Fall River by Raoul Anderson

The indigo blue S-10 with yellow parking lights dimmed, idled in the rest area parking lot off I95 near the Fall River exit. Tom Brock, a stocky bear of a man, bearded, hairy and near two hundred pounds on a bad day, shifted his solid build, and peered into his side mirror. A bit near-sighted, but refusing to wear glasses, he strained to see arrivals to the rest stop. He’d been there maybe forty-five minutes, hoping to see a rig pull into the truck parking. Brock liked Saturday nights for cruising truckers- especially late at night when traffic was light and a horny driver’s need for release was more desperate after a long and lonely haul. The dark, cool quiet of the New England night always seemed the best conditions to satisfy his hunger for the often forgotten road warrior. He was gay, had known this since childhood, but found little pleasure or interest in the bars and dance clubs or the men who frequented them. Even in the company of friends, Tom Brock found these places dull and numbing. He usually drank heavily to ease the boredom and returned home, where he greeted with a big hug, his chocolate Labrador retriever, Spencer. Spencer was his best friend and went everywhere with him, except the bars and work.

“You think I’ll be lucky tonight, Spence?” he said aloud to his friend next to him. “You’re gonna be a good boy, right?”

Spencer licked his cheek and breathed hot air into his face.

“Yeah, you’re a good boy. But I wish I could find a man with a tongue like yours.”

He scratched Spencer’s ears.

“Or one to want mine all over his big dick.”

The animal cocked his head to side, then licked Brock again.

Bright flashing lights nearly blinding him, struck the driver side mirror, as a rig pulled slowly into the rest area.

“Well, well, boy. What do we have here?”

He watched the trucker park the rig. Tom knew the driver saw him, because the man looked towards his truck. Then dome lights lit up the cab.

For a moment, the two men only watched each other. Spencer sat quietly, his head on the dashboard and eyes moving from Brock to rig, and back to his master. Then the driver took off his shirt and returned his gaze towards Tom.

“Okay, good start. What else you got for me cowboy?”

Squinting, he leaned forward for a clearer view. A light fog drifted through the air and Tom turned on his wipers to removed the moisture from the windshield. His ample but hard belly hit the control arm and the high beams came on full and bathed the rig in light.

“Dammit!” he cursed. He pulled the arm back and lot darkened.

“So much for subtlety,” he muttered.

Spencer uttered a soft resigned whimper.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” he chuckled.

Spencer circled in the seat, then buried his snout between his haunches.

The driver continued to stare in Tom’s direction, then standing up, pulled down his pants. He wore no underwear. Dark hair bushed around a long cock and low hanging balls. Under the dome lights, he leaned against the windshield and pulled on his dick.

“There’s yer sign,” Tom said. He patted Spencer’s head.

“Be good. Daddy’s going for a walk.”


The fog, heavier and wetter, drifted around Tom Brock, his body hot in the cool air, as he made his way towards the rig. The passenger side door opened slowly, and he looked inside. The driver seemed to be well over six feet, beefy and hairy everywhere it counted. His face covered in a bushy beard, broke into a wide grin.

“Well, shore took ya long enough,” he teased. Black eyes twinkled and he snorted when he laughed.

“Come on in,” he said.

Turning around to climb into his sleeper gave Tom a view of the round furry ass. His thighs, thick and muscular with dark down made Tom’s cock strain against his jeans and his mouth wet with desire. He nearly tripped over the man’s boots as he followed him into the sleeper.

“Shit! Sorry man.”

The driver laughed in a tone that was kindly, not derisive.

“We don’t stand on ceremony here. Relax, buddy. It’s all in how ya land.”

“We?’ Brock stuttered.

“Me…and Mister. Johnson.”

He grabbed his cock and pointed the meaty flesh towards Tom.

“You are…?”

Tom flushed bright red.

“Brock, er Tom…Brock.”

“Howdy, Tom Brock. This is Mister Johnson. I’m Gerald Morgan, but they call me Captain Morgan. You like rum?”

Tom stammered, unsure where this rendezvous would lead.

“Yeah, sure…”

Morgan chuckled.

“Good. It’s sweet. Like Mister Johnson here. Wanna taste?”

Tom nodded, his mouth too wet to speak.

“If that’s what you’re here for then…take a sip.”

From behind a pillow, Morgan withdrew a bottle and handed it to Tom.

“Thanks, man. I am…a little…thirsty.”

Morgan’s eyes brightened, then narrowed.

“Hmmm. I was hoping you were. Make it a good one. Get yer mouth nice and wet.”

He leaned back against the mattress, giving Mister Johnson room to bobble and drool. Brock took a deep breath and brought the rum to his lips, swallowing long and deep. The dark sweet liquor burned through his chest making his eyes water. He handed the bottle back to Morgan.

“Whoa, that’s good shit!”

“Like that, Tom?”

Brock choked down a cough and exhaled heavily. Warmth flooded through his body as he wiped his dampening forehead.

“Yeah…wow. Good shit. YEAH!”

Morgan took a deep swig from the bottle, then placed it between his thighs. He whistled, closing his eyes and rubbed the bottle against his thigh.

“Yeah, man. Try it now.”

Holding the bottle up, he tilted it down towards Mister Johnson, covering his cock with rum.

“Now, drink.”

Tom watched the dark liquor drip down eight fat, heavy inches of meat.

Light-headed and giddy, he giggled.

“Aye, aye…Captain.”

Dropping to his knees, Brock began licking the drenched ball sack. The sweet taste and musty smell drove him wild with lust and he sucked Morgan’s balls with mounting intensity. Both bangers in his mouth, he gurgled and groaned, sliding his tongue upwards to Morgan’s throbbing shaft.

“Oh, man, that is so FUCKING good,” Morgan moaned. “Clean my balls, buddy. Work it, man!”

He grabbed Tom’s head and pushed him hard against his throbbing nuts.

“YEAH! Down, man. DOWN!”

Tom pulled away, leaving Morgan’s balls swinging against his chin.

“Wha…you want…me…to stop?”

He looked up into Morgan’s glistening eyes.

“Down, man. No, fuck. DOWN! There!”

Morgan shoved Tom’s sweat drenched head beneath his dangling balls.

“THERE! Now, eat my ass!”

Morgan slid forward, raised his hairy thighs, wrapping his legs around Brock’s neck. Tom spread wide the ass cheeks and buried his face in the bushy hole.

“FUCK YEAH! Eat my ass. Eat my ass. Oh, yeah…EAT my ASS! YEAH, FUCK! Fuck me with yer tongue!”

Brock’s tongue dug deep in Morgan’s rum soaked hole, circling and lapping the sweet opening. With powerful hands digging into Brock’s shoulders, the trucker pushed him deeper into his burning hole. The contact was electric and Brock felt powerful impulses surging through his body.

“Oh, man, oh man, oh man…Mmmm. Taste so good, so fucking good, Captain. Feed my mouth with your hot, sweet hole!”

He came up for air so he could see Morgan’s face. The trucker’s eyes closed when he wiggled his hips, and thrust upward into Brock’s mouth. A rasping growl escaped his lips when he spoke. Overwhelmed with desire, Brock
took command of Morgan’s ass.

“You like that, don’t ya Captain? Yeah, move that ass. Keep it hot and wet.”

His forcefulness surprised him. Used to truckers plowing his throat, he found himself enjoying the change of roles. Confident and bolder, he slipped a forefinger in Morgan’s sticky hole. It slid in easily and the trucker gasped with pleasure. Then Tom circled the pink opening with his tongue, spitting gobs of saliva, and keeping the hole wet.

“Oh, oh, hooooo, yeah, “ Morgan moaned like a wounded animal. “ Deeper, deeper, buddy. Hit the spot. Fuck it. FUCK my hole. Hooo…yeah!”

Brock’s dick was so hard it ached, so he stopped jacking his meat, afraid he’d shoot his load. His lips returned to Morgan’s thick cock and he swallowed it whole, pushing against the man’s groin until the meat poked the back of his throat. The trucked flopped around, shaking and moaning, thrusting his cock deeper into Brock’s throat and his ass tightened around the probing fingers.

Without thinking, Tom inserted a third and a fourth finger into the expanding hole, while sucking and slobbering all over Morgan’s cock and balls.

“Oh shit! Man, fuck!” he yelled.



Trembling and drenched in sweat, Morgan grabbed Tom’s hand, holding it still.

“Man, ya gotta stop. I need to piss. I’m gonna let go if ya don’t!”

Brock looked in Morgan’s wild and pain-filled eyes.

“Let it go, man. Get ‘er done, dude!”

The trucker’s eyes rolled back and he yelled.

“OH FUCK, OH FUCK…I’m lettin’ go…!”

Hot piss streamed into Brock’s willing mouth, burning its way through his ample belly. Morgan’s piss streamed from the sides of Brock’s mouth and his damp, matted chest. The trucker’s ass sucked in the thumb and Brock’s hand up the knuckles slipped in. The piss taste turned sweet and Tom realized Morgan’s sap started to rise through his cock shaft.

“I WANT YER COCK UP MY ASS! NOW! Man, NOW!”

Brock slipped his cock between his fingers, sliding his meat inside and slowly removed his hand, finger by finger. Morgan pushed down, sucking the cock deep inside him. Although the trucker was the bigger man, Brock had no trouble spreading his legs and plowing the ass with long deep strokes. He watched Morgan’s fat cock expand and leak gobs of cream. Then Morgan started to whine and yelp.

“I’m gonna blow, man. Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh, yeah….fuck! Bitch! YEAH. Oh, fucking me. YEAH. Fuck…YEAH. OH! FUUUCCCKKK!”

Morgan’s load shot upwards, a fountain of jizz, splattering Tom’s face, and his chest and landing in long strands on the trucker’s belly. Suddenly Morgan changed position, pushed Tom away, and forced the cock of his ass.

“Fill my belly with yer load, man. I wanna taste my ass on yer cock. I wanna drink yer cum and taste my sweet ass!”

He took Tom’s slick cock into mouth and sucked hard. Tom surrendered his spooge with rapid-fire bursts of heat and salt, filling the trucker’s mouth.

“Drain my cock!” Tom cried out. “Fuck, man! Take ALL my cum!”

He grabbed Morgan’s head and held it still.

“I gotta piss, man.”

Morgan mumbled, his mouth still filled with Tom’s cock and cum.

“Do it, man!”

A slow, then steady stream flowed into his mouth and Morgan drank hungrily until Tom had no more to give. The two men collapsed on the sleeper mattress, drained and burning with heat.

When Morgan got back his wind, he asked:

“Wanna stay the night?”

He nuzzled Brock’s hairy neck and lightly played with his nipples.

Oh, fuck! Spencer!, he thought.

“I kinda…I got a friend with me,” he stuttered.

Damn stutter. He’s gonna think I’m an idiot!

Morgan laughed.

“If ya mean, yer dog. There’s room.”

Tom sat up and blinked.

“How did you know?”

He blushed bright pink and looked away.

“I may be queer, but I ain’t blind. Thought it was kinda cool…and hot. Not leaving him at home. Made me think, that guy like that would be fun to be with. A nice guy fer a change. But it’s up to you, Tom. No problem. If ya can’t, it don’t change nothing. So don’t feel like ya owe me. Besides we’ll always have Fall River.”

His gentle laughter made Tom feel at ease and a little sad.

“I think you’re pretty nice, too. And in case, you didn’t figure it out, I’m not usually so aggressive. Just your average garden variety truck hawk cocksucker.”

“Welcome to the club, and nothing to be ashamed of. And, I knew that.”

Tom’s face flushed again.

“Then…why…me?”

Morgan eyes turned dark with compassion.

“Never sell yerself short, buddy. You’re a good-looking man. Hairy, hot and a nice bod. Not every trucker is into gettin’ head and kickin’ ya out of his sleeper after he cums. You can stay or you can go. It’s your choice. You’re yer own man, and if ya didn’t know that before, ya do now. I know a loner when I see one.”

Morgan yawned and stretched. One powerful arm, wrapped around Brock’s shoulder.

“Time fer me get some shuteye. I got a long day tomorrow. Although I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Torn between sleeping in the big trucker’s arms, the safe, comfortable place he called home and Spencer’s unquestioned loyalty, Tom lowered his head and softly said:

“I think…I think…I’ll be heading home.”

Morgan smiled.

“Then, you do that. You do what’s best fer ya. I’ll be alright. Hell, man. I feel pretty damn good. That was one hot sleeper creep. One I’ll remember for a long time, man, no shit.”

Tom dressed slowly and Morgan watched his every move.

“Very nice,” he murmured. “Damn nice, man!”

When he dressed, Tom turned and said:

“Guess, I’ll be going. Thanks, buddy.”

“Back atcha, man.”

Morgan extended his hand and shook Tom’s smaller one.

“Well, Tom Brock. It was a pleasure eating ya.”

Both men laughed.

Stepping down from the cab, Tom turned once again.

“Next time…maybe. If you’re here…and I’m here…”

Morgan winked.

“You can count on that, buddy. Just make sure ya bring the dog.”



Brock climbed back into his truck. Spencer’s head came up quickly and his tail pounded the seat. Stretching, and yawning, he licked Tom’s face, welcoming his return. Then they both looked towards the rig, quiet and still and, the curtains drawn. Captain Morgan seemed down for the count and in for the night.

Brock stroked Spencer’s head and murmured:

“Maybe Fall River had a new legend now.”

And maybe, on another cool night laced with fog, Captain Morgan would return.

Spencer nestled close to Brock as he started the Indigo Blue S-10, passed the rig, and headed home.