Wham! Instantly it sprang threateningly back up, rigidly pointing at him at a 45-degree angle. The long, fat cock was shiny, covered all over with a heavy lubricant Tim guessed was Vaseline.
The teenager's small body trembled all over with little spasms of pleasure. Despite his sore, abused asshole, his simmering sex-juices had started to boil and he was as horny as a toad. He'd never sucked or fucked through a wall before, and the desire to do both suddenly flooded his mind. The challenge consumed him. But how could he get off on both trips? At the same time? Could his already sore shitter possibly handle the delicious, wild-looking cock behind him? Would the monster cock fit? An irresistible challenge, an urge to immediately find out shot through his confused brain.
Shaking the hair out of his face, Tim abruptly pulled his cock away from the hole in the wall and the stranger's mouth. Then he unbuttoned the top of his jeans and let the denims fall, baring his ass. Already two distressed eyes were at the larger hole, bewildered by the teenager's actions, wondering what he was up to now. The hopeful, hungry eyes had not considered, nor had they seen the other side of the toilet cubicle, for the huge cock was hidden by Tim's body.
But it was there. Immense, unbelievable, almost grotesque in its size, it wavered, threatened, and beckoned eagerly to the teenager's pretty ass. And Tim wanted it -- or at least the challenge of trying to take it. The idea had completely fired his balls. Surely, never again in his lifetime would be come across a hunk of meat this large; it had to be a freak of nature!
Ignoring the inquisitive eyes from the cubicle to his right, he slowly started to back up against the big, glistening cock. But then he hesitated. There were voices outside at the urinal. The conversation was so loud and boisterous it blotted out the stealthy sounds in the toilet cubicles. Whoever the individuals, Tim heard them piss noisily, brashly exchange a couple of unfunny Polish jokes, then depart. The john was quiet again.
Tim's eyes once more took in the fat, well-lubricated prick protruding through the hole and watched it throb in quick little spasms as it waited impatiently for his asshole. Letting out a long, whistling breath through his teeth, he backed into the monster shaft. Getting the big weapon up his asshole, he knew, was entirely up to him. His would-be fucker was helpless, unable to use his hips to thrust, for his thick meat was wedged too tightly at its base by the confining hole in the wall. If Tim wanted to be fucked by the super prick, he would have to ride it. So ride it he would!
Tim's rump slowly slipped over the exciting big crown of the cock, his ass-cheeks flexing together, feeling, testing its immensity. Carefully he wiggled his sore butt around, trying to set the big oval head of the invading weapon directly in line with his sphincter. When he had the angry knob squarely over his asshole, he pinched his cheeks together to hold it in place and leaned slowly backward. He pushed, but nothing happened.
Too big! It was too mother-fucking big!
He pushed back with all his strength and felt his shitter give, ever so slightly. Relax, he told himself, trying to summon his courage above the stabbing pain. He could feel the head of the big cock stiffen even more as it felt the resistance of the outer rim of his asshole. Inhaling deeply and biting his lip, stubbornly determined, he rammed his hips towards the wall with all his strength. His eyes smarted and a tear rolled freely down his cheek, but he was determined, hotter than fire, and positive there was no human prick existing he couldn't handle if he set his mind to it.
The stubbornness, foolhardy or otherwise, suddenly paid off.
Abruptly, with a terrible burning sensation, the huge head of the cock plunged past the outer rim of the teenager's asshole, stretching his sphincter to its absolute limit. Tim winced and pushed his ass back farther, the lubricated crown and shaft slipped deep inside his gut, and his entire lower body felt like a vise. The cock was too big; he couldn't take an inch more, one way or the other -- not sideways, not straight in, not up or down. He wanted to shout for the unbearable discomfort, but he quickly remembered where he was.
Gradually, the shaft's thick coat of Vaseline eased his misery; he could gradually work his butt slowly back and forth over the massive prick. It wasn't a fast, furious fuck by any means, but it was a powerful, memorable one! In and out, excruciatingly slow, went the huge prick as Tim sat up and down, back and forth with easy, rolling movements of his hips. Despite the pain, he reveled in the deep; penetrating pleasure, and was surprised he could handle as much of the stranger's meat as he was.
Impatient -- the challenge of getting the huge cock up his ass over -- all Tim wanted now was for the big mother to explode its load of cum up inside him. The sooner the better. He wasn't disappointed. Suddenly the big cock shuddered, causing Tim's body to jerk and tremble right along with it. Then splash! A massive discharge gushed way up into him, bathing his gut with warm, sticky cum. Tim trembled all over with pleasure as the big cock twitched again and again, firing charge after charge of creamy jizz into his ass.
Looking down at the hole in front of him, Tim saw the curious, watchful eyes had been replaced by a fair-sized cock. The man who had been sucking his prick earlier was now jacking off through the big glory hole, his whang pointed in Tim's direction. The teenager grabbed his own meat and started beating it as fast as he could, hoping for a three-way orgasm.
Without removing his sore but excited asshole from the still-discharging cock behind him, Tim bent over. He quickly mouthed the cock protruding from the hole, feeling its big vein twitch and tremor. It was ready to come! The first splash of warm fuck-cream hit him in the back of the throat and he gulped quickly. At the same time the jizz started pumping out of his own prick, squirting across the cubicle and running over his fingers onto the floor. Three people moaned deliriously with pleasure.
Tim closed his eyes and shook all over. Savoring the excitement, he milked his own meat, gulped the cum from the pumping cock in front of him, and pushed back with his hips, drawing out the last oozing jizz from his ride on the big prick up his asshole. Three orgasms within seconds of each other! Almost too much, but he dug every last second of it.
Tim finally backed away from the meat in front of him, jizz still oozing from the corners of his mouth. Then he slowly, carefully pulled his tired asshole off the big prick behind him. Exhausted, his energies spent, he sat down on the toilet stool and wiped off his face and cock on the paper roll. Hot and perspiring, his mind blurry, he sat for several seconds regaining his strength.
The glory holes on each side of Tim, their missions fulfilled, were suddenly empty; he heard the compartment doors on each side of him open and close, a few hurried footsteps, then nothingness. He flushed the toilet to shatter the lonely, frightening silence.
Tim's thoughts were fragmented and more muddled than ever. The graffiti and dirty toilet had suddenly become contemptible to him. Gathering up his jeans, he soberly re-buttoned his fly and withdrew from the closeness of the toilet stall. He took a long time to wash and rinse his hands in the sink, as if he were purging himself of some terrible guilt. Finally he pulled his thoughts together, blindly turned off the water, and grabbed a paper towel. The hell with it, he thought. Why the sudden panic? It had been fun and nobody got hurt. More than anyone could say about his old man and that sick basement dungeon!
Tim's hamburger was already on the counter and growing cold when the youth finally pulled up a stool.
"Want it warmed up?" asked the waitress, a coffee pot hanging limply from one wrist.
"The coffee or the hamburger?" retorted Amos. The trucker spooned in a mouthful of chili, swallowed it down, then chased it with a swig of coffee before turning to the teenager. "Where the hell you been? Fall in the Goddamn can?"
Tim shrugged. "Constipated, I guess."
Amos shook his head, dismissed the waitress with a wag of his big hand, and returned to polishing of his chili. Tim wasted no time wolfing down the hamburger. He sipped his Coke, all the while his watchful eyes roamed around the diner, considering the other truckers. Were his mysterious sex partners from the toilet in the room? What did they look like? He was the only teenage male in the room; whoever his partners were, they would have no difficulty recognizing him!
Amos looked down at Tim's empty plate. "Hell, you ain't had enough to feed a bird. How about a bowl of chili? Hot stuff here."
Tim smiled but shook his head. "No thanks, it makes me fart."
Amos squared his big shoulders. "You want another burger?"
Tim stared vacantly at his plate without answering.
"Go ahead, for Chrissakes. I'm buying."
"Okay. Make it to go. I'll eat it in the truck."
"Another hamburger. To go," Amos snapped as the waitress passed. Then he swiveled on his stool. "That's right. We gotta find you a fig -- one bound for Copper Mountain." His eyes darted quickly around the room, settling on a tall, dark-haired young man drinking coffee by himself at a far table. "Hey, Johnny!" he shouted.
The younger truck driver lifted his brooding eyes from the black coffee before him, recognized Amos; and gave a short wave of his hand.
Amos gestured with his big index finger. "C'mere. I need a little favor."
The tall man swaggered across the room and stood towering behind Tim. "Where you been, Amos? Tried to reach you on the CB last hour and a half."
"Shut down so my rider here could grab some shut-eye. You still jockeying that bread wagon on up to the mountain resorts?"
The trucker nodded. "Yep. Not that I couldn't use a change. No flammable shit like you haul, though."
Amos cuffed Tim easily on the shoulder. "Johnny, this is a new friend of mine. Picked him up out in the middle of nowhere on Route 14. His name's Tim. Damned if I haven't forgot the last name."
"Harding," Tim injected, turning to look up at the taller man.
"I'm Johnny Bertoni, Tim. Please to meetcha." The trucker's outstretched hand was almost as big as Amos' paw.
Tim wondered if big hands went with the profession. He couldn't help but stare at the handsome new corner, finding him sexier than hell with his dark hair and glittering brown eyes.
Amos broke the awkward silence. "Tim here needs a lift up to Copper Mountain. Getting dark out there and I figured it might be a little rough him getting a lift up through the hills. You mind taking on a rider?"
Johnny Bertoni beamed. His teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight. The smile warmed Tim.
"Sure, Amos," he said. "Glad to." He nudged his trucker friend's shoulder and stared fixedly down at the teenager. "Your ears must be pretty sore by now, Tim, listening to this old codger." He turned to Amos. "Not that you got a windy mouth or anything like that, old buddy..."
"Like he said, I slept most of the way," said Tim, grinning.
"Well, partner, I hope you're all sleeped out, 'cause if I take you along, I could use a little company. Okay?"
Tim nodded vigorously. He liked Johnny's rich baritone voice.
Amos laughed and gave the teenager a little jab in the ribs with his elbow. "I may be windy and a slow talker, but watch Johnny here. He's fast."
Tim Harding's breath caught in his throat and he couldn't respond. The tall truck driver's eyes were bearing down on him, rattling his nerves. He looked away towards the waitress, relieved that she was headed their way with the check and a bagged burger.
Amos quickly paid the tab and the three of them shuffled silently out of the diner.
"Hell, Amos, every time I see your truck you've added some new piece of chrome. All that glitter must be setting you back a penny."
The burly man shrugged. "Man can't make money fucking around with bread, Johnny. High octane and high profits go together."
When they reached the tanker rig, Amos climbed up and tossed down Tim's duffel. "So long, Tim. And take my word for it -- about that advice you want -- ask your old man when you get home, okay?"
"Sure," Tim replied, feigning indifference. "If I ever go back there. Thanks for the ride, Amos!"