by BJ Blakely
8
Jax
But life doesn’t always go as planned. By the time I hang up with Lucas and Jasper around two-thirty AM, I’m horny as a damn puppy in heat.
I glance at my slick aching cock in the dim flickering TV light. Yeah, it’s hard as hell. I have two options, and both are tempting.
First option, I could rip off my pants, lube up, and fantasize about Logan all fucking night.
Our conversation at Tilly’s has provided me with plenty of imaginative fodder.
His plump lips, his pink flushed cheeks.
Just the thought of him sipping that vodka cranberry does wonders to me, and my hardness lurches at the thought of spreading his pale white cheeks — only in my fantasy, of course.
The second option presents more complications.
During my conversation with Lucas and Jasper, they’d made it very clear I should return to the Truck n’ Munch.
The mystery cock was the reason I fell for Bear Springs in the first place, not some cute waiter from a diner.
Yet for some reason, returning to the glory hole sends a flurry of discomfort in my stomach. I assume it’s because of Logan.
Though the mystery cock and mouth from the truck stop turns me on, it feels like cheating, which is absolutely ridiculous because Logan and I are absolutely not a thing.
Not even close.
As he said tonight, we’re “friends” because I tip him well.
He was probably faking that bashful smile as he sipped my drink, so I’d tip him even better at Betty’s tomorrow.
I sigh and whip out my phone.
Me: I can’t make up my mind. Truck n’ Munch or jerk off?
Lickin' Lucas: Truck n’ Munch. Hands down
Me: It feels like I’m cheating on the waiter
Lickin' Lucas: You bought him a drink, and he serves you extra bacon. Relax, man. He probably didn’t even notice you were gone
Me: He sure seemed like he missed me tonight
Me: Also, I doubt the mystery cock/mouth noticed I’m gone either
Lickin' Lucas: Depends on how good your head is
Me: Ugh. So you think I should pop by the truck stop?
Lickin' Lucas: Not if you don’t wanna suck cock
Lickin' Lucas: Also I think I have a weird rash on my taint. Can I send a pic? Can anyone help me?
“Dumbass,” I grumble, tossing my phone on the comforter. I throw a light sweatshirt on and head out.
* * *
The Truck n’ Munch is fully lit yet totally fuckin’ empty as I cross Sheridan Avenue and enter the parking lot.
“Goddamnit.” The plan’s a bust before I step inside.
Still. I made a plan. I should stick with it.
I might be a dumbass. But I’m not a quitter.
I cross the gravel lot and approach the facility. Pulling open the stainless steel glass doors, I tell myself I’m only staying to see if someone comes in.
But I’m giving myself thirty minutes max. If he doesn’t show up, I’m heading home.
I enter the Truck n’ Munch and head to the men’s bathroom. A whiff of bleach and cleaning solution assaults me as I walk along the urinals, chancing furtive glances at the stalls as if someone is watching.
But I have no reason to be worried. Not a stall is occupied.
Not even the one closest to the sinks, which is always full.
I shouldn’t be surprised, as there isn’t a truck in the lot.
I head to the stall to wait.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I’m yawning and coming to the conclusion that this plan is a bust.
Whoever said truck stop bathrooms were hot spots for action obviously has never waited for a stranger they can’t get out of their mind to arrive.
For some reason, it reminds me of the start of my relationship with Michael.
Michael was a young man I met at a glory hole in a small town in the Eastern United States, and we blew each other anonymously for months until I discovered he also worked at a local diner.
I made him my boyfriend, we were happily in love… Until he cheated on me during a long ass month on the road with one of the other employees at his diner.
It crushed me so bad I vowed to never suck cock again, and I was so heartbroken I ate five tubs of ice cream in a single night.
But all that changed when I met the beautiful cock in the glory hole in Bear Springs.
The same empty glory hole I've been waiting next to for what feels like hours tonight without a cock in sight.
I check my watch. Three AM. Time to wrap this shit up and call it a night.
I’m damn near ready to leave when my cock suddenly twitches in my jeans.
“That’s strange,” I mutter, palming my hardness. I shouldn’t be hard, the bathroom is totally empty. There isn’t a single stranger – let alone the stranger – to get me aroused.
Yet for some reason, I’m harder than I’ve ever been.
I’m tempted to chalk it up to the general horniness associated with sexual thoughts in a public location, but I know this is only half the picture.
The real reason I’m so fucking hard is because of Logan.
Damn Logan. So cute at the bar, his cheeks flushing pink as he eyed me over his vodka cranberry.
Obviously, he hadn’t expected to see me tonight, as he’d been with his friend… But what a pleasant surprise.
Safe to say my cock was rock hard during our entire fucking conversation.
I’d tried to position myself on the barstool so that he wouldn’t see my hardness, but I’m pretty sure he got a good look when I stood up.
“Damnit,” I grumble, knowing damn well that unless I want to return to the motel with a serious case of blue balls, I have to beat off.
Scrubbing the last traces of Michael the asshole from my mind, I unbuckle my belt and tug my jeans to my thighs.
I rip off my briefs, and my aching cock rises to attention.
With a moan, I grip the shaft and begin to jerk, my mind filling with thoughts of Logan at the bar. And Betty’s. And what he looks like tangled in my sheets.
Flames of lust spread from my cock to my inner thighs and tummy, and I cup my balls with my left hand as I jerk with my right.
“Fucking Logan,” I whisper through gritted teeth, imagining Logan’s naked body thrashing beneath me as I spread his pale cheeks and attack his untouched hole with my tongue.
Sexy little untouched virgin fuck. The thought is so goddamn hot it takes me over the edge.
“Fuck,” I cry out, shooting my load hot and hard over the stall, spunk flying out of me and splattering against the walls.
My orgasm leaves me breathless, depleted.
The scents of my juices waft up around me, and the only thing that’d make it better is if Logan was here to help me clean it up.
I wonder what he’d look like sucking my cock, swallowing my spunk.
Wrapping his sexy plump lips around my throbbing member as I unload in his virginal untouched mouth.
“Sonofabitch.” The thought is too much to bear. I gotta get out of here before I get riled up again.
Ripping toilet paper from the roll, I mop up my spunk and toss the soiled toilet paper into the toilet.
Jerking in a public bathroom might make me a perve, but I’m no heathen.
Mama always taught me to pick up my toys after I made a mess, and tonight’s no exception.
I can only think one thing as I leave the Truck n’ Munch and cross the not-so-busy road back to Sweet Dreamin’.
Logan, cute little adorkable Logan, is getting a massive — yes, I mean massive — tip when I order my bacon omelet in the morning.
9
Logan
“I can’t believe you didn’t go.”
It’s eleven AM two days after I ran into Jax at Tilly’s and, low and behold, I don’t have the energy for Forest’s questions.
I glare at him over my bowl of Rice Krispies and try to think of a witty quip I can
smack him over the head with.
But my brain clouds over, and I sigh in defeat.
Damn roommate. Annoying me my first day off this week.
I scowl at him. “You are such a busybody, dude. It’s none of your business if I go to the Truck n’ Munch or not, and I’m under no obligation to tell you about that guy.”
Forest isn’t convinced. “It is my business.” He pours himself a bowl of cereal and munches thoughtfully. “I don’t have the balls to explore my bisexuality. Every time I think of heading to the Truck n’ Munch, I pussy out.”
“I don’t see how that’s my problem.”
“You didn't let me finish,” Forest juts in, swallowing his cereal and washing it down with a gulp of fresh hazelnut coffee. “Whether you get your dick sucked at the Truck n’ Munch or not is my business because, as a total pussy who doesn’t have the balls to visit a glory hole, I’m living vicariously through you. I hope that explains it.”
I sink into my chair and sigh. How did I get such a manipulative asshole as a roommate? He has to be joking. Right?
“You have to be joking.”
Forest sets his coffee mug down and shakes his head. “I’m not joking. I need you to head back to the Truck n’ Munch and get your dick sucked, so I can also get my dick sucked, but not really.”
He’s so damn annoying. “This doesn’t make sense, dude. I’m not going to return to the glory hole because you’re too chicken to go yourself.”
Forest rolls his eyes. “I know the real reason you won’t go back. It’s because of Jax.”
A flurry of desire shoots through me at the mention of Jax, but I bury it. “It’s not because of Jax. He’s a good tipper, but I don’t know him. I’m certainly not ghosting my truck stop guy because of him.”
Forest cocks an eyebrow at me. “Jax has come into Betty’s every single day this week, dude. You definitely know him more than you let on.”
I snort and shake my head. “I don’t. We talk about trucking and bacon. I know him as well as I know my parents.”
I clear my throat. “Which is to say, not at all.”
This is a touchy subject, one Forest knows to avoid. This is a parent-free household, unless your parent is Mary Beth, in which case they’re welcome.
But mine? Hell no.
If your parents kick you out at sixteen for painting a romantic picture of you and a senior boy riding shirtless into a Californian sunset, they don’t deserve a mention in your life again.
Forest sighs, letting me know that, while he’s ignoring the bit about my parents, he’s not taking my bullshit answer. “But you’d want to get to know him, I assume. Your statement doesn’t rule that out.”
I groan and swallow another spoonful of Rice Krispies, which are getting soggy. “He’s a trucker, which means that, even if we were together, he’d never be around. He’s cute, but I’m not going to get to know someone who won’t be around to take care of me.”
“Besides,“ I add after some thought. “We don’t even know if Jax is gay.“
Forest rolls his eyes. “That’s why you need to head back to the truck stop. The mystery mouth at the Truck n’ Munch will take care of you, dude. You don’t have to worry if he’s gay. He’ll never let you down.”
It’s too much to take. “Then go see for yourself,” I shout, finishing my Rice Krispies and heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Tobias stares at me sassily, but I ignore him. “Stop pushing this. If you’re so curious, go there yourself. It’s not rocket science, asshole. You sit in the stall and wait.”
I can’t take any more of my roommate. He’s a great guy, but he’s getting on nerves, and I don’t want to spend my only day off bickering with him, especially when I could be doing other things like painting or daydreaming about Jax.
For Christ’s sake, I’d rather head to Hazel's Hardware to check out the acrylic brushes I’ve been eyeing for months.
Brushes, unlike boys, never let you down.
After donning a clean t-shirt, under, fresh khakis and the most adorable rainbow bracelet I picked up at Bear Spring’s last Pride Festival — the annual barbecue fiesta Mary Beth throws in her backyard for all the three LGBT+ people in Bear Springs — I give Forest the finger, grab my bicycle, and head to Hazel's.
* * *
Hazel's is bustling when I pull up and park my bicycle outside.
Apparently I’ve been coming at the wrong times, because with the amount of people packed into Hazel's by the time I arrive, the hardware store has turned into a bonafide party.
“Get in while the gettin’s good,” an old lady with frizzy hair urges me, jabbing me in the ribs.
“Jeez,” I mutter as soon as she’s out of earshot. “You don’t have to hit me, lady. You can make your point without physical violence, ya know.”
It isn’t until I reach the front doors that I see it. On the normally spotless front window, this morning Hazel has thrown up a large paper ANNUAL SUMMER SALE sign.
Hazel is having a sale… Which is precisely why the hardware store is packed.
I grab a basket from outside. “Maybe the brushes will be discounted, and I can finally afford them.”
I’d have been able to purchase them much sooner, had Forest listened to me and stopped taking 20 minute showers, thus driving up the water bill and depleting my bank account.
I don’t want to think about my annoying roommate. This sale is quickly becoming the goddamn highlight of my life.
I rush inside, my heart racing with glee as I dart through the HOME SUPPLIES aisle and pass row after row of bright garden rakes.
I take a deep breath to calm myself but it’s no use.
I can already feel the brushes in my hand, gliding along canvas, helping me paint the pet portraits of my dreams.
They’re so close I can touch them. Or lick them. Or kiss them like a long-lost lover who’s finally come back for me.
After three wrong turns — Hazel's has a weird layout — I finally reach the HOBBY CRAFTS aisle.
My head is spinning, and I want the paintbrushes so damn bad I’d kill for them.
I realize this is incredibly childish, but I’ve been eyeing them for months; this sale will help me realize my artistic dreams.
But the sight of a burly man near my brushes causes my stomach to sink.
“Bastard,” I whisper through gritted teeth. He’s checking out the brushes.
I’m too far away to see if they’re discounted or not, but if they are, this man is scooping them up. No doubt about it.
He’s stealing my brushes; once he buys them, there'll be none left for me.
And yet there’s something about this stranger that’s oddly familiar. He’s faced sideways, so I can’t get a good look at him, but the shape is familiar. Have I served him in the diner? Is he a customer of mine?
He looks familiar, at least from the side.
His dark brown hair and light scruff reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place him.
I don’t realize who he is until he pivots and turns to me.
It’s Jax.
“Jax,” I shout, unable to believe my good fortune. My bad mood dissipates at once, and all the annoyance at seeing a stranger potentially steal my brushes falls to the wayside as Jax, my favorite customer, manifests himself to me.
“It’s Logan,” I say by way of introduction, though we’ve been seeing each other every damn day and he definitely knows me.
Still, it’s slightly weird seeing each other outside the diner in the morning.
Especially when we're clearly fighting over the same set of brushes…
Jax cocks an eyebrow at me, and immediately smiles. “Damn, Logan. I didn’t realize Betty let you out of the diner in the mornings.”
I snort and shake my head. It feels so damn good to see Jax here, though I don’t exactly know why.
“It’s an off day. Apparently, I’m too good of a server to work every day of the week, and at some point, they have to let the other servers work or it isn�
�t fair.”
I walk towards Jax, burying the bubbly feeling in my stomach. God, he’s so cute and charming.
I came to check out the brushes, but Jax has stolen my attention, and I’ve completely forgotten the reason I’ve come.
Does he know his hefty tips are helping me achieve my dreams?
Jax snorts. “I can see that. It’s not fair to the rest of them to have you pocketing the thirty-dollar tips all the time.”
His words make me grin. “Well, people don’t leave thirty-dollar tips very often… I kinda assumed you only left them for me, but I don’t mind if you leave Forest or the other servers gargantuan tips every now and then, I suppose.”
I kick myself for using the word “gargantuan.” I have no idea where that came from, but it’s embarrassing as fuck.
Gargantuan. What an ugly word.
Jax snorts, and I know instantly he won’t let this slide. “Gargantuan?”
I shoot him a death glare. “Your tips are pretty… Sizable, I’ve gotta say.”
“Wow,” Jax expostulates with snort, backing up to let me come closer. “I’ve never had a server call my tips gargantuan before, but I won’t complain. From you, it sounds like a compliment.”
“It is,” I counter hastily, suddenly wondering why my cheeks are burning. “I appreciate them very much. Unfortunately, I’ve had to waste the last few tips on this month’s water bill, but I intend to stockpile the rest of them — if there are more, that is — to hopefully purchase this beautiful set of synthetic brushes, which I’ve been eyeing for months.”
Jax turns to face the brushes on the shelf.
His eyes bulge, then he turns to me with an amused expression on his face. “$169 for brushes? And that’s after the clearance price?”
He’s so damn cute. “They’re not just brushes, dude. They’re the Rolls Royce of paint brushes. I’m a hobby painter, but I’m trying to go pro. You can’t do that without a decent set of brushes.”
Jax lets out a surprised whistle. “You must love painting.”
“It’s a passion of mine.”
