Bridges of Mendocino County

A Rick Beck Story

quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

I don’t know if I’ve told you how handy West Coast mirrors can be. They are great for passing and they make lane changes a breeze. They’re instrumental in watching your backdoor so smoky don’t sneak up on you.

I remember the first time I got up on the northern Pacific Coast, above San Francisco. I was hauling freight into Georgia Pacific in Ft. Bragg. I don’t know how Georgia got so deep into California, but truckers don’t ask questions when they’re being paid to deliver.

I took a cut-off to leave the main highway. I was looking to cut out to the coast before I got to the main Ft. Bragg exit. I figured a highway called the Coast Highway, just might offer this trucker a most excellent view of the Pacific Ocean. It was worth a gamble and so I took a cut-off near Cumberland and headed directly west.

The road wasn’t cut out for tractor trailer travel, but it sure was beautiful moving across the high hills inside a dense forest. I swear it was almost dark as night driving under some mighty tall trees.

It wasn’t unusual for me to take unusual routes. I figure I got to be out there 24/7/52/365, and I wanted to see something other than blacktop every day.

It just so happens this detour led me to one of my best adventures I got to on that endless black ribbon I drove, which brings me back to my West Coast mirrors and how there are so many uses for them, besides keeping a truck on the road.

As luck would have it, after a scary ass drive over some pretty lean road that carried me around hairpin curves, not to mention dead drop-offs on a road too small for my rig, I finally was out of the woods.

Straight ahead of me was a steep hill with open fields on one side and forest on the other. The hard part was over. Now to find the Pacific. I heard it was hard to miss.

I punched up my speed to get up the grade and as I came over the top, I found the Coast Highway. More importantly, I found the whole damn Pacific Ocean, which I was pointed at, as the road made a hard right turn to keep drivers dry.

Luckily the speed of my truck had dropped off enough so that braking to make the turn was easy enough. The shock of that view was not as easy to get over. Man oh man, that was some ocean.

I slowed to a crawl to look out off a steep cliff at the wide wide water. I looked for Hawaii but had to get my eyes back on that skinny ass road.

Heading into Ft. Bragg, with the Pacific staying on my left, I passed over a bridge that sat above an inlet that ran out to the ocean. I was hauling a forty five foot trailer behind me, so there was no time for explorations, but I took a mental note of that bridge and a road that led down under it.

I was going to take a few days off and enjoy some of the most beautiful country I’d ever seen. I’d be back to enjoy this spot.

Later that afternoon, after unloading, I drove back to the bridge minus my trailer, which I left on a wide stretch of gravel south of town. The road down beside the bridge was steep and not made for a bobtail rig to access, but access it I did.

I pulled up so that the front of my truck was a few feet from the inlet, and I could see out to the ocean by looking under the high bridge supports. There was no one else there and I couldn’t believe the beauty and my good luck.

I went back to town to buy a charcoal cooker and enough provisions to last me, and I settled in for three glorious days off. I had no idea just how glorious they’d be, or how handy those mirrors would become, but the wonders had only just begun.

I’d been out roaming around the inlet and checking out some of the wildlife. Except for the cars that passed over the bridge every now and again, there was no civilized noise. It was just peace and quiet, except for the soft sound of the Pacific a few hundred yards away.

When I came back to fix dinner, I noticed a pickup truck with a camper top had backed down a few feet from the right side of my truck. The tailgate was down and I could see evidence of surfer dudes and their bedding. The surfer dudes were nowhere in sight, but it seemed like a situation alive with possibilities. Surfers were cool.

I was sure they’d carried their boards out to the ocean past the point that had attracted me before I walked along the bank of the cove inside the inlet. It was Friday afternoon. Let the surfing begin.

It was after I’d eaten and was kicking back that I heard them laughing beside the truck. Now here’s where the West Coast mirrors come in handy. I let my mechanical all-angle adjustable mirrors give me a better picture of my new neighbors.

Be advised the mirrors were heated to prevent fogging no matter how exciting the views are, or if it snows or sleets the heat comes in handy. It had a control I could reach from my bunk and I adjusted it to see in the back of the pickup truck.

There were two young men. One was tall, thin and beach boy blond, and at the moment I first saw him, he bent over to wipe off his feet. Did I mention his wetsuit was on the tailgate and his naked body was typical of hard bodied surfer dudes? He had one of those asses that might turn a straight guy gay, but luckily I’d already made the conversion, when I was about six.

The second boy had brown hair. He eased into my mirror. His wetsuit must have been the one hanging from the top of the truck’s cap. His muscular build wasn’t at all disappointing. He was shorter than his friend who was way thinner.

As they dried off the blond kept flicking the other dude with his towel. It was just playfulness, and the dark haired boy kept trying to grab the tip of the towel as it licked out at him.

Neither of them paid any attention to the truck or the big mirrors on it. They didn’t seem to care if someone was watching them play. Since I was lying in my bunk, the truck looked empty.

At one point the dark haired boy timed his grab for the towel just right, pulling the blond on top of him. There was a friendly fight for possession. They were giggling like kids indicating they weren’t made uncomfortable by their naked bodies rubbing one on the other. When I watched their hands, feeling one another’s skin, it gave me the idea this wasn’t the first time they’d rubbed their naked bodies together just for fun.

The blond stood up, after getting his towel back. The towel wasn’t all he had. His erection stood out neat and well cut with a perfect head that topped things off. His seated friend also showed signs of a growing interest in their physical activity but he was only partially in the mirror.

The darker boy got up to check his wetsuit. The blond boy grabbed him from behind. There was some mild attempt at wrestling but they ended up face to face and embraced at the corner of my mirror. There was a kiss as the blond took liberties with the darker boy’s ass, using it for leverage to bring him closer, giving me a fuller picture.

As the more muscular boy pushed the blond playfully away, moving back toward the middle of the tailgate, I adjusted the mirror again to get a full view. This revealed he had some serious meat to work with. His cock was way thicker, a dangerous looking deal if he intended to do to the blond what I wanted to do to him.

The blond stepped back into my mirror before sitting on the tailgate. They spoke too softly for me to hear. The next thing I knew they were pulling their jeans out of the back of the truck.

The smaller boy stood, pushing his semi-erection down into his jeans as the other boy jumped into his, yanking them up and grabbing a T-shirt that read, ‘Cum to Mendocino.’

Typical surfers, failed spelling.

The tailgate slammed and the blond went around to drive, and I felt lucky to have spotted that little road that went down next to that tall bridge. I’d rarely had such a pleasant view, but that’s why I’d taken my days off here.

They drove up the hill and turned toward Ft. Bragg. Too bad for me.

It had been a long day and I decided to catch a nap. I woke up when I heard the voices next to the truck. The boys were back. They had KFC bags and huge cups of soda.

By the way they moved I was sure they were talking about the surf. They were more reserved, clothed, and I wondered if they’d finish what they started somewhere else?

When blondy got up to toss the trash in a can a few yards away, browny pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned the top of his jeans. The blond laughed and pointed at him when he came back. Then, he sat down so their shoulders were touching.

Browny's hand felt the inside of blondy’s thigh as they looked at each other. They stood up at the same time and pulled off their jeans, tossing them on the inside of the truck.

Browny leaned to give blondy what I consider to be a rather lethal blow job, making all gone and having no fear he’d have a gag reflex. I sensed he’d done this before.

Faster than I could keep up with them, they moved into the back of the truck. Browny went first and blondy brought up the rear. He did a lot more than that. I understood the bold blow job as blondy was immediately on top, driving browny wherever he had a desire to go.

I’d seen it before. The macho looking dude was the one taking the sausage in the hide the sausage affair. Blondy had obviously done this before and did not spare anything in getting the point where it needed to go. This was obviously a special friendship.

Once you watch the passionate play of boys bent on giving their all to someone they love, you know when it’s time to give your own passion a test drive.

It pales in comparison with imagining being in the middle of those two horny young surfers, who could be game for anything.

“Whatever gets you through the night.”