by J. D. Walker
Truck Me All Night Long
By J.D. Walker
Published by JMS Books LLC
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Copyright 2018 J.D. Walker
ISBN 9781634868051
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
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All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Truck Me All Night Long
By J.D. Walker
I swatted my alarm clock five times before it finally stopped buzzing. It was four o’clock on a Thursday morning. Jesus fuck, it’s too early.
You’d think I’d be used to this by now, but with each passing year, it just got harder to face. I guess I didn’t want to admit to getting older.
It probably didn’t help that I stayed out late almost every night, usually getting up close and personal with some cute little twenty-two-year-old whose ass was ripe for the fucking.
I never screwed the same guy twice, and they tended to be much younger than me. Maybe I thought that plugging the tight hole of a guy twenty years my junior was a ticket to the fountain of youth. My dick was always happy to give it a try, whatever the reason. It was starting to wear me out, though.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I bumped my thigh on the dresser and damn near stubbed my toe on the toilet before I got the light on. What a great start to my day.
As I brushed my teeth, I stared blearily at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. My face was haggard, with dark purple bags prominent under bloodshot eyes. Crows’ feet dug valleys in the corners. The harsh lighting overhead was not kind.
I should slow down a little, find a steady fuck rather than chasing it down. Or at least, that’s what I’d tell myself before I’d go out and do the same thing all over again the next night. Perhaps I lacked the motivation to change.
Once I was done with my shower, I dried off and put on the uniform I’d laid out right before I dropped into bed at midnight. My wallet was beside it. Some things were on automatic for me, no matter how tired I was. Dusty black boots went on last.
I made my way to the kitchen to drink my wake-up beverage of choice and fill up my travel mug. God bless Mr. Coffee. Breakfast would be later in the day when I took a break between load deliveries. Grabbing my keys, coffee, and cell phone, I headed for the front door, where I picked up the work bag I took with me every day on the road. It had my gloves, hard hat, particle mask, some bottles of water, a back brace and protective glasses, among other things.
I locked the door behind me and went down the steps to my old Chevy truck, Hercules. The only guy I’d been with for years, Herc just kept on giving, no matter how much the mileage piled on. Good thing, too, since my budget didn’t run to rebuilding engines, or even buying new tires, that often.
By the time I made it to the interstate, it was four forty-five. I put my cellphone on speaker after I dialed in to dispatch. A deep male voice answered on the second ring.
“When’s your old, ugly ass gettin’ here, buddy?” My mother used to tell me my face had character. She was a kind person. Couldn’t say the same for Adrian Mitchell, though, the owner of the voice on the other end of the line.
“What, no sex last night, honey? Need me to help you out?” I offered, as always, knowing he’d say “no.” Adrian was much older than my usual trick, but damn, he was a fine piece of ass. I’d definitely break my “twinks only” rule to tap that, and he knew it. At forty-four, he was a couple of years my senior, but sure didn’t look it, lucky bastard. Added to that, he was in a committed relationship, as he was always pleased to tell me.
“I have no problems in that department,” he smugly replied.
“So you say.”
“I’m in a committed relationship, idiot.” There was that word again. “And even if I wasn’t, you’re still chasin’ twink ass like it’s the Holy Grail. You won’t admit that it’s time to give it up, settle down with one guy, maybe even someone who is—God forbid—age appropriate. You’re getting old, man.” I’d heard it all before. But it seemed to hurt a little more this morning, for some reason. Maybe I needed more coffee.
“Anyway, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us,” Adrian continued, oblivious to the pain his barbed comments tended to cause, as usual. “You’ll be here in ten, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good for it.” Adrian hung up on me. Fucker.
* * * *
I parked Herc beside Adrian’s beat-up Dodge, right next to the office trailer at ConcreteXpress. It was still dark out, but a thin line of orange was visible on the horizon. The pit beyond the trailer was quiet, since digging wouldn’t start up until six o’clock. The lights were on inside the office, and through the open blinds, I could see Adrian sitting at his desk.
He had no right looking that good so early in the morning, with his tousled blond hair that still had no gray in it. Adrian hadn’t shaved, so sexy stubble was on display, the only place that dared to show some white peppered in with the blond scruff. He glanced up when I entered, dark brown eyes appraising my appearance.
“You look like shit, Trev,” he said, by way of greeting.
“Good morning to you, too, old man,” I retorted. I could throw barbs, too.
“You need to quit chasing boys, son.”
“I’ve got time yet. There’s still a few good times left in this body.” A body that ached a little bit more every day, if I were to admit it. And I wasn’t about to—not to Adrian.
“I’m trying to get you to see reason, but you got a tough, stubborn hide.” He picked up the paperwork for the day’s orders and handed it to me. “Your load’s ready to go. Got four deliveries.” Adrian reached over to the tack board on the wall above his desk and unhooked the keys for my rig, throwing them to me. I caught them easily.
I reviewed everything so I could plan my trips for the day. It was easier to use alternate routes than deal with the crazy traffic on the interstate, and the dumbass drivers who thought that racing with an eighteen-wheeler was fun. Hello? Thousands of pounds to crush you with. Some days, I was sorely tempted to teach some of those dimwits a lesson.
“Thanks. See ya later, asshole.” I gave him a middle finger salute and left, a “fuck you” ringing in my ears.
The Freightliner I drove daily was in the back near the pit. Six other trucks were parked nearby. I always got the earlier shift, which, while I hate mornings, meant I had more time to myself in the evenings to have some fun, if I wanted to. And I usually did.
Bright lights over the pit and back lot helped me find my way. I unlocked the door to my rig, climbed in and turned it on. While the engine warmed up, I did my usual routine—made sure the load, tarp and tie-downs were secure—and kicked the tires.
Satisfied, I got in, checked all the gauges—still good on fuel—and set everything up just the way I liked it. My travel mug went in its slot, cellphone went in the clip on the dashboard, and the paperwork was on the passenger seat. The work bag went on the floorboard.
The first delivery was an hour and a half away. Traffic was steady, without too many need-for-speed idiots. The sun was climbing into the sky when I got to Harry and Sons Supplies around seven o’clock.
I pulled into the loading and off-loading area, and saw Grant Hess already out there on the lot, sitting on the forklift. He’d been working at this company for years. Damn, but he could make a paper bag sizzle, with his sinewy, muscular frame, wavy brown hair and eyes a magnificent shade of aquamarine blue, like a clear, tropical sea. Something about Grant always drew me to him, aside from the fact that he was stunning. I hadn’t figured it out, yet.
“Hey, Grant,” I said, once I parked and got out of the truck. I removed the tarp covering the load so he could get to the order.
“Trev,” he replied, pulling up to the side of the flatbed when I was done. “Late night, huh?” he asked as he positioned the lift under a stack and took it down.
“That’s the second time today someone has commented on my appearance. Are the circles under my eyes still that visible?”
“Maybe,” he said, with a smirk. That’s just great.
“Whatever. So yeah, I was out late, and I had a great time. Is that a crime?” I asked, as I leaned against a nearby pole and watched him work.
“I don’t know how you do it, man,” Grant replied, as he moved more pallets from the flatbed to the ground with the ease of experience.
“Guess I’m a freak of nature.”
“You’re a freak all right,” he said, with a smile.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I don’t remember you complaining when we were going at it.” We’d had a good time. Grant could bend his body in ways a gymnast would envy.
“Hell, no. I still have fond memories of a sore ass from that early morning ride six months ago in the back office. I’d love to do it again, but I know you won’t. Suppose I should be flattered that we did it at all.”
“What can I say? You’ve got good genes.” Grant was the only guy his age that I’d fucked in the last fifteen years. He was thirty-three, but in my defense, he looked a good ten years younger than that. He probably got carded all the time.
“I think you’re scared if you fuck the same guy more than once, you’ll like it. Too much like commitment, huh?” Grant said, his tone sardonic. He removed the last stack of pallets for his order off the flatbed.
I moved toward the trailer and secured the tarp. “You know it.”
“Pussy.”
“Not since I was sixteen, honey.”
“God, you’re an idiot.” Grant parked the forklift, then walked over to me. He took a receipt from his shirt pocket showing proof of delivery and exchanged it with the bill I handed to him.
“Someday,” Grant said, “you’re gonna wake up and realize there’s more to life than having a new hole to fuck every night. Maybe then, you’ll get a clue. You have my phone number if you ever change your mind, or wanna talk.” He slapped me on the back. “See you next time, Trev Harding.”
I watched Grant walk away, that tight-assed swagger making me want to call him back and have another go, but I pushed that thought down, quick. What is wrong with me today?
It seemed like everybody wanted me to pursue something more permanent. Maybe there was something in the water—or the cement dust. I didn’t have the time to pursue those thoughts, so I chose to fill my stomach, instead. I drove over to the fast food place that was on the way to my next delivery stop and parked in the wide lot nearby.
I got out, locked the rig, and crossed the street to enter the cool, inviting interior of McDonald’s.
“Hey, handsome,” Cherry greeted me when I got to the head of the line. It was now eight o’clock and I was starving.
“Hey, baby girl. Don’t you look gorgeous today.” Tongue in cheek, since her face was anything but. Cherry was always sweet to me, though.
“Yeah, ‘bout as gorgeous as you are, I bet.” She rolled her eyes at me and put in my regular order of two hotcakes and sausage meals, with a sausage burrito and hash browns thrown in, plus coffee. Always coffee. This meal had to last me all day since I usually didn’t eat again until I got off work.
“Thanks, sweetie,” I said as I paid her and took the change she handed over.
“See you next time, sugar,” Cherry replied and moved on to the next customer.
I refilled my travel mug with coffee then waited on my order. Two minutes later, it was ready. I grabbed it and headed back out to the truck. There was enough time to eat and make the next delivery with no problems.
As I chewed, I sent texts to Adrian’s cellphone, just to irritate him. It didn’t take much. After the first few “whatcha doin’, A” messages, he sent back a terse, “stop bugging me, moron.” Mission accomplished.
Once I finished my meal and put the trash in an old plastic bag I kept under the passenger seat, I buckled myself in and headed back out on my delivery route.
* * * *
It was four o’clock in the afternoon when I finally pulled into the gravel lot at ConcreteXpress and parked. I could see the dust swirling around the tires in my rearview mirror. I felt grubby, and I needed a shower, badly. I turned off the engine, grabbed my work bag and other personal items, then got out. After locking the rig, I headed to the trailer. The blast of cold air from inside was wonderful.
Adrian was arguing with another regular driver, Derrick. Now, Derrick was an idiot, in that he couldn’t tell when a man had a full head of steam on him, and Adrian was ready to blow.
“Hey, Adrian,” I said, interrupting the men. I figured it needed to be done, if for no other reason than to save Derrick’s dumbass hide. “Brought the keys for the truck, boss.” I threw them on his desk.
Adrian glanced at the keys, then me. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Thanks, Trev.” I knew he was referring to diffusing the argument with the other driver, not the keys.
To Derrick, he said, “What I say goes. The next time you sass a customer like that, you’re fired. I don’t care what they say to you or how long it takes to get a forklift to the load. If there’s a problem, you call me first, always. Clear?”
Derrick didn’t respond. Instead, he shoved past me and left the office, muttering to himself.
“You all right, man?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the desk while I watched Adrian hang my keys up on the tack board.
“I’m fine. Derrick knows better, but he’s been acting up lately. There’s probably something else going on in his life, but if he can’t get his personal shit under control, I’ll have to let him go.”
“What’d he do?”
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it even more than it already was. “Customer took half an hour to send somebody out to unload the pallets. When a guy finally showed up, Derrick asked why, and I quote, ‘the fuck’ did it take so long to get this done. Forklift operator got in his face and it almost turned ugly before a manager, who just happened to be walking by, broke it up. The manager took over forklift duties, got the order, then called me to complain.”
“That sucks. We gonna lose the client?”
“Nah. We go back a long way, and I sweet-talked him from the edge. But I shouldn’t have to do this.” He sounded frustrated.
I stared at Adrian and wondered why we were friends. He could be a bit judgmental at times—okay, most of the time—but I knew he meant well, and was a good guy, at heart. Though, it could be hard to tell beneath all that condescension and contempt.
“You leaving soon?” I asked.
“‘Bout another hour or so. Why?” Adrian went back to reviewing the paperwork on his desk.
“I want to buy you a beer. We haven’t done that in a while. You can tell me all about your perfect boy
friend, how much of a slut I am, how immaturely I behave, and I’ll humor you, like always. Deal?”
Adrian studied me for a minute, then smiled and said, “Okay. I could use a beer.”
“Great. I need to shower, though. Mind going to my place first?”
“Nope.”
“Stop by Herc when you’re ready.” I left and went out to the Chevy, turning on the engine so I could get the air going to cool the inside down a little. At least I’d remembered to clean the truck out last weekend, so it wasn’t too messy. After ten minutes, it was bearable. I drank some warm bottled water.
As the minutes ticked by, I watched other Freightliners pull into the lot. It always amazed me, the skill it took to maneuver thousands of pounds of equipment over many miles while dealing with unpredictable drivers every day. I’d never had an accident, which was a good thing, since that would get me fired. Adrian had a “no tolerance” policy.
The knock on my window startled me out of my reverie. I glanced over to see Adrian giving me the thumbs up sign, then he walked toward his pickup, which he affectionately called Dave.
I started the truck and headed home, with Adrian following at a safe distance. We made good time, despite traffic. Half an hour later, I parked in my driveway, with Adrian right behind me. I unlocked the door and let us both into my comfortable one-story home.
“I’ve always loved your house,” Adrian said as he made his way to the living room and sat on the couch. “It’s so…lived in.” Meaning it was messy, but he’d tolerate it. Prick.
“Well, you live in a trailer park. Which, by the way, I still don’t understand. Aren’t you making enough to get a decent place now?”
“It is a decent place, and I own the trailer, and the trailer park. A house would mean a mortgage. I’m not willing to make that kind of commitment.”
“Funny hearing about commitment issues from you,” I joked.
“Nice try. At least I choose to live within my means and what’s realistic for my lifestyle. You, on the other hand…” Here we go. “You’re just scared to face the truth.”