I was 18 and I did not like the way my parents where treating me so like an good rebel teen I decided I would run away to my uncles house and live with him in the next state over. So I packed my stuff up and left for my uncles house. I was walking about an hour and a half making great time when a trucker pulled ahead of me and asked me if I wanted a lift. So I asked him where he was going and his answer was close to my uncles house only about a mile away. So I accepted his offer and hope in.
The road stretched on ahead and behind me for as long as I could see, with not a car in sight. The last guy I'd hitched a ride with told me that most folks around here would rather take the old highway rather than the new one, so I'd set off down the old, overgrown road in the hopes of finding another lift. I didn't know if the guy was fucking with me, or just didn't know any better, but in the past two hours I'd only seen one car drive by. And they hadn't slowed down as I stuck out my thumb. I pulled up the bottom of my white t-shirt and wiped my forehead, asking out loud for the third or fourth time that day "What the fuck am I doing out here? I sighed, using my damp t-shirt to clean off my sunglasses, then scouted out the area again. Flat prairie, as far as I could see, with the mountains a dull line on the horizon.
I have been fascinated by truck drivers from the time I knew I was gay. Just the thought of all that power behind the wheel of such a big piece of machinery made my mouth water. I think my fascination was fueled by something that almost happened but didn't when I was in my early twenties. I was working in a discount store where I had been working since graduation from college. I lived in a small town in the south and in those days it wasn't uncommon for a boy in his twenties to be inexperienced in a lot of things.
Speaking to me by the urinal was this hot looking cowboy type driver with his hard 8 inch prick in his hand. Now only was he hung, he was cute as a button. How could I resist.