| It's a sunny spring day in Chino,
California as I put the last of my gear into my Honda Civic.
I give my mom, one last hug and pull out of the driveway. My
old man stayed in the house. He's pissed that I'm heading
out and thinks what I'm about to do is stupid, dangerous,
and low class. I waved good-bye as I head out and turn the
corner; a feeling of great sadness threatens to break away
to the surface but I hold it back, cau'z hard fuckin' core
punks don't cry. I open the window to let the fresh cool
morning air in. For once it isn't filled with smog or the
smell of millions of people that call the L.A. Metroplex
home.
The midnight blue Civic flies down the freeways at
redline to the terminal in Fontana. It's my first day on the
road and I don't want to be late. The guard at the gate
tells me to store my gear in the drivers' lounge and put the
Rice Rocket in the 4-wheeler storage lot. After throwing my
gear down, I park the racer under some trees and start to
cover her under the custom car cover. I pat her gently and
kiss her since I won't see her again for at least two
months.
When I get back to the main terminal I, head to
Driver-Check-In and find out that my trainer hasn't arrived,
yet. So, I'm told to wait in the drivers' lounge. By now
there are several drivers (Truckers) in the lounge watching
T.V., talking, or playing cards. When I open the door and
walk in the room literally stops. I'm 6'3" (actually 5"8")
with a green Mohawk, brown eyes, studded leather jacket with
spikes a blue shelve and a green shelve, Oxblood GripFast
Boots, green torn cammo shorts with patches of Rancid, the
Business, Oxymoron, Dropkick Murphys, plaid ass flap, and a
bid sneer on my face. Most of the drivers are stunned,
except one short dude who's sizing me up. I lock eyes with
him and the staring contest begins. He blinks first, but
gets the first word.
Shorty: I didn't know that they hired faggots at Werner
Express.
Punk: No thanks I don't suck tiny guys and I didn't know
that they hired carnies.
Shorty: Bastard
The dude rushed at me. So I rushed him. But, before we
could fight another driver quickly grabbed him. And two huge
drivers grabbed me before I could do something stupid. One
of then asked me why I was there, so I show them my
Commercial Driver's License (CDL) and company badge.
Shorty's friend took him out of the room while the other
drivers kept asking me about how I got my CDL. What school
did I graduate from and how many times did I take to pass
the three part licensing exams? I told them that I attended
a well known truck driving school and finished at the top of
my class and I past on my first try. They asked if my dad
was a driver which he wasn't. They kept asking me stuff
about the industry and I kept giving them the right answer.
The grilling kept going on and on. I didn't care, cau'z I
knew they were just trying to see if I knew anything about
driving a rig. After awhile they asked if I met my trainer
yet. I hadn't but I told them his name was Tyler McGraw.
An older driver told me that he sort of knows Tyler
McGraw. "He's originally from Dallas, Texas, but now based
out of Fontana Terminal. 'Been with the company 'bout ten or
eleven years. Tyler goes by the handle Skin Hauler and he's
a good trainer, hell he was in my training class for
trainers. He's tall and has a shaved head usually wears just
undershirts, military boots and jeans. He's a big
motherfucker. He drives a brand new 1998, Werner Blue,
Freightliner Classic XL, with a Detroit diesel engine. Tyler
don't speak much, keeps to himself. Heard he's got a temper.
Some driver told me that at the Pilot (truck stop) next to
Dallas Terminal some queer went up to him and asked if he
was a "Good Buddy". Tyler knocked the queer out with one
punch and yelled that he hates god damn queers. Some lot
lizards (prostitutes), guess they were friends of the queer,
end up putting him in a four wheeler and driving off.
N'other time three punks (gangers) tried to mug him at a
rest area. Heard from uh J.B. Hunt driver that he took 'hem
all down. Almost got arrested when a full grown bear (fully
marked Highway Patrol) pulled into the rest stop just as he
was beating down the last punk. Good thing J.B. Hunt was
there as a witness and 'hem boys had warrants out."
I ducked out to go take a piss as the drivers start to
tell each other there favorite Skin Hauler stories. I was
washing my hands when another driver heard I was Skin
Hauler's new student driver. In a low voice he told me to be
careful when I go out on the road with Tyler. He said that
he heard that Tyler does usual things. He said that one of
his sons was a punk and was surprised that I would want to
drive a truck, since his punk son doesn't like big trucks.
Actually it was his first time that he's ever seen a punk
rock trucker. He told me his handle was Blue Knight and his
other boy wants to drive rigs when he turns 21. He wished me
luck and to be safe and be careful around Skin Hauler.
When a got back to the lounge the first thing I noticed
was that there was a huge 6'2" skinhead standing in the
middle of the room. I think he was about 240 to 250 lbs, but
it was all muscle. He was clean shaven on his head and face,
he also had blond eyebrows. He wore a clean bright white
wife beater, bleached blue Wrangler Cowboy Cut jeans, and
polished black Doc Martens. He was built with huge cannon
like arms, a smooth barrel chest with an American eagle
tattoo across it. His legs were bulging out of his tight
jeans, but I couldn't help but notice the huge bulge between
his legs. As he turned around we locked eyes and he grinned
at me. His eyes quickly flashed up and down my toned 180lbs
body. I felt an odd feeling come over me for some reason I
felt a strong attraction to the skinhead. It was the same
feeling I got when I first met Lisa, my recently deceased
wife. I'm not gay. It was probably just because he was the
first Driver to actually smile at me. I quickly scanned the
room but no one seemed to notice the odd looks we gave each
other.
We walked toward each other and introduced our selves.
The skinhead was Tyler McGraw (35 years old) and he smelled
like a brand new shirt. He quickly scanned the room and
asked if I was ready to go. I nodded and he helped me gather
up my duffle bags and gear and we walked out to his truck.
It was a beautiful new freight shaker, with dual chrome
stacks and bumper. It was clean and polished and stood out
among all the other company trucks. Tyler unlocked the door
and climbed up. He told me to hand my shit up to him. He
threw everything into the back and told me to climb up on
the driver's side. He stood up between the passenger seat
(second chair) and driver's seat (first chair) while he
showed me the various controls, dials, instruments, and
switches. Seating up high in first chair I felt like an
airplane pilot. Tyler brought out the onboard computer
called QualComm (Quail Call). He handed me the keyboard with
its built-in grey scale four data line screen. He put his
hand on my shoulder and leaned in close. He explained how
Quail Call work and how to retrieve messages, such as Load
information and the log book function. His breath smelled
like Listerine and crest, I could also smell Old Spice and a
small hint of his musky body odor. I looked up at him and
our eyes locked again. His bulge grew a little and we stared
deeply at each other for a few forbidden seconds.
Tyler's hand started to rub my shoulder then moved its
way up to my hawk. He was stroking it slowly while
continuing to explain Werner Express procedures. I looked up
at him again and he leaned in closer his face was only two
inches from mine. His deep blue eyes were filled with lust
and passion. I couldn't help but stare into them. His eyes
said he wanted to kiss me and his hand started to rub the
shaved part of my head. An air horn went off and he bolted
up and away from me with a look of discuss and honor on his
face. I started the rig up and Tyler quickly wrote down the
load information into in mini notebook.
Tyler had me practice driving the bobtail (tractor
without trailer) around the yard. Then he had me drive the
tractor over to the loaded trailer parking area. After
driving around the lot we found the trailer that was loaded
with merchandise for Target Stores Distribution Center in
Phoenix, Arizona roughly 350 miles away. I back up part way
under the trailer. Tyler climbed out and checked the paper
work, then he handed me the paperwork and told me to hook up
the trailer. He had me practice driving the trailer around
the lot and practice backing up the trailer, since we had 10
hours to make the delivery.
We exited the yard and updated the electronic log books
on Quail Call. Tyler told me how to get on the big road
(motorway with no toll). As we pulled onto Interstate 10
East, I missed a gear. I accidentally skip three gears and
lugged the engine, however, since we were going down hill on
the Cherry Avenue onramp I was able to gain speed by using
gravity plus our weight. I quickly down shifted and caught
the right gear and quickly recovered. I accelerated smoothly
and merged with mid day traffic. We drove for 30 miles with
in silence until Tyler broke the ice.
Tyler: Damn boy, you sure handle this rig pretty damn
good for a rookie.
Punk: Thanks
Tyler: Nice recovery on the ramp, I almost was gonna say
something but ya recovered before I could correct it. Hell
my last student did that his first day and I had to take
over.
Punk: Thanks
Tyler: How old are you?
Punk: 22
Tyler: Shit man, you're just a young dog.
Punk: Yup.
Tyler: Where ya'll from?
Punk: Chino
Tyler: Favorite band?
Punk: Rancid
Tyler: Hell you drive like there's diesel in your blood.
Your daddy or momma a driver?
Punk: Nah.
Tyler: What do they do?
Punk: He's a bank manager for Wells Fargo and she works for
a software company in Orange County
Tyler: Fuck 'bout time I got more than one word outta ya. So
ya'll rich kid pretending to be poor?
Punk: Nah, they're rich. I'm a former warehouse worker who
just wants to get away from California.
Tyler: I saw the ring on your hand. So, uh are you divorced
or
Punk: She died in a car accident. She's the only reason why
I stayed in California. Hell I figured that being on the
road and away from everything would be better
Tyler: Yeah the road does that. Next thing ya know ya'll be
out here for the rest of your life. Hell, boy I'm originally
from Dallas ain't seen my parents for the last ten years.
Punk: Why?
Tyler: They didn't like the fact that I'm g-
a SKINHEAD!!!!
Punk: Yah, my parent hate that I'm a punk and they didn't
really like Lisa at least until I married her. Hell my
father thinks I should've stayed with them instead of
driving a truck. Shit he thinks that truckers are the
problem for all traffic problems. Hell that ain't fuckin'
true. Hell, a trucker pulled her out of her burning car
after an SUV crashed into her. Fuckin' god damn Californians
they can't drive in the rain.
Tyler: Yup, that sucks dog. Uh ..but at least there's a lot
of cute pussy in California.
Punk: Yah, dude. So, is your dad or mom a Driver?
Tyler: My daddy's a driver. Momma stayed at the house to
watch all six of us kids. As the oldest I became the man of
the house when he was gone. Back in those days, women didn't
drive and daddy was gone for months at a time. My old man is
probably still driving. Two of my sisters and all three of
us boys drive. Plus grand daddy, great grand daddy, an' most
of my uncles an' one aunt or two all drive, except, I'm the
only skinhead in the family. Got any siblings?
Punk: Ya, I got a sister and brother they're both in college
right now. I'm the black fucking sheep, cauz I didn't go to
college.
Tyler: Yup, I didn't go, but the youngest named Katy did and
she's a doctor. Small hill up ahead might have to drop a
gear or two.
I had to drop one gear in order to clear the small hill
west of Beaumont. We traded life stories and connected with
each other. The trip across California was pretty much
uneventful. We stopped at the Flying J in Ehrenberg just
after the Arizona border and weight station to piss and
stretch our legs. The girls behind the counter shamelessly
flirted with Skin Hauler when he paid for his soda. The
other truckers would stare at my hawk and the tourists
avoided me. I got back into first chair and we rode the rest
of the way to Phoenix.
We arrive two hours early and dropped off the trailer at
the Target Stores D.C. They did have an empty Werner Express
trailer, so Skin Hauler had me send in the unloaded and no
trailer message. Dispatch didn't have a load available until
tomorrow, so Skin Hauler send in a message saying we were
going to bobtail to the Flying J Truck Stop instead of
Phoenix terminal. Dispatch said okay since the trailer won't
be ready until 16:00 and the Flying Hook was close to the
shipper.
Skin Hauler told me to take second chair. On the way to
the Flying Hook we stopped at a liquor store. Skin Hauler
told me to wait with the rig and climbed out. Five minutes
later he was back with a large brown bag. He had a wicked
smile on his face and told me to look in the bag. I found a
bottle of whiskey and a 12 pack of beer. I looked up at him.
Stone faced he told me not to say anything about the alcohol
to anyone, cau'z we could lose our jobs and licenses. Hell,
we got almost 20 hours of downtime ahead so we could hang
out and drink. When we get to the Flying Hook and parked in
the crowded lot. We updated the logs and did a second
vehicle inspection (Skin Hauler did the first one that
morning before he picked me up). Skin Hauler has me take off
my boots and I walk into the sleeper part of the rig. It's a
70-inch (length excluding cab length), high roof sleeper so
I don't have to bend over. Skin Hauler joins me and has me
stow my gear into the cabinet below the TV/VCR combo on the
starboard side of the rig. I pulled down the upper bunk and
threw my sleeping bag and pillow on top. Skin Hauler puts
the booze in the fridge on the port side. He hops onto the
bottom bunk which is made into a bed and puts in a video. It
takes me ten minutes to unpack. We go inside the J and eat a
quick dinner, use the bathroom and come back out to the
Freightliner.
We take our boots off, since Skin Hauler doesn't want
dirty shoes making a mess in the back of his rig. He closes
the curtains and puts in a video. He grabs the bottle of
whiskey out of the fridge. I start to climb up to the top
bunk when Skin Hauler tells me its okay to sit on his bunk
while we watch Suburbia (the Penelope Spheeris film from
1983). Skin Hauler sits down next to me and we pass the
bottle back and froth. After the bottle is drained we start
on the 12 pack. During the scene were Shelia is found dead,
Skin Hauler puts his muscular and slightly sweaty arm around
my head and on my shoulder. At first I'm shocked, so I just
freeze. But, after awhile I start to notice his smell. It's
a semi-sweet mix of his body musk and old spice. He holds me
tighter as the film rolls on. I put my hand on his knee and
he puts his hand on top of mine. Slowly he moves my hand up
his leg. It's getting hotter in the Rig and we have the AC
blowing at full blast. Skin Hauler moves my hand onto his
bulging groin. I nearly jump out of his arms but he's got a
death grip on me. He moves my hand up and down. I could feel
his huge dick straining against his jeans. He moans softly
and closes his eyes.
The film ends and Skin Hauler opens his eyes. He looks
down at my hand and we look into each others eyes. I stared
into soul as he stared into my own soul. The Detroit Diesel
engine purr into the night as Skin Hauler breaks his gaze
for just a moment to turn off the T.V. He kisses me hard and
forces his tongue deep into my mouth. With our lips locked
he starts to roll me around on his bunk. I could taste his
dinner, the whiskey, and beer on his breath. Our hands start
to run up and down each other bodies. He grinds his crotch
against my ever growing bulge. My stomach is churning and my
heart is pounding. I'm sick and disgusted with myself. It's
the first time I've ever kiss a guy and I feel torn. I love
women, but there's something about Tyler that I just can't
resist. I suddenly push him off of me.
Skin Hauler leans in close again and those blue round
lusty orbs suddenly turn cold. He looks at my face and
quickly hauls me up to my feet. There is fire in his eyes
and he looks like he wants to either fuck me or beat the
living shit out of me. He punches me in the face and I fall
back onto his bunk. He jumps onto me and hits me a few more
times. I start to get mad, so I land a clean hit to his
face. It stuns him for a second. I push him off of me and
knock him into the opposite side of the sleeper. Skin
Hauler's a big man so he lunges at me again. We yell and
wrestle with each other. I rip his wife beater off. He rips
my shirt, and eventually pulls it off of me. The tractor is
rocketing violently, I swear it's gonna flip over.
Skin Hauler pulls my pants off and I pull his off. He's
wearing blue striped boxers and I'm wearing FTL tighty
whities. I've got a hard on and Skin Hauler's got an even
larger hard on. He jumps on me and rips the white briefs off
of me, exposing my cut four inch prick. Yeah I'm kinda of
small, so fuckin' what. I pull off Skin Hauler's boxers and
his eight and a half inch uncut dick flops out. The
wrestling intensifies as we see each other naked (aside from
our socks). He tries to pin me, but I keep slipping out of
his holds since I'm covered in sweat. Every time I get him
into a hold he over powers me and breaks out. Precum is
dripping out of our cocks and is getting all over the place.
He pauses for a moment to rub his large hands all over my
six pack abs. I run my hands over his eight pack and we lock
eyes again. We reek of sweat, precum, and booze. He lunges
at me again and the rig squeaks and groans as we try to hurt
each other.
There's a loud knock on the door and someone is trying to
yelling above the engine. We both freeze and the rig stops
rocking. Skin Hauler cruses and he quickly pulls on his
pants. I can't find my shorts or tighty whities, so I
scramble into the top bunk. I make it into my sleeping bag
as Skin Hauler cracks the window a little and peeks out of
the curtain.
A Flying J security guard asks if everything is alright
and if we need help or something. Skin Hauler talks to the
guard for awhile and he eventually leaves after telling him
that a few other drivers were complaining about the noise
and motions to the Fuel Desk. He leaves and Skin Hauler
leans further out of the window. I look out the upper buck
windows as another Werner Express bobtail pulls in next to
us. Skin Hauler knows the driver, so they start to talk to
each other. I'm feeling the effects of the alcohol and drift
off to sleep.
A soft moaning awakens me and a listen for a few minutes.
I can hear the sound of Skin Hauler beating off. Without
making a sound I peer over the edge. Skin Hauler is only a
three feet away from me and laying naked on top of his bunk.
His eyes are closed in ecstasy. His right hand moves slowly
up and down his long shaft. He strokes his dick head and
cups his twin golf sized balls. His left hand has my white
FTD briefs. He brings them to face and sniffs. His dick
grows another half inch. He's got a full nine inch cock. I'm
sickened by the sight of him as he pleasures himself with my
underwear. Yet, at the same time I turned on by the sight of
him. I lean back and listen to him jack off. I fade into
sleep again.
The next day I have a strong hang over and I check the
clock. It's almost noon. Skin Hauler's asleep in the lower
bunk. I carefully climb down out of the upper bunk without
making any noise. I start to look around the small cabin for
my clothes. It takes me a minute to realize that they're
neatly folded on the second chair. The air in the sleeper
smells like sweat, the faint odor of cum, booze, and the dry
smell that an A/C running all night produces. My briefs are
missing for the pile, but I feel odd stand naked in the
sleeper. I pull my shorts on and decide to free ball it 'til
I could get a shower. I get dressed quickly and start to
pack a small shower bag. Skin Hauler wakes up as I'm putting
a pair of red and grey striped Hanes into my shower bag.
Skin Hauler smiles at me and climbs out of the bunk wearing
his boxers. I sit in second chair as he dresses and gets his
shower gear ready. He doesn't seem to have a hang over.
After his bag is packed we go inside and go to the drivers'
lounge to the J-Point redemption machine. When ever a driver
fuels his rig he or she earns points that are tallied onto a
magnetic card. Every 75 gallons of fuel earns the driver a
shower, a drink, one point for every gallon (1 point equals
1 cent to be used in the restaurant), and with 220 gallon
tanks the points build up fast. However, Skin Hauler only
has one shower left on his card, so he says we're gonna have
to share.
Skin Hauler looks around and notices that the lounge is
empty, since its mid day and most drivers are getting
loaded, unloaded, or hitting the road. A computerized female
voice announces that are shower is ready. He leads me to the
back of the building and down a series of corridors to the
last shower in the building. It's deserted back here as I
glance around the corridor. Skin Hauler enters the code into
the electronic lock and quickly slips in. He pulls me in
quickly after checking the corridor again. That's when I
realize that it's not normal for two grow male drivers to be
sharing a shower. My pulse quickens and my stomach starts to
churn. That sickening feeling comes back and after he locks
the door, Skin Hauler kisses me on the lips. I'm disgusted
with him and myself, yet I can't help but react to it.
His tongue slips down my throat and I taste him. I look
into his lust filled eyes and his hand grabs my ass. I moan
and grab his ass. He rubs mine and I rub his. His hand slips
to the front of my shorts. He slips his hand down my shorts
and fondles my balls. Next he starts to stoke my cock. His
hand expertly massages my four inch shaft and I moan and
groan. Precum starts to stain my shorts; I'm about to climax
when Skin Hauler stops. We break away from each other and
tear each ours' clothes off. He rips my shirt off and I rip
his shirt off. As we continue ripping clothing off our hard
bodies I finally notice the shower room. It's actually kinda
of nice and clean. The shower is large and takes up a third
of the room, a mirror takes up the whole wall, there's a
toilet and large sink area, with two towels, a washcloth,
and soap (later, I would learn that not all truck stops are
this nice).
When Skin Hauler is down to just underwear I look at the
mirror and flex my arms. Skin Hauler turns on the water and
grabs my biceps and says, "Damn that's nice, but check this
out." He flexes both his 23 inch arms. I grab his left arm
and whistle. I pull his boxers down, he steps out of them
and steps into the shower. I join him. He drops to his knees
and sucks my prick as the warm water cascades off his rock
hard body. I like the feel of his tongue and teeth as moves
up and down my short shaft. I look down at him and I feel
repugnant at what he's doing, but a small part of me is
excited. I shoot a load of cum into his mouth and he
swallows it. The next burst lands on his face. The third
lands in his mouth and the rest lands on his chest. He wipes
it with his hands and licks it all up.
He stands up and I go down on him. His dick is a huge
nine inch snake. I can barely get my mouth around it. Skin
Hauler tells me what to do because I've never given a blow
job before. I'm clumsy and I can't take his whole dick down
my mouth. I choke and gag a few times. Skin Hauler grabs my
head with both his hands and guides me up and down his
monster shaft. I move faster and faster. I tried not to let
my teeth cut his penis, but I left a few marks and Skin
Hauler moaned whenever I accidentally cut him. I felt like a
dirty bastard.
It took awhile, but Skin Hauler shot a load of cum into
my mouth. I gagged and coughed. His cum tasted like bleach
and salt I felt like puking my guts out. I had to wash my
mouth out bad. I tried to get up, but Skin Hauler held me
down and shot cum all over my face, now limp hawk, and
chest. He told me to lick and swallow his cum. I couldn't do
it I told him I had to puke. He released me and I crawled to
toilet. I threw up until all I could do was dry heave. Skin
Hauler called me a virgin bastard and cleaned himself up.
When I finally finished I got back into the shower and
cleaned myself. I wanted to stay in there all day, cau'z I
felt dirty. Skin Hauler told me to hurry up and to meet him
in the restaurant. He ducked outta there. I finished up my
shower. When I looked in the mirror that morning I felt that
I looked a little different. I think I had the same look in
my eyes that queers have, but it only lasted for a second. I
ain't no queer. I'm a tough bastard, but no way am I a
fuckin' queer.
I got dressed quickly, and noticed that Skin Hauler left
a tip for the shower attendant. I cracked open the door and
noticed that the corridor was still empty. I ran out of
there and down the hall. I figured it would be suspicion if
I ran across the lounge and store, so I slowed to a walk. I
didn't make eye contact with anyone and I keep getting the
feeling that they were all watching me. Even though my hawk
was down and I'm just wearing a band shirt and shorts. My
punk gear was in the tractor. I found Skin Hauler at a booth
and we ate quickly. I almost lost my lunch a couple of times
on the way to the rig. Skin Hauler told me to wait in the
rig while he did the morning vehicle inspection.
Skin Hauler drove to the shipper checked in and was told
that the trailer wasn't ready yet, so we had to wait a few
hours. Skin Hauler was driving under my I.D., since rookies
aren't allowed to drive at night for the first 14 days. As
we were waiting, we started to talk.
Skin H: What the fuck is wrong with you?
Punk: Nothing, well just a little hung over..
Skin H: You sure.
Punk: Yah, but fuck
Dude I ain't no fuckin' faggot.
Skin H: I ain't neither.
Punk: Hell Yah. Nothing happened right?
Skin H: Nothing happened. Fuck, don't give me that look.
Punk: What look?
Skin H: That same look you gave me when we first met.
Punk: I ain't lookin' at you asshole.
Skin H: Good. Cu'z dude if anyone sees you staring at me 'r
sees us doing what ain't thair business. We'll be dead.
Punk: What, dude it's almost a new century there's laws
against fag bashing, and fuck we ain't some pussy gap
wearing West Hollywood faggots. Hell there ain't even a "we"
or nothing.
Skin H: Damn motherfucker, the rest of the U.S. ain't like
Cal-Damn-for-I-a. Most of the "Good Buddies" out here are
just faking it. Fuck dude, last week they found two Werner
drivers dead in OKC. Official, they was beatin', stabbed,
and robbed. That ain't fucking true they were fag bashed to
death and stabbed after they were stiff. I ran back door
with them a few times. They were obviously fags and proud.
Hell they put a rainbow on their door, dumb bastards. Other
truckers probably did it, cau'z they were found away from
their rig and someone went through the rig and removed their
gay pride shit. The west coast might be in the 21st century
already, but fuck; the rest of the U.S. is still in 1970
something. So, don't be fuckin' stupid dog.
We sat in silence, until one of the yard dogs (drivers
who move trailers around the warehouse all day) came and
told us to come into the office. The trailer is ready early.
We go into the office and pick up the paperwork. I try to
take first chair, but Skin Hauler tells me to take second.
He drives to the door where our new trailer is sitting. We
hook up to it, pull forward, close and seal the door, catch
up the logs, and are out of there in fifteen minutes. I look
over the paperwork and check the maps. We're headed to
Watertown, Massachusetts just west of Boston, Ma. It's about
a couple thousand miles give or take. We catch I-10 east
until I-17 and head North we just barely missing Phoenix
rush hour. I steal a few quick glances at Skin Hauler and
settle back into the comfortable air ride seats. Skin Hauler
throws some Dropkick Murphys into the CD player and we ride
across the desert.
As we climb the hills and mountains on I-17 North, I
watch the scenery flow by the windshield. The engine gives
off a hypnotic and intoxicating vibe. The sun sets a little
lower and I can't help, but stare at Skin Hauler as he
drives the rig. His forearms bulge a little as he guides our
rig down the road at a steady 69 miles per hour. Normally
the governor kicks in at 65, but Skin Hauler tweaked her to
do 69. He's covered in a light layer of sweat since the A/C
is off and the windows are down. His left arm is darker than
his right arm and I wish I could hold him right now. He
looks at me every now and then and licks his lips. His
crotch bulges. But, we got a job to do and can't do anything
about it. The rig, the trailer, and cargo on board come
first. So, we ride on, turned on, and completely sexually
frustrated.
Six weeks later I would have to get off of Tyler McGraw's
truck. It's the end of my training period and I have to
drive solo for six months, until I prove that I'm a fully
competent driver. At the end of six months Werner Express
can decide to keep me on as a driver or fire me. But, I also
have the option to switch division, by choosing one of three
divisions, Reefer (refrigerated trailers), Flatbed, or Dry
Van. They are divided into different categories:
International, 48 State OTR (Over-The-Road), Regional (pick
one of 6 regions), Dedicated (same route, home daily or
weekly), or Team Driving (two drivers one fuck, err Truck).
Team Driving is available for all divisions, however there
are three categories: Team Werner Premium Express (highest
paid, 75 mph tractors), Team Driving (normal teams), and
Training (student and trainer).
Sadly, Tyler and me are gonna have to say good bye to
each other at least for a few months. But, for the moment
things seem pretty damn good. It's only our second day
together and we're just cruising down the big road in a big
beautiful blue Freightliner Classic XL. I light a cigarette
and Tyler takes it out of my mouth. I light a second
cigarette and we smoke while the warm fresh Arizona air
enters the cockpit. The sunset paints the world red, yellow,
and orange. Tyler smiles at me, rubs my limb hawk and says
it doesn't get much better than this. I agree and crank the
music up the highway is wide open and the road is unknown.
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