Highway Hustle

by Roland Graeme

  Highway Hustle

  by

  Roland Graeme

  Copyright © 2018 Roland Graeme

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except for the use of brief excerpts in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published by: Roland Graeme

  Cover design by: SelfPubBookCovers.com/ kshipley

  Dedication

  To my dear old friend H.C.

  “Was this fair paper, this goodly book, made to write ‘whore’ upon?”

  [Shakespeare, Othello]

  I guess so, buddy!

  It takes one to know one.

  If the shoe fits, wear it. With pride!

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue: Rural Friends, With Benefits

  Chapter One: Just an Innocent Young Farm Boy at Heart

  Chapter Two: The Many Amenities Available at a No-Tell Motel

  Chapter Three: The Changing of the Guard

  Chapter Four: A Trucker’s Load

  Chapter Five: Make Love to Me—and My Wife

  Chapter Six: Boys’ Night Out

  Chapter Seven: More Than Just Drinking Buddies

  Chapter Eight: My Bad Boy Kid Brother

  Chapter Nine: The Family Business Takes a Quirky Turn

  Epilogue: Get Gas, Food, Lodging—and More

  Also by Roland Graeme

  Prologue: Rural Friends, With Benefits

  “I’m not going to spend my whole life, rotting away, here in this hick town,” I insisted, stubbornly.

  “Oh, yeah?” My buddy, Beau, was skeptical—and, I had to admit, with good reason. “You’re going to move to the big city someday, are you?” he taunted me. “And become a city slicker?”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t I?”

  “And just how do you expect to support yourself, there?”

  “I’ll find a job.”

  “Yeah, and talking about jobs,” he reminded me, with a practicality which I found infuriating. “Aren’t your folks going to expect you to take over the running of the motel, here in town, when they decide to retire? How are you going to do that, if you’re off in the city, gallivanting about, enjoying yourself—doing something else for a living—and whoring around?”

  “Aw, shut up, Beau, goddamn you,” I growled. “Okay, maybe I haven’t thought it through yet, that far ahead. But I’ve got a passel of younger brothers and sisters, don’t I? Let them run the damn motel when I’m gone—and they’ll be welcome to it. I just want to get away from here.”

  “Our town’s not so bad,” Beau protested.

  “It’s a shithole. Backward—out here in the middle of nowhere—nothing to do. No options, unless a guy wants to be just another shit-kicking farmer, or work in a factory for minimum wage. Well, fuck that crap! It’s not for me.”

  “You’ve got ideas above your station in life, Jason,” Beau suggested.

  “I’ve got ambitions. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” my buddy admitted.

  “Damn right. Maybe you’re willing to stay here and waste away. Grow old, and find yourself with nothing to show for yourself. Not me!”

  “How’re you planning to tell your Mom and Dad that you don’t want to take over the motel and run it, after they decide to retire?”

  “Okay, so maybe I haven’t rehearsed that speech, that conversation, just yet. God willing, it’ll be a long way off. My folks aren’t exactly senior citizens.” I turned to Beau. “Meanwhile,” I suggested, “maybe there’s something else, something a hell of a lot more productive, that you can use that glib mouth of yours for.”

  Insolently, he grinned at me. “Such as?”

  “Get your hot dirty queer mouth down on me and suck my dick!” I told him, peremptorily, without any hesitation or coyness on my part.

  “Who are you calling a queer?”

  “You,” I said. “If it makes you feel any better, okay, I’ll admit it—I’m a queer, too. So suck my queer cock with your queer cocksucker mouth.”

  “You can be such a charmer,” Beau told me, sarcastically.

  “Blow me,” I urged him, even more directly and unambiguously, making my intention clear. “You know you want to. Go ahead, buddy. Just do it! Suck my cock! Suck my cock, Beau,” I reiterated, in a stern, commanding tone of voice which left little or no room for argument or resistance on his part. “Suck it!”

  The two of us were lying naked on my bed, on a hot summer day. We’d gotten together, as we often did in our leisure time, and we’d both shucked down, discarding our sweaty clothes. My living quarters were an old farmhouse, which had no air conditioning. I had my bedroom windows open, with screens in them to keep out insects—which we could hear humming and buzzing, outside. A slight, dry breeze flowed in through the windows, stirring the curtains, but it did little to relieve the heat in the room.

  Beau and I were both perspiring. We’d been drinking, which partly explained why we were sweating so profusely. But the exertions of sex also made us perspire. We’d interrupted our lewd same-sex activities in order to have our conversation about my frustration, and my long-range plans to get away from our isolated, rural, farming community. Now, after we’d taken a break, we were ready to engage in some hot, no holds barred, sex again.

  As a form of recreation, fooling around with each other had its advantages for young men such as us. Sex cost us nothing. Same-sex activities weren’t going to result in an unwanted pregnancy. And no one needed to be the wiser about how we disported ourselves amorously, trading hand jobs, sucking cock, fucking each other up the ass. All that was our secret.

  Both twenty-one years old, Beau and I were in our lusty young prime of manhood. Our hormones raged through our bodies. Our sex drives were impetuous, too forceful to be denied. Each of us was capable of ejaculating not once, but several times, in the course of twenty-four hours. Once we got started, indulging in sex play together, we never wanted to stop, until we were both depleted of our energy, and drained of our sperm.

  Beau hesitated. He seemed to want to say something further, to continue our debate, before he got down to the serious business of sucking my dick.

  Well, I wasn’t having any of that! We could talk at length, any time. At the moment, though, I had a hard-on which just wouldn’t quit, and I knew that the one surefire way to deflate my boner would be to have my buddy’s hot mouth work on it, sucking me off, swallowing my seed.

  “Okay, dude, this discussion we’ve been having is all very well and good,” I insisted, impatiently. “But quit fooling around. Get your mouth down on me. Suck my cock!”

  My buddy Beau was always hot for me. If I may be so immodest, he was never able to resist me. On this occasion, as usual, he gave in to me, and he was more than willing to serve and satisfy me. And I was just enough of a dirty, horny, oversexed, amoral bastard to take full advantage of his susceptibility!

  “Blow me,” I urged hi
m, yet again, but this time my words were wasted. Finally applying himself to the task, Beau was already attacking my penis with his lips and tongue. Once he roused himself from his lethargy, he was as enthusiastic as I could have asked. The bitch was a real cock whore, hungry for male meat!

  How well he sucked me! Of course, I’d given him ample opportunities to practice, in the past.

  Truth to tell, at the risk of sounding boastful, I think Beau had always been a little in love with me. He was sucking my dick, now, with a devotion which went beyond and above the call of duty, which seemed to go beyond mere sex. Not that the sex wasn’t damn good!

  Beau was hardly in need of any encouragement. Nevertheless, I got kind of aggressive with him, as my lust took increasing possession of me. I pressed against the top of his head with both of my hands, my fingers tangling in his disheveled, sweat-dampened hair, forcing his mouth down on my rigid cock all the way to the base. I drew in my breath in deep, heavy gulps, while the slick pressure of Beau’s wet lips, the tickling of his tongue, and the juicy moisture and warmth of the saliva-filled interior of his mouth, all conspired to make me even hornier. I pushed down on his head until I was sure that every inch of my manhood was buried in his mouth. His lips were locked around the bottom of my phallic column, and I could feel his throat spasming around my glans. He gagged a little, but he held on, adding the thrills of deep-throating to those of cocksucking.

  “Yeah, that’s right. You’re going to suck, boy! You’re going to go all the way down on my dick. Suck it! Suck me!” I kept demanding. My butt rose from the bed, thrusting my groin at his face. My cock drove deeply into his mouth, probing the depths of his throat. “Uh!” I grunted. “Your mouth feels just like a cunt, dude!” I taunted my friend. “Work that frigging mouth pussy of yours around my prick!”

  Beau was jerking himself while he blew me. His hand pumped away on his own cock like a piece of farm machinery, flailing away, threshing a crop. I could hear the slapping noise generated by his masturbation, the sound of flesh upon flesh. He was making lewd gargling sounds deep in his cock-plugged throat. His mouth was drooling around my dick, trickles of saliva escaping from between his lips and running down over my swollen balls and between my tensed, trembling thighs.

  “Oh, you’re good—so good,” I praised him. “So good at sucking cock!”

  Suddenly, Beau pulled his mouth off me. Gasping, spraying spit, he asked me, “Are you just about there, Jason? Are you going to shoot? Are you ready to come?”

  “Hell, yeah! You better believe I am! Just a little more sucking, buddy, and—!”

  “Come in my mouth. Please! Blow your wad right into my mouth and down my throat, stud! I want to swallow it. All of it! Please give it to me!”

  I groaned, half in lust, half in despair. “It’s yours, cocksucker! All yours. But only if you get your mouth back down on it again. Only if you suck—!”

  The words were barely out of my mouth before his mouth was back on my cock. His lips slid all the way down around my hotly pulsating shaft, and he began sucking even more furiously than he had before. His fist pumped roughly on his own prick, and I heard him make nasty choking noises as he devoured me. His muscular young body rubbed restlessly against mine. Raising my head, I looked down along the length of my torso, observing the blow job and Beau’s masturbation. My excitement grew—and peaked.

  But Beau got there first. His cock twitched, and then, abruptly, it began to spray out thick white jets of semen. The sight of my buddy ejaculating was all that was needed to push me over the edge.

  Holding firmly onto Beau’s head, making sure that he didn’t stop sucking my cock, I felt my own sperm start to flow.

  “I’m coming!” I shouted. “Yeah, motherfucker, yeah, you son of a bitch! Cocksucking man cunt! I’m going to shoot! Keep sucking me! Take it, buddy. Take my cum in your mouth! All of it!”

  I emptied my full load into his mouth and throat—and, grunting, still squirting himself, Beau swallowed everything I gave him. He kept his lips clamped around my emptying fuck tool, stroking it with his tongue. Only after I had finally stopped shooting, and my cock began to go soft inside his mouth, did he slip his lips off it. Beau wiped his cum-smeared mouth and chin with his hand, and he grinned at me, looking smug.

  There was one good thing about Beau, I thought. He was never embarrassed, ashamed, or guilty about sex. Instead, he positively reveled in it! He was a lot like me, in that respect.

  “Shit! I sure do like being balls, bare-assed nekkid in bed with you, like this, buddy! Fooling around—! You never let me down, Jason,” Beau said. “I can always count on you to give me a big load. A real mouthful. I don’t know which way I like it better, though—swallowing your jizz, or taking it up my ass.”

  “Yeah, well, luckily for you, you don’t have to choose,” I reminded him. “You know damn well that I’ll give it to you either way you want it.”

  “Get it hard again,” he coaxed me.

  “Why? You still haven’t had enough?”

  “Fuck, no. Come on, stud. Get that big old pecker of yours nice and stiff again. We both know you can. Coming once never does it for you! Work that motherfucking piece of meat back into a boner, and then you can stick it up my ass.”

  “You want to get fucked?”

  “Yeah! What do I have to do—send you a text message? Shit! Could I be any more of a man whore, if I tried?”

  “No, you couldn’t,” I told Beau. “That fuck hole of yours is always open for business.”

  “Get your dick in it, then, boy!” he demanded.

  Jesus! Having a sex partner as hot, as eager, as insatiable as Beau—that could be a real trial at times! Knowing that I’d probably be worn out afterward, wrecked, I nonetheless resigned myself to once again providing him with stud service. I fucked the bastard’s hot, horny ass for him—!

  “Oh, yeah, dude!” he gloated, as I took him anally, pounding away mindlessly deep into his tight, butch butt. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard! Yeah, that’s what I like, that’s what I want. Aw, fuck my ass!”

  Beau and I were fuck buddies, and even though he and I were also good friends, I didn’t confide in him about certain things.

  The truth was, that—unknown to Beau, and indeed also unbeknownst to most of the other members of our quiet, peaceful, conservative rural community—I’d been leading a sordid double life.

  Outwardly, I was the epitome of the boy next door, wholesome, hard-working, respectful, the pride and joy of my family.

  Inwardly, though, I was a highway hustler—an interstate off-ramp whore!

  Just how I came to this sorry pass, I’ll explain in the course of this candid narrative. I promise I won’t hold anything back, no matter how shameful it may be.

  As they say—the truth will set you free!

  Chapter One: Just an Innocent Young Farm Boy at Heart

  The interstate highway passed through our rural countryside. This was farm country, with comparatively little industry.

  An exit led to our small town. Before the exit came up, though, a sign advised drivers that they could take the exit and find GAS, FOOD, and LODGING there. Travelers who took advantage of the turnoff didn’t have much farther to go. Before they actually drove into our town, they encountered the three businesses, which were conveniently situated side by side. There was a complex consisting of a gas station and truck stop and garage—which was popular with truckdrivers because it had a small building on its premises where, for a modest fee, the truckers could not only shower, but, if they so chose, bunk down in one of several small cubicles. Many of the drivers liked this as an alternative to pulling over somewhere and napping in the cabs of their rigs during long-distance hauls.

  Next door to the gas station was a diner, open all night, which was also popular with truckdrivers because the food was good, offering hearty fare at a reasonable price. And next to the diner’s parking lot was the parking lot of the motel which my family owned and operated. Not many of the truckers splurged on a motel
room for the night. But enough other travelers got off the interstate in search of lodging to keep us in business. The motel was the usual old-fashioned layout—a long rectangular structure, one story, with the office at one end and a row of rooms, each with a door and windows overlooking the parking lot. It wasn’t fancy, but we kept it in good repair.

  My family didn’t live at the motel, although inevitably we spent so much time there that it seemed as though we lived on the premises. We had a house a few blocks away, within easy walking distance, although we usually ended up taking the car because of the need to haul things back and forth.

  My siblings and I started helping out at the motel from a very early age, doing cleaning and other chores. I was the oldest, so I was the first to graduate to the position of assistant manager and desk clerk. This also meant I was placed on the books and I began to draw a salary. In town, I worked at other jobs, part-time. And, depending on the season, the local farmers often needed to hire extra, temporary help.

  I wasn’t afraid of work—not even hard work, using my hands. I belonged to a small gym in town. Pumping iron had built up my muscles, and manual labor was another good way to exercise and keep myself in shape.

  What did bother me, as I’d told Beau, was the prospect of spending my whole life stuck in our small town, which seemed dreary to me.

  It was taken for granted that, eventually, I’d take over the family business, and run the motel myself, with the assistance of my younger brother Joey and our two sisters

  In my more pessimistic moments, I assumed I’d live and die in this town. The larger towns, and the cities, in our state were just names on a map to me. They seemed unreal. Cable TV and the internet provided glimpses of the outside world. But I felt confined—isolated—trapped.

  As soon as I’d saved enough money, I bought that essential accessory of every country boy—a pickup truck. The vehicle’s body was a little beat up, but mechanically it was sound, so it served my needs well enough.