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Truck Me How I Like It

By J.D. Walker

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

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Copyright 2018 J.D. Walker

ISBN 9781634868075

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs |

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All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Truck Me How I Like It

By J.D. Walker

If this guy moves any slower, I might just kill him.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to keep calm. I’d promised Adrian Mitchell, my boss at ConcreteXpress, that I would watch my temper. But this dude was pushing it.

I’d had run-ins with him before, and they had almost cost me my job. The forklift operator just knew how to push my buttons. It was as though he existed to make my life hell.

At least I had the weekend to look forward to, it being Friday afternoon and all. My brother Joey was thriving at the treatment facility, and I would be visiting him on Saturday. I loved our new home, too. It was much better than the tiny apartment we’d been living in, which had been the cause of so much stress for him.

The past six months at the trailer park had been a slice of heaven. The residents were cool, and Adrian and his boyfriend Brandon Perez were kind to me. The best thing, though, was that Joey was finally getting the help he needed to deal with all the things that had happened to him in Afghanistan. My brother was getting his life back.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and the dumb fuck on a power trip was still only halfway through unloading the pallets from the flatbed. I sent a quick text to Adrian about the situation, then decided that enough was enough. If the guy didn’t hurry up, I’d miss my last drop of the day because the business would close soon.

I got out of the truck, locked the cab, and made my way to the management office, ignoring the smirk on the dude’s face as I passed him. Jesus, did he even shower? I could smell him from fifty feet away.

Just my luck, the manager who’d intercepted my altercation in the past with the idiot outside was coming out of a back room.

He stopped when he saw me and sighed. “Please tell me there isn’t blood on the pavement, Mr. Choi,” he said, his silvery gray eyes wary as he waited on my response.

“No, sir, Mr. Fontana,” I said. “But the operator is slower than molasses, and it’ll make me late if he doesn’t hurry up. Can you do something? I gotta get going.” I tried to keep the frustration in my voice to a minimum, but it was difficult.

The manager shook his head. “Shit.” He placed the stack of papers in his hands on a nearby desk and walked back the way I’d come in. “Let’s go.”

* * * *

Ten minutes later, the pallets were unloaded and Mr. Fontana signed off on the sheet. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

I opened the truck door, but before I got in, he stopped me. “Hold up,” he said. I stepped back and looked at him. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry you’ve been having problems with the deliveries lately, and with Buzz in particular.” So that’s the name of the moron on the forklift. Figures.

“Whatever. I’m just trying to do my job, you know?” I got into the cab and rolled the window down. “Thanks again, sir.”

“Anytime,” he replied, and smiled, a toothy grin that did something funny to my insides, for some reason. “You know, you can call me Paul, Derrick.”

“I might just do that in the future, Mr. Fontana. See you next time,” I said, ignoring his mild flirtation as I started the engine.

Paul stepped back and I watched him in my side view mirrors as I pulled out of the lot, his shoulder-length, salt-and-pepper hair blowing in the light breeze. Huh, who would have thought

I made it to my last stop right before closing, thank goodness. Sam, my regular off-loader was already waiting on his forklift, so it was a quick in and out. By the time I returned to ConcreteXpress, I was pretty exhausted, as well as covered in dust.

I cleaned out the truck since it was my last run of the week, and transferred all my equipment, bags and coffee mugs to my 2002 Subaru Legacy, Peaches. Don’t judge me. I like the fruit, is all.

Adrian was at his desk as usual when I entered the trailer office. I handed over the keys along with my paperwork.

“Everything work out okay with the stop you texted me about?” he asked, hanging the set in its customary spot on the board.

“Yes, it did. I found a manager to help me get that fucker to move his ass.” I ran a hand over the ponytail at the back of my head. “He has it in for me, and I don’t know why.”

“Who gives a shit? Maybe he’s just a miserable snot of a human being. Don’t let him get to you,” Adrian said, and leaned back in his chair. “You comin’ to the barbecue tonight? Brandon’s doin’ pork ribs.” The smile on his face was full of contentment, and I felt a twinge.

It wasn’t that I begrudged the man his happiness; it was just…I’d never had the time to pursue anything serious—with a guy or girl—though I wasn’t even remotely a virgin. What with Joey’s problems, our parents dying and trying to make ends meet, life had just been too complicated lately. Shit, I hadn’t even fucked my fist in months.

Now that things were leveling out, however, maybe I could start hooking up again. I might even get lucky, like Adrian, and find my soul mate, if there was such a thing. I’d start with a random fuck tonight, maybe.

“I’ve got plans, but thanks,” I replied. “I’ll stop by briefly on my way out, just to say hello to everyone.” I watched Adrian study me. He was a hard-ass but fair, and had done me and Joey a good turn, providing us a place to call home, and letting me keep my job after some major fuck-ups.

“Well, you know where we are if you change your mind.”

“That I do. See you,” I said and left.

* * * *

The club I chose that night was already packed when I got there at nine o’clock. It was a pretty open-minded scene, gays and straights mingling without any issues.

I found out a popular local band that always drew a huge crowd would be playing later. I squeezed through the men and women who were already in full party mode and made my way to the bar.

“Guinness, please,” I asked of the bartender, and leaned back to survey the crush. There were lots of prospects out there, and either sex worked for me. Tonight, however, I was in the mood for male companionship.

“Here you go,” I heard from behind me and turned to pay cash and tip the guy who handed me the bottle.

I was content to sit on my perch and observe the antics of those around me, when I heard a guitar being tuned. Focusing on the stage, I saw a tall and fit hunk of a man strumming the strings, his shoulder-length hair hiding his face as he bent over the instrument. I couldn’t make him out, but something about the way he moved was familiar.

The rest of the band rushed onto the stage seconds later, and the lights brightened over them as they began to play. Screams and shouts pierced my ears and covered my gasp when I recognized Paul Fontana, the manager who’d helped me out at work earlier, on stage. He played a mean guitar. I would never have guessed that in a million years.

I was in for a treat the rest of the night. The original songs were ear-splitting heaven, with a few covers thrown in that had the crowd frantic. The band was truly talented, every last one of the members good at his craft.

But Paul held my attention. I watched as he lost himself in the music, playing with his eyes closed and head thrown back as he made that axe sing. I could almost feel his fingers on me, making my skin hum and my dick seep.

My cock throbbed at the way he moved, like sex on a stick, which made me think that being fucked by him would make me howl. I hadn’t had such a strong reaction to a person in years. It didn’t matter that he was way older than me. He just made me want.

The band took a break after the first set, and the crowd was all over them as they tried to make their way to the bar. Just my luck, Paul ended up near where I sat and he ordered a gin and tonic, hold the gin.

I snickered at his request, and he looked over at me. His eyebrows raised in recognition. “Something funny, Mr. Choi?” he asked, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Why bother asking for the gin?”

“Eh, it makes me feel better to not have any alcohol in my system while I’m playing. I’ll make it up to myself later, once we’re done,” he said, and thanked the bartender for his drink.

“So you’re a musician, Mr. Fontana. It suits you,” I said, sipping the second beer I’d ordered while watching the band play. It would be my last one for the night. Driving inebriated was a dumb thing to do.

“It’s Paul. Why won’t you use my first name? We’re not at work, and even then, I wouldn’t mind. I think you know that.” He sat on the stool next to mine, ignoring the people who were trying to get his attention.

“Habit, I guess. And I’ll continue to do it, now, just because it bugs you,” I replied, grinning at him.

“I might have to spank you if you do,” he said, and winked at me.

My cock perked up even more at his words. “That right? Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I said, staring at him as I drank from my bottle.

Paul’s eyes zeroed in on the motion of my throat as I swallowed, and he licked his bottom lip. “You don’t know the half of it, my friend.” He finished his drink and checked the watch on his left wrist. “Gotta get back on stage. You’re sticking around, yeah?” he asked, and those bright orbs of his would have made me change my mind if I’d even thought to say “no.”

“I am now.”

“Good. This next set’s for you.” With that final comment, he squeezed my leg, stood, and pushed his way through the crowd to get ready to play again.

* * * *

By the time the show was done, I was harder than a motherfucking pole. Paul had played the hell out of every song; the suggestive movement of the axe between his legs and the thrust of his hips had me ready to blow by the time the band had exited the stage.

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