I’d come out of Reno and I was deadheading over the Sierra Nevada toward a shipper in Marysville, California.
In December, anytime anyone says, “You’ll need to cross the Sierras to get to the shipper...” but of course they know not to say that, but I’m thinking it.
I’m about to say, “Next,” which means we’re done talking about crossing the Sierras, but he interrupts saying the magic words. I know he isn’t Santa Claus, and I’ll be kicking myself for the next two thousand miles, but I let him start telling me about the load. What he says, and remember, he knows me like a book, is, “We’ll pay loaded miles to Marysville. The load goes to Savannah, which is a 3,000 mile payday in your pocket, Joe. It delivers the day before Christmas Eve.”
I immediately start counting the miles between me and Saturday. I’m calculating a rather handsome payday for Christmas. It’s the kind of load you pray you’ll get in April or May; but this isn’t April or May. And he isn’t done yet, but I’m hooked before he throws me the inside curve ball.
“Joe, this absolutely, positivity must deliver on Saturday morning. A crew will be waiting to install the furniture in a new building. They want to be open the day after Christmas.”
The gravy just started to turn rancid.
“It’s December, Amos. Of course, you’ll guarantee I’ll hit no weather between here and Savannah. Hah! You do know what month it is?”
“I know. I know. I’d put someone else on it, but the boss asked for you. He knows there’s weather in December as well as I do. The shipper knows it’s December. Do your best to be on time. It’s a big payday, Joe.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“10:32. That makes it 8:32 where you are. They’re waiting to load you. You’ll be pointed east by one or two. Time’s a-wasting, Joe.”
It was 2,800 miles from Marseille to Savannah, and I was worried about snow once I started east. I had no idea I’d encounter snow on the way to Marysville. It did change the complexion of things.
I left Reno, heading for Marysville.
I’d take my chances with the snow. I’d make tracks now and fuel on the other side of the hill. I was on I-80 in a little over an hour. The first flakes were beginning to fall as I merged onto I-80 westbound.
I needed to get beyond Truckee where smokey set up to check to be sure drivers had chains. I didn’t own chains and I put the pedal to the metal, passing Truckee as the highway patrol was just arriving. They expected it to get bad; there was already two inches of snow at Truckee. The road was wet but passable.
I knew I’d be coming back this way, but coming off the hill didn’t interest smokey. The stress was already taking its toll. I wasn’t wasting any time, but the road would likely have ice on top. That would slow me.
The inside of my windshield began fogging up. I used my stock of napkins to wipe it off. I dropped my speed to 40 mph as I neared the summit. My cruising speed was 64 mph. I was losing time.
As I neared the summit it snowed even harder. I leaned to clear the fog one more time, and I saw something on the side of the road. It was human. He was hitchhiking.
I’d not have stopped if he wasn’t hitchhiking. You could fall in the snow.
I watched my passenger side mirror. The shape became a discernible person who didn’t look up until he reached the passenger side door. When he looked up for the door handle, he wasn’t half bad.
Having nearly reached the summit, I wasted no time beginning to move once he dropped into the passenger seat.
“Man, thank you. It wasn’t snowing when I got out there,” he said. “The farther I went the harder it came down.”
“I know the feeling. I left Reno and the sun was shining. I’m heading to Marysville,” I said. “It won’t be snowing as much once we start down the other side of the hill.”
His eyes went directly ahead of him. I’d seen that stare a few times.
We drove in silence as I reached the summit and began easing my way onto the downward side. It felt like ice under me but it wouldn’t be as cold the lower we got.
I kept clearing the inside of my windshield and he kept looking through the fog. He did wipe a hole to see out after a few minutes. It fogged over again and he made no more attempts to keep it clear.
“Bad day to be hitchhiking,” I said, trying to break the ice inside the cab.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
Pulling teeth wasn’t my best thing. I paid attention to what I could see and forgot the kid next to me. I broke out of the snow after a few more miles. I was able to pick up speed on dry pavement.
I made the two-and-a-half-hour drive in a little over three hours. I didn’t lose as much time as I expected. I wasn’t looking forward to driving back into the snow.
There were two loading dock doors. I got out and opened my trailer doors and backed up to the one on the right. Once docked, I jumped out and wasted no time going inside.
A man headed my way with a clipboard in hand.
He seemed to be expecting me.
“You my Savannah load?”
“One and the same,” I said, as one forklift moved a pallet onto my trailer while a second waited for him to come off so he could go on.
It was a good start. In less than an hour the driver of the first forklift got off to close the loading dock door.
“You’re loaded. I need you to sign here. Our team will be there to unload you at eight Saturday morning.”
“You know it’s snowing on the hill?”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be you. Good luck,” he said, looking down at the clipboard, “Joe Buck. We’ll be waiting for you on Saturday.”
“Did I mention it was snowing on the hill?”
He laughed and walked away.
I guess it sounded funnier than it was. I wasn’t laughing, but being loaded in less than an hour meant I was over an hour ahead of schedule.
My record was clear. I delivered on time every time. I did this by getting the miles behind me as quickly and as safely as possible. If something came up, I had those miles in the bank. I always managed to get where I was going on time.
When I dropped into my seat, my hitchhiker was asleep. I’d left the engine running with the heater on, and it was considerably warmer than when I arrived. He roused as I pulled the truck forward and went back to close the doors before getting underway.
While they were loading my trailer, I had phoned my dispatcher to report the snow. He noted it and said to do the best I could.
As I turned out of the shipper’s and turned toward I-80, I said, “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m going back up there. The snow is much worse now. The storm is going to be out ahead of us for the next four or five hundred miles before I’ll drive out of it. That’s optimistic. Anything can go wrong. You might want to consider getting out before we get back into the soup. I don’t know how far we’ll get. If you don’t want to go back, this is when you should say goodbye. ”
“You want me to get out? I’m still freezing. I’d rather stay with you,” he said. “I watched you. You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m telling you what’s ahead. You’re free to stay for as long as you like. I enjoy company. The truck stays warm.”
“I’m sold; I’m good company,” he said.
Hearing him express himself told me that he was intelligent and well-mannered. He was smart enough to stay where he wouldn’t freeze. It also told me that my young friend had no destination in mind.
I wasted no time getting back to I-80. Every hour that passed, the deeper the snow got. I shifted up through the gears going up the ramp, blending into light traffic.
It took thirty minutes to be back in the snow. It started as light snow but it was just as stormy on top as it had been two hours before.
I dropped my speed to 40 mph. No one was ahead of me and no one passed me. Few folks went out in a snowstorm if they didn’t need to.
“You’re going how far east?” he asked.
“This freight is going to Savannah, Georgia. Since you don’t seem to mind where I go, I’m calculating you don’t have a destination in mind, which is fine with me. I pick up guys who like to ride for months some times. I’ll feed you. If you help with the work that’ll save me time, and I’ll pay you accordingly.”
“Kewl,” he said, not offering any more.
I prefer talkers to the strong silent type, but I could do quiet. The snow was considerably deeper once I reached the summit. I could feel the snow affecting my steering as it was forced against the steering axle. It would be as bad as it was going to get at the summit, and then as I went east the snow wouldn’t be as deep. According to the reports, if I kept moving forward, I’d run out of it by the time I reached Utah. But I had to keep moving to get through it.
For the next several hours, I could have had a chatterbox sitting next to me, but I wouldn’t have heard a word he said. My focus was complete. I was driving as far out on the edge as I dared go. I kept my speed steady and I stayed focused on the road ahead.
I’d hear cars with chains coming up on me a long time before I saw them. One or two passed each hour but I kept my speed constant and I didn’t catch up with anyone. The snow leveled off at about six to eight inches, and the plows I passed were around the towns I passed through. No one was getting on the highway as dark fell. I kept my speed at 50 mph.
We’d made far better time than I’d estimated we would once I got up to speed. I filled my tanks in Reno; I could have gone on for hours, but I wanted to stop to keep my tanks full and my stomach had been growling for hours. My passenger needed to eat and pee, I was sure of it, even if he said nothing. I knew a place on the way to Salt Lake City.
To make my decision easier, shortly after we hit Utah, the snow slowed and then stopped. I was on dry pavement for the first time. If I stopped for fuel and food, I’d be able to outrun the storm by the next day.
It would be nice to stop to sleep for a few hours, but the storm was moving east, and I was no more than fifty miles ahead of it by midnight. I couldn’t sleep until it was six to eight hours behind me.
As a trucker, I knew the condition of my truck. I knew my condition, too.
If I was no longer safe behind the wheel, I felt it and pulled over no matter where I was in a run. I didn’t doze. Sleep came on me slowly while I was driving, starting with my shoulders, working upward to warn me it was time.
I’d been driving on the razor’s edge for hours. Breaking through to dry pavement removed the stress, taking the strain off. Driving on dry pavement was a relief.
Being up on the wheel kept me focused and awake. Feeling the dry pavement allowed me to relax. Even if I pulled over, I wouldn’t be able to sleep for several hours. It took time to unwind.
I was closing in on Salt Lake City. Once I climbed the hill after I reached Wyoming, I would be on the high plains. It was flat with good road and there were lots of places to pull over to sleep.
There was one problem with sleeping on the high plains: once the snow caught me, it would be similar to how it snowed on the Sierra Nevada summit. It would snow hard and accumulate fast.
If I stopped and slept for three or four hours, I’d be refreshed for the next day’s drive. We’d leave the snow behind. On dry pavement, I moved twice as fast as the storm. I would catch up on sleep on nights two and three. I’d start out fresh and find a pace I liked, getting the miles behind me.
Conditions had me all but forgetting the quiet boy beside me. I hadn’t stopped for food. Being in Utah, and as I closed in on Salt Lake City about twelve hours into our drive, I stopped at a quick stop I knew for food and fuel. I needed to stretch my legs and breathe some crisp fresh air.
I left my passenger pumping the fuel to save time. He could use the bathroom while I collected food and paid the bill. I collected ready-to-eat burgers and fries, a bucket of chicken, and two six packs of drinks. I was in and out in fifteen minutes. There were only two other customers that time of night. The snow would reach Salt Lake City at about dawn.
“Twenty-four fifty-two on the food. One hundred twenty gallons. Three hundred and twenty-three on the fuel.”
I added the two numbers and filled out the Com check. It took five minutes for approval to be issued.
I set the bag of food on the floor and climbed up. I handed the bag to my passenger once I sat down.
“Burgers, fries, chicken, and take a soda. I drink Coke. Get the burgers out for now and we can nibble on chicken tomorrow,” I said, going out of the quick stop and up the ramp on I-80 eastbound.
“You eat while you drive?” he asked.
“It’s the only way I get down the road when weather is chasing me. We have it several hours behind us. We can sit down to eat tomorrow.”
He looked at me as if he thought about what I said.
“Thank you. This is good. I didn’t eat yesterday. This is really good.”
“Sorry you needed to wait so long. I didn’t stop to fill my cooler. By the way, you got a name? Calling you kid doesn’t work for me.”
“I’m Joe Buck. Nice to meet you. I’m usually not this lame, but the snow was my first worry. Niceties come after that.”
“Thanks for picking me up, Joe, and thanks for the food.”
“There’s ten pieces of chicken in that barrel. It looked pretty good.”
“You allowed to drive all these hours?” Monty asked.
“No, but I work on a schedule. The people who make the rules are sitting behind a desk. They assume all people are exactly alike. I can’t sleep on demand. I know when I need sleep. I know when I’m ready to drive. I slept eight hours last night. I just got going good today.”
We drove until I needed to sleep. I wanted to sleep for four hours, but I slept for five. I stood next to the truck taking a piss and looking into the foreboding early morning sky. It wasn’t snowing, but it would be by the time I reached Laramie just before noon.
We had chicken for breakfast and it was OK. I needed coffee but settled for Coke. The road was clear and Monty watched straight ahead.
“You drink coffee?” I asked, talking about the liquid I was thinking of.
“Yes, I could use a cup.”
“I want to get off this hill. We’ll stop in Laramie and maybe get something hot. Once we start south out of Wyoming, the snow won’t be a factor. It’s going to roll across the northern states.”
We got coffee in Laramie and I filled my Thermos. We ate breakfast in the afternoon at a restaurant I knew. I slept for three hours and we got well east of Denver by dark and the next five hundred miles were flat and smooth. I kept my speed at sixty-four miles an hour.
In Muskogee, on the third day, I made the phone calls I needed to make. I’d deliver six hours later than the original schedule. I filled my fuel tanks, and we sat down to eat lunch. Once we ate, I decided to get a shower. I finally took a close look at the boy across the table from me. Monty needed a shave but he wasn’t a bad looking kid. He might have been nineteen or twenty.
“You do this all the time?” he asked.
“It’s what I do,” I said. “It’s my job. I’m a trucker.”
He seemed to think about each thing I told him.
“You have some money coming for helping me save time,” I said.
“I don’t want money. You feed me. I can help.”
“When you’ve had enough, you’ll have a few bucks coming. It’s the way it is on my truck. I feed anyone who stays on my truck. I pay according to how much time someone saves me. Time is money.”
“You don’t mind me riding along?” he asked.
“I like having someone riding along. You aren’t the most talkative person I’ve met. Company is good, though” I said. “It’s a long, lonely road.”
“Why would you want to hear anything I have to say?”
“It’s difficult to ride with someone day and night and not talk about this or that. The only thing I know about you is that your name is Monty.”
“Monty Wilkes. I’m from Colorado,” he said. “I decided to leave.”
I waited for more, but that’s where he stopped. He was thinking again. He was thinking about coming clean.
“Before Truckee you were in Colorado?” I asked.
“I was in St Louis. Near St Louis. A guy picked me up. I stayed at his house a few weeks. He liked me,” he said, looking for a reaction. “He was nice. I stayed two months. I left there. I stayed in Salt Lake City with a guy, I stayed three days. He was crazy. I don’t do crazy. I’ve done crazy. He was scary crazy and I split,” he said. “That’s when I met you.”
“Now you’re here,” I said, feeling his wide open blue eyes on me.
“I like moving,” he said, after growing quiet for a while.
We went in the dressing room together and I told him to shower first. I wanted to relax, hang up my things, and enjoy the view.
Monty didn’t hesitate getting naked and he was nice. He had hair on his chest and his stomach, but it was sparse and not a hair jungle. He wasn’t wearing underwear and I didn’t have any to offer him. He looked at me twice as I sat watching him.
As soon as he got into the shower, he began lathering his entire body. He became partially aroused. He was uncut and he had a lovely cock. I suppose my mind meandering came with the territory. I hadn’t been with anyone since October, when Mark went home. He’d been with me since the summer. He’d stayed longer than usual this time.
“Thanks,” he said. “For not jumping me.”
“Jumping you?” I asked confused.
“The guy in Salt Lake City. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I let him blow me. He thought he was in love. He kept at me until I took off. I left my stuff. I had to get out of there. I don’t mind getting blown but not four times a day. You seem OK. I mean you haven’t tried to jump me. I figure truck drivers get hard up, but you’ve been cool. I was a bit nervous when I got on your truck.”
“I may get hard up but I don’t force myself on anyone. We all get caught short. We all like it when we get lucky. There are limits.”
“How long since you got lucky?” Monty asked.
“I had a guy on the truck until October. I had to get out of the bunk to get away from him. Mark’s a sweetheart but he can’t get enough lately. Even driving doesn’t discourage him. He blows me while I drive. He’s not like that all the time. He went home in October. I picked up a guy before Thanksgiving. I thought he was straight until he backed up to me. He was going home to his wife, but he didn’t mind doing it with guys. That was for two days but he was good at the things he did. Nothing since.”
As I talked I got aroused. As I talked, Monty got aroused. I stood up when he came out of the shower. He sat on the bench in front of me. He put his hands on my hips to bring me closer.
He started giving me head. My knees buckled. His mouth was like velvet. He knew his way around a dick. He handled himself and I felt a warm spray on my legs. He almost swallowed me while he came. He kept sucking warmly as I reached the third act of this passion play.
I held his shoulders as he gave me a good going over. My knees threatened to give out on me. I held his shoulders. He sucked me dry.
“Just in case we pass another hitchhiker, that’s only a small sample of what I can do for you, Joe. There’s little I won’t do for guys I like.
“You weren’t expecting that?” he asked.
“I’m not big at expecting anything, Monty. That was quite nice. You don’t need to worry about a place on the truck. You can stay for as long as you like, because you’re a nice guy. I’m not crazy or likely to go crazy any time soon,” I said. “You need to drive but once we reach Savannah, I’ll get prone with you and we’ll see how far we get,” he said.
“You are a man after my heart, Monty. You don’t need to have sex with me to ride along. I mean I don’t ever turn down a nice looking guy, but it’s not required. I like affection. I like having a guy in my arms, but there’s a time and a place for sex. I can live with that.”
“That’s why I waited to do that. I needed to be sure I wasn’t getting involved with someone and then regret it. I’ve watched what you do. You’re about as steady as anyone I know. You’re OK, Joe.”
I drove to within three hundred miles of Savannah. I slept from 8:00 p.m. To 4:00 a.m. I reached the site a little after noon. The crew showed up to unload at 2:00 p.m. I just polished off a tuna sub and Monty had the Italian sub. I was drinking from my freshly filled thermos full of steaming coffee.
The crew got busy unloading and before 4:00 p.m. I was headed out of Savannah and pointing for a motel I’d seen close to the highway we came in on. It was Christmas Eve eve. I wanted a shower, and then I wanted to climb in between some cool crisp sheets and sleep until the next day, and get up at whatever time I woke up.
Monty let me catch up on my sleep. We were staying there until the day after Christmas, when I was contemplating driving to the house, and then I’d sleep until after New Year’s.
I always felt like that when I got off of an absolutely, positively has-to-be- there load. I used myself to the max and felt like I’d gone about as far and as fast as I could go.
It wasn’t a new feeling and I promised myself I’d never, not ever, do it again. That feeling lasted about as long as it took for them to be waving money in front of me. They’d say, “We need you on this load, Joe.”
Monty was sitting on the foot of my bed the following morning.
“You don’t look like Santa Claus,” I said.
“Not even close. I’m the Good Fairy. You’ve slept long enough. There’s a Denny’s up the street,” he said.
“Did I shower last night?”
“Right before you went to bed. Your hair was still wet.”
“Did we sleep together?”
“No, I slept in the other bed. You needed your sleep. You didn’t say when you wanted to get up. I figured you didn’t want to sleep all day.”
“Good man,” I said, needing to get up and move around.
I kicked my legs over the side of the bed.
“We’ll stay here until the day after tomorrow. Tonight we’ll go for a nice sit down dinner. I don’t want my food moving on Christmas Eve. I want everything sitting still, and maybe we’ll go for drinks afterward.”
Once I leaned back on my hands, waiting for a spurt of energy, Monty saw the problem immediately.
Falling forward he took it in and wet me from pubes to head.
“I can return the favor now that I’m not holding a steering wheel.”
“No, Joe, you’ve worked hard enough. I know what to do about this condition,” he said, going back down on me.
“You certainly do,” I said, “Merry Christmas.”
Monty didn’t waste any time, or I didn’t. In a few minutes I was up for the morning exercise and as my hands held him in place, I set a pace he enjoyed. When the moment of truth arrived, he took it slow and easy until one final thrust got me there, and I relaxed while he licked his way on and off my fading erect penis.
“I plan to return the favor as soon as I catch my breath, Monty.”
“We have plenty of time. We’ll be here until day after tomorrow. Besides, I jerked off a couple of times when I woke up.”
“You are so far ahead of me,” I said.
I had the lumberjack breakfast with extra coffee. We went back to the room and Monty decided to stand in the shower for the next hour. I wanted to speak with the guy who watched us walking toward Denny’s an hour or so before.
“You on for the holidays?” I asked as I entered the lobby.
“The rest of today. The lobby is closed on Christmas. It’s the only day I don’t have some hours. What can I do for you today?”
“You the manager?” I asked.
“Owner. I let my people have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I’m unencumbered that way. My wife left me... oh, I don’t know how long ago, it’s been so long. I don’t mind working over the holidays. It’s not really work. I’m just here and few people bother me.”
“Closed tomorrow, and what are we planning to do with this lovely tree, and garland. I’d like to have Christmas for my... friend,” I hedged.
“That lovely young man you arrived with?” the manager assumed.
“That would be him,” I said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“The tree and the garland, and I bought some things I had wrapped on our way here. A Christmas vision for a young man who doesn’t often have any Christmas at all.”
“You’ll be going out at some point?”
“Olde Pink House for dinner and then drinks.”
“You going in the truck?” he asked.
“It’s Christmas Eve. You might get a cab to take you. There will be no cabs tonight, but as luck has it, Maxwell is on duty until eight. Our limo will take you to town. Maxwell, also without family, will drive you. If you bargain with him, he’ll be at your service the entire evening. After you leave, I’ll take the tree and your gifts to your room. All I need to do is unplug it, pick it up, and carry it to your room and plug it in.”
“Lovely indeed. What will I owe you for this service?” I asked.
“If I can be of service, and it costs me nothing, it costs you nothing. Maxwell, however, will require remuneration for his services. He takes the limo home with him and if he makes a dime or two on his own…” the manager said, shrugging his shoulders with indifference.
“I think you’ve covered everything,” I said.
“We must take care of our young men,” the manager said with a glint in his eye, expressing his understanding of the situation.
The limo was out front when we came down. A very tall, sharply dressed, young man opened the door for us.
The driver sat down behind the wheel and looked over his shoulder.
“Where to, sir?” he asked.
“The Olde Pink House,” I said.
“Excellent choice, Gov. They’ll be serving something special tonight. Mel and I eat there often.”
“Mel?” I asked.
“Sorry, sir. Mr. Melvin Cartwright. Mr. Cartwright owns the motel.”
“I’m told we can pay you to pick us up at about midnight.”
“I’m at your service, Gov. Whatever it’s worth to you. I’ll be happy with that. Wasn’t doing anything but sleeping tonight.”
“You from Jamaica, Maxwell?” I asked.
“Hard to hide, Gov. I’ve tried to master American English, but I still talk like a Kingston native.”
“It’s a lovely accent. Don’t try to lose it. Gives you character.”
“Since the Olde Pink House is modeled after the English dining experience, the accent is a little thicker tonight. Sets the mood, Gov.”
“Well done, Maxwell. Your tip is going up as you speak.”
“Whatever you say, Gov. I’ll be waiting when you’re done.”
“Maxwell, is there a bar nearby you can recommend, where we can get drinks after dinner?”
“Yes, Gov. I can take you to a nice spot where I do my drink. Quite lovely and it’ll be quiet tonight. You can get drinks without a lot of fuss. In case your young man is... well, too young. They know me and you’ll be seated without questions.”
“If you meet us at ten at the Olde Pink House, we’ll take you drinking with us,” I said. “A professional courtesy; one professional driver to another.”
“I’ll need to stick with ginger ale while I’m on duty, Gov. Wouldn’t do to drink my way into a DWI.”
“You shall have whatever you wish to drink. You’ll class up any table we sit at, Maxwell.”
“Thank you, Gov. That’s a nice thing to say.”
While I chatted with Maxwell, Monty’s fingers intertwined with mine. He smiled from ear to ear, enjoying our easy banter.
Monty was hesitant at first. There was a natural warmness he couldn’t hide if you were with him for a time.
Maxwell held the door and we went in to eat. He’d be back at ten.
“It’s right out of David Copperfield,” Monty said, holding my arm.
I’d delivered the kitchen that needed to be in place before they opened. The owner met me the day he supervised what went where in the kitchen. He’d taken me to another restaurant he owned in the city and he told me that any time I was in Savannah, he’d make sure I got a dinner I could remember when I spent those lonely nights on the road.
I always called to make sure I could show up in my dressed down shirt and slacks. He’d say, “Come as you are, Joe. I’ll fatten you up.”
The food kept coming and Monty ate everything that was put in front of him. That surprised me. He usually didn’t eat that much, but how often do you get served a sumptuous feast?
Because the owner refused to take my money, I left a fifty dollar tip for the waiter. The meal would have cost a hundred bucks or more, and the service was top drawer.
I could hardly get up once we were ready to go to have drinks.
Maxwell stuck to ginger ale. He was worth the price of admission. What an extraordinary young man. He didn’t like being inside. He was a driver to be able to be outside and still interact with people.
It was after one when we finally called it a night. I made Maxwell’s day and I told him, “You’re worth twice that, but I’m a truck driver.”
He laughed deep inside himself and even his laugh had an accent.
When I opened the door, Monty stood affixed to the floor.
Monty turned and laid on me the biggest kiss I’d had in ages. He had tears in his eyes.
“Go over and get your presents,” I said, wanting to close the door.
I watched Monty open his gifts. He had on his cowboy hat and he was ready to put on the cowboy boots.
“It all fits,” he said in wonder. “How’d you know my sizes?”
“When we showered the other day I checked your sizes. You wear a medium shirt, your pants were thirty waist and a thirty-three inseam. You wear nine and a half shoe.”
“Where did you buy all this?”
“I bought you the trucker’s uniform. Everything you see before you is essential to the well dressed trucker.”
“This is the nicest shirt I’ve had in a while. You got me socks. I didn’t get you anything,” he said.
It was my turn to laugh.
“Silly boy,” I said. “You’re about the nicest gift I’ve ever had on Christmas. It’s certainly a gift I’m not likely to forget.”
Monty put the hat on and he undressed to put on his boots. I figured he would put on the jeans and shirt, but he didn’t. He folded the shirt and jeans, placing them back in the box. When he stood up to face me, he was totally erect and he had ideas of what he wanted to do about it. He came to plant another passionate kiss on me.
Monty was the gift that kept on giving. We made love and he rested with his face on my chest when we took a break. He kissed my chest and worked his way down to the point of interest that he began working over again. He wasn’t simply accomplished at the oral persuasion. He got me to where I was dying to finish it, and he took me back down before getting me even further down the road to ecstasy.
He would give me a little time before we were kissing and nibbling on each other again. Then he did something we hadn’t done. He turned his back and his hand got me back at attention before he moved his wonderfully smooth tightness onto my raging erection. I wasn’t sure I could cum again, but Monty was very, very good at the things he did.
As Christmases go, this was one for the ages. I think we made love until five or six Christmas Day. We slept until noon and Monty dressed in his new gear. We walked to the Denny’s restaurant across the highway.
I knew Monty was a keeper even before Christmas. As kind and gentle a soul as he was, once we got comfortable with each other, he was perfect for me.
He was smart and funny and he could do most things except drive the truck, and if he wanted, I’d teach him to drive a big rig.
From my house to yours: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! RB
I don’t wish to intrude on your comfort and joy, but, as we feast and admire our new gear, Ukrainians and Palestinians are living under the bombs being dropped upon them. They’ll be lucky to have anything to eat on Christmas. They’ll shiver whether or not they eat.
As the leaders of the richest country in history pig out and trade expensive gifts, they laugh at the idea they have a responsibility to honor our obligations to defend democracies under attack.
If the orange man returns to the Oval Office, what the Russians are trying to do from outside of Ukraine, he is promising to do from within America.
Almost half of America voted orange last time. Heaven help the world should this man get control of the immense power of America a second time. He knows where all the levers of power are now.
Men who believe they have the right to bomb innocent men, women and children are pure evil. You don’t know such men? Nonsense! These are the men who believe they have the right to tell you how to live, whether they live that way or not.
Evil men tell you who they are. Vote for one at your own peril.