Totally Trucked: An M/m Opposites Attract Age Gap Romance Read online

  Totally Trucked

  An M/m Opposites Attract Age Gap Romance

  BJ Blakely

  Copyright © 2021 by BJ Blakely

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author does not own the rights to the games, restaurants, brands, stores, or online messaging services mentioned in this novel. All references are purely for narrative purposes with no intention to claim ownership or endorsement by or for any copyrights mentioned herein. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, apps, fast food restaurants, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The cover model for this book is not associated with or intended to represent this book or characters in any way. The author and cover designer have purchased a license for this photo from a stock photo site.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About the Author

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book contains:

  Glory holes

  Public sex

  Light praise kink

  Light Dom/sub roleplay

  This is a high heat low angst MM romance with lots of steam. Please take this into consideration before proceeding.

  Prologue

  Jax

  November

  I’m halfway through deleting the last traces of my good-for-nothing ex from my phone when the cock appears in the glory hole. Cut. Girthy. Thick in all the right places.

  Safe to say it catches me off guard.

  I slide my phone in my pants and squint for a better look. “Damn,” I mutter. There’s even a beautiful little freckle on the tip, right next to the slit.

  No denying it’s a nice cock.

  A little unexpected, but nice.

  It’s been too fucking long since I’ve sucked cock in a glory hole.

  When I first became a trucker, cocks popped out of holes left and right. I’d pull into a dingy gas station in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, Iowa, and sample the buffet.

  But it’s been over a year since I’ve seen a glory hole, mostly because they tend to get patched over quick.

  Except apparently this one.

  In the town of Bear Springs, MN. Population 69.

  Fine, I lied about the population, but the glory hole is very real.

  Thank fuck, because I really want to suck this cock.

  I wrap my fingers around the shaft, clenching as it throbs under my grip.

  I bring my lips to the tip, and instantly, a bolt of lust courses through my veins.

  “So fucking sexy,” I mutter as I flit my tongue over the head, lapping up a bead of pre-come and swallowing it in one gulp.

  With a greedy huff, I wrap my lips around the cock head, coating it with hot saliva that drips to the floor, and I pull it out again, the tip glistening like a fucking gem.

  The cock quivers. “Fuck,” a soft voice whispers.

  It could be anyone.

  A straight guy.

  A trucker.

  Whoever it is, it’s definitely their first time getting sucked.

  Christ almighty this is so fucking hot.

  Panting, I yank out my own cock.

  Pre-come oozes from my foreskin, trickling down my shaft, squelching as I jerk.

  The anonymous man’s sexy soft grunts are fucking ear Viagra, and I barrel towards my orgasm in record time.

  It doesn’t take long for the anonymous man to join me.

  In less than a fucking minute, his cock thickens in my mouth, and leaks a string of pre-come under my tongue.

  He’s close. So fucking close.

  Time to bring this cutie over the edge.

  “Come for me.” My voice is husky and packed with lust.

  The mystery man spasms and moans.

  I give him a final command. “Come.”

  With a feral moan, the mystery man succumbs to my order, sending hot spurts of come rocketing down my throat.

  I suck and swallow greedily, desperate to drain every fucking drop from his body like the thirsty slut I am.

  This is therapy sex. Thirty seconds and I’ve already forgotten my fucking ex.

  The man removes his cock when he finishes and zips up his jeans.

  I consider tapping the stall to let him know I’m still horny as fuck, but the stall door opens and he leaves, so I tuck myself back in and head to wash my hands at the sink.

  What. The. Fuck.

  This was the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever done.

  And the goddamn fucker left as quickly as he’d come.

  But I’m not complaining.

  With a cock like that, he can use me any day of the week.

  I finish washing my hands and exit the bathroom.

  The lobby is empty, so I pass the drinking fountains and head outside.

  Just before I climb into my jumbo rig, I take one last look at the truck stop, and a feeling of premonition settles within me.

  This isn’t the last time I’ll meet this man.

  Not by a fucking longshot.

  Time to hit the road in my big motherfucking truck.

  1

  Logan

  March

  I don’t usually poke my cock through bathroom stalls at truck stops.

  Then again, there aren’t usually holes in bathroom stalls.

  Certainly not dick-shaped holes, perfect for penetrating with your cock.

  But one thing’s certain.

  When I rammed my big ol’ 21-year-old dick through the glory hole at Truck n’ Munch four months ago in a last-ditch effort to lose my blowjob virginity, I didn’t expect anyone to suck it.

  But suck it, someone did.

  Thank fuck.

  Four months later I still haven't forgotten that blowjob.

  Just the thought of it makes me hard as a rock.

  I peel back the throw blanket and let my cock rise to attention. It’s morning, so if I’m going to jerk off, I’d better make it quick.

  Forest, my roommate, needs me to cover his shift at Betty’s Biscuits today. His ex-girlfriend’s Dad is sick, and he wants to give her moral support, or so he says.

  I think he’s getting up to hanky panky, which is a horrible reason to miss work.

  I’ve never missed work for hanky panky.

  Unless it’s for beating my meat.

  But that’s beside the point, which is that I’m all for taking shifts. Mo’ money mo’ problems is not a Jay Z saying that applies to m
e.

  However.

  And this is a BIG however.

  I do not want to serve customers at Betty’s Biscuits, the best diner in Bear Springs, when Mr. Mystery Mouth is on my mind.

  Especially when I’m recovering from a dream in which Mr. Mystery Mouth made an unexpected reappearance and blew my mind.

  Horrible dreams like this have happened before. After my first and only encounter with the truck stop man, he infiltrated my dreams with the stealth of a fucking mountain lion and didn’t pry his claws out of my subconscious for weeks.

  Like a sexual Freddy Krueger, his actions in my dreams had real-world consequences.

  In November alone, I ordered no less than ten packs of boxers and three sets of sheets.

  It doesn’t help I haven’t seen him since November, which only adds to the mystery, and probably the frequency of the sex dreams.

  I checked the truck stop countless times, but he never reappeared.

  It’s almost like he’s avoiding me.

  For the last four months — four long, horny months — I’ve had zero action whatsoever and have been searching in vain for a mouth that’s abandoned me, sentenced to a perpetual torture of longing even in my dreams.

  Last night’s dirty dream was no different. He slurped, swallowed, and sucked, swirling his hot wet tongue around my cock head and gagging as he downed fucking everything; then rammed his own thickness through the hole to give me the chance to suck him, and suck him, I did.

  Slurping and swallowing every last goddamn motherfucking pungent drop, and coming in droves on the bathroom floor.

  You can see how I’d wake up with a hard-on after a dream like that.

  I thought his firm hands were still gripping me, but I was tangled in my bedsheets.

  So fucking grating.

  The point is I can no longer deny he’s a central presence in my mind. An unnerving, sexy, grating presence, but a presence I can’t forget.

  And if I want to avoid the blue balls the dream has given way to in me, I’ve gotta jerk off ASAP.

  “Fuck,” I groan, scrunching my eyes shut as I wrap my fingers around my naked shaft.

  The sensation is instantaneous, and pure pleasure fills me as I pretend it’s the mystery man’s mouth.

  I picture his mouth on my hardness, soaking and swirling his tongue around my cock head.

  I’m not using lube, but I don’t care.

  I jerk faster until I reach the cliffs of my orgasm, and then I barrel over those fucking cliffs, exploding in hot pungent strings.

  I haven’t ejaculated in days, and now my bedsheets are dripping.

  Damn that mystery man.

  Three curt knocks on the door snap me out of my daze. It’s Forest, who apparently thinks it’s okay to intrude during “me” time.

  He’s brought our resident munchkin cat Tobias with him. The cat, who I adopted but who for unknown reasons prefers my roommate, shoots me a dirty look.

  Instantly, I know I’m busted.

  “Logan?” Forest’s voice is soft and placating. I furrow my brow. Is there a chance he hasn’t caught me?

  “Yeah?” My voice is so goddamn gritty. If he didn’t nurse suspicions before, my crackly voice has planted them in his mind.

  Damn roommates. They find out everything.

  Forest sniffs the air. If he notices anything, he doesn’t mention it. “Please tell me you’re still covering for me today.”

  I groan and nod. “Yes, Jesus. I’ll head over when I get out of bed.”

  “I owe you one.” Thank fuck Forest’s focused on playing skippy from work today, and not on his roommate’s personal time.

  “Damn right you do,” I mutter under the blanket as he closes the door, taking the obnoxious cat with him.

  Jesus, some roommate. Can’t even let me mop up my spunk without intruding.

  With the mystery man’s mouth on my mind, I tear myself out of bed and get ready to head to the diner. After all, Forest’s tables won’t clear themselves.

  Jax

  Bear Springs, MN. Home to countless lakes, nature preserves, and oh yeah, the world’s most unforgettable cock.

  The most beautiful throbbing cock with pulsating veins and the most adorable little freckle on the tip.

  The thickest, juiciest cock I’ve ever seen, thicker than my ex-boyfriend’s, and juicier than a rum smoothie on a Caribbean beach.

  Four months later I still can’t get it out of my mind.

  At present, I’m transporting a load for SUCME Trucking, the Midwest-based firm I work for. I’m a trucker, so “hauling loads” is what I do.

  I pick them up from distribution centers and freight them across the Midwest.

  Every day, rinse and repeat. Park in one location, pick up a crate of medical or manufacturing supplies, and do it all over again.

  A crackle from the radio on the dashboard forces my mind off the mystery cock and snaps me back to reality. “Jax?”

  I flick the red switch on the side of the radio. It’s my boss, Jonah, checking in. “Rig Nineteen. Jax speaking.”

  Jonah is an amazing boss. The man runs a division of twenty five truckers, and he almost never checks on us. Unless corporate’s in the office, in which case he turns into a tyrant.

  The fact that he’s calling means corporate is giving him hell.

  My mood drops as I remember this, and I grip my steering wheel tight to prepare for an onslaught.

  “Cut the shit, Jax,” Jonah barks. “You were supposed to arrive in Des Moines an hour ago.”

  I check the time. Damn, he’s right. I am late.

  “Sorry, boss,” I grumble. “We had a delay in Kansas.”

  “A delay, my ass.” Jonah swallows a chug of coffee, and I cringe at the swallowing sound over the radio. I hate chewing noises. “What kind of delay?”

  “Duck crossing,” I explain with a nod. It’s a weird habit I have, nodding when talking. The nod backs up my words with a physical and therefore perhaps more believable gesture, when my conversation partner can see me.

  As we’re communicating over radio, the gesture is lost on Jonah.

  “Duck crossing,” Jonah shouts, causing me to flinch in the seat. “Bullshit, Jax. Why aren’t you in Des Moines?”

  “I’m serious, sir. A family of ducks was crossing the road in Kansas. I had to wait forty-five minutes for them to safely get to the other side.”

  There was also a second, but much smaller, duck crossing in Southern Iowa, hence the extra fifteen minute delay. I neglect to mention this, at the risk of pissing off my boss.

  Turns out, Jonah’s already at his max level of faux-pissed off. “It takes three minutes for ducks to cross roads. dipshit. You’re lagging behind by over an hour.”

  “It was a large family, sir. Some might even call it… A family gathering.”

  Jonah grits his teeth, sending crackling noises over the speaker. My blood pressure spikes. “If you weren’t my best driver, I’d fire your ass for subversion, duck family or not.”

  “I couldn’t run over the ducks, sir.”

  “You damn well could,” Jonah shouts. “Your job is to get to Des Moines by five, and if you have to run over ducks to do it, so be it. You’re speeding up the process of natural selection.”

  “It’s not my job to play god, sir.”

  “Fuck you, Jax. Get to Des Moines on the fucking hour or you’re fired.”

  He hangs up.

  A sense of relief courses through me. “God, he’s such a dick,” I grumble, settling into my seat. The worst part is that Jonah’s usually the chillest boss. Fucking corporate.

  But there were ducks. A great big fucking flock of them, clogging up the goddamn road and causing me to be late.

  I’m not an animal rights activist, but I’ll be damned if I run over a duck.

  When Jonah’s gone, I pull up the route on the navigation tablet. Anxiety causes my flesh to prickle as I wonder if there’s any hope of making it to Des Moines by five. But that’s when I see a new
path’s opened up.

  No longer constrained by a traffic jam, the fastest route’s back on the table, and I head towards it at the next exit.

  “Take that,” I grumble, pulling onto I-94W. “Gonna hit the delivery on time, after all.”

  Traffic is sparse on the interstate. I pass farmland and not much else. It’s not until I spot a sign that says Visit Minnesota, Land of 10,000 Lakes! do I think of Bear Springs.

  Because Bear Springs is in Minnesota.

  That Minnesota.

  The same Minnesota with the gorgeous cut cock that poked through the glory hole at the most unexpected time when I’d been deleting my ex from Facebook and telling myself through bitter break-up tears I’d never talk to a man or suck cock again.

  My cock throbs at the thought of the mystery cock that saved my hookup life.

  The road is empty, so there’s no danger of being seen.

  A low gruff moan escapes me as I rub myself through my blue jeans, tracing the outline of my shaft and squeezing it. The vision of the mystery cock flashes in my mind, and I know I can’t hold off.

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I park on the shoulder and whip out my cock. “Fuck,” I grunt, stroking the shaft. My foreskin rises and falls as I tug it, exposing the sensitive glands and sending white-hot bolts of lust coursing through me.

  I let out a primal moan, letting the waves of sheer fucking need overpower me, tossing me in their currents as the riptide of my arousal takes me out to sea.

  “Goddamnit,” I groan, jerking faster, and that’s when I realize can’t hold on a fucking second longer.

  I need to come right this fucking instant.