"Jake, you're on," I said into the invisible mike. Sending Jake, the young blond ex surfer who I was assured was 20 but who definitely looked underage, off into the reception area of a driver reliever centre - somewhere in Colorado.
I sat back, keeping an eye on the equipment and occasionally turning to watch the visuals. The guys were all on the ball today and it was too early for the Australian rush and past the peak of the US one, so my work was done for a few minutes. Driver Reviver centres are really starting to take off in the US now, they aren't just Australian any more, and we are putting driver reliever centres into the reviver centres as fast as we can roll them out.
I focused again on the scene in the rough dockside barroom that existed in some US driver reliever centre and my hand took up stroking where it had left off. Yes, I like my work I thought as I watched the three muscular, hairy bodies perform, one holding the lean young client up in front of him as he pounded into his ass, while another was sitting back with the client's legs wrapped around his shoulders as he sucked on the client's surprisingly long dick. The third beefy guy was jacking off as he watched, waiting to attempt a double entry into the client's rear. It was what the client fantasised and had come for I knew, as my other hand roamed around my lightly tanned and increasingly muscular chest and tweaked a nipple. My chest was getting quite hard I suddenly realised, all the gym work and sex I was getting in my new job, I thought with a smile.
And I shuddered, as for some reason I momentarily recalled what my life had been like only 6 months before. And I remembered how my journey to where I was had begun only 18 months before.
It was my proving that the myth of what lay hidden in an ordinary Australian, New South Wales, Driver Reviver centre was in fact true, (see Driver Reliever Ch 01) that had started it all. Or ended it all, was perhaps a better way to put it. Ended my old life.
Yes, that first time I had entered the secret world of the driver reliever centre hidden inside one of the common old portable fibreglass toilet units provided at the reviver centre, had opened a new world for me.
It had been the summer school holidays and as we were all warned to 'stop, revive, survive' every two hours by the Roads and Traffic Authority. And they in collaboration with the Lions Club had set up the Driver Reviver station at the end of the F3 freeway as usual, and it was in full swing. But at this stop one of the portable toilets was not as innocent as it seemed. I had heard tales, and I had come to prove them nothing but myths. Instead I had wound up weak kneed and wondering how soon I could return.
Yes. I was definitely weak kneed as I rejoined my wife, Fiona, my son, Andrew and my daughter in law, Angela, and was handed my 'free' Driver Reviver station coffee - courtesy of the Lions club, and a gold coin donation - after an apparently brief visit to one of the Driver Reviver station portable toilets.
I discovered that my first visit to the driver reliever centre in the toilet cubicle that wasn't ordinary, had only taken a few minutes in the real world of the regular 'free coffee' Driver Reviver station. The hunk in there had told me time and space meant nothing inside that portable unit, H093. And it was true. So I was thinking about how soon I could return to the Driver Reviver centre and how often I could visit unit H093.
As I was pondering this important question my daughter-in-law, Angela, moaned loudly, "I feel sick."
All heads turned their attention to her, that is, her doting husband and my equally doting wife suddenly had thoughts of nothing else. I sighed. My daughter in law often claimed she felt ill, but the illnesses always mysteriously passed after she had received a suitable amount of attention.
My wife Fiona, and our son Andrew, helped Angela back to the car. There she sat in the back seat being fanned by her husband as my wife ran off to get more free tea and some food, and also cold water. It looked like they were settled in for a while. I was unnecessary as usual. I often felt I was unnecessary in my family, Fiona was a keen lawn bowler, and as one of her clubs stars she was out bowling more than she was at home.
So grabbing the unexpected opportunity of Angela's illness, I told my son I felt a bit queasy again, and would have to go again. He seemed to take note, but basically ignored me. Which was fine with me. I hurried off, back to portable toilet number H093 and climbed the steps and opened the door and went in.
It had gone!
No. Seriously. I mean, I was in shock. Because now H093 had nothing but a fibreglass toilet and hand-basin unit inside it. I staggered back out and checked the number on the side of the unit. Yes, it was H093, and in the same place I was sure. I stood there confused, and yes, disappointed. On my earlier visit I had hurried the greatest fuck of my life and been out as soon as I could, worried about time, and convinced my wife and family would have been searching the car park for me already.
Now I had missed my chance to really enjoy that fuck. Perhaps forever, I groaned.
I returned to my family feeling desolate, and stood by in a haze as Angela was revived, and then Fiona was being busy and shouting, " Neil, wake up, it's time to go, god you're useless," .
Well it went from bad to worse after that. Angela it turned out was pregnant, which had me liking her for a while. My first grandchild, I thought proudly. But then Andrew got a transfer up the coast to Foster, which he said was somewhere safer and better for raising a child. Well I couldn't argue, Sydney had it's problems that was for sure. But of course Angela couldn't manage on her own so Fiona decided to go up to Foster for the week and come home on weekends. I had about got used to that when my wife decided the drive was too much, and her bowling was suffering. And also Angela was nearly due, so Fiona said she'd have to stay up there. I'd have to drive up to them on the weekends she decided. So I did.
God, it nearly killed me. Working all week then heading straight off on a four hour drive to Foster every Friday night, sitting in my sons house trying to keep out of the way. Because I found that Fiona was almost never around, as she even more serious about her lawn bowls in Foster than she had been in Sydney. And then I had the same drive home on Sunday. It was killing me, and I knew it wasn't ending soon when the baby came and Fiona got a small flat of her own and started talking about her friends at the bowls club, especially about her girlfriend Jackie, whom I never met. The baby was cute, a boy, and for a moment I was full of pride and excitement. But I was hardly allowed to touch him, because according to Angela he seemed to be almost permanently poorly.
Then it was summer again and the traffic was getting worse every weekend. A four hour trip was now taking me five hours and I shuddered to think how long it would take around Christmas.
But then it happened; one Friday evening I saw the Driver Reviver centre at the end of the F3 was open again. I had not given it any thought. I had been too busy and too tired. But there it was, a beacon of welcome and revival, and I pulled in and parked. And heaved a sigh of relief.
And I wondered in a rush if unit H093 was there again. I nervously got out of my car and staggered to the line of cubicles like a zombie. Hoping like mad, but half dreading finding it there.
But it was there. Portable toilet unit H093. I closed my eyes and wished that it would be as I remembered it inside, open and welcoming.
As I stood on the dirt at the foot of the steps the door of the portable unit opened and a man emerged. Before he could let the door fall closed I pushed past him and inside, and I shook with relief to see the small foyer again, and a naked man standing there examining the head of his cock. It was a different man though, a blond this time, and his cock was only half engorged.
