Hauling Christmas

No, Mack took to the road like this during the winter holidays season to hang on to his youth and his image of himself. He did it purposely. He liked fucking young men. He liked the casual nature of it. He liked being Tom of Finland for a season. What had ever possessed him to think of the possibility of more with Tanner? This was the season when young men were out on the roads, hitching, heading home for the holidays for one reason or another—and a certain percentage of them were happy to ride a man's cock in exchange for a ride somewhere for the holidays. That's why Mack was hauling fake Christmas trees made in goddamn China half way across the country the week before Thanksgiving. It was hunting season for Mack. It was two months of picking the young guys off at rest stops or on the side of the road and riding them good—just for the day or two to get them where they were going. No strings. No commitments.

Of course he never went out on the road to contemplate something more endearing with a guy like Tanner. He'd dodged a bullet there. He didn't even want to be here if Tanner dragged back in the middle of the night after a night on the Las Vegas strip.

It was still dark and Mack couldn't sleep. He'd bedded down just in his briefs, although he was still wearing the leather harness. He sat up in bed and looked at the clock. 5:30. Of course the café in the Flying J center would still be open. It never closed. He could get coffee and a breakfast there and be on the road by 6:15. He was south of Vegas, and I-15 went right through the middle of the city, parallel to the Vegas strip. He needed to be north of the city. His schedule had put him well north of the city at this time. It was a good idea to go through during the brief time the town slept. That's what he'd do. Screw Tanner and whatever might have been there.

He pulled on his jeans and his boots and shrugged into a flannel shirt. He didn't bother to button it, though. There were some other early birds in the café, but no one was awake enough to do more than nod to anyone else. His harness got a few strange looks, but there weren't any young hitchhikers out and about here this time of the morning. There were other older drivers who liked taking cock, and there usually was one sniffing around Mack looking for a screwing, but not this morning.

At 6:12 he was back on I-15, heading north. By 8:00 he was pulling out of the north end of Las Vegas and heading away from the city lights that never went out. It was 9:15 when he had driven seventy more miles and was approaching Bunkerville, close to where I-15 entered Arizona and took a small chunk out of the corner of that before entering Utah. A highway rest stop was coming up and Mack needed to take a leak, so he pulled into the truck parking area there.

As he always did, Mack sat in the truck and surveyed the area for a while before he went to the restrooms. Places like this were where he picked up his hitchhikers most of the time. The cops would pick them up if they stood out on the side of the road with their thumbs out these days. And there was one. A young guy with some Asian—Chinese or Japanese—in him, dressed in squared-away navy-blue trousers, a sky-blue shirt, and a navy-blue tie. His black shoes were all shined up. Mack had seen them before. Airmen. They were just slightly less begging for it than soldiers, although it was the sailors who craved cock the most in his experience.

The young guy was just standing there outside the heads, looking around. A duffel bag was on the ground next to him, with a navy-blue uniform jacket folded on top of it. The duffel bag was a sure giveaway of a hitchhiker. The way the guy was looking around for possible rides pulling into the rest stop—of which there were none other then Mack at this time in the morning—was another giveaway that he was looking for a lift.

Well, if he wanted it, Mack would give him a lift he'd never forget. He needed to get on with the schedule and wipe Tanner out of his mind.

When Mack started getting out of the truck and was standing there in the doorway, high off the ground, for a few seconds, dressed in his black combat boots and leather captain's hat, but still with his flannel shirt open, showing his magnificent musculature and the leather harness underneath, the young man gave him a good once over and stood his ground. Mack had been at this long enough to know who would take cock in these circumstances and who wasn't looking for it. This young guy—a good looker—would take it, Mack was pretty sure.

Of course he had to be more than pretty sure.

As he walked—strutted really—toward the restrooms, he made eye contact with the young man. The guy didn't look away. In fact, as Mack came closer, he spoke. "Nice truck you got there," he said.

"I like it fine," Mack answered, not stopping but slowing down.

"It's one of those trucks with a sleeper compartment behind it, isn't it?"

"Got that right."

"What are you hauling?"

"Christmas trees—fake ones, made in China—to Kansas City. You headed in that direction?" Of course he was headed east. These were the restrooms for the east-bound lane.

"I'm hitching to Denver, if I can—going home for the holidays. I'm Air Force, an airman stationed at Nellis Airbase." That was on the north side of Las Vegas. The young soldier hadn't made it too far out of Las Vegas yet.

"Denver's a long way from here," Mack said. He passed by the young man and went into the men's room. No one else was in there. No other vehicles were pulling into the parking lot yet.

"Yes, it is," the airman said to Mack's back. "Are you headed in that direction?"

Without answering, Mack entered the men's room and went directly to the urinals, unbuckling, unzipping, flaring his fly, and taking his beer-can-thick cock out. The airman came into the room and stood there, watching Mack piss into the urinal. Mack looked at the airman and smiled and the airmen smiled back. His eyes went to Mack's outsized cock. He'd already given the torso harness, the boots, the captain's cap, and Mack's musculature a good look. Mack wondered if he'd made the connection to Tom of Finland. He did seem to be begging for it.

"I'll be driving through Denver," Mack said. "I could give you a ride. But if I did, you'd have to ride this along the way." Finished with his business, Mack didn't stuff his shaft away yet. He stood there, with it showing in all its glory, lovingly cupping it with a hand. "Understand?" he added.

"Sounds like a good deal," the airman answered. "My name's—"

"Don't let's get into exchanging names," Mack interrupted. He'd already taken that route on this trip, and it had torn him apart. He only now recognized the truth of that—Tanner had torn him apart. "The first installment would be right here in the sleeper cabin of my truck," he said, jerking himself back to the business at hand. His hand now was still cupping his cock. "You can touch it," he said.

"Sounds great to me," the airman answered, reaching out and touching the thick ring in Mack's cock head. "I don't think I've ever—"

"You will now," Mack said, using his Tom of Finland voice—or the voice he associated with that character.

And, with that, Mack was back in the groove. He'd forget about any thoughts of going beyond the plan with Tanner just as soon as he notched a couple of more winter holiday hitchhiker lays on his chest harness.

* * * *

Mack woke up Christmas morning looking out of his bedroom window at snow falling. Snow had been given no chance of appearing down here at the lake level in Gunnison, although it had been falling up in the mountains ever since Mack had arrived home. He'd joined the others in the neighborhood at Ruth's the previous evening but had left early, worrying about what Red, the Irish setter, could be doing to his small Christmas tree while he was gone. It was a real one, and Red was a real dog, knowing what real trees were for.

Speaking of Red, he was whining to get out, and only then did Mack realize he'd slept for ten hours and that it was after 9:00. After 9:00 on Christmas morning and it was just him and Red. The haul back from Kansas City to Denver in an empty semi and then the drive home in his own car had taken all of the energy out of him. Or was it coming home to an empty doublewide—other than Red. Red had been ecstatic he was home, of course. Mack didn't know how much longer he could do this. There was another trip, though. Back to Long Beach to pick up another load, this time for Salt Lake City. The winter holidays were still in the swing. There would be sailors getting shore leave to go home for New Year's. Some would be Mormons. A few of those would be gay. He'd be Tom of Finland one more time this season. He'd pick up one of those sailors and then surely there'd be some young guy in Salt Lake City who needed a ride to Denver for New Year's and was willing to give a ride to get a ride.

He groaned as he rolled out of bed, pulled on a robe and put his feet into slippers. He paused long enough to start the coffee and then let Red out of the front door. The dog wouldn't go far from home. The snow had only begun to stick, but Red wasn't wild about getting his paws wet.

Mac went back to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and nosed around the Christmas cookies and cake Ruth had sent him home with.

Some fifteen minutes later, he heard Red barking, but not at the door, to be let back in, that Mack expected, but out toward the cul-de-sac circle. Putting the coffee cup down, he went to the door and opened it.

Red was out at the mailbox, jumping up and down on the young man standing out there, looking around like he wasn't sure which doublewide he was looking for. But he'd managed to get this far with what little he'd been told. Red wasn't jumping in attack mode; he was jumping for pets and ear rubs, and he was getting them. Red knew a good guy when he saw one.

Mack's first thought was that maybe he wouldn't be making that run to Salt Lake City in the coming week after all. Despite just being in a robe and his slippers, he started walking out toward the mailbox as Tanner noticed him and started moving toward him.