And now I’m a whore, sucking off strangers for cash.
It’s not the worst job in the world.
In fact, I kind of fucking love it.
As I walk past an idling blue rig, I’m drawn to a grizzly man with one arm hanging over a rolled-down window. His gaze follows me, trailing from my eyes to my ass. He begins to whistle in notes too high for his demeanor, a haunting melody of desire. It’s a catcall,but not one I’ve ever heard. Something flickers in my gut, prodding me to run.
But money is money.
And cock is cock.
I search both directions to make sure nobody is watching, not that it matters much. Everyone here is a stranger to each other. I approach the truck, both hands stuffed in the pockets of my jeans. Under the high-mast streetlight, I get a better look at him—middle-aged, with a beard that’s overgrown in various shades of gray, and his right arm is covered in faded tattoos underneath a ripped plaid shirt that’s rolled to the elbow.
Neither of us say a word. He nods to the left, gesturing for me to join him. We are engaged in a silent understanding as I circle the front of the rig. I’ve learned to hyperfocus on my surroundings, to always be alert, and to always have an exit strategy.
The hinges squeak when I open the passenger door. I assume it’s not used much. The life of a trucker is a lonely one and there typically isn’t anyone riding shotgun. As I climb on board, the door-activated light illuminates us both. If anyone should peer inside, they’d be forgiven for thinking he was a father and I his son. Guys like him? This is their fantasy. Older hands caressing the smooth, satin skin of a teenage twunk—I believe that’s the appropriate terminology. New to this big gay world, but if I know one thing, it’s that he’s a bear.
Bears don’t scare me.
Men in suits and robes are what send a chill down my spine, like the echoes of cult hymns I can’t ever outrun.
The dome light dims, but even in the dark, I notice how he watches me with hunger in his eyes. He drops a hand to my thigh with a touch that’s uncharacteristically tender.
I shift in the seat, brushing my way toward him. “What’s your name, handsome?”
“R—Ray,” he chokes out, stumbling over his nerves. He swallows, collecting himself before continuing, “but I like when they call me Daddy.”
“Well then, Daddy, what do you like?” I reach for the drive shaft, cup my hand over the knob, and put on a display of stroking it. “I’ve been told I’ve got a mouth like a hoover.”
He parts my lips with his smoke-stained thumb. Reeks of cigarettes but us whores make the best of what we’re given, and there’s no denying smoke at least smells better than human shit. So, not the worst thing in the world but still pretty awful. He pries my mouth open wider and massages my tongue with his thumb. I play the part and lap him up, creating a vacuum of suction around his flesh. His eyes dance in bliss as he watches a preview of what I’m going to do to his cock.
He slips free from my mouth, a change in pace and demeanor. He shifts his hand to the back of my head with a forceful grip as he unbuttons his belt with hisother hand. No patience. No waiting. Just pure and unadulterated lust taking control of his entire being.
I grab him by the wrist but wear a perfectly fake smile in doing so.
Some guys are given the benefit of the doubt, and I let them pay for services after the deed is done. Other guys pay up front. It’s all based on the vibe, and the vibe is not a good one. Still, gas ain’t cheap in this economy and a boy’s gotta eat. Worse case scenario is shit goes south, but again… I always have an escape plan.
“I seriously cannot wait to suck your cock like a good boy, but?—”
“You want the cash up front,” he says, cutting me off.
He retrieves a tattered wallet from a cubby, grabs a hundred-dollar bill, and hands it to me. A generous payment when I typically charge fifty for a blowjob, but he’s too horny to negotiate. I wad the money and stuff it into the front pocket of my jeans. And then his firm grip is back on my neck, pulling me to him.
His lips crash against mine, dry and chapped. And then wet. And then he’s moving to the right, the scruff of his beard scratching at my throat as he mouths his way to my ear. He breaks away from me, his gaze shifting to the side and drowning in paranoia. Steam paints the windows, obscuring the view outside, but it’s not enough.
He points to the back of the truck. “I have a bed in the back.”
I take a quick look between the two seats and notice the dim light behind a black curtain. My senses tingle. All seven or eight of them. However many the fuck there are. Every single one of them. Again, though, I always have that backup plan in my back pocket.
I duck between the seats, and he follows behind. On the other side, there’s enough room to stand straight, with a twin-sized bed parked against the left wall. Across from the bed is a small TV mounted to the wall. It’s not the nicest sleeper cab I’ve seen, but can’t expect much in a rig that’s at least twenty years old.
When I turn to him, he shoves me backward with force. I land on the bed, lying on my back. As he approaches, towering over me, he peels the plaid shirt from his body, exposing a hairy, pale chest beneath.
Following his lead, I sit up on the bed and reach for the hem of my shirt. I make sure I have his full attention as I pull it over my head and dispose of it on the bed behind me. I reach for his hand and pull him to sit beside me.
He traces his finger along my cheek. “You’re so fucking hot.”
“Yeah?” I swing one leg over his waist to straddle him. From above, I peer down at him and revel in the power I have over this perfect stranger. Ishove him onto his back and massage my hands through the hair on his chest. “What do you like about me?”
