Hauling Christmas

"Yes, if you want."

"I do a lot of riding—hard riding."

"So I hear you saying. Sounds good."

"Drink up your coffee then, boy, and let's get on the road."

There had been no question that Mack was going to fuck Tanner from the moment Tanner stepped forward in the locker room, touched Mack's nipple reverently, and then traced a line down to the goods. It was just a question whether it was going to be a one-and-done deal here in the Flying J truck parking lot in the sleeper cabin of Mack's truck or whether they were going to take it on the road for multiple couplings.

They were taking it on the road. Either way, Mack took it as an early Christmas present. He'd tuck in as many of those he could this holiday season, but he already was thinking that this would be a special one. The presents compensated for having to be on the road, transporting such shit as fake Christmas trees from heathen China, during the season.

* * * *

As it transpired, Mack could not wait, and Mack did not wait. When they got to the truck, Tanner wanted to see what was in the sleeper cabin. Mack then could not wait and did not wait. What was then in the sleeper cabin, in the truckers' parking lot at the Flying J truck service center in Bartow, California, was Tanner, naked, on his back, his legs raised and spread, his ankles and one wrist inserted into strap loops hanging from the ceiling. Mack had left the young man one hand free to grasp himself and stroke off while Mack fucked him.

When he saw how many strap looks were hanging off the walls and ceiling of the compartment, Tanner had asked, "Why so many?"

"I'd have to show you," Mack said, as he stripped off.

"Yes, please." Tanner, of course, damn well knew what they were for.

Mack showed him anyway.

The overhead light was on dim, casting a murky half-glow in the cabin, as Mack, in his leather chest harness, wristbands, and combat boots, knelt between Tanner's spread thighs, managing close-in connection of their pelvises, getting all of his thick shaft in, and bumping his heavily balls against the tender skin of the young man's inner thighs as he thrust, thrust, thrust.

Tanner had screamed bloody murder at the relentless stretching thickness of the sheathed shaft and the rubbing of the thick ring in the cock head, with Mack's hands gripping the young man's throat to keep the noise emanating from the cabin to a dull roar. Once Mack was saddled, though, and Tanner had managed to take him, he joined enthusiastically in the fuck, the two moving together in athletic, coordinated thrusts and withdrawals that had their hips working in rhythm and, as heavy and stable as the truck cabin was, had the Mack truck cabin rocking on its shocks.

The young man groaned with each thrust.

"Is it too . . . should I . . .?" Marc was being polite. He wouldn't have slacked off even if Tanner had begged him to do so. When he'd gotten to the stage to fingering the young man, he could tell that Tanner had been with many men. He was open enough almost to take Mack himself without much effort. Finding that the young man was a well-used whore relieved Mack. He could lose himself in the fuck.

"Fuck me! Fuck me hard? Shit, you're thick!"

Mack fucked him hard. This piece was something special.

Tanner came in a flood of cum up Mack's hard belly. Soon thereafter, Mack, with a great groan, pulled out of Tanner, ripped the Trojan Magnum off, and ejaculated on Tanner's chest.

"Don't stop!" Tanner cried out. "Put it back it. Oh, shit that cock ring. Oh fuck! Put it back in. Don't stop doing me! Raw. Fuck me raw!"

Still hard, all risk forgotten, Mack jammed it, unsheathed, back in as Tanner cried out in pain-passion, and the fuck continued until both were exhausted.

It was a good fuck . . . a great fuck . . . one of the best fucks either of them had had. They both would have attested to that.

It was an early Christmas present for both.

* * * *

Tanner proved to be a delight to travel with. He was fun and humorous. He was playful and brought out the holiday spirit in Mack, despite Mack's attempt to project as a rough-man Tom of Finland. With him coming on board, even the truck had taken on a festive look. He brought out a garish red and gold tinsel string like those Mack had seen in the Flying F truck stop, Tanner having bought it on a dare from Mack, who had sneered at it, suggesting that the swags, like the load he was hauling, was just fake Christmas made in China. When Tanner strung it across the top of the windscreen in the truck, Mack hadn't sneered at it there. He'd laughed and just said it would be tossed out of the cab in Denver along with Tanner. But before they left Barstow, Mack had been cajoled into buying a wreath from a table at the truck stop and hanging it on the truck's radiator. Tanner was bringing life, gaiety, and Christmas into the truck.

He was attentive to and agreeable with Mack as they settled in as travel companions. He complained about nothing. He was compliant to whatever Mack wanted, and, sexually, he was insatiable. It proved that he would have stopped for sweaty sex more often than Mack did, although Mack did it enough to put him behind schedule on his long-haul delivery. Tanner showed that he would have been happy if Mack had fucked him continuously. They hadn't been long back on the road, pointed toward Las Vegas on I-15, when Mack began to wish that Tanner wasn't going only as far as Denver and that the older man started to think of the two being together even beyond his own immediate destination, Kansas City.

With Tanner sitting beside him, the monotonous miles through desert country east on I-15 just melted away. As well as being good company, Tanner sexed him up as they rolled along, getting Mack to shuck his shirt and jeans when they got out on the highway, driving as Tom of Finland, in his briefs and the chest harness, topped by the leather captain's hat and accented by the shiny black combat boots. Leaning into him, Tanner ran his fingers over the intricate lines of Mack's torso and arm tattoos and, eventually pulled Mack's half-hard out of the split in his briefs and played with the thick cock ring in the shaft's head, producing precum until Mack groaned, pulled Tanner's face down into his lap, and Tanner gave him head as Mack worked to keep the truck on the road.

They also talked.

"Does your dad know you're visiting him in Denver?"

"Not yet," Tanner said. "I've rung him a couple of times from my cell phone to see who would answer, but no one has."

"And he hasn't called back to your voicemail? Maybe he's not there."

"I didn't leave messages and he wouldn't recognize the number I was calling from. I'm trying to find out if Jack is still with him."

"Jack?"

"Dad has a boyfriend too—and he's as bad as my mom's boyfriend."

"Bad, how?"

"I think you know how."

"And your dad doesn't try to stop him?"

"My dad's into watching and threesomes."

Oh. "I can see how he would be," Mack said. "You're a sexy little piece."

"Thanks."

"So, your dad—" Now the question was why Tanner would visit his father at all.

"I don't really want to talk about my dad now. Look, there's a sign for a rest stop in another four miles. Maybe we could—"

"You need to take a piss?"

"I need something, and from the feel of this"—Tanner had Mack's cock in hand and Mack's cock was nearly at full staff—"you can use a stop too."

"Shit, you are a bunny, aren't you? You never have enough, do you?"

"No, I never have enough."

They fucked like acrobats in the sleeping compartment at the Baker, California, rest stop on I-15. Throughout the afternoon they'd done more rest stopping than driving, and they still were in California. Bu the schedule, this semi should be in Utah by now. Tanner, naked, was suspended in air over the bed, his arms raised over his head, his hands gripping strap loops on the side of the cabin's interior. Mack, in harness and boots, was kneeling on the seat between Tanner's thighs, his hand gripping and squeezing the young man's butt cheeks, as he pulled Tanner's channel on and off his shaft. Tanner's knees were hooked on and hugging the truck driver's hips.

Mack was having a ball balling Tanner and Tanner was having a ball being balled. It was a question whether they'd get out of California before dark.

"God, you're a keeper. I could keep you forever," Mack had called out as he tensed and came, jerked and came again.

They were then quiet for the next ninety miles from Baker, California, to south of Las Vegas, Nevada, each lost in his own thoughts. There was no telling what Tanner thought. He was lost in himself, not leaning into Mack now and touching him or otherwise sexing him up. It was more being thoughtful. After they'd had sex and each, in turn, had gone to the men's room in the rest area to clean up, something had built up between them.

Mack had gone to the men's room first. When he came back, Tanner wasn't in or around the truck. His duffel bag was still there, though. The kid was around there somewhere. Mack walked the line down between the other parked trucks, looking for the young man. He found him, with another trucker, the trucker leaning his back into the side of his truck, his hips jutted out, and his jeans down around his ankles. He was holding Tanner's head in his hands. Tanner was on his knees in front of the trucker and was giving the trucker head. A couple of twenties and a ten were tucked under one of Tanner's knees.

Mack only took the scene in for a few seconds before he pulled Tanner up to his feet and growled, "Go get yourself cleaned up. Now. And go back to the truck." Tanner took up the money and backed away, doing as commanded. He didn't look back as he walked, but he heard the blows being landed. Mack was beating the other trucker down to his knees. The trucker was tall, but on the scrawny side. He didn't stand a chance against the muscled-up Mack, and it didn't sound like he was even trying to defend himself.

When they were back in the truck and on the move again, nothing was said for several minutes. Tanner was huddled in his corner. The atmosphere had changed. They weren't being free and easy convivial now. It wasn't an atmosphere of hostility or anything, though, it was more a recognition by both that some sort of relationship was being established here, something different from what either one of them had expected up front—and that there was an order of dominant and submissive about it that always had been there but now, for the first time, seemed to have significance. Mack wasn't just a trucker Tanner was getting a free ride from now. For now, at least, Mack was Tanner's daddy—a master to a submissive slave. They both were struggling with absorbing that.

It was Mack who brought the silence to a close and, when he did so, he didn't say anything about finding Tanner with the other trucker. What he talked about was so much different. Tanner remained silent and thoughtful, as if he understood what Mack was trying to say without coming out and declaring. Mack had absorbed what had happened quicker than Tanner did.

What Mack talked about was his home. He lived alone in a doublewide on a small lake in the folds of the Rocky Mountains near Gunnison, Colorado. They'd be driving north of there on I-70 en route to Denver, "Where you want me to drop you off to an uncertain reception," he said, looking pointedly at Tanner sitting quietly beside him. He had a dog there, an Irish setter, that a neighbor kept when Mack was on the road—more during the winter holiday season now than any other time of the year. Mack had made good money trucking and had invested it well. He hardly needed to work at all anymore given his frugal lifestyle.

The dog—Red—was always happy to see him. "Life is good there. There are the mountains and the fishing's good in the lake. It's a good life," Mack said. "And the trailer is just a doublewide, but it's pretty substantial. It has two bedrooms and two baths too, and a screened porch overlooking the lake. It's more what they call a manufactured home than a trailer and just a couple of blocks off the main road going into Gunnison. The park is called Sunrise Park. It's at the end of the cul-de-sac ending at the lake—my place is. More than enough for a man to come home to."

Mack had no idea why he was letting his mouth run on about his life like that. He hadn't done so with other guys he picked up and fucked while he was on the road. He'd even avoided giving them his name or asking them what their names were. They were just tail to fuck to the Tom of Finland in him—his Christmas presents to himself.

The good old Tom act was slipping here, though.

"Will you be there for Christmas?" Tanner brought his silence to a close and asked.

"Always for Christmas, although this is my busy driving season. I always make it there for Christmas. Even have a little tree—a real tree. None of this fake Chinese crap like I'm hauling today. I go up onto the mountain and cut it myself. 'Home for Christmas' has always been important to me."

"Even if there's no one there to share it with?"

"There's Red, my dog, and the neighbors are friendly. We get together a bit around Christmas. Ruth, who lives next door is good company when I need it. She's the one looking out for Red. He probably thinks Ruth and I are together, but we're not. She knows what makes me tick and she doesn't seem to care. We're just good friends." He did sound a bit wistful in responding to that. He hadn't thought about being alone at Christmas before.

"The place has got two bedrooms and that second bathroom, so the possibility is always there if and when I need the company," Mack added, and the two went into a companionable silence after that. He didn't come right out and make an offer or anything, but it was floating there, in the air. The atmosphere in the cabin had changed. Something had become more serious. Mack wasn't as much Tom now as he was Daddy. They still seemed comfortable with each other's company. But now there was something that kept them from being as playful—or flirty—as before, something that kept them both thinking.

Mack had no idea if that was a good thing or not. And, sure, he fucked Ruth now and then. They both needed it now and then, but it was true that she knew which way he mainly swung and just let it be.

* * * *

It was getting dark when Mack pulled into the Flying J truck service center in Jean, Nevada, south of Las Vegas, where he planned to stop for the night. His schedule had him overnighting well north of Las Vegas, but the official schedule hadn't taken into account the two young men he had picked up between Long Beach and Las Vegas to spend time fucking in his sleeping cabin.

They had a steak dinner at the café in the service center. During the meal Mack spoke more of the rhythm of a truck driver's life and of how good life was in Gunnison, Colorado, when he could get there. Here and there in his description he alluded to what Tanner might enjoy doing in Gunnison as well and established that, yes, Tanner did like dogs and did admire the Irish setter breed. Beyond the dog and acknowledging that he did like the mountains and fishing, Tanner listened to Mack but didn't say much. He also, though, didn't say anything about any excitement about going to Denver.

After playing some pool in the center's entertainment room, the two went back to the truck and climbed into the sleeping cabin. The fucking this time was slow and passionate. Taking him in a sensual missionary position, their eyes locked in a connection where they could observe in the dim light from the muted overhead bulb every nuance of each other's experience in the coupling, Mack held the young man close under him, Tanner spreading and bending his legs, putting his feet flat on the surface of the bedding, and raising his pelvis to be able, groaning at the thickness of the man, to take Mack's cock deep.

When they got started Mack had pulled out a Trojan Magnum packet and split it open. "You know if it was just us, we wouldn't have to use protection," he murmured. He pulled the condom on his shaft and smoothed it out with his hand.

"We don't have to use one now, if you don't want to. We got excited earlier and that second time you weren't crowned. So, whatever is already is. Take it off. Do me raw. I want to feel the cock ring raw," Tanner had answered, acceding to barebacking in a somewhat deflected way. And when Mack was unsheathed and had penetrated again, Tanner exclaimed, "Oh, shit, it's different. It owns me," Tanner than whimpered as, the stud rubbing along the rippling muscles of the young man's channel walls, Mack reached into Tanner's core and, indeed, owned him.

They fucked in this position for a half hour or more, embracing tightly, kissing occasionally, only their hips moving in a slow, languid rhythm of thrust and counterthrust, one or more of them sensing when he or the other was about to erupt and pulling back from the brink, them both savoring as much as they could get out of this coupling.

When they did come, almost together, Tanner crying out, "Yes, yes! Flood me!" the position had changed. Tanner had coaxed Mack onto his back and was riding his cock in a slow, sensual, fully saddled, facing cowboy position, Tanner palming the older man's tattooed pecs, and Mack grasping and separating Tanner's buttocks cheeks to maximize the young man's ability to open to the beer-can cock.

They dozed in each other's arms afterward, Tanner stretched out on Mack's body and Mack's cock still buried in Tanner's channel, until Mack woke with a cramp, and slowly rolled Tanner off to the side.

"Time for a shower in the service center," Mack said. "Better if the other truckers don't see us go together. They'll give us grief to no end. I'll go first and then you."

"OK," Tanner said, with what seemed at the time a sleep-hazed voice. Later Mack was to believe that maybe the young man had been quietly crying.

When Mack returned to the truck, Tanner wasn't there. His duffel bag was gone as well. Panicked, Mack went up and down the line of trucks parked there for the night, where a few of the drivers were out between the trucks, smoking, and talking in low tones.

"The cute young blondie?" one trucker asked. "Had a duffel bag with him?"

"Yeah, I saw him," another trucker said. "Pretty obvious he was looking for a daddy. Found one too, I'd wager. Fred Young, out of Florida. One of the homo drivers. I heard the kid asking for a ride into Vegas and Young stepped up to offer. Took one of the cars you can rent from here to drive into the strip. Bet they'll have a good old time there."

Mack didn't bother to get into it with these guys about homo drivers. He'd learned what he'd been asking about. He wasn't surprised either. He'd come on too strong—even when he hadn't been intending to. He went back to his truck and bedded down inside the sleeping cabin. He left the door unlocked, just in case. But he wasn't fooling himself. He knew Tanner wasn't coming back.

He wondered if the sweet little piece even had a father in Denver or had been headed there. He, the player, had been played.

* * * *

That was a close call, Mack was thinking as he tried to sleep in his truck in the Jean, Nevada, Flying J truck stop. Why did he even entertain the idea of doing that? He couldn't sleep, of course. Every sound he heard from outside the truck he took as a hint that Tanner was coming back. But of course he wasn't. Did he ever have any intention of going to Denver? Were the bright lights of Las Vegas always his destination?

The young man hadn't responded to Mack's hints, now that Mack thought about it. And it was damn fortunate that he hadn't. Mack didn't really have to be out on the road like this anymore. He had enough coming in from his investments to live the quiet life he'd established in the doublewide on the small lake near Gunnison. And Red was enough companionship for him when he was there—Red, the Irish setter.