Highway Hustle

by Roland Graeme

  “It was no big deal. I took care of it myself.”

  “Huh,” I grunted, all skepticism.

  Joey wasn’t a very good liar. I knew damn well that he was hiding something from me!

  And I soon had all too vivid confirmation of my suspicions.

  Chapter Eight: My Bad Boy Kid Brother

  The manager of the gas station and truck stop complex was an amiable guy named Huck. Actually, that was his nickname. His real name was Henry, but, invariably, everyone in our community called him Huck. I liked him. We had more than a nodding acquaintance, although I couldn’t claim we were close friends. I found Huck attractive, but—alas!—he was incorrigibly straight, one of those heterosexual men whose orientation was firmly fixed, so that he didn’t have any curiosity whatsoever about same-sex delights.

  What a waste!

  I was having lunch in the diner one day when Huck came in. He saw me seated in my booth, and, after a moment’s hesitation, which struck me as strange, he came over to me. He had an odd look on his face.

  “Can I join you?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He ordered.

  “I’m glad I ran into you, Jason,” he said.

  I scrutinized him, quizzically. “Well, you always know where to find me. Either here, or at the motel. What the fuck? You’re acting kind of strange, dude. Not at all like yourself. Is something wrong?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I didn’t want to discuss this with your Mom and Dad, except as a last resort.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded, impatiently.

  “It’s your brother, Joey.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s been hanging around the truck stop. Kind of loitering there, at all hours of the day and night, if you know what I mean.”

  I had a gut feeling I knew exactly what Huck meant, but I was so startled, so taken by surprise, that I just responded, “Huh?”

  “I’ve caught him, twice.”

  “Caught him doing what?”

  “Once, sneaking into the building, you know, where the truckdrivers can pay to shower and bunk down for a few hours, before they get back on the road. Joey was—ah—aw, hell, Jason! There’s no point in beating around the bush. I’d better just spit it out. I caught your kid brother in the shower room. He and this trucker were both balls naked, and the trucker was down on his knees, sucking Joey’s cock.”

  “Shit!” I exclaimed.

  “Better keep your voice down,” Huck advised.

  Our food arrived. Automatically, we both started eating.

  “What’d you do?” I mumbled, around a mouthful of food.

  “I told them to put their clothes back on, and I told Joey to get the hell out, and I told the trucker that I don’t put up with that sort of crap on the premises. The weird thing, Jason, is—neither of them seemed all that embarrassed. The truckdriver was kind of cocky and defiant. And Joey—he almost seemed to think the whole thing was kind of a joke. He was kind of disrespecting me—”

  “When I get a hold of his ass,” I fumed, “I’ll beat some respect into the little bastard’s ass!”

  “That’s why I’m glad I can discuss this with you, instead of with your parents. You’re Joey’s big brother, after all. He looks up to you. Maybe you can give him a talking to.”

  “Oh, you bet I will! But you said—you caught him twice. What happened the second time?”

  “The second time—it was late at night. I just happened to be walking across the parking lot. I was headed here, toward the diner, actually, to get a sandwich and coffee. I heard these strange sounds coming from the cab of a parked rig. I went over and looked. Damn it, Jason, I feel really uncomfortable telling you this—!”

  “Don’t spare me—like you said, just spit it out,” I insisted.

  “This other trucker had his pants open and pulled down, and he was sitting there in the cab, with Joey sitting in his lap. Your brother—he’d lost his pants, completely, and he was riding the son of a bitch’s cock. Bouncing up and down on top of him, getting fucked up the ass.”

  “Christ,” I gritted out, from between my tightly clenched teeth.

  “Once again, I told them to break it the fuck up. And do you know what that motherfucking trucker had the nerve to say to me?”

  “I can only imagine. Go on. Don’t stop now.”

  “He said, ‘I paid to fuck this whore boy’s ass, so I’m damn well going to get my money’s worth!’ I threatened to call the cops. That broke up the party, real fast.” Huck hesitated. “The guy drove off in his rig. I sort of gave the Joey the third degree. He told me—again, real mouthy and smart-assed, as though he was almost proud of it!—that he’d been working the truck stop. Picking up guys and having sex with them—for money. And that’s not all. He said he’s been hitchhiking all over the county, pretending to be a backpacker, out hiking. When a guy stops and gives him a ride, Joey—ah—you know, propositions him. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, Jason. Like I said, he had no shame in him at all. He really was proud of himself!”

  “When I kill him,” I growled, “and they call on you to testify at my trial, you just go ahead and tell the truth, man!”

  “Jesus, Jason! I hope it won’t come to that!”

  “Oh, I’d like to—! Fuck! Fuck!” I spat out, furiously. I fought to regain some measure of self-control, before I made a spectacle of myself, there in the diner. “Listen, Huck, buddy, I appreciate you telling me all this. You’re a real friend. Just do one thing for me. Don’t tell my Mom and Dad anything about this. Let me handle it.”

  “I won’t breathe a word. But, I’m afraid, at the rate he’s going—Joey could end up being busted by the cops sometime soon. You know they cruise through the truck stop every now and then, especially at night, to make sure everything’s all right. If they caught Joey in the act and he got arrested—”

  “He won’t be, if I have anything to do about it,” I vowed. “Anyway, when I get done with him, he’ll wish he was behind bars, where I can’t get at him!”

  We finished our meal. It was a bit awkward, to say the least.

  After saying so long to Huck and exiting the diner, I got into my pickup and I drove around, aimlessly, just burning up gas while I tried to calm down and collect my thoughts.

  Maybe it was hypocritical of me to condemn Joey for doing the precise same thing I’d been doing—namely, whoring around. But I told myself that at least I’d been reasonably discreet. Joey, based on what Huck had just told me, seemed to be reckless, out of control.

  Did depravity run in our family? Were we brothers the bad seed?

  I eventually found myself on a rural side road, which meandered between farmland on either side. And then, up ahead, on the side of the road, by an incredible coincidence—there was none other than Joey, my kid brother, standing there with his legs spread, a backpack on his back, and his arm extended and his thumb out, with an ingratiating, provocative look on his handsome face!

  I hit the brakes and I skidded to a stop beside him, my tires scattering gravel. By then, of course, Joey had recognized my vehicle—and me. He quickly lost that seductive look he had plastered all over his mug. Instead, he looked as guilty as hell, the epitome of a man caught in the act, and indeed kind of ashen, as though he suddenly felt sick. Serves him right, I thought, with savage, sadistic glee.

  “Get your freaking ass in this truck, goddamn you!” I bellowed at him.

  Meekly, he obeyed.

  “What the fuck?” I raged. “What’re you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, with your thumb out, hitching? There’s nothing wrong with your car. What the fuck are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” he mumbled, sullenly. “Just out hiking—”

  “Give it a rest. Don’t waste your breath. Know who I’ve been talking to? Huck.”

  “Oh, him,” Joey said, defiantly. “He’s a goddamn liar. Whatever he’s told you—!”

  “Shu
t up! Quit while you’re ahead.”

  “Huck—he’s only badmouthing me to you because he’s got the hots for me, and he got mad when I turned him down,” Joey improvised, desperately. “This is his way of getting back at me.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. Huck is a real pussy hound. He wouldn’t suck a cock or take one up his ass if he found himself on a desert island with all guys, no broads. Which is more than I can say for you, apparently! Shit! My own kid brother—a queer, which would be okay, I guess, because it must run in the family,” I blurted out, impulsively, without thinking, without censoring myself. “But a whore, too!”

  “That must run in the family, too,” Joey retorted, bitchily.

  “If I didn’t have to keep my hands on this steering wheel,” I warned him, “you’d be smacked six ways to Sunday by now.”

  During this conversation, I’d put the truck in gear again, and I’d driven on. After a few minutes, during which we traveled in tense, sullen silence, I pulled over, parked, and shut off the engine.

  We talked. Joey was defensive and belligerent, at first.

  But I eventually got the whole story out of him. It shocked me.

  My sweet, innocent little brother was quite the entrepreneur. He’d set himself up in business. Aware of how many horny gay men traveled on the interstate, he was doing the same thing I was, although on a smaller, less grand, scale. He was hustling! He’d strap that backpack on his back and go hiking, roadside. He’d stick out his thumb, pretending he was looking for a ride. If a promising sort of a guy picked him up, then Joey would proposition him, expressing his willingness to prostitute himself. They’d usually do it right there in the parked car, he told me.

  The truck stop, he told me, was another good cruising ground. He’d sell himself to any man who drove in there to fill up on gas, or to patronize the diner. But truckdrivers had become sort of Joey’s specialty. The horny guys were often only too happy to break up the monoBruno of a long-distance haul with a fast, furtive sex act, especially with a hot young number like my brother. They usually didn’t complain too much about having to pay for his services.

  Then Joey confessed to something which really threw me for a loop!

  Some of the men who picked him up wanted to have sex in privacy and comfort, in a bed, behind closed doors. Joey would suggest the motel, but some of these dudes, who didn’t balk at paying for sex, would be reluctant to spring for the price of a room. So the sly, resourceful Joey had stolen the extra set of room keys we kept in the office. After having copies made, he’d returned the originals. After that, all Joey had to do was see which rooms were unoccupied, before sneaking himself and his john into one.

  Despite my shock, mentally I kicked myself, for not having thought of that myself!

  Listening to him talk so casually about his exploits, I lost it. He was all of nineteen years old, but already he was a depraved slut! Who put my own degenerate recent activities to shame.

  “Whore!” I exclaimed. “You dirty little whore!”

  “Aw, get over yourself,” Joey told me. “Fuck! Who are you to judge me? You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? With the guests at the motel. And the guys in town. What a tramp you are!”

  Christ! He’d been spying on me. Taking notes. He knew everything! I’d flattered myself that I was discreet, carrying on my secret life without any real fear of detection. Now, I was screwed!

  “Are you ashamed of yourself, at all?” I asked him. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

  “Are you?” Joey shot right back. “The only time I’m ‘embarrassed’ in when somebody from here in town pulls over and offers to pick me up, and they’re obviously not a sex prospect. Then I have to say, no thanks, I’m just out enjoying my hike.” He snickered.

  “Suppose you got busted by the cops. Then Mom and Dad would have to find out.”

  He was unperturbed. “Mom and Dad ought to thank me for all the business I’m brought them, before I came up with that duplicate key idea. I’ve lost count of how many times some dude who’s just passing through has picked me up, and I’ve recommended the motel. I used to crouch down in the car seat while he checked in, and then I’d sneak into the room. I’ll make you a deal, big bro. You keep your mouth shut, to Mom and Dad, and I’ll keep mine shut,” the devious little tart suggested. “Nobody need be the wiser. We can both keep making money. And hey,” he added, with an insouciance which I found infuriating. “I’ve had johns ask me if I know another guy, who’d be available for a threesome. Maybe you and I can work together, bro. The suckers will go crazy, if they think they’re getting two brothers in bed with them at once. They’ll pay whatever we ask, for a gay brother act.”

  I wanted to throttle him! Choke the smug smart ass right out of him! But then, when my anger cooled—I gave in to my cynicism. I had to admit that, just maybe, Joey had a point!

  “We’re going home,” I growled, starting up the pickup again. “We’ll talk about this some more, later. After we’ve both had a chance to cool off.”

  “I’m perfectly cool,” Joey assured me. “You’re the one who seems all bet out of shape.”

  I muttered obscenities under my breath as I drove.

  And then, with perfect timing, later that very day I received a phone call from none other than Mirco Ericson, one of my regular, repeat johns.

  “I’ll be coming through your area this weekend,” he told me, excitedly. “I’ve already reserved a room at the motel, for Saturday night. Please tell me you’ll be free, and able to see me.”

  “You bet,” I assured him. To accommodate a handsome, generous guy like Mirco, I’d have been willing to adjust my schedule if I had a conflict—which on this occasion, fortunately, I didn’t.

  “Good. I can’t wait to see you again. I’m getting all sexed up just thinking about. In fact,” Mirco went on, in a tone half jocular, half serious, “I’m building up such a load of cum that I’m worried one stud may not be enough to satisfy me. If only I could clone you, so there’d be two of you! I don’t suppose one of your fuck buddies would interested in making some money? By joining us for a threesome?”

  “As a matter of fact—” Hesitantly at first, I told him about Joey. All about him!

  Mirco reaction was everything I could have wished for. Far from being shocked or disgusted, he was turned on!

  “You mean there really is another one like you at home? There’s two of you? Brothers? Fuck! What a fantasy—in bed with two brothers, at once! If Joey’s anything like you—Jesus, I’m going to think I’ve died and gone to gay heaven! Tell your kid brother I can’t wait to meet him. And—of course—I’ll pay you guys, both of you. Whatever you want.”

  “Because this is a special arrangement,” I dared to suggest, “how about three hundred, for both of us?”

  “Sold,” Mirco agreed, right away. “A bargain!”

  I decided, then and there, that I’d give Joey a hundred, and keep two hundred for myself. After all, Mirco was my client. I was setting up the date, so, logically, I should get the larger cut. And what my brother didn’t know about the financial arrangements wouldn’t hurt him! Furthermore, Mirco was a good tipper, so Joey would be welcome to pocket whatever extra cash Mirco chose to hand him, after we’d taken care of the guy.

  When I told Joey, he was willing.

  “So I get to fuck around with you at last, huh, bro?” he asked, with an insouciance which a lot of people, I supposed, would find appalling. “Looking forward to it. Should be fun.”

  “We’ll be working,” I reminded him, no doubt sounding pretty damn prim and proper, for a whore. “We’ll be there to take care of Mirco. Do what he wants, make sure he has a good time. Not to get off, ourselves.”

  He grinned at me. Fuck, there was a boyish sexiness about him which was hard to resist! “But us shooting our loads is part of the deal, isn’t it? No reason why we can’t enjoy ourselves while we’re providing your guy with stud service.”

  Before the Saturday night rolled around, I did some d
iscreet snooping in the motel’s office, where I learned that Mirco had reserved room Number Eight.

  That evening, Joey and I got ready for our john’s arrival. We’d lied to our parents, saying that we were going out on the town together, and that afterward, Joey would spend the night at my place. At least that last part was true! Our Mom and Dad thought that was just fine—us brothers spending some quality time together. If only they knew!

  “This dude Mirco of yours—he’s kind of classy, huh?” my brother asked me.

  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “Snappy dresser?”

  “He’s always been well dressed, every time he’s come here.”

  “Should we get dressed up, too, to impress him?”

  I smiled. “That might be appropriate with some johns, who want a real date. But not with Mirco. He’s no snob, that’s for sure. He could care less what we have on. And—we’ll be taking our clothes off, soon enough. So just be comfortable.”

  Joey wore jeans and a black T-shirt, with running shoes on his feet. I decked myself out slightly less casually, in khaki slacks and a soft, clinging maroon sweatshirt, which was a cut above typical grungy gym wear. I wore training shoes, and, unlike Joey, I went to the trouble of putting on underwear and socks.

  I received a text from Mirco, telling me he’d arrived and checked in. I texted back, saying we’d be with him shortly.

  Joey and I went to the motel, taking care not to be seen, and I knocked on the door of Number Eight.

  As usual, Mirco had gotten settled in the room, unpacking a few essentials and showering. After getting out of the shower, he’d pulled on just a pair of ordinary gray sweatpants. Bare-chested and barefoot, with tousled damp hair, he looked very sexy indeed when he let us into the room.

  Predictably, he was happy to see me. Just as predictably, he was instantly infatuated by my sexy kid brother.

  “This is like seeing double,” Mirco gloated. “Even though I’m still reasonably sober! Something I intend to correct, starting right now. You’ll join me in a drink, won’t you, guys?”