The story of the following encounter is also true, although when it happened,
even I had to sit back and consider the sheer coincidence of it . . . It would be
like looking at a mirror image of myself as I discovered the wonders of the road.

It was just after Christmas when I headed to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, to have some
work done on my tractor- trailer.  I had made a list of repairs I needed . . .
The fluids were due to be changed, the tachometer light was burned out, I needed
a new motor on the right side-view mirror so I could re-aim it from the driver's
seat, the four batteries on the tractor were due to be replaced, it was time for
a new set of belts had to be installed under the hood . . .

I dropped the truck off at the terminal and checked into a local motel for a
couple of days.  It would take three days to make the repairs and a few upgrades
on the truck, after which I would begin a run from Pittsburgh out to Denver,
Colorado.  Because the motel was booked solid, I was assigned a roommate - Greg,
a newly hired driver who had come to Carlisle for orientation and to be hooked up
with a trainer.

Greg was a hot-looking 42-year-old who had just graduated from tractor-trailer
school and was seeking to begin a second career as a professional driver. 
Although he almost looked too good to be straight, I didn't think much until he
unpacked, when I spied a copy of the Damron Address Book, a popular gay
directory, in his bag. Interesting, I thought . . . this was someone who might be
looking for an adventure or two on the road.

Greg was subtle enough to leave the guide packed, and I was subtle enough not to
mention that I noticed it.  I knew that I could have acknowledged it, but I had
just met him, knew that I was going to spend a few days with him, and didn't want
to get pressured by a potential dork who wanted to get it on with me.  Hell, I
thought, it's one thing to have a quick fling with someone on the road when you
can simply drive off, but sharing a motel room is almost like living with someone
- you can't necessarily avoid him.

While my truck was being repaired and Greg went to his orientation classes, I
borrowed a company van and took in a few sights during the day.  (Strange as it
may seem, central Pennsylvania *does* have some cultural sights.) After a few
days, as we hung out at the motel, Greg said that the classes had gone well, but
that the only thing that was hanging him up at that point was a shortage of
trainers.

"That may not be a problem," I said.  "I'm a certified trainer."

Greg was obviously anxious to get on the road and begin his new career, and his
eyes revealed the hope that we could hook up and begin his over-the-road training
phase. By this time, I had discovered that he was hip, intelligent, and
self-assured, so I was comfortable with the thought of his being around for a
while.  The only significant thing that he hadn't mentioned was that he was gay. 
But then, there were two things I hadn't mentioned - first, that I was also gay
and, second, that I already knew about him because of the Damron guide in his
suitcase.

I had decided to take a break from my own sexual adventures on the road.  Not
because I didn't like sex, but because it's simply too damn easy to find it when
you're an over-the-road tractor-trailer driver.  Virtually every rest area, every
truck stop, every turnpike service plaza, and everywhere else presents
opportunities for encounters.  And after you've had enough of them you begin to
think to yourself, "Been there.  Done that.  Got the t- shirt."

But life is interesting - a game of its own sort, and here I was, playing a game
of my own by continuing to let Greg think that I was straight.  At least it would
take off the pressure of feeling I should hop in the sack with him merely because
we were both gay, both truckers, and both rooming together.  At the same time,
there was the game itself.  As a newbie, Greg had not yet gained a knowledge of
what being a real trucker is about, and I knew that by the end of his training
period he would probably become as much of a road slut as . . . me.

We made the arrangements and completed the necessary paperwork.  My truck fixed,
we headed out of the terminal and up to the Pennsylvania Turnpike for the
four-hour trip to Pittsburgh to pick up the shipment for Denver.  I did the
initial driving and oriented him to the Freightliner condo while Greg, who proved
to be adept at the use of a computer, logged onto my laptop unit and pulled up a
map of the warehouse where we would be picking up the load.

We arrived in Cranberry, a suburb just outside of Pittsburgh, and as we stopped
at the security gate of the warehouse we were pulling into I asked Greg, "You
think you can back this rig into a loading dock?"

"Let's give it a shot," he said.  I was impressed by his self-assurance and, when
we pulled up to the loading area, I stepped out of the truck and prepared to
guide him back to the dock as he took the driver's seat.  After I opened the
doors to the trailer, I stepped aside as Greg used an alley-docking maneuver to
back the rig into a straight line with the dock.  I stood to the side and watched
as he comfortably eased the trailer back to a gentle bump at the docking
cushions.  My impression of his self-assurance was accurate: he would, at the
very least, make a competent driver.

I had been to this warehouse before, and knew that we would be there for the next
few hours as the truck was loaded.  That would give us time to settle into the
condo, get our sheets and blankets on the beds, and put away our gear.

As he unpacked, I noticed the gay guide in his suitcase and, this time, decided
to have some fun.  "That looks interesting," I said.  "What's the Damron Address
Book?"

"Ummm," he said with some degree of hesitation, "It's a gay guide."

"Oh," I replied, trying to seem as neutral as possible and feigning neither
interest nor negativity.  "Are you gay?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged.  "I hope that's not a problem for you."

"Not unless you try to boink my butt in the middle of the night," I answered,
trying to stifle my amusement.  I wasn't ready to let on that we were alike in
more ways than one, and "boink"was the straightest word I could think of at the
moment.

"Cool.  I respect the fact that you're straight, and you're safe with me."

I turned and bit my lip, trying to avoid laughing.  (It was all I could do to
avoid hugging him and saying, "Relax, dude.  I'm 'one of us.'")  I did manage to
catch the look of relief on Greg's face, as he realized that I wasn't a redneck
trucker that would try to kick the shit out of him because he was gay.

Our unpacking complete, we waited out the rest of the loading with small talk and
relaxation.  I updated my driving log and did some paperwork as Greg climbed to
the top bunk and began reading.  When I turned to put my papers away, I noticed
that he was reading John Rechy's "City of Night," an classic gay novel about the
hustling life in Los Angeles.  Again stifling a reaction, I found my impression
reinforced that here was a road stud in the making - one who was literate and had
done his research before entering the trucking profession.  Still, I wasn't quite
ready to let on that I knew exactly where he was coming from.

The truck loaded, we headed south on Interstate 79 with Greg in the driver's seat
to begin the journey, picking up I-70 westbound into West Virginia.  I would
spend the next several hours with him, sitting in the passenger seat to observe
his driving skills and the way he handled the rig. Later in the journey, I would
be able to sleep while he drove, but this was his first time behind the wheel as
a professional driver over the road, and still early in his training phase.

It was early evening when we pulled into a T.A. - Travel Center of America -
truckstop at Dallas Pike, east of Wheeling, West Virginia, for dinner.  After we
ate, I asked Greg, "You want to relax a while, or are you ready to hit the road
now?"

"I wouldn't mind taking a walk to get some exercise and work off the dinner," he
replied.

"No problem.  I'm gonna hit the truck and relax.  Take your time, and take a walk
for me."

As he headed off, I began to realize that I may have met my match.  I had stayed
at this T.A. truckstop before, and knew that it was located just next door to
Fritz the Cat, a fairly active bookstore just off I-70 near Wheeling.  I gambled
that Greg was heading over to the bookstore for a quick fling, and couldn't
resist finding out if my hunch was right.

A few minutes after he left, I stopped in the truck for a roll of quarters, then
walked across the road to Fritz the Cat myself and went into a booth back in the
video section.  The booth doors at the bookstore were fairly old, with large
cracks on each side through which you can see the action out in the hallway.  And
sure enough, I saw Greg come out of another booth, spend a minute looking at the
movie board that showed what was playing, and go into another booth.

At that point, I could resist no longer.  I exited my own booth and noticed that
the booth next to the one Greg had gone into had two respectable glory holes
drilled into the wall.  I entered the booth, dropped a few quarters, and bent
down to see Greg's well-endowed cock hanging out of his jeans.

As Greg began to bend down to check out the view in my own booth, I unzipped my
own jeans and pulled out my own cock, already hard at the prospect of some early
action. Standing back and stroking my rod so he could see it from the light of
the video, I saw Greg's own cock protrude through the glory hole on the right. 
As I gently took hold of it, I extended my own rod through the other hole and
felt him do the same.

I was clearly at an advantage as we stood there beating each other's meat.  To
Greg, I was just another cock sticking out of a wall.  But I knew how hot he
looked, at least in clothes, and had an image of the tall, dark- haired,
masculine  stud who was standing in the next booth.  It was enough to make me
shoot my load right there, which is exactly what I did, pulling my cock back out
of the hole and zipping my jeans with one hand as I continued to stroke him to
the point of orgasm.  As I continued to work his rod with my fist, I felt Greg
begin to thrust forward and watched a lot of hot jism shoot across the booth
before he, too, pulled back.

I quickly exited the booth, then the store, and was back in my bed on the truck
as Greg left the store and returned himself.  "Well," I asked, "Did you have a
good walk?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to appear as if he hadn't just dropped a load in the
bookstore, "Can't complain."

"Okay," I said, "Let's hit the road."

We performed a routine pre-trip inspection, then Greg took the driver's seat and
we pulled out of the T.A. and onto I-70 westbound into Ohio.  He maneuvered the
rig well, and I was comfortable reclining the passenger seat and kicking back
with my feet against the dashboard.

As we moved down the interstate I asked, "So how did you decide to go into
trucking?"

"I spent the last ten years sitting on my ass in an office, and wanted to try
something different," he replied.

I could understand where he was coming from, having spent a few years behind a
desk myself.  At the same time, I knew that he was leaving out a major reason for
his desire to become a trucker - the opportunity for action along the road.

"It's a great way to make a living for someone who's single," I reflected.  "What
about the gay part, though? I've heard that there's a lot of action on the road."
(Duhhhh, I thought.  I was learning to play the "innocent" role well.)

"Yeah, I've heard that too."  He hinted, "Maybe I'll find out just how active it
gets."

"Well, don't let me stop you," I suggested.  "I could always use some
entertainment."

I got the impression that Greg's cock was growing hard as we drove.  Even if I
was straight, he thought, at least I was tolerant about his own obvious interest.

Greg had obviously been around the gay scene.  He was from Harrisburg, which had
a few bars of its own and was not located far from a few active rest areas on
I-81 in Pennsylvania.  He obviously was able to function within the adult book
store scene, and felt comfortable enough to acknowledge being gay when I had
first questioned him about the Damron guide in his suitcase.  This might be the
first time he was behind the wheel as a trucker, but I already knew that he would
take to the scene like a fish takes to water.

I decided to feel out his knowledge of the trucking scene at this early stage in
our cross-country trip.  "I haven't run into too many gay truckers.  Do you know
much about the gay scene when it comes to trucking?"

To say that his answer floored me was an understatement. "Yeah," he said, "I've
read some stories on the Internet newsgroups about truckers and sex on the road."

No, I thought, it couldn't be.  If he were familiar with Usenet newsgroups and
gay sex stories, that would mean that he had read the earlier "Trucker Encounter"
stories. Once again, I bit my lip to keep from laughing . . . Here was Greg,
sitting next to the Naked Trucker, thinking that I was just a nice, tolerant
straight guy.

"Tell me about them," I said.

"There's a guy who writes stories on the Internet who calls himself the Naked
Trucker.  He puts a lot of detail into them about trucking and life on the road,
so I almost feel like I know the scene already."

I asked, "The Naked Trucker?  You mean he drives naked?" I turned away and looked
toward the window, barely able to keep a straight face.

"Yeah," he responded.  "He says that the windows on a truck are high enough that
he actually spends most of his time driving without clothes."

"Hmmmmmm . . . That's unique.  I'll have to try that sometime," I said.  At that
point I was able to laugh openly, although Greg didn't realize that I was
laughing at the humor of the situation, which was beginning to take on the
characteristics of the Theater of the Absurd.  I didn't bother telling him that I
was the Naked Trucker, nor that I was beginning to look forward to stashing my
burdensome clothes for the rest of the trip.

Greg was handling the rig well on the road, and I was comfortable enough with his
driving at that point to go back to the sleeper.  "Well, if it's okay with you, I
think I'll get naked myself . . . to catch some sleep. Will you be okay with the
driving?"

"Sure," he said.  I could almost see the excitement in his eyes as he pondered
the thought that I would be back in bed naked while he was driving.  I decided to
leave him the opening that would lead to some more open intimacy between us.

"Okay.  Just remember to pull over if you start getting tired.  We're making good
time on this load, and the top priority is to rest so you don't drive fatigued." 
He nodded, and I moved to the back of the truck, closing the dark vinyl curtains
at the front of the sleeper before I stripped down and went to bed for a few
hours.

It was about four hours later as I awoke to the feel of the gears downshifting
and the truck slowing down, as Greg pulled into a rest area just inside Indiana. 
I sat up on the side of the bed and reached forward to open the vinyl curtains
separating the cab from the sleeper, then watched as he comfortably eased the rig
into a truck parking space.

"Not bad," I said.  "You've gotten us this far in one piece."

Greg laughed.  "Yeah, I even surprised myself.  I'm starting to get a bit tired,
so I thought I better pull off the road for a while."

"Good thinking," I noted, as I laid back down on the bed, still naked under the
covers.  "Get some rest."

Greg knew at this point that I was sleeping naked, and he stepped back into the
sleeper and closed the curtains, then began to undress himself.  With some light
coming in through the upper side windows of the sleeper, my cock shot up as I
watched him strip down, his well-built torso visible in the shadows.

"So . . ." he said as he was about to climb up into the upper bunk, "Horny,
straight guy?"

I laughed and replied, "Well, I just woke up.  What do you think?"  His
assumption, naturally, was that if I had a hard-on, it was just a piss-hard from
waking up, not from having been watching him in the shadows.

He went on, "I could take care of that for you, you know."

"Hmmmmmm . . . I'm game," I retorted.

He paused a moment and inquired, "Are you serious?"

"Look, dude, if you've got the balls to admit that you're gay, then I have the
balls to admit that I'm horny.  The question is, are you just talking the talk,
or can you walk the walk?"

Greg sat down next to me on the larger lower bed and said, "Look, I'll be honest.
 I'll leave you alone if you don't want to get into it, but if that's not the
case . . . you do turn me on."

"Well, you may notice that I'm not pushing you away."

I felt Greg place his hand onto the blanket as he tentatively moved across my leg
toward my hard and waiting cock.  He gave it a soft squeeze and quietly said,
"Looks like you *could*use some attention."

As his hand enfolded my rod through the covers I turned slightly in his direction
and said, "Well, I still haven't pushed you away."

He reached under the blanket and moved his hand up my leg as I slowly pushed the
covers to the side and raised the leg that was farthest from him.  I quietly
said, "Well, let's see if you're what you crack yourself up to be."

Greg got off the bed and knelt down on the floor as I sat up and leaned against
the back wall of the sleeper cab, exposing my waiting cock to him.  As he began
to take it into his hungry mouth I locked my hands behind my head, looking down
at him in the shadows as he began to work me with his expert tongue.

Greg wanted the unexpected opportunity to last, and little by little he began to
take my cockshaft into his experienced mouth.  By this time he was hard himself,
and as he stroked my balls with one hand while he was going down on me, with the
other hand he was now beating his own rod.  The truck's engine was purring in the
background in the otherwise quiet rest area as I began to thrust my now aching
meat down his throat, and as his own breathing became heavier I reached down and
pulled his head toward me, pumping my hot load into his hungry mouth.  I heard
him gasp as his own load exploded, and stroked his hair as his mouth rested on my
still hard cock.

As he stood, I laid back down, reached up with one foot and pushed the upper bunk
back toward its locking position against the wall.  "We won't need that tonight. 
Will we?" Greg's hand pushed the upper bunk the rest of the way, locking it into
a closed position, then he sat down on the bed next to me.

"For someone who's straight, you seem pretty comfortable with what just
happened," Greg observed.

I pulled him down onto the bed next to me and said, "Whoever said I was
straight?"

He quietly laughed, realizing he had been had.  I had never acknowledged being
gay, but never said I was straight.  "Touche," he said.  "Do you have any other
surprises?"

"Actually, yes," I answered, "But I'll save them for the morning.

"Okay.  In the meantime, I'm glad we're sleeping like this," he said as he backed
up against me, as I reached around to hold him with one hand and placed my other
under his neck.  With that, we drifted to sleep.

Around seven in the morning, we slowly awoke, still in each other's arms, as the
morning light began streaming in through the upper side windows of the sleeper. 
Without a word, Greg pushed his body back against mine and I reached down to take
his growing rod into my hand.

As his ass moved back against my cock, I reached behind me for a condom and some
lube and slowly massaged his waiting butthole.  As I reached around him again, he
moved further back and I felt the grip of his buttcheeks on my waiting cock.  I
slowly stroked him as my cock entered his ass, which was as hungry as his mouth
had been a few hours before.

I held him as we lay on our sides and he began to move his ass back and forth on
my cockshaft, his own dick being stroked by my fist reaching over him.  "I want
it," he cried, as the hunger in his voice became evident.  "Fuck me."

I reached for his hand and placed it on his own cock, then turned him over onto
his stomach and braced myself on my hands and outstretched arms as I thrust the
full length of my shaft into him.  Greg's own cock was surrounded by his fist,
and we began to thrust together as our loads began churning in our balls.  I
pulled him up on his knees, giving him long, hard strokes as he began to beat off
with abandon, and his breathing became heavier as his cockload gushed out.  His
ass tightened with the intensity of his orgasm, sending me into a final series of
intense thrusts as my own load exploded into him.

Still locked together, we slowly eased back down to the bed, laying in the same
position in which we had slept - Greg backed up against me as my arms held him.

"So," he asked after we caught our breath, "What's your other surprise?"

I hesitated for a second, as I wanted the upcoming humor of the moment to last. 
Then I quietly whispered in his ear, "I'm the Naked Trucker."

For a brief second there was no response.  Greg paused, thought about it for a
moment, then turned his head back toward me and smiled.  "You are kidding, aren't
you?"

I leaned up on one elbow, my slowly relaxing cock still inside him, and said,
"Look, we've just been about as intimate as you can get.  Would I kid you at this
point? Or would you like me to quote from one of my stories?"

Greg wasn't sure whether to believe me or not.  "Okay," he said, "Tell me about
your recent trip to New England."

"You mean when my friend Mike cracked a rib and I drove his rig up to Wal-Mart in
New Hampshire for him?"

The reality began to sink into Greg's mind.  "Holy shit," he exclaimed
incredulously, "You *are* the Naked Trucker!"

I smiled at him, lowered my head and kissed his neck, and said, "Welcome aboard."

"Well," he said, "I guess I found the ultimate expert to train me as a trucker."

"Hey, stud," I said, "Don't put me on a pedestal.  When you come out of this
training period you'll be an expert trucker yourself in more ways than one.  And
you can start by getting us to a truckstop where we can hit the showers."

We slowly separated, and Greg sat up on the edge of the bed.  "I assume that I'm
not required to get dressed at this point."

"Why bother?" I asked.  "For the next few weeks, this is *our* truck."

Greg stood up and moved toward the driver's seat, easing us out onto the highway
as I took the passenger seat next to him and glimpsed over at what seemed like a
mirror image of myself.

"By the way," I said, "Remember that J.O. scene last night back at Fritz the
Cat?"

He looked over at me and, as he realized that the previous few hours wasn't our
first encounter together, we both burst out laughing.

As the laughter subsided, we looked at each other with a mutual understanding. 
Greg had read my stories and learned them well, and I recognized someone who was
seeking the same freedom of the road that I had found a year earlier.  For the
next few weeks of his training period we would be experiencing that freedom
together, two kindred spirits crossing the country in a tractor-trailer. And
except for when we hit a truckstop, made a delivery, or took on a new load, the
clothes we had on board wouldn't come out again.