(Note: This story is based on real events. All characters who appear in it are over the age of 21.)
It takes me more than three hours of driving to get there. It's a hot day, and the air conditioning decides not to work when I'm only twenty minutes into the trip. I curse under my breath, and decide that this rest stop better damn well be worth it.
I've heard about it from a friend who knows about these things. He's a lifelong cruiser of truck stops, public parks, forest preserves, rest areas, beaches, college restrooms, any place you can think of where he can find plenty of anonymous cock to suck. He's a real connoisseur of the seamy side of life. Nothing turns him on more than coupling with strangers. The married men getting thrills on the down-low. The loners who can't connect. The bruised and broken rejects of society. The middle-aged guys with paunches who hide their secret kinks from their families back home. The country hicks who drink beers with their buddies on Saturday night and prowl for cocksuckers on the sly. And especially the truckers, so horny and strung out from feeling their rigs rumble beneath them that they'll stick their dicks into anything to get their rocks off. My friend doesn't care if the next guy on the horizon is twenty or sixty, tall or short, hairy or shaved, fat or thin, washed or filthy. Only one thing is required: a hard cock, ready to plug itself into his mouth.
So he knows all about places like the one I'm driving to now. He says it's a sure thing. He guarantees there'll be activity any hour of the day or night. He guarantees the cops won't show up. He better be right. 'Cause it's a long fucking drive, and I'm devoting my whole day off to this. But I can't stop myself. For two weeks now, the need to feel the touch of a man has been growing inside me like an itch beneath the skin. I've been walking around my office at work, trying to make the numbers on the sheets add up, but the pages swim before my eyes and all I can see is the phantom of some unknown cocksucker's mouth opening in front of me. I can see his eyes raised up to mine, pleading for contact, as his lips stretch wide and his hands start to slide up under my shirt. I can feel his fingers rising up my ribs as his mouth moves toward my engorged meat. Oh man, I need to be sucked off so bad.
And that's why I'm here. Pulling off the interstate, driving down the access road, heading toward the strip of parking spots that hide here, sheltered from the road by a thick line of trees. I can see four cars parked there already. I slow my car to a crawl and give myself a chance to look inside each of them as I drive slowly toward the head of the line. The first one is empty. The driver is either laying down, or already out hunting for cock in the woods behind the parking strip. I zero in on the second car. Sitting behind the steering wheel is a guy with dark hair and a real moustache. He looks Hispanic. He looks incredibly hot. I stare at him as I slowly drive by his car, and he stares back. His shirt is red, and our eyes tell each other that we're after the same thing. My car keeps moving, past the third car now. The guy has his head down, won't look at me -- can't tell much about him. The fourth car has the driver's window rolled all the way down. He's staring out at me as I pass him, eyes level, with the unmistakable sex-hunt look on his face. My friend was right. This place is full of guys ready to play.
I pull my car over to the verge of the grass and just sit for a minute. I look in my rearview mirror to see if anybody is moving. After three or four minutes, I see a door open. It's the Hispanic guy in the second car. He stands beside his open door for a second, looking at the other cars in the line, running his eyes all the way down to where I'm parked at the end. He closes his door quietly, turns his back, and starts to walk at an angle toward a path into the woods. He stops a couple of times to look back over his shoulder, to see if anybody is following him. I can't resist this. The second time he stops to look back, I open my door and step out. He sees me standing there, looking in his direction. Our eyes connect across the distance between us, and then he turns again to head down his path. I lock my car and start to stroll in the same general direction. But I don't follow his exact route. He took a slanted walk across the grass -- I head quickly into the edge of the woods. Almost immediately, I'm swallowed up in the trees. It's a whole other world in here. The front line of trees creates a private world, set apart from the parking strip and even more completely from the interstate that roars by a few hundred yards away. The light in here is shadowed, and the path is rough. In places it's well trodden and obvious, then it disappears under the leaves and fallen branches. It divides and heads in multiple directions, and there are areas beside several trees that have been trodden flat by the feet of the many men who have preceded me here. Trash lies on the ground near these rendezvous spots-- cigarette packs, soda cans, discarded newspapers. It's clearly a place where men come to loiter, to watch, to meet and play, to fuck.
I stroll down the path, heading in the direction I saw the Hispanic guy go. It's not too long before the track rises just a little and I move into an open area. It's right on the edge of the woods -- the parking strip is visible through the break in the trees, the screen of foliage here thin at best. And two guys are standing there. One is off to my right. I hadn't seen him when I pulled it. It must be the guy who belongs to the car that was empty. He's about 45 or 50 years old. Lean, tall, brown hair. Attractive, but nervous looking. He glances at me quickly, then looks away toward the parking lot. His head is down, his body not really comfortable. Straight ahead of me is a guy leaning his shoulder against a tree. He's looking at me, direct and intense. It's my Hispanic friend. I can see his whole body now. He's slightly hefty -- meaty in the way I like. He's wearing cut-off jean shorts, and the legs they ride on are columns of flesh covered with swirling dark hair. Nice round knees. Perfect for kneeling.
I stop. We smile at each other. I glance at the nervous guy, then swivel my eyes back to my new friend. I'm wondering if he has a read on this other guy. If we can trust him. If it's safe. Hell, I'm trying to figure out the dynamics here. Who is going to do what with who? Am I intruding on a game they've already started to play?
We stand that way for a little while. The nervous guy finally looks up, his eyes darting between the other two of us. He smiles. His body seems to relax. He places his right hand on his crotch and starts to caress himself. The signal is given.
I look back at the Hispanic guy. His smile broadens as he moves a few steps directly toward me and speaks. "Hey, how ya doing today?"
"Good," I say. "Just enjoying the day. It's been a hard week, and I'm looking for some relaxation and a little fun."
