CAMI
Will reclined, still fully dressed except for his shoes, on the motel's bed, enjoying the relaxing comfort of the warm room and the bed's fresh-smelling sheets. It had been an eventful day on the road. While the Road Warriors tried to remain frugal on this first overnight trip together, modesty demanded that they spring for separate rooms. This meant that they would "Sort by Lowest Price" on every website they used to find accommodations. It was definitely more expensive than sleeping in the rig, but having a warm room in which to sleep after a cold travel day was Heaven On Earth.
He alternated between watching the powder fall outside the window and surfing the local Vancouver channels on the TV. Nothing interesting. Certainly nothing as interesting as the highlight reel playing over and over in his mind.
He and his new driving partner Winn had shared some firsts today, that was for sure. First near-collision? Check. First border crossing? Check. First tantalizing view of the hot young trainee's "pokies," trim stomach, and sideboob? Check, check, check.
The day had been stressful, but the mental images of Winn's barely-contained breasts kept crowding out all other thoughts in Will's mind. He had been half-hoping to find a movie or something to fall asleep to, but his penis was uncomfortably hard, and there was no way he was going to sleep before he had relief. Sighing in resignation, he arched his back off the bed and pulled down the comfortable olive-toned track pants he had been wearing. He left them around his ankles, another habit born of his helicopter parenting.
It's not that he wasn't looking forward to some self-abuse to cap off an exceedingly arousing day, but their unexpected interruption at the border had robbed them of time he'd normally use to shoot the shit with his partner and wind down in the evening. Not that the bookworm Winn ever wanted to talk, anyway. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but first things first, as they say.
He undid the button of his boxers and snaked a hand into the opening, fishing for his erect cock. He groaned with pleasure as it rubbed against his waistband. He always got an erection while lying down or sleeping; numerous Google searches had comforted him that it was normal, but it was frustrating nonetheless. He reminded himself that he must make sure not to fall asleep around Winn. He had no interest in a "tit for tat" with his new partner: rewarding her with a view to match those he'd gotten earlier today.
Having freed his entire package for the first time since this morning, he casually enjoyed the moment. This was a good partnership for "personal care." With no mentor watching over HIS shoulder, Will could relax. It was a nice change from his first six months. He did have a certain responsibility for the vehicle he and Winn were delivering, but he'd not yet found a situation he, or really they, couldn't handle.
Turning his attention downward, he stroked his calloused hand slowly along the length of his rigid penis. His hands were rough from working on diesel rigs and the weightlifting he'd started two months ago to build a more impressive body.
Jolts of pleasure surged from the head and across his scrotum, seeming to change direction and dissipate up along his slowly toning abdomen. He liked masturbating through the hole in his boxers; the support below his testicles added to the sensation.
The TV was still on, and Will casually surfed with his left hand while stroking with his right. His slightly upturned member extended 3 inches from his grip when he grabbed it around its hairy base. His head was propped up on two pillows, making the perfect angle to masturbate distractedly while looking for something sexy on the tube. The channels out here in the boonies were normally pretty tame, but sometimes there was a news anchor or weathergirl with a low-cut top that would be sufficient for his needs.
Thinking about breasts brought his attention back to Winn. She even made the Dropper dress code look good. Her form-fitting polos and zip-ups left Will wishing that she was as much of a hippie as her name would suggest. Much to his disappointment, however, she always seemed to wear a bra. The lacy purple shelf he'd seen for a moment today, however, offered a glimpse of a whole new world to him: a creamy white one that danced before his eyes.
As he lie masturbating with his eyes closed against the lame television programming, thinking about Winn, he felt a familiar tightness. Quickening his pace and restricting his movements to his sensitive glans, he reached over to the bedside table to grab a tissue. He hadn't come in a couple of days, since it was difficult to find time away from Winn.
He ripped a tissue from the box and lightly spread it over his dick-filled grip like a bizarre, lumpy tablecloth. Thrusting his hips involuntarily against his pumping fist, he began to orgasm. He used his left hand to quickly put the tissue underneath his fist, around his cock. The material felt incredible against the sensitive head, the angry red still visible underneath its white cover.
He came harder than he had in a long time, thinking about Winn's nipples outlined against her gray sweater. He tried not to stab through the tissue as he spasmed in ecstasy atop the still-made bed. Fully spent at last, he relaxed for a moment. Then he rose and headed to the bathroom to flush the tissue and get ready for bed.
Across the hall, his driving partner Winn slept soundly. She was an early riser and hadn't wasted any time this evening. Once they'd arrived at the motel and locked up the rig, she'd gone right to bed. The day had been exhausting, and both drivers finally slept without dreaming.
---
Winn's alarm sounded at 5:45. For the majority of her life, she had been steeped in the slow pace of the Midwest. People in her hometown talked slowly, thought slowly, walked slowly. She even suspected they FUCKED slowly, or at least in the same boring missionary position on the third Sunday of every month or something. Now she had become a runner, and that meant rising early, and going FAST. "Well, fastER," she thought.
It had been a sound sleep, and as she sat meditatively under the warm covers, she took time to "note" her body. This was a practice she had picked up from one of the older Droppers, a friendly 60-ish gentleman named Max. Max had been an OTR trucker out of the Dakotas for years until his ailing health began to require him to cut down on his hours.
He worked only one or two contracts a month, and spent the remainder of his marketable time "jacking around," as he called it, at the motor pool. He was a meditation fanatic, something his late wife had gotten him hooked on. Several times per day when he was not on contract, he would ask aloud, "Anyone wanna go get happy?" Faced with the inevitable chorus of 'no's and catcalls, he'd slip off without a word to the supply closet and close the door. Cross-legged on the floor of the tiny room amongst the bottles of RV-safe bleach and rolls of quick-dissolving toilet paper, Max would seek enlightenment four or five times per day.
Winn had gone with him a few times. She had to admit that the experiences, though slightly unsettling taking place in such close quarters with an older man, were definitely beneficial to her. Her mood in general was more positive, and she found herself more able to interrupt the negative cycles of thought that had plagued her during some of her formative years.
