My name's Rudy. Rudolpho actually. Rudolpho Anthony Teagan.
What in the fuck were my parents taking? After all, our lineage stretches back to the Irish; and really? Rudolpho? I'm at a total loss on that one. But that's not the story you want to hear.
Let's begin.
I ended up living in Los Angeles due to my indulgence in a lustful undertaking.
A good buddy of mine drove a flatbed semi-truck and delivered whatever anyone would pay him to. Rebar, lumber, A/C units...whatever. He worked out of Oklahoma for a small trucking company. They took orders for shipment of goods and my bud hauled the loads to wherever he was told.
He's a single guy and was a few years older than myself. He had never been married or had the inkling to be, and lived out of his truck. He was essentially homeless you could say. Um, not truly, I suppose; he had a pretty sweet set up in the back of the semi he drove.
The rear of the cab was set up like a mini motel. He had a television and a laptop as far as electronics go. Also a small refrigerator and a microwave stacked one upon the other atop a tiny counter. In the corner was a closet with a couple of drawers and a hanging rod for clothes. No facilities, however. He had to hit a truck-stop to grab a shower and a shave. Finally and most importantly, there was a bunk for sleeping. There was no more a guy would have needed for just himself.
We met one late evening when he'd pulled into a truck stop just outside of Hinton. He was traveling West to drop a load off in Albuquerque and had stopped to make use of the showers and restrooms.
I had just finished a work shift and had driven over to fill-er-up and grab a bite.
I had finished high school that year, had gotten my diploma and was working as a burger-flipping line cook in a small restaurant in town. A mediocre job but a job nonetheless.
My Dad had spent his life working on oil rigs in the surrounding area as a roughneck. He had preferred that I not get into that industry. It was "Hard work," he'd said. "Ruins your body and the pay doesn't match."
Dad had always been an ultra-masculine man and was absolutely the head-of-the-house. I admired and respected him and usually did as I was told. If I hadn't, I would have had to suffer the consequences of my actions. So...I had followed his advice and took the first job I could find, cooking.
I'd done that job for nearly a year and was then looking for a way to get out of that small nowhere town.
It had occurred to me that I'd always been a submissive soul. It was most likely due to the facts of how I had been raised and Dad's iron fist. I could admit to myself that it had been a turn-on for me to have rested under his control. I supposed that may have been the reason I found myself interested in guys.
Their natural in-charge attitude and sway to the dominate side is unique to the male persona. Even the shy dudes instinctively have that edge. That was especially true in rural Oklahoma.
This attraction to men had finally led me to the point where I was ready to explore the domain of male-to-male interaction.
After another swing shift of fixing suppers for hungry patrons, it was time to close up shop. I still had to put the food away, scrape and brick the grill and stock the cold table before I could say my chores were finished. With those duties being done, I clocked out and headed for my car in the parking lot.
It was still hot outside, even though it was ten thirty in the evening. and there wasn't any breeze to speak of. I wasn't really tired, I thought. It always took me two or three hours to settle down and get sleepy after work.
I got behind the steering wheel and decided to go have some coffee and breakfast at the twenty-four-hour travel center. It was just a short ride up the highway and I decided to head up there alone. Everyone I knew was either in bed or getting ready for bed, so I figured it was best to not try and find someone who'd like to tag-a-long.
I walked in the restaurant part of the building and sat myself at a table. A friendly waitress ran by, carrying another table's food on her arms, and quickly spurt out "Coffee babe?" My affirmative response followed into her ears while she kept moving. In a matter of minutes, she rushed back over and jotted down my menu choices. She amiably let me know that they had just gotten their late rush and that it would take some extra time for me to get my meal. "No problem," I responded. "I don't have anywhere to be." She smiled and hurried back behind the counter to order my chow.
Looking around the place, I noticed several truckers waiting for their suppers or breakfasts as they sat alone. There were also a couple of tables of some travelers sitting in small groups. And myself, like the truckers, flying solo.
After two hot cups of coffee, I felt the urge to go and take a piss. I walked into the restroom and stepped up to a urinal. There was a guy a couple of urinals down, finishing up and shaking his thing. In a flash, my eyes traveled down to what he had in his hand and I grabbed a longish look. I wasn't being shy about it at all.
I canvassed up from his floppy crotch cannon, taking in his overall look. With his cock in-hand and looking back at me casually, I saw that he was wearing faded jeans, work boots, and a black T. Over his t-shirt he wore an army vest and he sported a freshly shaven face. Atop a head of wet and drying wavy brown hair sat a beat-up baseball cap. He wore it high with the sharply curved brim pointing almost straight upwards at his hairline. When he caught my eye, he looked back at me with a "Want this?" expression on his face. As I checked him out, he ran his thumb and fore finger up and down his prick a couple of times.
I grinned. He motioned behind him to a stall with a quick jerk of his head.
I put my junk away, walked over to the stall and entered, then sat down on the toilet seat and waited. A couple of seconds later, he pulled the door open and stepped in. He'd left his dick hanging out of his zipper and had apparently reached in and taken his furry baby-makers out too. All his tools hanging out there, a few inches from my face.
I didn't really know what I was doing, but I sure as hell knew what I wanted to. I thought to myself "No hesitation, no reservations, Rudy." I'd given this moment much consideration up until now, and I wasn't gonna mess things up by being shy or timid.
I had tasted the flavor of my own pecker on my hand during my private jerk sessions and had even discovered that semen was like mothers'-milk to me. Delicious, creamy, tangy.
I leaned in and realized, at that very instant, that I also have an appetite for the sweaty aroma of a dude's ripe crotch. Damn, it smelled fantastic.
"Gonna suck it or stare at it, boy?" he quietly growled.
I was hooked. The authoritative tone of his question left me reeling and it spawned an uncomfortable bulge in my shorts.
I moved in, allowing the salty tip of his swollen pud to touch my lips and open my jaw. My tongue grazed the underside of his cock-head and he gave me a relieved sighing hum. "Pull it in, boy." he compelled, "Suck." I loved the vinegarish taste of his dick as I proceeded to do as I was told.
My lips were wrapped around the shaft of his boner as I bobbed my head up-and-down, trying to take a little more length with each stroke. I soon got into a haphazard sort of rhythm and managed to get about half his slab in before it began to touch the back of my tongue. On my next delve, I felt a little jump in his cock-muscles. As I slid back up, I could taste what I recognized as some clear phallic honey, precum, dribbling across my tongue. "Hell yeah!" I thought.
