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The Hitcher, the Trucker and the Cop
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
UPLOADED TO EYE CONTACT BBS, SF 415-255-5972
The Hitcher, The Trucker, and The Cop
by
Charles Chessher
Scott Barnes thrashed about the 18-wheeler's sleeping quarters
like a fish out of water. "I'm getting close!" he warned.
The trucker, Hank Jones, a short, stocky man of about forty
was mat of black chest hair, slowed him his thrusts. The young
man's blond-haired butt was searing, his prostate ready to burst,
but Hank didn't want him to shoot just yet. Hank pulled his dick
back until it was almost out; then he moved it slowly back into the
kid's ass, driving it in all the way to the base. As their balls
slapped against each other, Hank reach down and twisted Scott's
tits. "You like Daddy's big dick in your butt?" he asked through
clenched teeth.
Scott would have done anything at this point to keep the
trucker's dick inside him. He was dying to shoot - and he knew Hank
knew it. "Yeah, Daddy, please. Fuck me hard," he begged. "Don't
stop."
Hank started ramming hard again, and by the third thrust Scott
passed the point of no return. He shot his load in heavy gushes
that covered his stomach, as well as the surrounding sheet, in
cream.
Hank slowed down to catch his breath. "Oh, man," he said, his
gaze still focused on Scott's throbbing peter, "that was quite a
load." His trusts picked up speed again. "I'm gonna fill you ass
with my cum," he promised. Just then his dick jerked inside the
young man's hole. He spurted again and again until the thick juice
began to seep around his tool and, finally, out onto the bed
covers.
Afterwards as he climbed down from the sleeping quarters into
the harsh Texas sun, Scott began to rebalance his perspective. Hank
had told him last night that the rest stop was just outside of a
town called San Marcos, about 150 miles from the coast. If he was
lucky, if rides came through as he hoped, he could be at the beach by
nightfall. Scott's main goal in hitchhiking to Texas was to bake away
any remembrance of the bitter Minneapolis winter. He hadn't bothered to
tell his folks when he left that he was halfway thinking about not
going back to college in the fall. They were upset enough by his
hitchhiking. Hell, he was twenty seven - "old enough to make my own
decisions." Over his mother's protests, he had walked out of the house
with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, a back pack, a hundred
bucks cash, and a determination to have the fling of his life. So far,
he hadn't been disappointed.
Scott waved good-bye as Hank pulled his rig out of the rest
stop and onto the service road. It had been fun, Scott thought, but
he had been glad last night when Hank told him the two were headed
in different directions. The last thing Scott wanted now was some
asshole trying to force a bad trip on his head. From his experience
so far, he knew he could find another ride - easy.
He stretched his tall, lithe body and slung his backpack over
his shoulders. He looked around and noticed that the other truckers
had left, too. He felt his peter, half hard with pee, brush against
his thigh. As he recalled last night's circle jerk with five
truckers and, later, his sex with Hank in the 18-wheeler's sleeping
quarters, his dick jerked into a full-blown erection. Damn, he
thought. How had he held all that beer for so long? He need to pee
bad.
As the sun beat down on him, he checked his bare chest. He
would have to put on a shirt before long. Like most blonds, he
tanned easily, but he hadn't had the chance to build up his
exposure yet, and he was leery of a painful burn. His brief, ragged
cut-offs would have to do, since he hadn't even bothered to pack
a pair of long pants.
Standing beside a picnic table, he started to pull out his
dick to pee, but he reconsidered when he looked down the sloping
knoll and saw the heavy traffic on the interstate. Besides, he
thought, he could use some cleaning up. He walked across the road
and into the restroom.
Inside, Scott walked up to the aluminum urinal and pulled open
his pants. HIs long, thick dick, still half-hard, fell to an
eighty-degree angle from his body. As the stream of golden piss
flowed into the urinal, he put his hands on his hips and admired
his tool. Just looking at it triggered a flow of blood, and his
bulbous, pink head pulled past his foreskin, restricting the flow
of piss. He had to look up at the wall, to think of something else,
to allow his dick to relax enough so that he could finish relieving
himself.
After he finished peeing, he turned around and walked to the sink,
which was on the wall opposite the urinal, and looked at himself in the
mirror. Considering that it had been a couple of days since he'd
bathed, he decided he didn't look half bad. Although his hair was a bit
limp, he was still presentable. Washing his face and brushing his teeth
would have to do for now.
As he searched through his backpack for a toothbrush, a car
pulled up just outside the door. A door slammed, footsteps
approached, and in walked a state trooper. Scott's heart raced. The
trooper, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, nodded and
walked over to the urinal, his legs wide apart. After unzipping his
pants, he had to lean over slightly to pull his dick out. Scott
noticed with a start that the trooper's tool was about two inches
longer than his own and that it was so big it took both of the
man's hands to hold it.
Scott was almost six feet tall, but the trooper dwarfed him. It was
hard to tell the man's age, but he was considerably older -
maybe forty-five, Scott guessed. He had broad shoulders,
and closely cropped black hair. Scott felt scared and excited at the
same time. He wished he could turn and walk out, but his feet were
glued to the floor.
As the trooper was shaking the last droplets off the end of
his dick, he turned his head around and looked at Scott.
Scott flinched. Could the trooper tell that he had been
watching him in the mirror? Why the fuck hadn't he walked out of
the restroom sooner? Scott moved down the wall and punched the
button on the blow dryer and stood in front of it to dry off his
face and hands. The trooper walked over and stood in front of him,
his legs spread apart, his feet balanced on the heels of his boots,
his arms folded across his stomach. Scott couldn't help but notice
the big dick outlined in the trooper's pants.
"Where you headed?" The lawman's voice was deep, but the tone
was friendly.
"Down the coast. Port Aransas. Maybe over to Corpus Christi."
Scott didn't want to appear nervous, but despite his efforts he
thought his voice quivered slightly.
The trooper absently reached down and scratched his crotch.
He readjusted his stance and brought his hand up and under his
chin. The chin was square, with a deep cleft in the center.
"Hitching rides?"
Scott was glad he had had the foresight to find out before he
left Minnesota that hitchhiking is not illegal in Texas. "Yep," he
answered honestly. "I'm out of school for the summer. I thought it
would be fun to come down here for a change."
The trooper nodded. "Do you have any identification?"
Scott pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed his
driver's license to the office, who looked at the license and then
back at Scott.
"Minnesota. You're a long way from home." He kept looking
directly at Scott. "Follow me to the car," he ordered. "I Have to
run a check on you."
When they got to the car, the trooper told Scott to get in.
Scott sat down on the passenger side, and the trooper got behind
the steering wheel and reached for the police radio.
"Headquarters, this is 128," he said dryly.
The radio crackled. "Come in, 128." It was a female
dispatcher.
"I need a run a license check. Last name, Barnes: "B" as in
boy, Andy, Ralph, Nancy, Earl, Sam, First name, Scott." He also
gave the dispatcher Scott's age, Social Security number, and place
of residence.
As headquarters ran the computer check, Scott fidgeted in his
seat. Sweat dripped from his underarms, and his stomach was queasy.
He prayed that he didn't have any outstanding tickets he'd
forgotten about back in Minnesota.
The trooper must have noticed Scott's concern. Turning toward
the young man, he smiled and reached over and put his hand on
Scott's shoulder. "Don't worry, Bud," he said. "You check out clean
and you don't have anything to worry about."
Scott managed a feeble smile.
The crackle of the radio speaker made Scott jump. "128, this
is headquarters. Over."
The trooper reached for the radio microphone. "This is 128.
Over."
"Negative on your check."
The trooper placed the microphone back on its clip and looked
at Scott. He smiled again and reached over and patted Scott's
shoulder. "I'll take you out to the highway." He started up the car
and headed for the entrance to the interstate.
As they passed through San Marcos, Scott began to wonder where
the trooper was taking him. Finally, he had to ask. "You gonna
leave me on the open road?"
The trooper laughed out loud for the first time. "Don't worry,
Scott. I'll take care of you."
Scott must have had a worried look on his face, because the
trooper laughed again and held out his hand. "The name's Clint,"
he said, shaking Scott's hand firmly. "You know, I have a personal
life out of this damn uniform. And I can tell you right now, Scott,
I'm mighty thankful that I'll be officially off duty in about ten
minutes."
A couple of minutes later Clint took an exit off the
interstate. At the bottom of the ramp he turned right onto a two-
land county road that weaved up the side of a small hill. At the
top of the hill he turned right again, onto a dirt road. A cloud
of dust followed the patrol car as he drove the 200 or so yards to
the front door of a mobile home. He stopped and turned off the
engine.
"This your place?" Scott asked.
"Home sweet home."
"I don't see any other houses around."
"I've got 200 acres here," Clint said, smiling. "Can't stand
to be closed in by neighbors. I thought you might like to come in
for a beer before I take you out to the highway." He got out of the
car and motioned for Scott to follow him into the trailer.
What the hell, Scott thought, following Clint. As they stepped
inside, the first thing Scott noticed was the heat. It was almost
unbearable.
Taking off his sunglasses, Clint leaned over the back of a
couch in the living room and flipped on a window air conditioner.
"Sorry about this damn heat," he said, turning toward Scott and
unbuttoning his uniform shirt, giving Scott his first look at the
trooper's eyes. They were a rich, deep brown, dark enough for a
gaze to bore through a person, Scott thought. "By the time we've
had a couple of beers, the place will be cooled down. In the
meantime, I'm gonna get into something more comfortable. Get us a
couple, will you?"
"Sounds good to me."
Clint went into the back of the trailer to change, and Scott walked
over to the refrigerator and took out two cans of beer. When he turned
around, he saw that Clint was now wearing only a jockstrap, and his
long boot socks. Scott felt a tingle in his crotch as he surveyed
Clint's body. It was a swimmer's body with the added bulk and dimension
of age. Thick black hair formed a T across his upper torso.
"Let's get comfortable," Clint suggested, motioning Scott
toward the living room.
Scott sat in an overstuffed chair next to the bar that
separated the living room and kitchen. Clint plopped down and
spread his legs wide apart in the middle of the couch directly
across the narrow room from Scott. He leaned back and took a big
gulp of beer. "Ah," he sighed, "nothing better after a day's work
than a good, cold beer."
Following Clint's lead, Scott took a long swig, and as the
warm glow settled in his stomach, he felt more relaxed. They talked
about the only thing they had in comment at the moment - the open
road.
"Been hitching long?" Clint asked after they'd had another
beer.
The alcohol, and Clint's relaxed attitude, had dissolved
Scott's apprehensions about the lawman. "Nah, not until this
summer. I had to get out of Minneapolis for a while, and being
short on cash, it was the only way."
"I know what you mean. Back in the early seventies, before I
got into the patrol, I did a bit of bummin' around myself. Hell,"
Clint said, grabbing the crotch of his jockstrap, "if I didn't get
this big thing sucked at least once a day I'd get mad as hell."
The thought of sucking Clint's cock made blood rush to Scott's
dick, and he adjusted himself in the chair to hide it.
Clint got up from the couch and walked over and sat on his
haunches beside Scott's chair. Looking directly into Scott's eye,
he reached up and fondled the young man's crotch. "You know," He
said, "I sure could use some of this." The he reached up and kissed
Scott on the lips. Scott returned the kiss, and he reached up and
played with the older man's tool, which, like his, was already
rock-hard.
As their lips parted, Clint stood up and took Scott's hand.
"Let's go back to the bedroom," he suggested, helping Scott from
the chair. "I think we'll be more comfortable back there."
In the bedroom, Clint stood facing Scott. His dark-eyed gaze
followed his hands as he reached under Scott's T-shirt and fondled
the young man's erect nipples. Then, in light strokes, Clint's big
hands followed the contours of Scott's body, down the lean, sinewy
torso with its tufts of soft, blond hair, to his washboard belly.
"Mmm," Clint hummed, his black eyes filled with lust, "I could
eat you alive."
Scott gave in completely as Clint's mouth reached for his.
Clint's long, thick tongue parted Scott's lips, and his hands
plunged down Scott's back and inside the seat of his cut-offs,
where they kneaded and rubbed the young man's melon-like buns.
Clint drew away from Scott slightly, reached down, and pulled
the T-shirt over the hitchhikers head. Then he unbuttoned Scott's
cutoffs, and when they fell to the floor, Clint stood back and took
in the beauty of Scott's naked body.
"Man, oh, man," he said, the glow of lust spreading across his
face and down across his chest, "have I got me a little stud this
time!"
Although he felt a little embarrassed by Clint's unrestrained
praise, Scott nevertheless reveled in it. He reached up and tweaked
the older man's tits and rubbed his hand across the mat of black
chest hair, and then followed the narrow line of hair that ran down
to Clint's flat belly. "The pleasure's all mine, believe me," he
said. Then, he pulled Clint to him. "It's my turn," he said as he
pressed his mouth against Clint's. Scott's tongue was the invader
this time.
As they drew apart, Scott reached down and pulled Clint's
jockstrap away from his bulging dick. Then, without saying a word,
he bent down and took the eight-inch dick in his mouth. As Scott's
mouth engulfed the warmth of the thick member, Clint let out a moan
of pleasure. Scott continued to slither back and forth across
Clint's pulsating dick. Finally, Clint reached down and pulled the
back of Scott's head toward him so that Scott could reach the base
of his dick.
After a few more deep thrusts, his hand fell from Scott's head
and he said softly, "Let's get on the bed. My mouth is hungry for
you, too."
As they fell onto the bed, face to face, Clint plunged his
tongue into Scott's mouth once again, and his hands went to Scott's
crotch. As they kissed, Clint explored Scott's throbbing cock and
big balls. Then he drew away and bent down to take Scott's dick in
his mouth, latching onto the fresh, young tool with the gusto of
a wino rimming a bottle of Night Train.
Scott started fucking Clint's mouth, lifting his butt off the
bed in rhythmic lunges that allowed Clint to take in every last
inch. "Oh, man," he said, thrashing his head from side to side on
the pillow, "that feels wonderful. Please, don't stop."
But suddenly Clint did stop.
Pulling himself to his knees, he drew Scott's legs apart and
got between them. "I can't let you go before I've had some of that
pretty ass." He reached under the bed for some K-Y and greased
Scott's butt. Then slowly he pushed his eight-inch rod into the
young man's quivering hole. "You're gonna love this," he promised.
As Scott closed his eyes and sank his head deep into the
pillow, Clint started pumping his tight ass in earnest. Clint
rammed his big dick in and out, in again and out - deeper and
deeper, harder and harder, faster and faster. Scott raised his legs
higher so Clint could plunge all the way to his prostate; then
Scott reached down and began pumping his own dick.
"Oh, man," Scott pleaded, his voice little more than a
whimper, "stick that big thing all the way in me. Do it - hard!"
Scott didn't want it to end - ever. But after a while, Clint's
voice broke through the rapture. "I;'m gonna come!"
As if Clint's words were the cue he needed, Scott came first.
He shot long, thick stream of cream all over himself and into
Clint's moustache. A split-second later Scott felt Clint pumping
his butt full of manjuice.
Satiated, for the time being at least, the two of them
collapsed face to face on the bed.
After a few moments of silence, Scott finally spoke up.
"Clint," he said sheepishly, "could we do it again - before I
leave, I mean?"
Clint smiled broadly and reached over and squeezed Scott's
half-erect penis. "Can't you young studs ever get enough?" he
asked, winking.
But before Scott could answer, Clint was greasing his own butt
with the K-Y. "It's your turn, Babe," he said. "How do you want
me?"
Scott's pole jerked with anticipation. He got to his knees on
the bed and began stroking his thick, seven-inch dick from its base
to its cobra-like head. When he pulled forward, his honey-toned
foreskin completely covered the head of his dick; when he pulled
back toward the base, the foreskin retreated with is hand,
revealing the shiny pink head with a deep piss slit in the middle.
"I want you to turn over on your stomach."
Without protest, Clint complied. As Scott was greasing the
lawman's hole with the K-Y, Clint looked back at the young buck who
was about to invade him. "Fuck me good," he demanded. The look in
Clint's black eyes let Scott know that Clint meant business. "I
want you to give me all you've got."
Scott felt compelled to give Clint what he wanted, and the
thought of having that kind of power over a lawman made his dick
as thick and stiff as he'd ever seen it. He pulled Clint's hard
buns apart and pushed his rod into the dark opening. "I'll give you
what you want," Scott promised as he pushed deeper. "You won't
forget this one."
As Scott pushed deeper, Clint dug his fingers into the pillow.
"Oh, man," he moaned, "that feels good. Fuck me hard, Babe."
Scott speeded up his thrusts, but he remembered to give Clint
every inch of himself. As he plunged deep into Clint's butt, all
the way to the base of his dick, their balls met. Then, before
pulling back, Scott twisted his dick slightly so Clint could get
the full effect of the thick veins that ribbed his tool.
Clint moaned with pleasure as Scott pulled backwards. Then,
so that he could pump his own took while he was getting fucked,
Clint pulled himself to his knees. Scott continued to lunge ever
deeper inside the lawman's tight hole. A few minutes later, Clint
looked back at him, a helpless look in his eyes, "I'm gonna come!"
As Scott fucked even hard, he felt Clint jerk. The load Clint
delivered was so powerful that his tool made a squirting noise
which each shot. The shots, as thick as jelly, splattered the
pillow and the headboard.
Scott reached up and twisted Clint's erect nipples. "This is
for you," he said as his body jerked forward into Clint's. He
filled Clint's hole with so much cream that it began to ooze out
and onto the bed. Finally depleted, Scott pulled his dick out and
fell back on the bed.
The next day, Clint had to go back to work and Scott was ready
to continue his trek to the coast. Clint left him on a stretch of
highway that seemed to stretch to infinity. Scott stuck out his
thumb and waited for his next adventure. He knew he wouldn't be
able to face another winter in Minnesota.
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