Driver Reliever

My legs were wrapped around his hips; my eyes were watering, and locked on his. And the driver reviver Tarzan was between my thighs, swinging me back and forth as I hung suspended, wrapped in the lianas trailing down from the jungle canopy high above us. He was swinging me so that his humungous dick sunk into me to the hilt on each swing forward, then nearly exited my channel on each swing back. I gripped his arms as his fingers grasped my burning nipples and I yelled, "Yes, yes. Deeper. Fuck me . . . Ohhhhhhh."

The image of being suspended high above the ground in vines with a hunky Tarzan, his feet wide-spread and clinging to branches of the tree, standing between my thighs and just swinging me back and forth on his stiff, long, thick prick was driving me wild. Him grunting at the exertion, his muscles rippling. Me helplessly entwined in the vines, begging him at first to slow down, to give me more time, not to thrust so deep and hold himself inside me to the root so long. Him laughing and thrusting deeper and rotating his hips, pressing me everywhere inside.

Then I'm letting out a long moan, arching my back, and giving in to him completely, crying to him now that I can't get enough of him. Bucking against him as he gets wilder and thrusts, thrusts, thrusts. His eyes capturing mine. Telling me that he can continue this almost endlessly, and he does. Bucking, thrusting, moaning, groaning.

"Yessssssssssss." I screamed, throwing my head back. My cream spouting into the steamy jungle atmosphere and landing on his arms and my chest.

We were making so much noise. Attracting the young, virile, nearby tribesmen. They are in the jungle, hidden, but touching themselves and each other as they watch Tarzan plowing me. And then, with his permission . . . .

My second visit to the driver reliever at the wayside rest stop was going even better than my first. All tension from the long drive on the busy highway had flowed out of me and I was ready to face the traffic once more.

* * *

I had heard the one about the hunks waiting inside what looked like an ordinary portable toilet at the driver reviver station at the end of the F3 freeway several times. In your dreams, I thought. And laughed each time. Hunks hung like horses and just waiting about for sex. Ha. But when Hank had told us about being there and seeing it, I had been thoughtful afterwards.

Hank has no imagination. Hank couldn't dream up a decent sexual fantasy if his life depended on it, let alone a gay one. Hank has never made any sign he might even fancy that sort of release. But Hank is also boringly honest. Which is actually one reason I like him. You can rely on Hank. If he says he will come over and help you build a fence at the side of the house, well he does.

So now we were off to Foster for a few days, me, the wife and the son and daughter in law. And it was Christmas school holidays, and we were going on Saturday morning so the driver reviver stations, where local service clubs provide free coffee and snacks for harried holiday traffic drivers at rest stops, would be in full swing. And we would be passing the one at the end of the F3 freeway, next to the big roundabout between the freeway's end and the Kurri road, where this urban gay myth was supposed to exist. So I would see. Which made me feel pretty idiotic; I mean it was a myth, what was I going to look for at the reviver station, some spaceship or something? And how was I going to look?

The daughter-in-law and my wife could talk all day, and the son in law was still always happy and looking dopey, as long as he was around his new wife. So leaving them with a free cup of coffee and some fruit cake from the Lions club van and going off alone to the line of portable toilets for fifteen minutes would be easy. I could then come back and tell Hank he must have been drunk, or dreaming, or probably both. Not that he was much of a drinker.

I was edgy all morning, and the traffic on the road slowing us down didn't help me to relax. Which was all pretty silly. All I was doing was getting tense because I was going to prove out a myth was just that, a myth.

We finally arrived at the end of the freeway, and my body relaxed, but my mind raced. At last, I thought, in a little while it will be over. There was a short queue of cars moving off into the carparking area and I followed them. It was busier than I remembered it from our last visit a couple of years before. The Lions van was set up in the middle of the open dirt area, its shutters up and a couple of queues lined up for their free coffee. I had trouble finding anywhere to park and the crowds milling about in the bright sunshine and heat made it look just like a market day, or a car boot sale.

And along the back of the rough dirt area, hard up against the bush that skirted the cleared parking area, was the long row of forty portable moulded fibreglass toilets. Their doors opened and banged closed regularly, up and down the line as people moved in and out of them.

We got out of the car and all headed over that way. And I did my first survey. The units all looked pretty much the same, but they did all have numbers on them, like Hank had said. Hank's story had been the most detailed, but then Hank could be quite anal at times.

He had said it was portable unit H093, and I started reading the numbers as I ran my eye down the line of portable units.

"Hurry up Neil," my wife said, as I stopped, and she bumped into me, "We don't want to be here all day, and there is a queue for coffee."

"You go ahead ,"I said, "I feel a bit queasy. I may be a while." I grimaced at her.

"You all right?" she flung over her shoulder, as she strode off.

"Fine," I said, to her departing back, "Probably just something I ate. Or sitting so long."

I resumed my survey of the units, H097 I saw, but they were in no order, the next was H006. Maybe it wouldn't even be here this time, I suddenly thought. Maybe it was somewhere else this holidays. I felt annoyed. I had come to prove this story was rubbish, and Hank never lied, so if H093 wasn't here I would be pissed off.

Then I saw it. There it was, third from the end, H093. It looked just like all the others. A guy stepped out and the door banged and I hurried towards it. But before I got there another guy came out and the door banged closed again. If I hadn't had my eyes on the unit the whole time, I would never have noticed. And I was still thinking that maybe I had blinked and the second guy had gone in and out super quick, and I hadn't noticed. Of course they could have been in there together. The most likely explanation I thought.

And maybe that was the real explanation, guys knew to go to H093, if they wanted some action when they stopped at the reviver station. So much for an urban myth I thought, as I neared the unit. Another guy dived up the step just in front of me, and flung open the door and disappeared inside. The door banged closed and I stopped, not sure what to do. As I was trying to decide another guy came out and seeing me almost ready to climb the step held the door open for me, with a big smile on his face. This was not the guy I has just seen go in. I stepped forward and said thanks and passed him and stepped through the door.

The door banged closed behind me.

It was true.

The naked man holding his hand out to greet me was hung, and hard and smiling. His black curly hair hung to his shoulders, his golden skin was flawless and covered a muscular body with black hair trailing up from a lush bush to a glossy dusting around the dark nipples that topped his well-developed pecs.

I think my mouth gaped. There was no fibreglass toilet unit to be seen; instead there was a small foyer, dark and moody, with the naked man waiting in it, just like Hank had said. But Hank had turned, and left in shock, and when he had turned back and opened the door again to check, there had just been the normal moulded toilet unit inside.

I wasn't leaving, though. I wasn't Hank.

"Would you care to make a selection sir?" the man asked me.

I nodded, still in shock. He waved an arm, and along the walls pictures of men appeared. They were live images of good-looking men of all ages—men sitting, lying, moving, waiting, and chatting in small groups.

"How much?" I asked, suddenly wary.

"Free, sir. This is an official driver reviver station, sir," my host answered politely. "We can take donations, but we don't charge, and you aren't obliged to donate," he added, smiling so he showed perfect white teeth and running his hands down his body and driving me wild.

"Are you available?" I asked in a weak voice.

"Me?" he said, moving a hand to his cock and stroking his thumb over the wet cap, teasing his slit as I watched. "Me?" he smiled and moved closer. "Of course, sir." He moved in and stroked his hand over my growing package.

"I don't have long," I said huskily, "The wife. Ten minutes." I wished I had come alone, as my hands moved to his body and began pulling him in for a kiss.

"Ah. Time, like space, means nothing here, sir," he replied with a laugh, and taking my hand he pulled me along a dark narrow passageway that ran off the foyer past an endless row of doors.

"Pick a door," he said, and I did.

I stopped and opened it and we stepped inside. Well, we fell more like, into some sort of desert ruins. Heat and sand and rocks, I felt the heat hit my skin like a force. My skin. I looked down, to see skin. And down my belly I saw my dick. No clothes, they were gone. The hunk came up behind me and was rubbing his own skin against mine, and I moaned and forgot all about free coffee.

His hand had plastered itself to my shaft and was stroking, while his mouth had met mine and I was digging into his with my tongue. His huge pole was rising up along my crack and lower back, and rubbing up and down as we kissed, and I moaned at his attention.

There were noises around us, and suddenly he was pushing me forward. As I collapsed across a fallen sandstone block, I saw them.

"Who . . . what . . . ," I gasped as he planted a big strong hand between my shoulder blades.

Half a dozen tall lanky black youths were standing in the shade of the ruins fondling themselves. The hunk was attending to my hole and opening me up as I watched them. They looked like identical sextuplets to me, all naked and hung, with identical cocks that were incredibly long, but thin and curved upwards. They were all probably longer than the cock standing to attention behind me and ready to fill the passage that was now being well prepared.

My cheeks were spread apart and a firm, experienced tongue was exploring my entrance, my rim already twitching in anticipation.

Then one of the tall youths lazily leant against a still-standing section of stone wall, and lifting his arms up, he gripped the top of the broken stone and arched his back. His curved erection moved about as the second youth moved in behind him. As the hunk began to push a finger into my entrance, the long cock of the second young man was pressed into the entrance of the stretched-out and arched young man leaning against the stone wall. The youth taking it wailed some primitive song as the dark curved manhood of his companion disappeared inside him.

I moaned loudly as the hunk worked another finger into my passage. Then he was turning his two fingers about inside me to stretch and open me, parting them to spread my rim. I moaned louder as the third youth came in behind the second one and began to feed his curved cock into the hole of the identical looking man before him.

"Yess," I cried, "Yessss," seeing the third youth's manhood entering the second one, and I spouted again and again, onto the sand.

The hunk behind me was between my spread thighs and pressed the head of his tool to my entrance, and as he withdrew his fingers from my passage, his cock head entered me and filled the open hole they'd left.

The three youths now sang some rhythmic chant, and on the high note, the three bodies moved in a wave, each withdrawing and plunging back into the man before him. The chant rose to a wail as the fourth youth moved up behind the third one, holding his long curved tool in his hand. The third youth spread his own cheeks in welcome, and the fourth cock slowly slid home, to a satisfied undulation and moan from the line of four black, glistening arched bodies.

The hunk had me skewered too now, and I was grunting and yelping and moaning, "Yes. Fuck me hard. Fuck me. Yes deeper, now, now," over and over.

The youths' chant continued, and the bodies swayed and moved in unison again, and there was another group howl. Then the fifth youth moved in, and again I watched, mesmerised as his long black cock impaled the man in front of him. The hunk was still plowing me deep and hard and I was rocking in time with him my belly rubbing on the bare rock with the strong sun on my back. And my dick was re engorging, the sight before me and the hunk behind me working together to drive me wild.

I watched the youthful line move back and forth again, and heard the moan in the chant getting stronger. Then it was the turn of the last youth, and he came in carefully and gave the hole he was to fill a brief tonguing before he entered it. He pressed his curved tool home slowly as the chant continued, and the hunk plowed my ass better than it had ever been plowed before.

Once the last youth was embedded, the line undulated and moved to the chant they were calling out. And again, and again it moved, swaying to the wild rhythm, and the hunk behind me was joining in, plowing me to the same rhythm, the chant just a collection of sounds to me but the rhythm driving me wild, till the hunk came deep inside me. Soon after, a great groan went up from the six youths as the line shook and jerked. Several of the sextuplets quivered and cried out as the line fell apart with spouting cocks appearing everywhere.

"Yess. Yesss," I cried, throwing my head back in ecstasy, and coming again.

I was pleased to know that Hank really was as honest as I had thought he was. And when I emerged from the portable toilets' door, what seemed like hours later, my wife thought I had been gone for minutes only and had a free coffee reviver waiting for me.