The Trucker Ch. 01

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I was running late by the time I walked to the gym on Thursday evening, and the place began to empty out as the clock hands swept towards its 10pm closing time. I decided to skip my shower rather than cut my workout short. By the time I was done the evening cleaners were moving through the building, carrying mops, buckets and the rest of their equipment. They met my apologies with polite nods and a palpable sense of please just go. I grabbed my belongings from the locker room and hotfooted it towards the exit. Once outside I shrugged on my zip-up hoodie, threw my backpack over one shoulder and struck out for home.

The August night sky was dark except for a blaze of electric blue in the west. A gentle breeze brushed over my legs and across my chest and turned my sweaty workout gear cool against my skin. My nipples hardened beneath my vest; in my briefs, my balls began to tighten.

My route home brought me alongside the town’s largest and no doubt oldest park – a wide ribbon of green that began downtown and snaked uphill into more residential neighbourhoods. Its orderly lawns and avenues gave way to rambling, naturalistic gardens as it climbed. I drew alongside its grand iron gates flanked by beds of deep red flowers and, on the spur of the moment, I turned in. It wasn’t the most direct route home but it led in the right direction more or less.

The place was deserted as far as I could tell but I didn’t mind. I was at ease as a strolled beneath the low-drooping boughs of oaks and yews and cedars of Lebanon.

The path I chose arced towards the far edge of the park before curving away uphill. I liked this route. Here, the park’s boundary was a steep wooded bank sloping down to one of the main roads out of town. Beyond was a clear panorama of the seafront and harbour. As the path drew closer to the edge, the trees around me thinned and the view opened up. I stopped to enjoy the clean sea breeze and watch the lights of distant boats moving across the dark water.

After a minute or two I resumed the trek home. The path curved away from the edge of the park and dove back into the trees. I followed it into the greenery and soon it began to climb. The night seemed much darker there, more closely gathered around me. However I soon noticed patches of light amongst the leaves up ahead and a thrill buzzed through me. I remembered what they were. First, here on the left side of the path, were the Ladies. Then, a little further on and to the right, I’d find the Gents.

I had visited this park many times as a youngster and used these toilets once or twice. During my teens, I’d heard rumours about the things that went on here; all of them unsubstantiated but secretly thrilling. It had never crossed my mind to find out for myself, but now the thought of it dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream. A rapid slideshow flashed through my mind, a rush of sights and sounds from many innocent toilet trips in my past: awkward silences, the purr of a zipper opening, split-second glimpses of other dicks… It had my heart running at double time.

The night around me subtly brightened as I passed by the Ladies. It was a cold glow, the little building silent and no doubt empty. The path ahead curved right and continued its gentle climb, and I followed it. Soon I was back in the dark as the Ladies fell behind. I listened closely to the night. Nothing but the sound of wind in the trees and, further off, the low hum of traffic.

New lights up ahead slowly became clearer and resolved into a row of frosted windows, set high up off the ground. As I drew nearer, the bulk of the unremarkable squat brick building came into view. The Gents. It was set back from the thoroughfare, nestled in the greenery like a forgotten relic, and was accessible by way of a narrow path leading back through the planting beds. Out of sight behind a privacy wall, the open door threw a cool wash of light out into the night and illuminated only more bushes and trees. Behind the toilets and all the way to the far off road, there was nothing but dense undergrowth. I saw how this place had earned a reputation as a cruising ground – for a public place, it was fantastically secluded.

As I drew nearer to the Gents, my body hummed with unexpected excitement. The place had taken on new meaning. It was no longer just a small brick building tucked away in a forgotten corner of my everyday world. Now it felt like an outpost of a men-only realm where the usual rules of modesty and decorum didn’t apply. Anything could happen in that secret place. My dick began to stir, peeling away from my sweaty balls and pressing against the confines of my briefs.

The narrow footpath leading to the Gents was just ahead now. I chanced a glance behind me. From here I could no longer see the lights of the Ladies, the road, the harbour, anything. No sign of them was visible from this tree-crowded sweep of the path.

The sound of a shoe scuffing against the ground brought my attention front and centre in a hurry. mardin escort A few seconds later a figure appeared up ahead, slowly strolling alone in the dark night, heading downhill in my direction. My heartbeat ratcheted up another impossible gear. It was too gloomy to discern any details but then the burning tip of a cigarette blazed in the dark. I heard a single deep inhalation before the butt was flicked to the floor and, within a couple of steps, extinguished. I read into this simple action; it seemed like something someone would do when idle time comes to an end.

And then I was alongside the path to the Gents, still twenty metres or so from the new arrival. Decision time. Saunter into the toilets and see what might happen, or just head on home and let this silly adrenaline rush to burn itself out on the way? My mind was still tumbling over itself when a more animal part of my consciousness stirred and took control. Without slowing my stride, I stepped on to the path and headed towards the Gents.

Here we go!

The cool glow from the door and the high windows brightened as I drew closer, darkening the nighttime woods around me. I heard the sound of a drip falling in a concealed cistern, a lonely sound in that empty space. As I rounded the privacy wall, I glanced back out into the night but could see nothing now. Beyond the spill of bright light, the world was now utterly black. I slipped inside.

The air was heavy with the aroma of piss mixed with the sharp note of urinal blocks, just like in all men’s toilets ever. White tiled walls reflected the harsh glare of four overhead lights while rough grey tiles on the floor absorbed it. A long white floor-standing slab urinal lined the wall to the left; three sinks and a hand drier occupied the right. Dead ahead, the side wall of the first stall stared back at me, the tiles cracked here and there. Beyond were two more stalls. I glanced quickly down the row and saw all three doors standing open. Alongside my excitement I felt a comfortable sense of familiarity. I knew this world and had always been welcome here, both as an innocent visitor in days gone by and also now as a fully qualified contender in this men-only arena.

I realised I had another reason to be here, a legitimate one. My body was done with the water I’d drunk at the gym. I needed to piss.

I stepped up to the urinal and planted my feet widely an inch from the gutter, then moved a quarter step back. I hooked my left thumb into the waistband of my shorts and briefs, drawing both out and down under my junk. My dick popped forward, semi-hard in the cool air. I grabbed it with my right hand, giving it a few squeezes to plump it up further. The designer of these Gents had placed the door and urinal in an ideal configuration: any guy walking in is given a perfect line of sight along a row of cocks pulled out to piss. I guess I’m something of a show off as this idea pleased me, and right then I wanted to look my best. I gave my dick a few strokes then let it lay proudly across my palm. Its not the biggest in the world but it’s a shower and looked hefty enough. Satisfied, I finally let loose. The urgent stream hit the porcelain and ran down into the gutter, quickly pooling and charging towards the drain.

There was another scuff, this time on the path just outside. I had company. My heart began to race again and my cock twitched in my hand. I subtly readjusted my stance so my manhood was as fully on show as possible and waited to see what would unfold.

The door was suddenly filled as the man from outside sauntered into view. The scuffing I’d heard had been made by his heavy boots, well worn with age and loosely laced under the bunched-up hems of his jeans. Those jeans also looked like they’d seen better days. Faded old oil stains spotted them and they were threadbare in places. They hung loosely around his ankles but clung close to his calves and thick thighs. A black belt with a large buckle held the jeans firmly in place around his hips and pulled the denim snug around his crotch, which protruded in a substantial mound as if he’d shoved a fist down there under his waistband. He demonstrated this was not the case as he paused in the doorway, leaned against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest. His shoulders pulled against his jacket and clearly expressed his solid mesomorphic frame. His neck flared as it disappeared into his t-shirt and rose thickly to his stubbly jaw. Dark, deep-set eyes regarded me from under a heavy brow and a thick thatch of charmingly boyish hair. A wide smile broke across his face and his brows dipped in an expression which was part curiosity, part amusement and wholly intense. He muttered something to himself in a European language I didn’t understand, suggesting he may be one of the truck drivers who sometimes park up in a layby on the road below. I wondered how much English he had, if any.

Too late I recognised he wasn’t the only one giving van escort things away. I had openly appraised him up and down, lingering on his crotch and beefy arms, and my dick had quickly stiffened to a steel rod in my hand. My piss, still arcing from my hard on, was hitting the urinal much higher up than usual and sending splatters every which way. All this was plainly visible to my companion. I hadn’t expected him to stop in the doorway and watch me like this. My subtler senses recognised that he was blocking the only exit – no, not just blocking it but filling it – and yet my survival instincts were overwhelmed by desire for him.

With a slight widening of his predatory smile, he shrugged himself away from the door and sauntered forward, closing the distance between us.

I stood motionless as the guy walked towards me. His arms uncrossed and dropped to his sides, relaxed. Big hands swung in time with his slow strides as he approached. I held my breath and waited to see how close he would come. Four paces away, then three, then two.

And then he was beside me. He did not turn to face the urinal as I thought he might. Instead he unashamedly faced in my direction. His frame seemed as solid as the cubicle wall to my right, creating an enclosure around me and making my public display a private show for one. His clothes smelled vaguely of smoke and cool night air. His head cocked slightly as he ran his eyes from my face, down my body to my cock and back again.

For a thrilling heartbeat neither of us moved. The scene was silent except for the sound of my own piss, still racing from the head of my dick but beginning to taper. My earlier brazenness was gone and I found I was clueless how to proceed. The protocol here was a mystery to me and my spectator was fast realising it. My opportunity to take the lead expired as we both silently acknowledged my hesitancy. With a palpable sense of the upper hand being claimed, my new companion broke the stalemate.

His right hand was suddenly moving across my arse and his fingers slipped between the backs of my thighs. Strong fingertips pushed up against my shorts and briefs, pressing both into my crack. My breath caught as the material ground against my arsehole, thrilling the nerve endings there. His left hand came forwards, pushing between my own hand and my cock before curling around my shaft and sealing into a large fist. His palm was rough on my soft skin and it sent electricity through me. Reaching out his arms like this brought his face closer to mine and caused his deep chest to deepen yet further, his tee shirt folding into a vertical crease between his bunched up pecs. The sight of his solid masculinity only ramped up the pleasures down below. I drew deep breaths through my open mouth and watched him intently. He pressed his fingers more firmly against my hole and constricted my dick, throttling the stream of piss. The last of my flow turned into a series of rapid jets as he began squeezing and relaxing his grip. He smiled at this effect, clearly toying with me. The experience was beguiling. Never before had I surrendered control of this bodily function to someone else. What had always been a mundane act now felt like it could unfold into an array of exciting possibilities.

But they were not to be explored just then. The guy’s hand disappeared from my arse and his eyes were back on my face. His smile was gone, replaced by a hungrier look. He shifted and moved away from the urinal, one hand still wrapped firmly around my dick. I had no choice but to move with him, turning on the spot as my manhood remained clamped within his fist, and follow him as he led me by my hard on. The last of my piss dribbled out of me, splattering the floor. He was unconcerned by all this as he drew me deeper into the Gents to the last toilet stall, where he stood to one side and finally relinquished my cock. His hand moved up to grip my shoulder, not roughly but decisively, and he pushed me into the cubicle.

I stepped forward until the toilet bowl was directly in front of my shins and I shrugged off my backpack. I felt the big guy enter the stall behind me; his shoulder shoved me as he turned to push the door shut. I moved round to face him as he turned back to me, the two of us deep in each other’s personal space, his dark eyes looking down into mine with predatory intent. Neither of us attempted communication.

He reached up and clasped one hand to the back of my neck then pulled me forward with casual strength. His lips met my own in a hungry snarl. Before I knew it, his kiss was bearing down into mine, bending me back with the force of its attack. His bristly face rubbed against my skin as his tongue forced its way deep into my mouth. Smokey, masculine breath mixed with mine. Below, out of sight, I felt his free hand find my dick once more and claim it.

My own hands came alive then. They slid up between us and pressed flat against his firm gut, which bowed out ankara escort slightly to brush my own. I moved upwards until my fingers found the swell of his chest. My hands were full of the mounds of his pectorals, his nipples hard against my palms. I explored further, up under the collar of his jacket where the thick cords of his trapezius muscles ran into his huge shoulders. These I grabbed and squeezed tightly, as if challenging the brute strength they suggested. Sensing the insolence in this gesture, the guy pressed his body against me, trapping me against the wall at my back. If the situation was unclear before, there was no room for misunderstanding now: he was fully in charge. My dick throbbed at this realisation and at the feel of his solid mass pinning me.

He broke away from the kiss and eased back a little but his face remained inches from mine, our eyes locked. His hands moved to my chest and slid my hoodie off my shoulders. I let my arms fall to my sides and he shoved my top to the floor. He moved back further in order to take in my upper body, revealed by my tight white vest. His brows gathered and his lips pouted as he drew an appreciative breath. The horned-up approval on his masculine face sent a fresh jolt of desire through me. He roughly grabbed my right pec, his thumb seeking my nipple through the cotton and playing back and forth over it. His other hand slid under the hem at the point where it brushed my pubes. He drew it up over my stomach, revealing my lightly-haired abs. This glimpse clearly whet his appetite and he wanted more: both his hands were suddenly dragging the vest up over my body. I hurriedly raised my arms and the top was off, then dropped on the floor, already forgotten. He was all over me in an instant, his mouth sucked tight to my nipple, the lower curve of a pec, my armpit. As I marvelled at the breadth of his hunkered frame, I felt fingers probe under my waistband. My shorts and briefs eased down over my arse and then dropped to my ankles.

Slowly he straightened and leaned back once more, taking in my naked body. One hand cupped my balls and manipulated them roughly before taking hold of my stiff prick again. His hands were larger than mine and all but my swollen helmet was enveloped by his thick hairy fingers. He gave me a couple of slow, luxurious strokes before both hands moved to my shoulders and began pushing me down. Just for the thrill of it I resisted, making him bring his strength into play. He noted this with a wry smile, then brought his brawn to bear on me and down I went.

My knees hit the cold tile floor either side of his boots. I looked down at my cock, reddened from the rough attention he’d paid it but still engorged and straining for more. A cool breeze played across my sack as I slid my hands around his ankles and anchored myself to his big calves. Then I raised my eyes to the prize in front of me.

His crotch was directly before my face. A swell of pure desire surged through me at the sight of such a perfectly displayed basket. The denim stretched out tautly from his hips to contain his sizeable package; the button fly distended as it ran down and under the bulge, plainly displaying the bulk of its contents. My hands crept up over his big thighs to his hips and slowly inwards towards his cock.

I glanced up at his face. His mouth was slightly open and drawing aching, anticipatory breaths; his brows knitted in concentration. His eyes fixed firmly on his own crotch, waiting to see how his endowment would be received.

Rather than attack it directly, I reached behind him to grip his meaty arse and I pulled him to my face. I pressed myself against his fly, rubbing my lips and cheeks across the hefty bulge, and his strong hands squeezed my shoulders in encouragement. The firm orbs of his balls shifted around under the denim and, in front of them, not yet fully hard, languished the rubbery mass of his cock. I tilted my head and opened my mouth to engulf his length but the stiffness of the fly baffled me. Instead I ran my tongue over it, savouring the subtle tastes and aromas there at the gateway to my heart’s desire.

His low animal groan spurred me on and I was overcome with the sudden need to feast my eyes on his dick. My mind span with the possibilities of what he might possess between his legs. I settled back on my haunches and began unbuckling his belt.

He was still looking down but his eyes were on me this time. A smile broke across his face; part affection, part filth. He rubbed one big hand over the side of my face and up through my hair, making my head bob with the force of his touch. He was truly a heavy-handed brute of a man.

I quickly got his buckle undone and the belt fell open, hanging stiffly from the loops. My left hand gripped his jeans while my right undid the top button. To my surprise the waistband of a pair of underpants appeared. I’d have laid money on him going commando but I was happy to be wrong. With a quick tug, the rest of the buttons popped open and the fly eased apart as his heavily-laden drawers bulged forward, unrestrained. I reached inside the denims to help free him more fully, and the first touch of my fingers on his package was electric. My hand cupped the heavy contents and eased them forward until the whole pouch was spilling from his fly.

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