My pager vibrated for a second time in as many minutes. "Hold your fucking horses" I growled through gritted teeth as I tucked my enraged pecker back into my coveralls and carefully zipped them up.
I started the day commando, wearing nothing under my coveralls. My adventure with Mike had sparked a bit of a fetish. Captivated by the spacious caressing of my naked skin, I went about my work, spending the hours daydreaming about Mike and this weekend. I looked for tasks that took me away from the shop, intending to avoid knowing smirks from coworkers at my telltale bulge. It strained against my coveralls leaving a growing wet spot. Rubbing up against a greasy workbench, I was finally able to conceal it. That worked for the spot but after a few hours of a near-constant boner, my balls were starting to ache.
There were a few places around the shop where my dried jizz could be found if you knew where to look. A couple of them had been marked by others as well. Those were my favorites, the thought of shooting my cum on top of someone else's brought a sense of communion and intensified my arousal.
Summer thunderstorms had rolled through the night before, taming the previous day's swelter; I chose the shipping container we used as a storage shed. Settling down on an old diamond-plate toolbox, behind a shelf, near the back, I unzipped my coveralls; pulling my swollen dick out and slowly started stroking.
The musky smell of my groin, a mix of sweat and stale pre-cum, filled the air. With my left hand on my chest, I leaned back and began thrusting, fucking my fist. Loosing myself in the moment, space and time faded. The only thing left was my absolute pleasure.
The moment was shattered with the buzzing of my pager, snapping me back to the present. "What the fuck?" cursing, I continued to stroke, intending to come before answering the page; it buzzed again, destroying my focus.
"What's the emergency," I asked gruffly, walking into the office. Jacob, the shop foreman, raising an eyebrow, handed me a purchase order.
"I need this differential picked up, it'll take a couple of hours to get there, and you need to get it before they close. The tractor is being towed in, and the nightshift needs it ASAP."
"On my way," I said, softening my tone.
Mike, along with Sergio, one of the other mechanics, had been out on a service call all day. They rolled in as I was heading out. Mike and I exchanged a meaningful smile as I drove past them. This was going to be a long shift. My day normally ended at four o' clock and it was going to be after eight when I finally got back.
I continued to daydream and rub my dick as I drove. Veering over the rumble strip a third time, I finally snapped out of it.
"You're going to fucking crash, knock that shit off," I said, cursing at myself.
I arrived at the supplier with ten minutes to spare. A pallet with the new differential was lifted into the bed of my truck as my pager buzzed again, the displayed number unfamiliar.
"Who's paging me?" I said aloud.
"Could you tell me where the nearest pay phone is," I asked the forklift driver after he parked, shutting it down. He pointed across the interstate.
"There are a few at the truck-stop. The restaurant has decent burgers, and the hotel is cheap if you need a bed."
"I have to head back, thanks for your help."
He gave a grateful nod as we secured the cargo. I jumped into my truck, driving onto the street as he closed the steel gate behind me.
Pulling into the truck-stop, I took a few seconds to admire a new ninety-five Corvette in the parking lot, not even a dream on my meager paycheck.
Inside was a hallway lined with doors marked "Men", "Women", "Showers", "Lounge", and "Employees Only." I walked past them to a pay phone near the rear entrance. Dropping change in the slot I dialed the mystery number.
"Hello?" my heart skipped a beat; the voice was Mike's.
"I got your page."
"When you get done tonight, come to my place." My mind started racing. We live nearly two hours from each other; the shop, located between.
"I smell like shit, should probably shower and grab some clean clothes." As the words left my mouth, I knew his response.
"Fuck that, my dick's been hard all day and I'm not waiting for you to get purdied-up."
"Guess I need to get my ass in gear," laughing as I hung up the phone; hearing him say something about "erections" just before it disconnected.
I took a quick piss in the men's room, paying little attention to the beefy trucker in a Peterbilt cap, hungrily eying my dick. Another time, perhaps, but tonight I was focused. I had a sexy fucker waiting for me, and I wasn't about to disappoint him.
I finished, shook the last drops free, and tucked back into my coveralls. A defeated look crossed the trucker's face as I walked out, not even taking time to wash. Buying a sandwich and soda, I fueled up and hit the road.
A brilliant orange sunset filled the sky as I pulled into the shop ninety minutes later, having made the trip in record time. Frankly, I was lucky to avoid a speeding ticket. A couple of them and I'd be looking for another job. My dick convinced me Mike was worth the risk.
I pulled into an empty bay. The evening mechanics were standing outside taking a break and waiting for me. With my arrival, they extinguished their smokes and got to work.
I left things in their capable hands, filing the paperwork, and stowing my pager. I clocked out and grabbed my clothes, not bothering to change, I ran out the door.
I jumped into my old silver Nova, tossed my things onto the back seat, cranked the engine, and turned on the lights. I was a few miles down the highway when...
"Shit!" Swearing loudly, I realized I had no clue where Mike lived. I had memorized the address he'd given, but I hadn't looked at a map. I now regretted my sudden end to our call.
"I should have asked him for directions."
Laughter burst from my gut as I understood his last words. He said "directions", not "erections". It took me a few minutes to compose myself, wiping the tears from my eyes.
"I'll figure it out" I said aloud, as the engine roared, tires sang, and the wind rushed past my open window.
On the outskirts of town, I stopped at a lonely gas station, an oasis of harsh fluorescent light on the dark rural highway.
"Could you tell me where I can find Clear creek road?" I asked the attendant as he filled my tank.
"Sorry man I can't; only been here a few months," he replied. "We sell maps inside if you think it'll help."
Shuffling through the rack and finding the right one, I paid the attendant and returned to my car. Locating the road on the map was easy, getting there, was not. It was miles from town, a winding valley road snaking up into the mountains.
I missed the turn-off, driving for several miles before realizing my mistake, turning around beneath a large sign reading "Schafer Resort and Hot Springs - 12 Miles."
I nearly missed it a second time; a small, battered sign, faded and difficult to read in the dark. I could barely make out the words: "Clear Creek Rd." Turning down it, the surface abruptly changed to gravel. Passing a sign that read "No Outlet," I drove onward for several more miles.
Towering pines cast long shadows as they emerged from the darkness, lit only by my passing headlights. Dim, distant specs of light appear and vanish, shrouded by passing trees. I looked at my watch, the glowing hands showing a quarter to eleven.
Slowing down, a mailbox with the name "Phillips" had an address one number from Mike's. Further down, I rounded the corner and there it was, a box with "M. Hughes" written above the correct number. I turned down the driveway and stopped.
In my beams he stood, drinking a long-neck, and leaning against a closed gate. He wore a dirty tank, oval belt buckle, and blue jeans. His left leg was bent, pressed up against the gate, resting on the toe of brown shit-kickers.
"Took your fuck'n time" he said with a grin. He walked over to my open window, bent down and kissed me. I smiled and my cock twitched as his mustache tickled my lips.
"Waiting long?"