"Dad what's wrong with you," my daughter asked.
"I need fucked."
"Oh my, Dadddddd," she screamed.
I chuckled as my "little girl" knew I had no filter, as she and I were having another honest conversation. She wanted to be the boss of me in many ways, but the truth in it was that she truly worried of me, being single and a trucker, always on the go as I needed to turn a large dollar.
"Dad, I know you have needs, but that was a bit too much," she told me as I couldn't stop laughing.
I considered her my soulmate in a sense, and on this evening when I made it back to Virginia (looking for Gabe again), she and I talked until I parked in front of the gym where I met the fit and fancy top. I managed to get freight from Ohio to the Hampton Roads area as suddenly loads were barraging places like Virginia, a win for me as Gabe was the latest guy I had an appetite for.
"Are you working out tonight," she asked.
I told her "yes," but I wasn't speaking of any butterfly machine, but my legs opening l for the handsome Navy diver who could swim deep into my anal cavity.
"Make sure you stretch good, dad," she told me before we hung up.
My mind wandered deeper in the gutter as she spoke, and it was timely for me to get off the phone as I found myself turning more horny by the minute.
"He's the only reason you work out," she texted after the call.
She was maybe 75 percent right, but I loved a good treadmill walk for how it made me feel afterwards: accomplished, sweaty, and fit despite my appearance.
I'd walk from the back of the parking lot where my rig sat, head held high with excitement as I expected to see Gabe when I walked in.
Instead, I was greeted by an older female.
"Hi darling," she said with the biggest smile.
I loved her disposition and repeated her salutation.
"Where's Gabe," I asked.
"Honey, he quit," she told me, and my heart sank as I wanted him to butt fuck me once more.
I didn't retreat and still chose to work out. After 40 minutes on the incline, I was drenched, happy to finish a good grind before I changed and hopped in the shower with the thought of how Gabe railed me the last time. I scrubbed myself and played with my cock and hole a bit, but it wasn't the same as "being met" in the shower, and my hormones went into overdrive as now I was hot and bothered pondering the sexy instructor. I dried off and put on clean clothes afterwards when I decided I needed some cock that evening, and wasn't going to bed until the mission was complete. I stopped rolling early for the night, but still had two hours of driving time to spare, and so I knew where I could fill that void. I cranked up my rig after a quick pre-trip inspection, then barreled down the highway to make my way to Route 13 towards Virginia Beach, where a truck stop was erected just a few miles south of the infamous Chespeake Bay Bridge Tunnel.
As a courtesy I sent a text to my daughter letting her know I changed location, and that I was safe. It made sense for me to park at there for the evening, as I had a load to pickup on the eastern shore 24 hours later heading north. I cut the engine and went into the stop to grab snacks and pay for my overnight stay, but ended up in the trucker lounge. The lounge had snacks, betting games, and a vending machine with different types of cigars along with an area designated for smoking. I bought a cigar and took full advantage by having a Cohiba for old times sake, as this would be the first time I smoked in 30 years.
"I like your taste, old man," said a young voice.
I looked over to my right to find Martin, a young, black driver with a thick, well manicured black bear, and big, white teeth donning a Fed Ex uniform while speaking to me in a jubilant manner.
"Old man? Kid, I'd smoke you under the table," I said as I noticed he puffed on the same type stick.
I introduced myself and sat beside him as we were the only two in this part of the lounge. He mentioned he was an Oklahoma native, and trucked out of a Virginia terminal since exiting military service.
"Navy," I asked.
"Army," he said, before he showed a tattoo on his right arm symbolic of his time.
I let him know I appreciated his service, and the conversation thickened as I couldn't get enough of his country, Midwestern drawl. He wouldn't know it was a turn on, as was his nose ring and body ink. It took a lot for me to not "queen out," but I could feel my hole twitching and my insides on fire as he was a complete beast. We compared trucking profiles as he noted Fed Ex was his only gig five years in the game, and I shot longevity facts based off my multiple decades. He entertained switching from that type of work to another type of trucking.
"Ever thought of hauling food," I asked.
He inquired and I gave him the pros and cons as if I was a recruiter. He drank all the details and emitted questions as Martin was charismatic, charming and sexy in tone. I didn't know if he was straight or gay, but I knew he had a masculinity card, a card I desired of a man along with a cologne that smelled damn good. We'd chat until the place closed, taking things outside as his truck happened to be parked adjacent to mine.
"I'm actually broke down," he told me.
He was supposed to bobtail, or roll without a trailer up to BWI when he mentioned his engine began making odd noises.
"A buddy is bringing me another truck, and they'll tow this one to Richmond," he said.
We stood between rigs until raindrops appeared, and I convinced him to hop into my rig to keep from getting wet.
We'd listen to music, I broke out beers from my refrigerator and we'd chat about his time in service. He expounded upon serving the country as he was talking about his deployments, as well as the good and the bad of being in uniform. I sat in the driver's seat with my shoes off while listening to him, then he'd quiet down as everything from Lisa Stansfield, to Travis Tritt would play across the speakers.
"That's my jam," he'd repeatedly say.
He seemed to know lyrics to all the songs, and I was impressed as I loved a guy who loved music.
"I enjoy being single," he said out of the blue after one song.
