Chapter 2

Dancing in place, Aaron looked up at Ben, hoping the big trucker was coming down and wouldn’t be abandoning him and driving off while he was taking care of business.

“What are you waiting for? The facilities, such as they are, are back there.” Ben pointed to a building behind his rig.

Aaron turned, biting his lip, his pee-pee dance ever more frantic. About fifty yards away stood a low, single-storey, cement-block, graffiti-scrawled building that had certainly seen better days.

Aaron was about to ask Ben if he’d wait, when the man said, “I should probably drain my tank, too, while we’re here. Don’t want you getting lost, this being a strange country to you and all.”

Despite having lived and worked in the States for over a year, Aaron hadn’t lost much of his cockney accent. Many Americans mistook him for Australian, however. Looking up at Ben, he said, “My knight in shining armour, wanting to protect me from all the big, scary bandits who’d raid the bogs while I was weak and defenceless with my trousers down.”

“Yeah, right.”

Aaron hadn’t known Ben long but already felt a connection to the guy, which he was sure went beyond the physical.

Aaron watched Ben expertly heave himself out of the cab, lock the door, and move down the steps. Aaron took in the worn cowboy boots, faded Wranglers, red and black checked flannel shirt, and blue baseball cap. His eyes sank back to Ben’s full, round and oh-so-edible arse. For such a big man, Ben walked with effortless grace, like a grizzly bear, Aaron mused.

Aaron wanted to rush up and give the big man a hug. Even though there was no one else around, this was the South, and Aaron sensed Ben wouldn’t be comfortable with public displays of affection. Reading between the lines of their earlier conversation, Aaron seriously doubted Ben had received any affection, public or otherwise, in a long time.

“Thought you were desperate to go? Ben asked, turning around from several feet away and regarding Aaron with a bemused expression.

“Uh, yeah,” Aaron said, snapping himself out of his musings. “Was just admiring the view.”

Ben laughed, but it was without humour. “Nothing to look at. This park used to be pretty nice but the druggies and guys out cruising moved in. The cops come by every so often, but…” He shook his head sadly.

Aaron chose not to correct Ben’s assumption as to what scenery Aaron had been looking at.

As they walked down the side of Ben’s rig, Aaron having to take three steps to every two of Ben’s, Aaron observed, “Wow, didn’t realise you were so tall.”

Ben shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yeah, lumbering lummox, that’s me.”

Aaron frowned and was going to correct Ben, but decided it would be better to change the subject. “What’re you hauling?” Aaron was sure Ben had already told him, but he couldn’t remember.

“Lumber. From Tallahassee. Taking it up to Maine.”

“You live in Maine.” Aaron was sure Ben had told him that.

“Yup.” The big man nodded.

They’d reached the outer door of the toilet block by this point, and Ben, gentleman that he was, held it open for Aaron.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” Aaron wrinkled his nose at the hot, humid stench of stale piss. “God, what a pong!”

Ben chuckled. “It was either here or in the woods.”

Aaron would have asked if bears pissed as well as shit in the woods, but he needed to do the former too desperately.

The urinal was an ancient and battered galvanised trough. Aaron didn’t care about how primitive the facilities were, he was just relieved to reach them before pissing his pants. He pulled down the tab of his zip, fished out his dick, and began squirting almost before he’d taken aim.

Sighing in relief, Aaron returned to their conversation of earlier. “Surely you taking lumber to Maine is like hauling coals to Newcastle.”

“Excuse me?” Ben turned slightly to Aaron, the latter getting a good view of Ben beginning to unzip.

The sight of a big man handling his clothed goodies had Aaron’s mind wandering momentarily. Then he remembered. “Don’t you have plenty of timber, uh, lumber in Maine already?” Aaron’s knowledge of US geography wasn’t the best, but he thought they had forests in New England.

“Florida has trees with softer wood. It’s mostly hard wood up in Maine.” No doubt unaware Aaron could see what he was doing, Ben had finished unzipping and fished out a sizeable trouser snake.

Without missing a beat, Aaron observed, “Yes, I can see that.” At Ben’s look of incomprehension, dick still in hand, Aaron added, “Hard wood. From Maine, where you’re from.”

Ben might not have gotten the joke, but his cock sure did, because it started to stiffen at the attention being paid to it.