The first of the expected three came in a little after five in the afternoon. The pump outside was having a problem processing his company card–Earl was more than happy to run it for him on the machine inside. Perhaps he was just old fashioned, or maybe he was just a pervert with particular tastes, but the young man looked nothing like Earl thought a trucker should look. Way too uptight, in a shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar. Clean shaven, hair combed, smelling like some girl’s prissy perfume shit. Earl made sure the machine inside took had some trouble as well, and struck up some conversation.
“I haven’t seen you come through here before. The name’s Earl–Owner of the Flying G here.”
“Yeah, this is a new route for me,” the young trucker said, “Did the card work?”
“It’s still processing.”
Silence. Maybe he’d have to bend him a little. A touch of power in the air and…
“You know, I’ve had a long day so far…it says you have an inn here?”
“Sure do. You wanna call it a night already?”
“I can get back on the road early tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. Can I just bill it on the card?”
“Why not.”
“The card says your name’s Jack?”
“Yep.”
“Alright Jack–I’ll put you up in room 103.”
“That’s a non-smoking room right?”
“You said you needed some cigars too, right?”
Jack just stared at him, thinking hard. Earl got him to nod.
“Any brand? Nah, you know what? Let’s go with cheap and rough. I doubt you could afford anything pricey, right?”
Jack still couldn’t find anything to say for some reason, but he handed Earl cash, took the cellophane wrapped cigars from him.
“You can still smoke in the bar too, you know. Why don’t you go take a load off and have a few drinks, before bed?”
Jack didn’t drink, but something had him walking through the restaurant proper and into the smoky bar behind it, lighting up a cigar, and then having the bartender pour him a whiskey double, straight, cheapest he got, and he pounded it back, and waited for the next one.
Half an hour later, Earl felt the second of three walk in. Just like the first, he looked nothing like a trucker–just another one looking to make some money and then get off the road as quick as he could. Where Jack was slender and uptight, the second looked like he spent his spare time on the road with a set of weights. Earl rolled his eyes.
He was also having trouble with his card. After a short conversation, it turned out that he, too, could use a room. Earl thought for a moment, and then gave him the second key to room 103.
“Anything else I can help you with, Matt?” Earl asked.
“Actually, yeah. It’s probably a stretch, but have you got a gym here, or even just a workout room of some kind? Most of these places don’t, and I doubt they get much use, judging by how fat most of these fuckers are, right?”
Earl bristled. “Actually, you’re hungry.”
“Wait, how did you know?”
“Why don’t you go have a seat in the diner, I’ll let the cook know you want the all you can eat special.”
Without really understanding his own change of heart, Matt walked over to the attached restaurant and sat down at a booth–a young, chubby waited immediately came and set down a soda and a full plate of food. That ought to keep the asshole occupied, Earl thought.
It was an hour later when the third expected guest arrived. Unlike the first two, Earl didn’t need to work to get him a room–he already looked exhausted.
“This fucking company has had me on the road for eighteen hours straight, they can fucking pay for a good bed, you know?”
Earl nodded, and handed Paul a key to room 102.
“I just don’t think I can handle it for much longer.”
Earl had driven a truck for fifty years. These young upstarts had no fucking stamina. He said nothing, but scowled slightly.
“Thanks for the room, I think I’ll turn in for the night.”
Earl watched him leave the office, and kept watching through the window until he saw him climb up into his truck, grab a small overnight bag, and carry it over to the inn across the parking lot. Once Paul had gone inside, he waited five minutes, and then picked up the phone and dialed room 102.
Paul had gotten into the room, and without doing anything else, had dropped his bag by the door, and slumped on the bed. Tired. He’d known trucking was going to be rough, but he’d needed the job. This, though, was ridiculous. Maybe he just needed to try a different company, but from what he’d gathered from other truckers he’d talked to, the pressure to just keep driving was everywhere. Just a bed was a relief after a week in his sleeper. He was already drifting off when he heard the phone on the nightstand start ringing.
“Just fuckin’ let it ring,” he mumbled to himself, but he was already rolling up, and picking up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey Paul, forgot to tell you. I left you something in the VCR. It’s right up your alley you nasty pervert. Enjoy yourself, and those sheets better be crusty by the time I get there.”
The phone went dead. That had sounded like that old dude from the front desk–what was he even talking about? Had he called the wrong room or something? Curiosity got the better of him, and Paul heaved his tired body up from the bed, walked over to the small TV, hit eject, and an unmarked tape popped out. He pushed it back in, turned on the screen, and after a few moments, a video started. The picture was tracking poorly–it took him a moment to figure out that he was looking at two fat, hairy truckers making out in a communal shower–fuck, he hadn’t seen a shower like that in ages! Now that was a great place to fuckin’ peep.
Paul shook his head, trying to figure out where that thought had come from. And why did he have his cock out of his jeans? And why was he stroking it? And why was he still looking at these two sexy bears get ready to fuck each other’s brains out? Didn’t see men like that out on the road much anymore. They were a dyin’ breed, and that was a fuckin’ shame. Where had Earl even gotten this? It sure as hell looked vintage, probably from the eighties, judging by that mullet. Hell, he’d known a guy on the road back then with that same fuckin’ hair, huge beast of a cock. Just thinkin’ about that cock, fuck…
Paul shot his load all over the dresser, panting a bit. What in the hell was he doing? He always shot his fuckin’ cum on the sheets, had to get them smelling good and rank for whoever came next, right? Or maybe for…for Earl, yeah. When Earl got here later. He kept watching the video on the bed, milking his young cock onto the sheets beneath him, and outside the room Earl was watching the young man jack off through the blinds, grinning wide.
Bracken's Corner 