From Peter: the following is the raw, unedited first chapter of an in-progress hot sexy novel about truckers. Although this is only one chapter, I’ve already written a dozen chapters and will probably wrap it up around twenty.
It will be interesting for anyone wanting to learn how to write an erotic story. You may find typographical errors, grammatical mistakes, or run-on sentences. There are many ways to write, but my preferred method is to do lots of research up front, then write through without stopping to make a lot of corrections. I do stop to conduct further research as needed. Once the story is told (and story is the most important piece), it can be edited. When editing, you make many different “passes” – one is for story structure and missing details, one is a pass to make the hot and sexy story hotter and sexier, one is for reducing overused words (penis, cock, huge, enormous, massive), one is for spelling and grammar, and the last pass is a polish – just tweaking anything that stands out.
The following first draft has had none of these passes. It’s an erotic story that flowed right out of the author’s head and onto the page after a lot of research into the trucking industry.
I saw the ad in “Trucker’s World” magazine at the Phillip’s 66 truck stop outside Pittsburgh, PA. It read:
“Wanted: Hotshot Oilfield drivers. Must have own truck with 4-ton hauling capacity. Will assist with commercial driver’s license. Contact Pittsburgh LEhigh-4-4367”.
My stepfather died the previous spring. He left me his International Harvester heavy duty C-series that carried up to 8,800 pounds. I had always thought I might make good use of it, and this ad seemed like a real concrete solution.
You might wonder what I was doing at a truck stop if I wasn’t a trucker. The truth is, I liked the food. Okay, that’s half of it. I also liked the scene in the hot showers. Long haul truckers use the showers after sleeping in the lot. The lot is a hotbed of prostitution, narcotics and vice. Sleeping in the truck stop parking lot is free. Breakfast is cheap. Showers are even cheaper, and they include a grubby threadbare towel and a small square of Ivory soap. The thriftiest of truckers don’t waste their money on a lot lizard; they let me blow them. If I got lucky, they’d even fuck me. So that’s the real reason I was at the truck stop. Now that I’ve confessed my own vice, I’m a bit hesitant to tell my name. But I’ll tell you. My name is Hugh Jayness, and I’m a homosexual.
Hotshot trucking was a brand new field. The shippers hired pickup trucks and trailers instead of big rigs. The turnaround time on a big rig could be a long while. The companies tended to wait until their trucks were at capacity before sending them out. A hotshot was smaller. They were ideal for jobs that required same-day or next-day turnaround. I’d often wondered who the truckers were driving their own pick-ups with a heavy load in tow. They were hotshots. And I wanted to be one of them. So I called the number.
“Avalon Trucking, how may I direct your call?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m calling about the ad in Trucker’s World.”
A deep male voice came on the line. “Avalon, this is Mack.”
“Hi, Mack, I’m calling about the ad. I have a 5-ton pickup.”
“With a gooseneck hitch?”
I wasn’t sure. “Is that the ball thingy on the bumper?”
“Yeah, but we need it mounted in the truck bed.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“We can help with that. Can you come by for a quick interview?”
Avalon Trucking was in an industrial park on the floor of a smoggy valley. The red brick building looked gray from where I parked. The receptionist looked just like she sounded: plump and dowdy with a kind smile.
“Hugh? Go on in. Mack’s expecting you.” She sized me up with elevator eyes. “He’s definitely expecting you.”
Behind an oversized mahogany desk sat a man the size of a gorilla, but not quite as hairy. He chomped on an unlit cigar. He stood and extended a beefy paw across his desk.
“Hugh? Pleased to meet you. Sit. Sit.”
I sat, but he remained standing. With his hands on his hips, he looked to be six feet tall and five feet wide. Thick fur sprouted from his collar. His green eyes were fixed on me. He licked his lips.
I’m not a big guy in any way. I went to the YMCA to keep in shape, but it was hard for me to put on muscle. I’m 5’6”, and weigh 134 pounds. My dick is a little below average. Okay, a lot below average. I have a really big butt. When I was a 98 pound weakling in high school, the big kids used to beat the crap out of me. When the beatings started, I used to hate it. By the time I was in senior year, I’d discovered that all that attention was intoxicating. Then I made an even greater discovery: these guys beating me up really just wanted a blow job. Three bullies became regulars in the supply closet in the multi-purpose room. Sometimes I had to blow all three at once when they crashed my schedule. It was hard work, but I loved it.
So when I saw the way Mack looked at me, I recognized what was about to happen. I was excited, because he looked like a great fuck. I was disappointed, because I really wanted the job. I didn’t think he’d give it to me if we fucked.
“Hugh, can you lock the door?” Mack removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a carpet of fur covering what looked to be massive pectoral muscles and a round belly that had seen more than its fair share of French fries. He stood, revealing the motherlode. Below his belt was a tell-tale bulge that stretched down his right thigh. His piercing green eyes followed mine as I stared at the growing lump in his pants.
I knelt at his feet. I unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. Most guys pop out when I do that. Not Mack. His cock was trapped in his right pant leg. On top of that, his ass was solid muscle and bigger than mine. I struggled to get them to slide over and down. At last, they came down. I gasped aloud when his cock finally came loose and smacked my chin. Even though it was plenty long, it was so thick it actually looked short. But when I put one hand around it, I saw five inches of flesh still exposed to the air.
“Get it good and wet, boy.”
I opened wide and forced the meat to the back of my throat. It was too thick to get past my tonsils. Or so I thought. Mack held the back of my head and forced me down until I felt my throat swell with his fat cock. I pulled back hard and coughed out a ball of phlegm, catching it in my hand. I slicked up the fat cock and jerked him for a minute before he pushed my face back down on his club-like cock. This time my throat was prepared and I went all the way, burying my nose in his dick whiskers.
“That’s the way, son. Let me fuck your throat.” He held my head and swiveled his hips, fucking my mouth like it was a woman. I tasted the salty drip that meant he was about to reward me with a mouthful of cum.
But then he bent and lifted me up, letting his fat cock fall out of my mouth and slap his thigh. Mack fumbled with my belt and tore at my fly, pulling my pants down roughly. He pushed me over the desk, then ripped a hole in my underwear before he knelt. His tongue on my hole was a rare treat. It was a big tongue with strong muscles. He forced his way into my hole and it actually hurt a little. There was no way I would be able to take his dick. I had been with a couple of above-average truckers, but nobody as hung as Mack was.
He grunted like a truffle-crazed hog as he probed my ass, making it slick with spit. He stood, his cock waving in the air, and opened his top right desk drawer, extracting a miniature tub of Vaseline. He wiped it on my asshole and spread some on his cock.
“You ready for this?”
I wasn’t. I nodded. I felt the fat head press between my chubby ass cheeks and knock on my back door. I pushed out, which allowed my hole to spread open a tiny bit. That was all he needed. In one swift shove, he put the whole giant head in my ass. I covered my mouth to keep from screaming. I wanted him to back out, but I needed him inside me. He knew his limitations. He wasn’t a regular guy who could just push his way in and start fucking. He backed up a little, which stretched my hole a bit wider, so when he pushed forward another inch, it felt like a relief. He kept pushing slowly until he reached the bottom.
“Yes, sir.” My face said “no”, but he couldn’t see it.
He pulled back, and thrust forward, bumping the end of my hole. He pressed harder, making me stretch. I felt an urge to pee, but held it in.
Like a locomotive, he picked up speed slowly but surely until he was bludgeoning my guts with his fat meat club. My arms holding me up on the desk shook, then my legs buckled. A warm wave of pleasure was making my muscles twitch uncontrollably. The constant pounding at the rear wall pressed against my bladder. I was going to pee.
“Mack, I don’t know how to say this…”
He knew. He emptied his inbox and put it in front of me. I unleashed a small amount of piss, then with each slam against that wall, another stream escaped. Soon I was relieved to find there was no more pee. His inbox was half full.
Now my dick was leaking precum. Thin strings dripped into the inbox at first, then I started gushing. Mack’s fat cock was squeezing it out of me. When he saw that, he sped up.
I wanted to see my new boss, but I was facing the desk. I reached behind me and put a hand on his ass, pulling him towards me in time with his thrusts.
“Mmm, yeah! You’re gonna make me come, boy.”
I rubbed his upper belly and found my way through the thick underbrush to his nipple. I squeezed.
“Fuuuck!” He grabbed my waist, pushed all the way in, and stopped. I felt my ass filling with warm cum. It turned me on so badly, I shot my own load into the inbox without even touching myself.
The boss buried his mustache in my hair and kissed my scalp. “Good boy. Oh such a good boy.”
I felt him pull back and heard a wet syrupy sound as his cum followed his cock out of my hole. Then I felt a cum-soaked handkerchief wiping my backside. I stood, pulling up my pants. I turned to face my impaler. He was struggling to get his semi-hard cock back into his pants.
“Oh, uh, you’re hired. Leave your number with Dinah on the way out. You’re on call, 24 hours a day 7 days a week. When we call, you drive. I’ll have our best man, Deckard, take you on a ride-along. Don’t worry, it pays.”
“Mack, sir, how much does this job pay anyway?”
“Oh like a hundred bucks a run. You might get six runs a week during busy season, or four runs during down time.”
Six hundred a week! My rent was only twenty-five a month at the boarding house. I was going to be rich!