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After a certain point, you get a feel for the road. You talk to a guy with under ten years of experience, and he'll go on about knowin' what the truck's gonna do over any particular type of pavement, whether it's miles of straight black asphalt in Nevada or that bullshit potholed mess they try to call a road in Michigan. You talk to a guy who's been out there for too long and all they're likely to do is jaw on about this load or that truck stop until your ear damn near falls off.

But you get the guys like me, who've spent a good part of their lives in their trucks, and you find that you won't get much out of us. It all gets to feelin' the same after a while, and if you roll the same routes enough your ass doesn't care whether it's floatin' or bouncin'. I'm just glad my ass has stayed roughly the same size over the years. I've had friends who've become truckers and ruined their perfectly good bodies on a never-ending supply of junk food. Makes me kinda sick just thinkin' about it. Subway makes some pretty good food, for a health chain.

You have to take care of yourself, you know? You got a long unload time, you give the warehouse guy your number and tell him to call you when he's done. I've seen some pretty neat things on my walks, and I've kept my gut from gettin' any larger. I work too hard to die before my well-earned retirement. Â

If you asked me what my favorite kind of road is, I'd be hard-pressed to give you an answer. Nowadays, there isn't much of the Interstate I haven't rolled, but my favorite road might just be the one I travel for the first time, watching a whole new patch of countryside pass by my window, lookin' at it like I'd never seen trees or fields before. Boggles my mind how big this country is sometimes.

It's also just as boggling how small the world can seem, if you spend enough time in it. Pretty soon you have enough coincidences to make you think that everybody's related, in one form or other. Hell, we may be anyway, and the rest of us are just trying to deny it. Doesn't do me any good to think one way or another way, because I still have a job to do and a load to deliver.

Time may be linear to some people, but it sure has a way of slowin' down at some inconvenient spots. Like when you're stuck waitin' at some dock in the middle of Tampa and you're hungry and have nothing to read. Where all you have to do is sit and listen to the radio, and there's nothin' on because it's two in the fuckin' morning. Or you could go in the back and jack off again, but I'm not even horny. Couldn't force it if I wanted to. Â

Not like I'm lookin' forward to the drive, exactly. Got forty thousand pounds of oranges to pull all the way to Albany, which to me is a sign of the idiotic way this country works sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much a patriot as the next guy, but when I have to drive for three days to get oranges to New York when a plane from California can do it in one, isn't that a huge waste of fuel and money?

No, they say, they're Florida oranges. Big difference.

I shouldn't complain, I'm gettin' paid for a bullshit run. But it's the principle of the thing, right?

"Sam, in the Western Star. Come pick up your paperwork." Sounds like gravel comin' over the CB, but it's good news any way you look at it. Means I can finally get on the road. Â

Rained again, since midnight. Don't know how these people can stand the weather down here, rainin' every couple hours. All it does is make it more humid and get my truck dirty. That's why I only wash it when I have a good stretch of time through the desert, though storms have a habit of popping up there too. Â

The fox behind the counter looks positively bored as she hands me my bill of lading. "Sign and date the bottom, please." Wonder if she's that charming all the time. Doesn't look like she cares either way. I scratch my John Hancock and shove 'em back to her. "Have a safe trip."

"I'll try," I say, because I can't vouch for all the other dimwits on the road. I do my part, sure. Â

I can't get out of there soon enough. Get pulled out of the dock and get my doors closed, then seal it with the little orange plastic zip-tie that doesn't do any good at all except make the company bean-counters happy, and then I plug the address into my GPS. Never thought I would need one of those, but now that I have one I can't seem to remember ever getting along without it. Damn technology, but the best two hundred dollars I ever spent. Well...maybe except for that one night at the Mustang Ranch. Now that was a deal.

My stomach rumbles as I shove it into first. Gotta get some grub before I leave town, or else I might not find anything open. And who knows where the nearest truck stop is, since I don't drive I-75 too often. But that's what the GPS is for. Those six million points of interest come in awfully handy, I have to admit. Â

I type in that I want a Stop-N-Rob (as I like to call 'em), and a whole shitload come up on screen. Most of them I don't recognize, but I do know what a 7-Eleven is, and I could be in a Slurpee mood if I wanted to be. So 7-Eleven it is, then. It's pretty much on my way out of town, so even if I have trouble finding a place to park my rig no one's gonna care at three in the morning anyway. So I tell the thing to take me there, and off I go. Â

It's pretty deserted, for being in a warehouse district in Tampa, but if I had a choice I wouldn't be driving around this time of night either. Nobody out but bums and drunk drivers and kids who're up to no good. Oh, yeah, and me, but I'm not doin' anything wrong, far as I can tell. I don't even live here. Â

So I head up Armenia Avenue, nice and slow because I'm heavy as hell, fiddling with the GPS so I can put my destination in and see how far I can get before I have to shut down again in the afternoon. If I push it, I can make it to Raleigh, or somewhere around there. Don't have to worry too much about it if I sleep in the truck anyway. And since I traded in my Peterbilt for the Western Star, I have a ton more room and storage. Â

I've got a line of flashing yellow as far as I can see, so I get it up to the limit and leave it in sixth gear to cruise. About a mile ahead there's one lone green, which my little doodad says is Busch Boulevard, or FL-580, or whatever. Main road. And it stays green right up until I get close enough to think it's gonna let me through, and then it goes yellow. It's a funky one, with a train crossing right in front of it. I throw it in neutral and stop before the tracks, a good fifty feet from the intersection. Other cars can pull up fine, but I'm way too long, around seventy feet from nose to taillights.

After a nice, long yawn, I see him out of the corner of my eye, on the other side of the tracks, and on the other side of the road. Can't tell anything more than he looks like a cat, and he's got one of them cardboard signs in his paws. A hitchhiker for sure, and he's waving at me. Â

"Oh, great." I'm trapped, and the guy looks pretty desperate for a ride. I'm not one to turn down a hitchhiker, not really, but it's not the best time of day to be out trying to thumb. Makes it hard to trust a man.

I grumble as I get to sit there for forever, because the lights aren't weight-tripped like other places and just go for as long as they're programmed. My stomach doesn't like me right now, and that cat is making me a little uneasy. And that's when the train comes.

The whole shebang lights up in flashing red so bright I gotta squint my eyes to get used to it. The bells go clangin' and the cross arms start comin' down, and that's when the cat picks up his bag and ducks under across the tracks. Â

"You dumbass," I say, not like he can hear me. I don't hear a horn until he's on my side, so he partly knows what he's doing. Dammit, I know he's gonna ask me for a ride. Well, we'll see. I can't do nothin' but sit and idle.

Yup, he's comin' right up to my running board, fiddling with the sign to fold it into his pack. Guy's kinda built, for a feline. Big muscles, skinny waist, could probably beat me down if he wanted to. My right paw goes back behind my seat and fishes around in a pocket there, where I keep my pepper spray. I've never used it, but I know how to and I've come close a number of times. I've done myself, too, just to know what it feels like. Nothin' like a taser, but still burns like hell. Â

He raps on my window with a claw and I press the toggle. It sucks down into the door real quick 'cuz it's air-operated like everything else on the truck, and I can see him a little closer. Still got a cap on, so I can't see his face real good, but unless he's quick he won't be able to pull a gun on me before I smash his fingers in the window on its way up.

"Evening," I nod to him.

"Hey, where you headed? I've been looking for a ride all night and you're the first. It's been real hard to get people to stop."

"Well, you're not in the best part of town at the best time of day, you know?" He rolls his eyes. I can see now that he's a tiger, no doubt about it from the stripes on his face and the way his ears curl over. Seems nice enough, but then again, people've been fooled by less before. "Why do you think I'm goin' where you are?" A long string of coal cars whizzes by, makin' all sorts of noise. Â

The tiger smiles. "Unless you're headed to Key West, everything else is north of here." He jerks his thumb toward my direction of travel, and he's right. Simple deductive reasoning. Can't argue with that. Â

"You gonna try and rob me? 'Cuz I don't have any cash."

"Why would I do that, if you're giving me a ride?" He's got some kind of accent, somethin' exotic, but I suck at placing those kind of things. But he's lookin' at me with genuine confusion, so I don't think he's fakin' it. Â

"Just puttin' it out there. Passenger seat's open, if you want it." The guy's face lights up all kinds of bright, and I hear him sayin' something in Spanish. Probably a thank-you of some sort. While he's crossin' in front of the truck, I pass the mace from my right hand to my left, and stick it up on a dark part of the dashboard. Just in case. Â

The passenger door opens up and the backpack comes in first, followed by the guy's bulky body. The seat sinks damn near the floor as he plops down, and I'm guessin' his weight as about two-fifty with all that build. As soon as he's got himself settled and buckled in, he turns to me and puts a big ol' paw on my shoulder.

"I can't thank you enough for helping me out, amigo. I thought I was never going to get out of this town!"

"Well, as soon as this train gets out of the way, we can do exactly that."

"Oh, I don't mind," he says, lookin' out the windshield at the passing cars with somethin' like affection. His face goes red, then dark again as the lights flash over it. Somethin' glints on his forehead like gold, in the shape of an "X," like a birthmark. Huh. Might not want me askin' about it though. "Aren't they beautiful?"

I stare after him. "What?"

"The signals. They're beautiful, aren't they?" He's smilin' as he's talkin', and normally I would be kinda freaked out, but I can see on his face that he really thinks so. And far be it from me to tell him somethin' different. Man's gotta have a passion, after all.

"Well, they do their job pretty well. Can't argue with that." Then it gets quiet, almost uncomfortable, but I don't have anything else to say, so I sit there and wait for the last car before the arms go up and let me cross Busch so I can get to my Slurpee. "What's your name?"

"Senko."

"Sam. Nice to meet you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm starving here. Need to get some food for the road. You mind?"

The guy looks at me all weird-like and says, "It's your truck. I could get something too. For the road."

"Okay then." I split up to sixth and get us going nice and smooth until I can see the 7-Eleven sign on the right, and park just short of the pumps so we're not blockin' the whole damn lot. We're the only ones in there, which is fine by me. I pick up a PB&J, some Cheetos and a couple of Ho-Hos, with a big-ass Slurpee to wash it down. Not the best for me, but if I'm eating out of convenience stores I'm gonna go all-out. Senko grabs a Coke and a bag of plain M&M's, and I throw my check card down before he can protest. I just wink at him and tell him he can get the next round. Â

It takes about twenty minutes to get good and out of town, leaving the lights behind for the long, empty stretch of I-75 out front of us. It's a good three hours 'til we hit 10, then 95, then it's nothing but north. But I have no idea where this guy's goin', and he hasn't piped up about it yet. Everybody has a story, and he can tell it to me or not, but at least I have to know where he's headed. If not, I gotta drop him in Jacksonville.

As soon as I down the last of my Slurpee I ask, "So, you never told me where you're going. Might not even be the same direction."

He crosses his legs and arms, staring out the window at the meager amount of road my headlights allow us to see. "New York. Wantagh. I have a friend there I want to see, but no way to get there. Until you."

"That accent of yoursâ€""

"Argentina. A town called Rosario, in the central part." He rests his head on the seat and sighs a little. Looks like he's had a rough day tryin' to thumb.

"I'm bound for Albany, so unless you really piss me off, I can take you all the way there. We can make it in two days easy." He smiles and shows a fang or two, glinting in the faint light. Â

"Thank you again, Sam. I am quite the foreigner, and at a disadvantage here. I knew there were good people like you in this country still, willing to help others at their own disturbance."

"What do you mean? We're goin' the same direction."

"I suppose you're right," he chuckles, and nods, whiskers twitching. "English is not my forte."

"You seem do be doin' fine by it to me."Â Senko swigs the last of his Coke and stows it in the little trash bag I have between the seats. Â

"I don't know much about this country," he says, "but I always know I can get a Coca-Cola wherever I go." That makes me laugh, because it's true. "Except ours is made with cane sugar instead of corn syrup. Much better in Argentina."

"I wouldn't know. Never had the stuff."

"You're missing out. I wish I could have you try some. Maybe even a whole Argentine meal, with lots of asado, empanadas, dulce de leche, yerba mate..." he trails off, licking the drool off his lips with a loud smack followed by a yawn.

"I don't understand any of that, but I'll take your word for it that it's all good." It sure sounds good, but then again, damn near anything said in a foreign language sounds better. For the next half hour I keep my eyes on the road, but every time I glance over at the tiger I can see his eyes doin' that sleepy-dance, halfway in and out of wakefulness. I might be fine, but he's probably on a regular schedule, and 3am is awfully late to be up. Finally, I say, "I have two bunks in the sleeper that're comfier than that chair, you know."

He looks at me like I just crawled out of a spaceship or somethin'. Then his eyes get all bleary again and he says, "Okay. I was more tired than I thought. Maybe a couple hours."

"I've got ten until I have to stop, so take your time. Though you might be up and bored while I have to sleep." Senko nods and pulls himself up and through the curtain, and there's a bit of rustling around before it goes quiet. I reach over and turn the radio on soft, and tap my fingers on the wheel to keep myself company.

About five minutes later, though, there's a grunt from behind my right shoulder. The first thing I think of is that he's havin' some kind of bad dream, but when I smell tiger musk comin' from behind the curtain I start to get angry, then stop myself. He's just a guy bein' a guy, right? Hope he's not bein' a guy too hard on my bed, though. I gotta give him a break. I'm not a closed-minded asshole one bit. Not in the least, and even though he didn't ask if it was okay to paw in my sleeper it's not something you typically just throw out there to some trucker you've known for an hour. So, not a big deal to me. In fact, I find myself smiling a little, before I catch my fingers between my legs and feel a chubby there. Glass houses and all.

The guy snores a bit, so I know when he's good and out. It's only another hour until some shock-jocks come on the radio and start rattling on and on about the sucky economy and socialism and crap like that. But they're entertaining so I leave 'em on and keep driving north, as the sky to my right gets lighter in bits and pieces.

Right about six-thirty the sun breaks over the horizon, painting the cover of fog I'm drivin' through in a warm glow. Still cold out, but at least it doesn't look like it. Florida (and the whole South for that matter) likes to fog up a bunch. I hate the damn humidity 'cuz I can't ever get my fur to lay right, and it always feels like I need a bath. Lucky for me the air conditioning in the truck blows nice dry air. Â

Round about seven, Senko pushes the curtain back and looks out with glazed eyes, kinda ice blue, now that I can see 'em in the daylight. "Where are we?" he asks, smacking his lips of sleep-spit.

"Headed north, next stop Jacksonville. Gettin hungry again, how about you?"

The tiger sits himself down and buckles in, trying to comb his fur with his claws. Nothin' short of a shower will slick that down. His denim shorts and shirt are all wrinkles too, and the cap isn't even on anymore. I have a feeling he'll sleep good this afternoon when we finally shut down.

At the first sign of his stomach makin' noises, I tell him I'm gonna take him somewhere that he can only go in the South for true breakfast grub: Waffle House. Anybody who's been to a Waffle House knows that it's good food, and heavy food. We get off north of J-ville and park over to the side, and proceed to stuff ourselves silly with breakfast. I intend to make it last all day, so I wolf down (pardon the pun) a ham and cheese omelet with all the trappings, and some pecan waffles on the side with lots of black coffee. I order for Senko, who picks chocolate chip waffles and their signature Alice's Iced Tea. Except he puts about a cup of sugar in it, while I wrinkle my nose at him. Â

"I like it sweet," he says.

"Do you know what diabetes is?" I ask, and drop it with a smile when he shakes his head. American joke, wouldn't fly.

We're on the road again in about an hour, the truck's suspension helping to settle my stomach while Senko pats his.

"Never had a meal like that." Â

"Welcome to America," I reply, and we both laugh at that. Â

I put on the radio and set it to scan until the tiger hears something he likes, and starts bobbing his head to it, and we sit there, a chubby bear trucker and a buff tiger enjoying a nice day in the Southland. Traffic is light, and before we know it we've hit Savannah. Â

"Not too far from South Carolina," I say, and it's true:Â less than an hour from now we'll be across the border.

"How long do you have to drive?" Senko asks.

I put on my best know-it-all tone and lean on the armrest. "Legally, I can go for eleven hours before I have to shut down. Then, I have to be off-duty for ten before I can drive again."

The tiger nods. "What if you need to get somewhere in a shorter time?"

"Well, there's this thing you can do where you take a break for a few hours and split up your log, but it's really a pain in the ass and I don't do it if I don't have to. But I know a lot of guys who run their logs wrong, to fudge on the facts. But I don't, cuz no load's important enough to lose your license over."

"Wow. Sounds complicated."

"It can be, but for the most part it's easy once you get used to it."

Then he shifts around in his seat and looks at me, even though I can't look back without riskin' getting us killed. "Sam, are we going to stop at one of those truck stops tonight?" Â

I smirk. It's kind of cute, the way he's asking all these questions. "I hope so, unless you want to pull off the side of the road and go without a shower."

"They...they have showers?" Â

My smirk turns into a smile. "And bathrooms, and a store, and the Internet." He says something again in Spanish, and hell if I know what it is. "You can use my shampoo if you don't have your own, so don't worry about it."

"Okay," he mutters, and then he's quiet for a full minute, thinkin'. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do they have lizards?" He says this kinda quiet, and at first I don't get his meaning. But when I think about where he's coming from, I almost do one of those face-palm things. Â

"Where did you hear that term?"

"Internet."

"Of course. Everything on the Internet." So, what do I say to this guy, this kid, cuz he's definitely younger than me but old enough to hold a conversation like this. Â

"What are you, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-eight."

I nod. "Not the one we're going to. I tend to stay away from truck stops that're known for lot lizards. You don't wanna be goin' near 'em. You know what they do, right?"

"Yeah, they ask truckers for money in exchange for sexual favors."

"Yeah, but did you know that they go from truck to truck and do everybody who throws money their way? You wanna get your end wet with a bunch of other guys' spunk?" Now, his reaction is real weird, 'cuz I'm expectin' him to cringe or say somethin' like "Hell, no!" But instead, he just kinda sits there thinkin', and recrosses his legs all nervous-like. Â

"I guess not. I just saw...stains on your bed and figured..." He trails off, waving a hand in the air.

"What, you thought that was me gettin' lucky? Man, you never want to pick up some lot lizard! You'll have fleas for weeks! Not a good time, I tell you. Got 'em once, and I didn't even have to sleep with anybody to do it!" I know he's gonna ask, so I just continue.

"Howâ€""

"Back when I was trainin' to be a trucker, I had this real asshole of a beaver for a trainer. Lard-ass guy, lazy as hell. I was in his truck for a week, and I had to sleep on his bed because it was dangerous to sleep up top while underway. Well, the guy's blankets had fleas all over, and I looked down my belly one day to scratch an itch and there they were. Disgusting friggin' things. I got rid of him the next day when we stopped at a terminal, but not before I caught him beatin' his meat to a porno mag."

Senko's got his paw over his mouth, stifling a laugh. "Oh, wow!" Though his other paw's in his crotch, squeezing a little. Oh well, if it's arousing, then it's arousing.

"You're one to talk, you know," I say, "I could smell you before you zonked out."Â He shuts right up at that, and I don't have to look to know he's all flustered and puffed out. Â

"I'm sorryâ€""

"Don't be! A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. You needed it, you needed it, end of story. 'Sides, you said you saw stains, so you know you're not the only one."

"I just thought you had women, or something."Â He's clearly uncomfortable, and I got no way of making it better except to keep talkin' like I am. Â

"Nah, not as much as I'd like. Mostly it's just me and the paw, here." I hold up my right paw, and he's starin' at it, adjustin' himself some more. Kind of a randy dude, there. He's gettin' bolder with the questions, and I have a niggling feeling he's liking the turn of conversation. Got to admit myself, I'm getting just a little hard talkin' about guy stuff. Â

"Do...do you ever do it while you're driving? Is that illegal?"

I chuckle. "I'm pretty sure it's illegal, unsafe and lewd too," I say, "but I'd be lying if I said I'd never done it. Once every couple of days I'll get the urge, so to speak, and I have to bring out some of this stuff." I reach behind and under my seat and pull out a little tube of petroleum jelly. "Easy to apply, doesn't need cleaning, and it moisturizes."

"I could sure use some of that."

"What, right now? Help yourself to the sleeper," I say with a shake of my head. Damn horndog...or is that horncat? Horntiger? Oh well.

"Oh no, I didn't mean that," he backpedals. "I hope you don't mind me asking all these questions, but I'm really curious about the trucker lifestyle. I've heard a lot, and I don't know if it's just rumors."

"Don't worry about it, makes for good conversation."

"So, Sam, if you don't mind, what was the most exciting time you had in your truck so far?" He misses with the syntax, but I get the meaning loud and clear. Almost right away I have an answer, and it sends the fur on my neck out in all directions. It's a hard question for most, but not for me. I've been trucking for a good long while, but I can trace the best and hottest experience to a single day, about six years ago, when I was making my way through Kansas.

Wasn't even a girl, either. How about that?

Tain was his name. Picked him up in East St. Louis, an even worse part of town than Tampa. Thin little thing, very...effete, is a good word. Taught me a lot about a part of myself I never knew I had. Suddenly my chest is all tight, and I find myself missing the kid something fierce. Jesus...

"Well? Or are you not telling?" Senko's practically begging me for an answer, and I can give it to him, but he might not like it much. We'll see. Â

"Picked up a raccoon a while back. Ended up blowing me in the driver's seat, as I drove. Don't think I've come close to that since." Now I'm full-blown hard in my pants, and it's damn tight. I can't stop thinking about those smooth little lips wrapped around my cock as I struggled to keep in my lane for a better part of the Kansas countryside. How he nursed on it with more honesty than any woman I'd had before, or since. I know I shouldn't measure by that, but I can't help it.

"Was she good?"

I pause, and then just fuck it. "He was the best."

The silence means he understood it just how I said it. His paw is embedded in his groin, rubbing, and I know what that means. It means I suck at telling if a guy's batting for my team or the other. The little cross on his forehead gleams at the side of my eye, so I know he's looking at me. I know he sees my paw go down and adjust myself as I clear my throat. No amount of air conditioning can clear the thick tension in my cab. And I honestly don't know what to say next. Doesn't matter, because Senko says it for me.

"Looks like you're remembering it well."

"Y-yeah, it was somethin' alright..." Â

"Looks like you wouldn't mind it again."

Oh God, what in the hell is goin' on? It seems like we were just talking about something completely different, and ten minutes later I got this tiger sittin' next to me and all but offering to blow me. What am I supposed to say to that? Tain's face is still in my head, lips pursed, muzzle open as I watch my cock slide from view, only to reappear again glistening with saliva. It won't leave my mind. I need it again, pure and simple.

"I don't think I would, at that." Senko's belt clicks open as soon as I say it, and he's on his knees beside me in a heartbeat. I have to steady one paw on the gearshift and the other on the wheel as he gets down between my legs and starts fumbling around with my pants. He's got this eager determination on his face as he works my fly, stretched taut by my cock. Works quicker than Tain did, but I don't mind, 'cuz I'm used to itâ€"if you can call twice in six years getting used to something.

Can't do much except grab onto his shoulder and hold on. I have a job to do, and that's making sure we don't run off the road and die in a fiery mess while I shoot off in some tiger's muzzle. Senko has my fly open and down real quick, and his fingers fish my sheath out of my boxers without much effort. Feels good to be out in the open. Kinda naughty, too, like those games of "flash your pecker" kids do when they're young. Gives you a thrill.

"Mmff..." I bite my lip when he dips and licks me up and down, that warm tongue of his rough but wet and so much more stimulating than any of the women I've had recently...and there haven't been many. I honestly wouldn't have pegged him for being gay, not from the way he looks or acts, but then again you never can tell. Don't really care and never did. Especially when he digs his whiskers into my sheath and swallows around my cockhead.

As we cross into North Carolina, I have to keep my boots firmly planted on the floor, 'cuz when I get all hot in a chair like Senko's makin' me I tend to drum my legs like a dope. So I just cross my feet under the front of the seat and take the blowjob like an obedient boy. Â

Pretty soon I feel the buildup, and it surprises me with its intensity; usually I take a bit longer, but on the other paw, most women don't know how to properly please a man 'cuz they don't have the equipment or the experience for it. This is where Senko comes in handy. He's got his fingers all over my balls, and his whole throat workin' my rod, and all I can do is sit there and enjoy it. Might be the biggest reason why it's comin' up so fast, that helplessness. But I like it, and I let it come.

I can't help but think about Tain. I know I'm supposed to be focusing on Senko, but havin' a male muzz on my cock just brings back the old memories. Still can't believe he got a finger into me, and how much I enjoyed it, although I had a bit of trouble keeping the truck on the road. But the highway's nice and straight for now, and the truckers passing me can't see anything below the window sill. Some of 'em might get distracted and roll over, knowing how horny guys can get on the road. Almost like a prison, except a shitload more civilized.

A vibration comes up from behind the slick, rough tongue and I look down. I'll be damned if Senko's not purring there between my legs, pushin' my balls up inside my body and massagin' me from the outside in, it seems. Everything tenses all at once, and Senko pushes off, jerkin' his paws away like something was fixin' to bite him. Â

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck what the hell!" I shout, pushing back at the seat and humping the air. One tiny drop of cum oozes out of my slit, but no climax. No nothing. Just my clenched teeth and a weird afterglow that's warm but incomplete all at once.

"I figured if you didn't finish now, it might be easier later," the tiger says, patting my thigh, leanin' against the dash in a crouch. Later? There's a later? Then I could smack myself for that one. I have at least a whole other day here in this cab with him. He wants a taste of the trucker world, and I can give it to him. Homo BJ's aren't really a big part, but hell if I care.

He doesn't stand up until my hips go back to resting on the seat, and he leaves my meat shiny and clean and tingling all over. And then he just goes back into his own seat, buckles up, and leans back, licking around the inside of his mouth and smiling to himself.

I feel nothin' but good. That there was one of the most intense things I've ever done, and not just because it was a good hummer. You have those romantic blowjobs, with all that foreplay that leads you up nice and slow and lets you down the same way. You got the ones where it's not the best but you can get off anyway, and thank your partner for it after. Then you got these, where you're horny at the right time, and you have the right mentality to pull off one of those cums that just arrives in its own time, ain't nothin' you can do about it, and you watch dumbfounded as your spunk paints a tiger's muzzle whiter than it should be. Those, you don't need to thank for.

Senko seems to understand that, because he sits there and begins to nap again (even though it's only noon), so I don't have a chance to say anything at all. Probably for the best, since I'm not too good at that kind of stuff. Never did find the right words for Tain, either. Just dropped him off in San Francisco and wished him well. Every once in awhile I'll get a postcard from him, and it's nice to know he hasn't forgot me.

Now we sit in silence, and it's nice, for once. You get into those places where you can't get your radio to work, and you're all by your lonesome in the truck, and it's not fun. You listen to all that goddamn chatter on the CB and wonder why they all sound crazy. Well, some of 'em are a little nutso. We're a special breed, you could say. But somehow, sittin' there and lookin' over at him every once in a while, I get that itch...the promise of fulfillment to come, and even though I'm still a little miffed from him jerkin' me around like that, a part of me is looking forward to later, whenever that happens to come.

Three short hours later, I pull into the TCA in Kenly, just west of Raleigh. It's just a little after two in the afternoon, and it feels weird to be ending my day early like this. My load doesn't deliver for another two days, and it's a long way up the east coast. Then it hits me, like a gut-check: what does he wanna do?

"Is this a truck stop?" he asks before I can give that thought any credence. Sounds weird, but he's not native, so they must not have this kind of thing in Argentina. At least, not exactly. I can almost remember how I felt, on the road for the first time with fresh eyes. Mesmerizing, at first. Some get used to it and go all cynical. Me, I always find new shit to see.

"Yup, or as close as we're gonna get to one for today. I'm out of hours."

"You're stopping? But it's not even dark yet."

"We've been goin' since three this morning. I can't help it if you slept the whole way," I say, punchin' him in the shoulder playfully to let him know I'm kiddin' around. "Besides, I haven't stopped for food and I'm hungry."

"Wow. You're really a slave to the time, huh?" Senko asks as he pops open his door, squinting into the sunlight. Â

"Welcome to my world. You wanted to know, and here ya are. It's not as bad as it seems, if you have the smarts and attitude to make it work." I don't bother to put on anything special, as I'm just goin' in to eat, so it's shirt and jeans and boots. Nobody really cares at a greasy spoon anyway. Senko follows along beside me and behind a little, sniffin' at the air, whiskers all this way and that. Â

"Smells humid. Reminds me of home," he says.

"At least there's that. New England isn't the least bit like this."

"I'm looking forward to it."

We get into the restaurant and grab a booth in the corner. I know what I'm having the moment I sit down, so I spend most of my time tellin' the tiger which foods are the most "American" and which taste the best, in my own humble opinion. I have to go with the traditional turkey dinner: it's comfort food, it's varied, and I'm hard pressed to find a better-tasting turkey gravy. After a little ribbing, Senko goes for the chicken-fried steak. A good choice, for a foreigner. He laughs at that, and it's hard to believe he was suckin' me off earlier.

Most of the meal's spent jawin' about trucker life. You know, how many places I been, how many crashes I've seen, the weirdest thing I ever delivered, stuff like that. Even if I've gone by any sexy railroad crossings. I give him a weird look, and he says he's kiddin'. Thing is, I don't quite believe him at first. Â

I manage to get all my food down, but Senko can't finish his steak. Probably not used to American portion sizes. "I'm going to be sick," he says, pushing the plate to the middle of the table. I chuckle and tell him he'll live. He might sleep like shit, but he'll live.

"Well, you're in luck," I say. "This is a TCA. Travel Center of America. It's the cream-de-la-cream of truck stops. During the day, they got movies, massages, haircuts and all kinds of shit. And damn near the best showers you can have."

His eyes brighten up. "Good, I need one of those after sitting in that truck all day."

"Hey, sometimes I'm stuck in there for days without a shower."

"Yuck!"

"Welcome to trucking." Senko rolls his eyes. Yeah, I got that before too. "You can go ahead and shower first, so one of us can stick in the truck. We'll just use the same key."

"Sounds good." On our way out, I use my travel card and get a shower code from the fuel desk, and after grabbing his bag, the tiger heads out for the showers. No good way to get lost in there; it's a big ol' circle. In the twenty minutes it takes him to get back, I update my log, check my email on the Wi-Fi I got in the cab, and read a copy of USA Today from two days ago. It's still news.

He opens the door smellin' like soap and humidity. "Man, that was awesome. They really keep it clean!"

"That's what they're paid to do. I'll be back in a bit," I reply, and head over to the truckers' entrance. I'm hit with a wall of steam as I open the door. Damn tiger left it on for me, and kept the room warm. Well, not the best for the planet, but it sure beats waitin' for it to warm up. My bathroom bag is right on the bench where I told him to leave it, too. Good boy. I jump in all quick, but the thought of taking a speedy shower kinda goes by the wayside as the water soaks in. Screw that. I'm headed to Long Island, and there's no tellin' where the next decent place'll be.

Still, after a good ten minutes I've got all my stuff cleaned off, and it's good, but part of me's startin' to feel guilty about leavin' Senko in the truck all by himself. Kinda like I have a houseguest with no entertainment. Like I'm any kind of entertainment. So I rinse off and get dry, and hoof it across the parking lot back to my truck. Â

"Sorry I took so long, but it got to feelin'â€"" That thought dies right there at the end of my muzzle 'cuz there's Senko lyin' on my bunk, bare-tail naked, and reading my newspaper. Well, with the exception of his boots. "What are you doing?" I ask, tryin' to hide that little quaver in my voice that accompanies another not-so-welcome physical reaction.

"Reading, what does it look like?" He puts the paper down and reaches down to scratch his balls, just as natural as can be. Now, if it weren't happening like it is now, where that boy had to take his clothes off just to do what he's doin', then it might be excusable. But we're stopped for the night, he's got his own bunk, and to top it off, I can smell somethin' funny in the cab. Not weed, or anything. Horny tiger, maybe.

"I don't know what you're tryin' to pull, but it ain't funny," I say, realizing that his nose is gonna be a ton better than mine, and that tent formin' in my pants is not wanting to go away. That image, of his face between my thighs, licking up and down my meat, is planted in my brain and just won't leave. Then another thought hits me: if this turns sour, I'm gonna have to kick him out of the truck.

"Okay, fine," he says, not even bothering to make an excuse. "You seemed to like my muzzle earlier. I'm sure, after your shower, you feel just as worked up as I do. Warm water does that to me." He slides down on the bunk, his knees all bent up, and his tail moves off to the side. That's what he wants. Â

Now I've said before that I ain't a homophobe, and in fact after my experiences with Tain and this here tiger I don't even think I qualify as straight anymore. I mean, once you let a guy blow your wad, things change. I've done anal with women. Some liked it, most faked it. But with a guy, you just got the one hole and nothin' else. I can still smell the soap in the air, so I know he's clean. That tail of his swishes on the seat, moving that hole with it. He's smilin', god dammit. He knows I know he can see how hard I am, and I make no move to hide it. At this point, there's really no reason.

I want to. Lord help me, I want to. I have to admit it to myself, just like I had to admit six years ago, as we fell asleep in that hotel room, I silently wondered what it would be like to get all close to Tain and just...slip into him. I know he wouldn't have minded, but back then I wasn't ready, not by a long shot. But I'd be lyin' if I said I never thought about it. Or jacked off to it. Â

Without a word, I shuck off my shirt and shorts, right over my own boots to save time. My heart's racin' a mile a minute, half from bein' so friggin' horny and half from bein' so friggin' nervous. And Senko just lies there, his knees on his chest, watchin' me with half-lidded eyes and smiling. He knows he's got me, and I don't give a shit.

I reach under the bunk and pull out my lube, the silicone-based kind that never dries out and feels like silk. After globbing some on my cockâ€"which I have to handle careful 'cuz I'm kinda close alreadyâ€"I slick up under his tail, first rubbin' then pressin' in. It's tighter than I thought it would be, tighter than a woman's, which doesn't make sense. But by this time I'm not thinkin', more like just actin'.

"Are you ready?" I ask, not liking the quavering at all. It's not like me. Well...this whole thing isn't like me.

"Are you?" Â

I choose not to answer that question and just lean over him, my belly on his stomach, pressing his legs out of my way so my tip brushes against his hot little hole. Maybe if I shove it in hard enough, it'll wipe that smug look off his muzzle. Fat chance. He gives in way too easy, throwin' his head back as I sink to the sheath in one nice quick motion. Yeah, I growl, but I can't tell whether it's at him or myself. All I know is it feels damn good.

Holdin' the top bunk, I start in right away. There isn't much resistance, so I think Senko's helpin' me along somehow. His boots are up on my shoulders, heavy things, keepin' me pulled into him deep, and I realize how long it's been since I had somethin' to fuck. You don't think you could ever get used to your own paw, but sometimes you forget how good it feels to just hump on something. That friction, that wet, wet friction...

"You don't have to hold back," Senko pants, floppin' around like a doll against my pounding, "I want to watch your face when you come."

"It's...not that pretty," I reply, gettin' close way too fast. Â

"I still want to see it. You can watch me if you want." His voice is steady except for when he pounds the back of the sleeper, and it doesn't hit me for a second, until I hear the same grunt I heard behind the curtain earlier. He's clenchin' on my cock real hard, his teeth are out, and somewhere in his throat is a deep mewlin' growl that turns into a hiss. I'm watchin' his face, so I get to see his chin coated in globs of white, and then the rest of his stomach. Holy shit, I didn't know a guy could do that! It occurs to me that my cock was the only thing goin' on down there, and I feel real good and powerful. I don't even need to concentrate to work over the edge; I just start sprayin' all up inside him, and my hips never stop until it gets too sensitive and I have to pull out.

Senko just sits there while I lean up against the wall of my sleeper, panting and rolling around my spent balls. "How was that, compared to a woman?"

"That...ain't a fair question. They're both good...in their own ways." My head's a little fuzzy, so I shove him to the side (seeing a good part of my load dripping out of him) and lay back, paw on my head.

"You look like you're in pain," the tiger chuckles.

"Nope, not pain. Just winded, is all." Senko's got this smug little look on his face, but it's not somethin' you would get pissed at. He's all sticky and sweaty and pretty much in need of another shower, and my nose is full with the smell of musk. The only light comes from the slit in the curtains between the sleeper and the cab, and it slices right up the middle of him, from balls to chin. Right there, I can see how a guy might get the hots for another guy.

Who'm I kiddin'? I had the hots for Tain by the time we got to Frisco.

"Wanna go again?"

"J-Jesus, already?" I don't mean to sound my age, but I do. I can't help it if I don't bounce back like I used to. Not even gonna bring up the fact that I'm old enough to be his father, no matter the species difference. He doesn't care.

"You won't have to do anything. Just sit there."

Holding my limp sheath in my fingers, I tell him, "This thing isn't going to get hard until it wants to."

"I didn't mean that." It throws me for a second, until I think a little and look at him, noddin' and smilin'. My ass gets tighter just thinkin' about it. Of course, Senko's never gotten soft, and the thing sits there, pulsin' on his stomach, an angry shade of red. Â

"You gotta be kidding me."

"You're not saying no." No, I'm not sayin' no, and I don't know why I just didn't blurt it out when I had the chance. But it's not that I don't want to, as much as I don't know if I can. I mean, nothin's ever gone in, just come out. I don't know what to tell him. God dammit, I'm still panting! He paws at himself, keeping it hard, and his hole twitches and leaks a bit more cum. Now, if that weren't one of the hottest things I've seen in a long time. Felt damn good. I suppose I owe it to him, as long as he doesn't split me open.

Before I can give him an answer, he's on his feet and his snout's up against mine, his paws holdin' my arms up near the shoulders. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but I can promise you won't regret it." Somethin' about the way his tongue rolls them R's and clips some of the words...this ain't just some stupid way of reassuring me, it's a real damn promise. I've only known the guy less than a day, but he hasn't robbed me and he's made my trip up north a hell of a lot more interesting. Â

"Okay," I say, real quiet-like. And he turns me around and lowers me onto the bunk. My cock flops against my thigh. My half-hard cock. You know, the one that was all but limp a second ago? It's back and waitin' for something. Anything.

I can't help but feel uncomfortable on my back, there, with him pushin' my legs up to my belly. Never been exposed like that before, unless you count those friggin' prostate exams. It's like they don't believe there's nerves in your asshole, the way they poke up there. But when Senko takes his claws in and runs his finger around the edge, it's something entirely different. I don't get it, and I don't care, because I'm sitting there moanin' whether I want to or not. Then he starts pushin' in, pressing on my taint, and it's nothing but great. Â

"You feel that?" he asks, hitting some spot that feels like he's jerkin' me off from the inside out. Â

"Uh-huh..."

"Your cock goes all the way down here. If you know what you're doing, you can masturbate someone without touching the exterior genitalia. I've only done it once, though. Depends on the person." I wanna tell that tiger I might be one of those people, but I'm leaving the action up to him. Pretty hard, because I'm a guy who likes to be in control most of the time. On the other hand, Tain took it away from me, and I liked it. Seems I'm liking it again.

Senko grabs the lube and drips it below my balls, slicking up my crack and pushing into my hole a little. Doesn't hurt a bit, but those are just fingertips. I don't want to have to start my ten-hour break off by bleedin' out the ass. But Senko's smiling down there, watchin' himself work me over, and purring again, deep somewhere. I try to grab hold of my cock, but he just keeps slappin' it away. Â

"Not yet." That's all he can say, when I'm sittin' here with his finger up my ass? Well, two now, since the second one went in right beside the first just as easy. And he brings his other paw around to take hold of my balls, roll 'em around a little, and churn up the cum. Â

"Not fair," I try to snarl, but it's only a half-assed whisper, 'cuz I don't really have the breath for it the way he's going. Â

I don't know how long I sit there while he spreads me open all slow, palmin' my nuts and nudging against my prostate until I'm droolin' a string of pre into my damn navel. But when he finally takes 'em away and stands up, I don't even notice they're gone until I clench around nothing but my own flesh. Then he's standin' up, mixing my juice with more lube and gettin' himself ready. It's not as big as mine, but it seems goddamn huge when he presses it against me. I feel like I'm on fire.

Senko nuzzles against one of my booted feet, sighing. Don't see what he likes about the boots, but hey...I'm glad I can help, as long as I can wear 'em. Â

"Are you ready?"Â His cocktip's already spreadin' me open, so what's the point in asking?

"I guess," I say, and he believes me more than I believe myself. Still holdin' on to my one leg, still lookin' into my eyes, he pushes his hips forward and just kinda slides in. I groan, but not from pain. That cock feels even bigger when it's pushin' my intenstines out of the way! But as he makes his way further, my cock swells and twitches something fierce. Â

I'm glad he's a tiger, not another bear or some kind of dog. I got this wide head that makes it hard for some women at the start, but usually they're begging for more by the end. Senko is nice and tapered, a big boy, but easy going. He doesn't stop me when I start pawin' at myself, and I resolve to make it last until he finishes. With all this pressure on my ass, I feel like I could stroke about three times and bust a load. But I'm not gonna give in.

Neither of us says much, like there's anything to say when you're gettin' fucked. I was never really into talking during sex, all that groaning and swearing. Kinda takes away from the feeling, for me. I'm glad Senko's the same way. He rears back and holds my ankles up, thrusting forward and back but not too hard. I can tell he's lookin' at my face real close, checkin' to make sure I'm not hurtin' at all. Which I'm not, and I'm surprised at how painless it actually is. Â

He's gettin' real into it, by the way his muzzle scrunches up between a snarl and a smile. I let him have his fun. I really thought I would be whimperin' like a cub, but that just goes to show you how much straight (straight-ish, anyway) guys don't know about the other side of the fence. Gotta quit touchin' myself or I'll lose it too early.

That purrin' gets louder and starts to line up with his body and breathing, and I can't keep my fingers wrapped around my cock long enough to get a good stroke off. Easier to hold onto the sheets and bear down on that tiger cock and watch him as he goes over the edge. Some of that does hurt, but he can't control himself just like I can't either, when I'm coming. He makes two real slow thrusts, then shoves the whole thing in with a real nice feline sound...

Oh shit. Oh shit. He's shootin' right into my ass. I can feel his stuff hittin' somewhere real deep, makin' it warm. I thought it was just something they wrote in stories...I wouldn't believe it if it wasn't happening to me right now. I gotta get off.

He sighs, and starts to collapse on top of me, and I almost growl at him, "Don't you dare take it out!" He's not even done shooting yet! God damn, it's so hot. Â

"Go for it, Sam." Hell yes, I'm goin' for it. He doesn't even have to move; I just jerk it real quick and aim it away from my face, but even though that climax is somethin' like an out-of-body experience, leaving me tingly all over, my nuts can't compete. I just end up dribblin' over my fingers. My back threatens to cramp up, and I have to let go. I can't move.

I want to keep him in me, but I want him out at the same time. Weird, ain't it? But after the second time in half an hour, not even Senko can keep it hard, and he slips out whether he wants to or not. He says something, maybe asking me about my first time, but when I let my legs down I end up curling into a ball, muscles thanking me for finally coming to my senses. Can't even stay awake to thank him. I'm gettin' too old.

***

Senko wakes up when I start rollin', but only just long enough to smile at me through the curtain, move his ass to the bunk and nap for a few more hours. What a friggin' cat, I tell you what. I'm able to wait until five to stop for some breakfast, but I eat on the road to save some time. I don't even stop for lunch, 'cuz I've got some chips and shit to munch on while I go. Better to save up for something worth eatin' later on.

I make the mistake of gettin' into the metro right about noon, when everybody's trying to get someplace all at the same time. I know the Lincoln Tunnel's gonna be a clusterfuck no matter what time of day it is, so I just hit the Staten Island Expressway over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, and take it east from there. Traffic is lighter, and I don't get honked at as much as I would in the city. In a semi-tractor? Nobody respects you, especially New Yorkers.

We make good time, and it's barely noon when I pull off the Sunrise Highway at Beech and find enough curb to park my rig for a second. We get out, and I realize I'll never be able to live anywhere like this. Too damn noisy, too many people. But, I'm only passing through. Â

Senko looks down at the ground. I can tell he's kinda sad to go. "Walk me to the train station? I'm supposed to meet my friend there on the platform."

"I'd love to, but if I leave this thing here for long, I'll have fines up the wazoo," I reply. "Breakin' a lot of stupid laws right now." Â

"Oh, it's okay. I don't want you to be in trouble." He looks toward the station, lingering on a crossing sign. One-track mind, I'll tell you what. Then he looks back at me, smiles, and leans in close for a open-muzzle kiss. Right there in broad daylight. I can't reciprocate with as much enthusiasm, but those lips sure feel good on mine. So does that tongue, all raspy but smooth at the same time. It's weird, but nice.

He pulls back and smacks his lips. "That was fun," I say, grinnin' all over.

"Thank you, Sam. Thanks for going out of your way to give me a ride. I don't know how long I would have been there in Tampa if it hadn't been for you." He readjusts his cap on his head, covering up part of that little "X" above his eyes. Â

"Thanks for makin' my life a little more interesting for a while. Turns out you can teach an old trucker some new shit, huh?" He giggles and hugs me again, and I make sure to slip him a business card before he turns to go. "Drop me a line when you think about it, okay? You're a nice guy. I hope everything goes okay for ya."

"I will," he says, pocketing it and waving as he goes away to the platform...but not until after he stops to take a picture of all the crossing stuff. Arms, lights, the works. Silly...but you gotta have a hobby. Mine's drivin'.

I watch him go, tail swishin' all over, and I'm all alone again. Well, not alone. I have my radio, and my CB if I want to talk to all the retards out there. But I do have Tain's phone number. Livin' in Frisco, you got to have a cell phone all the time, especially in...that community. I'm halfway to dialin' his number when I stop myself. He's sent me his address, right? Right. Somewhere down on Market Street, near Geary. Hard as hell to deliver to, but I can always park in Oakland and take the BART over. Â

I think he might enjoy a visit from some old bear trucker. I'd like to see what he's been doin' the past six years. See how much he's grown up. Â

Once I deliver in Albany I'll have to hit up my dispatcher for a special request. She's a hardass, but good about stuff like that. I don't have to give her an explanation, either. Just request some time off. Lord knows I've got it coming. Â

8/11-9/7/09