A Run From Baltimore

A Joe Buck Trucker’s Tale

View along side of semitrailer on the road

A Rick Beck Story


Not for the faint of heart or prudes

The first time I noticed Mark, he stepped out in front of my car.

There are many ways to get someone’s attention. This is how Mark got mine. It began years of him coming and going from my truck. Even in those early days, Mark proved his value to me.

Mark wasn’t what I’d call handsome, but he exuded sexuality. At first I didn’t see him, but he stepped off the curb, shoving out his thumb. He had a brooding look to him and a bulge in his jeans.

There was no period of awkwardness that comes with boys I pick up along America’s highways. Neither of us needed to consider our safety. I knew where Mark wanted to go and why we’d go there.

I was in Baltimore at a time when boys got into a stranger’s car without wanting to go anywhere.

Actually, they were looking to go all the way.

When Mark’s thumb came out, I was on Eastern Avenue near Patterson Park. I’d met Robby and Gary near the same spot, and they’d stuck out their thumbs as quick as they’d established that I was showing more than a casual interest in their features.

The one thing constant with these boys was that they were squeaky clean and sporting erections only the right drivers got to see. It was my encounter with Gary that connected to Mark’s interest in me.

“You’re Joe Buck. I’m Mark. You took Gary out few weeks ago. I’ve been waiting for you to come back. He told me all about you.”

“Gary was very nice,” I said, remembering him vividly.

“You’re a trucker. Wherever you asked Gary to go with you, I’ll go,” Mark said.

He might have been a little too anxious. Boys I picked up alongside the road could be anyone. They were blank slates until they talked. A few hitchhikers didn’t say anything. They weren’t talking. Others were friendly and seemed to need to talk to someone, anyone. Picking up Mark where I did meant I already knew one of the most important aspects about him. Have you ever tried it with a guy? Yes, he had. Yes, he did. A guy who would consider it was a find. When I met Mark I wasn’t on my truck and Mark wanted me to take him with me in my car. On the Eastern side of Baltimore I needed to think about this.

I’d taken Gary home with me and he’d been fun. That was why I asked him to go with me on the truck, but his life was in Baltimore. He had no interest in roaming the highways and byways of the country. He’d obviously spoken about me with Mark.

I stopped for Mark. Or did he stop me? I needed to know a bit more about him before I asked him to go with me on the truck. He obviously read my mind and he took charge.

“Go over four blocks and turn right. It’s dark down that street. No street lights. I’ll show you I can do anything Gary did for you.”

Mark had me unzipped and he was giving me a nice working over before I reached the dark street. Mark was quite orally gifted. I got pulled over none too soon as he stayed with it until I finished getting off. He didn’t come off me even after the event ended.

I caught my breath as he eased off me and I noticed his dick standing up in his hand. It was my turn, and he was already leaking fluid from his expectant slit. He had plenty to work on and he was soon leaning back and holding my head in place so I didn’t quit before he got to where he obviously wanted to go.

It was a bit more than a mouthful when he swelled and insisted his passion stick go as far down my throat as possible. He obviously liked that part best of all. I was experienced enough to stick with it until he exhausted himself and left go of my head. “I’ll drain you dry,” he said, once he caught his breath. I’d taken his friend Gary home with me and he’d been delightful to spend a few days with. But Gary had no interest in taking his act on the road. His life was in Baltimore, not out there in between towns.

Mark was ready to go before I asked him. He’d dreamed of being a trucker when he was younger. When Gary told him about me, Mark was ready to pack his bag. He finally saw my car. It was no chance meeting. That made his offer to go a no-brainer.

I often met boys hitchhiking on the Interstate systems of America. I kept my eyes open for guys who looked safe and who might cut into the loneliness for a day or two, and if I was lucky, for longer.

As interviews go, Mark said a mouthful before we got how-do-you-do out of the way. I asked him to go along. He had the kind of talent I hoped to find in the boys on the roadside. I often settled for a lot less than what Mark had already done for me. I had no idea what kind of lumper he’d be. Mark didn’t need to work. I wanted someone who could do what he did and I’d do the work.

“I leave in two days. Will I need to let you do that to me if I take you on the truck?”

Mark laughed.

“As often as you like it,” he said with a growl in his words.

Mark was the most uninhibited person I knew. I do believe he lived for sex, and I had as much sex with him as I had with anyone. When my wheels stopped turning, he was ready to get into the bunk.

Needless to say, that made him a valuable asset to me. Actually, when Mark was on the truck I was never horny. When we didn’t have time to get into the bunk, he’d handle himself. And if I didn’t stop to join the taffy pull, he got himself off. He knew that when I did finally stop for some rest, he’d be taking care of me before I fell asleep. He was a handy guy to keep around. Once in a while, when I stopped for a few hours of sleep, Mark would climb into the bunk and back up to me. This wasn’t his usual style, but once or twice a week he needed me to work him over to prove he was still desirable.

This was one of his neat tricks that never failed to exhaust me, because Mark went with me every step of the way. He made sure I had a good time, and I’d drift off to sleep with a smile on my face.

When I’m home, getting ready to roll, my routine doesn’t vary much. I need to pick up my truck from the shop. Dave and I discuss anything I need to keep an eye on. My fuel tanks will be filled before he parks my truck next to the front gate.

I drive home, parking close to the house to load my things. I have a few changes of clothes I need. I have food I’m taking in the front of the fridge. I collect a variety of sodas that go into the cooler first. I put in enough ice to last until the end of my second day out, which is how long the sandwiches and such I put on the ice lasts.

I won’t need to spend time stopping for food until the second day of the trip is ending. I can get halfway to anywhere in the country in two days, because I don’t spend time stopping for anything but fuel.

By the end of the second day, when it’s time to fill my fuel tanks I’m ready for a hot meal. I might catch a nap before going on after I’ve fueled, had dinner, and checked on road conditions ahead.

I already have the Willie Nelson tape on the dash ready to go into the tape player when it’s time. I’ve still got things to do. I need to do a final sweep of the house to be sure everything is turned off before locking up. This way I don’t get a hundred miles down the road and begin to wonder if I left the coffee pot on.

If I’m picking up Mark before I go, I do that the day before, and he’s taken the things from the house and put them in the truck, saving me a half hour or more. By the time I climb into the truck, Mark’s in the second seat waiting to roll.

I kick off my tennis shoes and pull on my cowboy boots. I reach up onto my bunk to get my cowboy hat. I hit the silver button that has my engine humming to life in an instant.

Now, it’s time for Willie.

I push the tape, On the Road Again, into the truck’s sound system, and, shifting the truck into gear, I begin to roll.

I sing loudly, “On the road again. Just can’t wait to get on the road again.”

I head for the nearest highway, and it’ll be three months before I’m home again.

This is my routine. It’s where every run starts, after I’ve been at the house for too long, which is usually about two weeks. That’s when I need to start rolling again.

The first time Mark went out with me on a run, the time I spent getting ready was cut in half and instead of reaching the highway at eight thirty or so, we got there by eight. I started out ahead of schedule.

The second time I took Mark, he had been with me long enough to ask questions about the things I did. Sometimes he made a suggestion that he thought might work better. He was usually right.

I picked Mark up the day before I was scheduled to leave the house. He was ready to roll when he got into my car. This time around, he loaded the truck for me. The boy was a time saver, but as I wheeled out of my neighborhood, Mark had a question. He’d watched my transformation from mild mannered suburban home owner to super trucker.

“Do you really need cowboy boots and a cowboy hat?”

“Mark, I asked the very same question once, when I saw all the truckers wearing cowboy boots and cowboy hats. I’ve never been a guy who worries about fashion, but this fashion statement seemed a tad overdone for my taste,” I said.

“We may be the cowboys of the highway, but the boots and hat were a bit much. In my early days of being an ordinary truck driver, I quizzed a guy who had been drinking coffee with me while we waited for dispatch to have us paged. As we drank, I noticed the feathers in the band of his cowboy hat, and I decided to ask that question. I was careful. I didn’t want him to get twisted up in his axle.

“‘Why cowboy boots and a cowboy hat? Isn’t it a bit much?’” I asked, wearing my baseball hat and athletic shoes. “‘Son,” he said. “‘Everything I do and everything I wear is 100% certified trucking recommended. You see these boots—in particular the heel of the boot? When you have your foot pressed on that fuel pedal all day every day, your foot begins to trouble you. It’s the flat shoes some drivers wear. When I first became a trucker, and another trucker watched me limping because my foot was hurting me for some reason or other, he told me flat out; I didn’t ask—“Get yourself a pair of cowboy boots. Elevates the heel, son, and you can relax your foot while you drive.” I went to the store at that truck stop. I bought me a cheap pair of cowboy boots. My foot stopped hurting a couple of days later and I never had a bit of trouble since.’”

“‘Elevates the heel,’” I said. “‘That makes a lot of sense.’”

“‘And you got that little ball cap on your head. If you hold your head just right, you might cut the glare some when you’re driving into the afternoon sun for two or three hours each day. I can tip my cowboy hat down or any which way—where the sun is brightest—and the glare goes away and I don’t need to keep twisting my neck around trying to keep the glare from blinding me.’”

“Is all that true?” Mark asked. “Or are you blowing smoke?”

“I was already having trouble with my right foot after a few months of driving all day every day. I bought my cowboy boots in Kansas a day later. There was the best looking cowboy hat I’d ever seen in the same store. I yanked it off the shelf and put it on. Fit like a glove and everywhere I go, I get told, ‘That’s a hell of a nice hat.’”

“It is,” Mark agreed. “I’d never wear cowboy boots though.”

I never figured he would. I bought cowboy boots and a cowboy hat for guys who stayed with me any length of time, but I never did that for Mark. It just wouldn’t have suited him.

As lumpers go, Mark was the best. At first, he watched everything I did. In short order, he did everything he could do for me. Small stuff like cleaning the windshield and picking up the trash that accumulates while you’re running all day. He’d operate the fuel pump for me. I could go in and get in line to pay the bill. By the time I worked my way up to the counter, my fuel was pumped.

All I had to do was say, “Pump 5,” and fill out my Com check.

In some of the larger fuel stops those lines are ten or fifteen minutes long. Minutes being miles, Mark was a time saver.

Mark was a find. He knew ways to make the days easier on me.

There was no better time for me than coming into the house after getting off the road, and seeing the answering machine blinking.

“Mark here. I’ll go the next time you go out if you want.”

I wasted no time taking him up on his offer. Mark was a keeper.

Mark may have gotten my attention by going down on me five minutes after I picked him up, but it was the little things that kept me smiling. He did have a nice tight body he knew how to use. We were about the same size, physically speaking, but Mark had been gifted in the dick department. He wasn’t simply larger than the average guy. His dick was perfectly shaped, with a thick shaft, and the perfectly shaped head stood with distinction on top.

I suppose Mark went with me a half dozen times the first few years I drove a truck. He was a pleasure to have around and he kept his eyes open for boys he liked and asked me to stop for.

I still remember our second trip together. He was comfortable with me right off. When he went out with me, he stuck for the entire run. It was the time he asked about the hat and boots. We were tooling along at 58 mph, and I was just driving. I wasn’t looking for a hitchhiker, and I didn’t see the one we passed.

Mark saw him.

“Stop. He’s cute,” Mark said, watching in the side mirror.

It took me a minute to pull over and stop. Mark watched Roger run to the truck from a quarter of a mile back. Mark’s eyes stayed in the West Coast mirror until he opened the door and Roger climbed into the seat beside Mark, who tossed his gym bag back on the bunk. Mark scooted over to make some room on the seat for Roger. They sat close to each other. Right away Mark was giving him the once over.

“I’m Roger. My old man’s a trucker. I hoped a trucker would stop for me. I ride with my father. I’m on the way to Flag to meet him.”

“I’m Mark. He’s Joe.”

You can tell a lot about a guy in the first five minutes after he gets on your truck. Roger was obviously comfortable with a truck stopping. He was cute as hell and he and Mark sat very close. There was no doubt they were eyeballing each other from the get go. I could feel the heat the two of them generated.

Mark’s right hand was immediately on Roger’s thigh. Roger glanced at the hand before looking out the windshield. I was busy shifting up through the gears and blending back onto the highway. Traffic was light as we hit the wide open space in between towns.

When I glanced over next, I was surprised to see Roger’s hand high on Mark’s thigh, almost on the bulge that lived in Mark’s jeans. Mark moved his body until Roger was feeling Mark’s dick. Roger made no effort to change his position. He peeked at its length as he felt it

Like I said, you can tell a lot about a guy in the first five minutes. Roger wasn’t put off by the things that took place in someone’s truck. He’d been there and done that more than once. The road could be a lonely place, and there were times it wasn’t lonely at all. The right hitchhiker could do wonders for your operation.

Roger watched what his hand was feeling. Mark just smiled and moved to give him as much access to his hard dick as possible. When Mark unzipped his pants, he put Roger’s hand on his pubic hair and Roger drew out the very hard dick, after glancing to see if I was looking. I had great peripheral vision, and I could take a glance every few minutes. I didn’t worry Roger in the least as he used his tongue to flick a drop of clear liquid forming on the tip of Mark’s dick.

“You got a nice one,” Roger said, stroking it and licking the head.

“Go ahead. You can suck it,” Mark said as Roger was getting sideways to make the task easier on him.

I admit, I wanted to pull over and see just what Roger was willing to do, but I had miles to go before I could have a time out.

“You’ve done this before,” Mark said, as Roger gave him what for.

Roger was uncut and not nearly as thick as Mark but he knew how to make the most of what he had.

Mark manipulated the skin on Roger’s dick as Roger went as far down on him as he could go. Mark had plenty to offer and Roger wanted it all. He didn’t stop until he had it.

The next time I took a closer look, Mark had Roger’s jeans down to his knees. He had a nice smooth body that was totally tan. He obviously sunbathed naked somewhere. His hair was brown. It had a bleached-out look. Roger spent a lot of time in the sun.

I had to be satisfied with glancing from time to time to see how things were progressing. They were getting better acquainted.

“I need to rest my jaws. That’s a mouthful,” Roger said.

Mark was about as turned on as I’d ever seen him. His dick had a wet look to it as it stood out of his jeans at a forty-five degree angle.

“You ever been fucked?” Mark asked, as Roger’s hand worked on keeping Mark up to the task.

“I told you my father is a trucker. He has Mexican helpers who ride with us to unload the furniture. They like that a lot,” Roger said.

He moved off his side of the seat, kicking off his jeans, and leaning his head on his arms he rested on the dash, he lifted his ass to above where Mark’s cock protruded from his jeans. He didn’t seem at all worried about the size of what he was about to sit on.

Mark’s hands were around Roger’s upper thighs as he pulled Roger back and down on the head made slippery by being sucked.

I slowed down ten miles an hour. I wanted to see the next act.

“We’re getting there,” Mark said in a gasp. “A little further down. Oh, yeah! You have the right idea. Oh, man. Nice!”

Once the head popped inside, Roger made a slow and easy slide down Mark’s thick shaft. It took a while for Roger to negotiate Mark’s full length. In two inch increments Roger’s body moved down three times, and then a fourth. Once he was sitting in Mark’s lap, he grew still as he appreciated having all of Mark inside him.

The next time I glanced over, Roger was almost ready for lift off. Mark’s hands held Roger in place as he strained to go deeper. Since I could see none of Mark’s dick he had to have most of it in Roger, but he kept forcing himself upward to get that last millimeter inside him.

“Let me adjust to it for a minute. That’s a lot of cock you’ve got. I love this part. Just being together for a minute. Just hold me, Mark.”

Roger’s face radiated passion with his eyes closed. Mark was remarkably restrained, his usual frenetic motion muted as a look of bliss came across his face. They were a matched set as Mark’s arms wrapped around Roger. It would have made a lovely photograph.

Mark’s hand began massaging the skin on and off of Roger’s shiny dick head. It was a slow, easy motion that had Roger moaning.

“Take it easy. I’ll cum if you do that any longer,” Roger said.

In a few seconds his cum began to squirt out. Roger roughly forced himself down on Mark’s lap. One, two, three streams leaped out of him, coating his thighs. Mark collected the cum and rubbed it back into the skin of Roger’s cock, and one more spurt escaped him.

“Easy, big boy. Let me reload. Doesn’t that feel good to you?”

“Your asshole twitched on my shaft each time you shot some cum. I almost came with you. You’re tight. You’re amazing.”

It was Roger who did the heavy lifting for the next round. His ass came up off Mark’s shaft after another minute or two. About the time I was sure the head would pop free, Roger began his slide back down on Mark’s dick. Roger leaned forward to put his face on his arms on the dash. His rear lifted and dropped as Mark pushed and withdrew. In combination it was a ballet that quickly turned into a demand for relief. Mark’s ass lifted off the seat as he jammed himself into Roger over and over again, as Roger’s as hung a few inches above him. The slapping sound they made had my jeans straining and a wet spot began to grow.

“Fuck yeah,” Mark said as he came up off the seat and was directly behind Roger as his cock appeared and disappeared.

Mark moaned and gave Roger what for and Roger kept his ass in the proper position for the kind of fucking he was after.

This was a matched set that went together like dicks and cum. The sounds they made were as delicious as how they were blending together like birds of a feather.

Roger had the controls once he got started again, but it was Mark’s show as Roger waited to receive what Mark was glad to give.

Mark rose up, bracing himself as he pulled Roger’s ass hard against him. Rising up on the seat, he pulled out and then pushed back in. Roger moaned and Mark built up speed. It didn’t take Mark that long, if he hadn’t cum already. He came fast the first time and then he settled in for a five or ten minute go before he’d cum again. With the proper timing, Mark could cum three times in an hour, but he never got soft or needed to stop the activity to rest until he was fully satisfied, which took some doing. But Roger seemed like the fellow who would wear Mark out, as he allowed Mark to go full speed.

Mark’s gasp was loud as he began to cum and Roger once again added his blast on a cock no one touched. He gasped and shot as Mark shot and gasped. They were suspended above the seat for a minute or two as Mark gave all he had to the endeavor before they both collapsed.

“Roger, you’re so fucking tight,” Mark struggled to say. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Mark took a backseat to no one, sitting up or lying down. There was always a new trick he wanted to try. Roger was as uninhibited as Mark was. For both of them sucking and fucking was an art form they were determined to perfect. They left me with damp jeans.

I didn’t mind; it was the hottest show I’d ever seen. I ended up with a crick in my neck, but I didn’t complain.

I was on a run to Kansas City, Missouri. Roger was going to Flagstaff. When I called dispatch, they wanted me to pick up in Wichita and make a run to San Bernardo, which meant I was able to drop Roger at Little America in the middle of Flagstaff on I-40. That gave us two more days together. That also made me smile.

Our last night as a trio, Mark and Roger continued their frivolity in the front seat once I pulled over for a few hours’ sleep.

Roger climbed into my bunk, saying, “I want to thank you for getting me to where I’m going. I thought you might like company before you drift off.”

The word tight applied to Roger. Even after Mark’s thick dick had been up his bottom for much of the previous three days, he was plenty tight, which amazed me. He didn’t just lie there and let me have my way with him, either. He twisted, turned, rose and fell with me. Roger rode the whirlwind, giving me a good going over. He liked what he did. What wasn’t to like about that?

I eased out to take my nap. Roger told me the plan.

“I wanted to give you something to remember me by. Mark says you might stop for me the next time you’re home. I’d like that. I’ve never been with anyone like Mark. I gave him my number. I wanted you to know I can keep you both smiling if you like me.”

“Roger, you’re the cat’s meow,” I told him.

He laughed and leaned to give me a kiss before he joined Mark back in the front seat.

I’d never been with anyone like Mark either. I was glad I was with him now. We could share things we encountered as we went across the country and back. Every day was a new experience.

Mark and Roger were as sexual as any boys who ever got onto my truck. It was the only time a boy performed with Mark while we were moving right along the highways. Mark had a knack for breaking the ice with a guy who joined us. When we stopped so I could catch some sleep, I could hear Mark coaxing, “Go ahead. Go down on me. If you do mine, I’ll do you.”

Yes, he would, and guys we picked up often did too.

As I said, Mark exuded sexuality and he was always ready to get a thrill—or give one—as we worked our way across country and back.


All you four-wheelers out there, keep the shiny side up and the rubber side down. I’ll see you on the flip-flop.

~ Joe Buck


More Joe Buck:

Amarillo By Afternoon
A Run to Aurora


Photo by Caleb Ruiter at unsplash.com