It's finally Friday, and I decide to check the action at the Truck Stop on the way home from work again. See my previous story "On the Way Home from Work," and you'll know why. I was hoping to run into my friend with the big, uncut dick. I've been sitting at work all day, thinking about what it would have been like to stick that fat thing in my mouth and suck it for all it was worth. I didn't get a lot of work done, but now I'm so horny I can hardly stand it.
I look around, and there doesn't seem to be much action, but I do see NASCAR Boy. I have no idea what his real name is, but he drives a white panel van that is wallpapered with various racing stickers, including the windows. I don't know how the guy sees well enough to drive.
The first time I saw NASCAR Boy was about a year ago. He was sitting in his van, making eye contact, and making some exaggerated motions with his shoulder to let anyone who cared to walk by know he was playing with his cock. I walked up to him and said "What's doing?" and he looked me straight in the eye and said "I'm looking for a top who will fuck me." I do like a man who gets right to the point. I said I wasn't sure if I had any rubbers or lube, and he said he had them. We drove off to the park for a little privacy, he got on all fours, and I fucked him like a jackhammer until he fisted his load all over the van's carpeting.
That was about four or five fucks ago. NASCAR Boy knows me on sight and I know NASCAR Boy. We don't run into each other much, but, when we do, we always make a point to get together.
I walk toward the van and his face lights up the second he spots me. "Dude! Been a long time!"
"Yeah. You want to get some?"
"Sure, but I don't think I've got any rubbers this time."
"Hang on and I'll check my car," I tell him.
He calls after me, "The park, right?"
I nod and walk to my sedan. I paw through my glove compartment and find one lonely lubricated condom. I give NASCAR Boy the thumbs-up, and he starts his van and pulls out of the parking lot. We don't need to say anything. We both know where we are headed.
There are mistakes to avoid in life, and fucking in the parking lot of the Truck Stop is one of them. The police visit it often, and the owners don't appreciate their reputation as a "gay cruising spot". The park, on the other hand, has been the city's "hands-off" spot for as long as I can remember. If you're discrete, aren't hustling for money, and you don't litter, the cops will leave you alone.
By the time I get to the park, NASCAR Boy already has his van backed up to one of the lonlier picnic areas. I knock on the van's side door, and it slides open. NASCAR Boy is already naked, and he's hard and ready.
I should mention NASCAR Boy is hardly a "boy" ... he's my age, and maybe a little younger. He has watery pale blue eyes and sandy blonde hair that he wears in a butch cut. His mustache is also pretty severely trimmed as if he did it with a paper-cutter. He gives the impression of maybe being ex-military, with a soft layer of new fat over old and very hard muscle. Whatever he does for a living, I'm sure he doesn't park his ass behind a desk, like I do. His hands and arms give the impression of a man who works very hard all day.
The van's floor is done in a deep avacado shag pile that might be the 1970s original. It smells vaguely of stale cigarettes, but is otherwise neat and clean. NASCAR Boy keeps a blanket, a couple of pillows, a roll of paper towels, and a washcloth always handy. I get the distinct impression I'm not his only fuck, but that's cool. He's always clean, presentable and prepared.
I take off everything but my T-shirt, and NASCAR Boy starts to wiggle into position under me. "OOooh ... give me that cock!" he says, "I want to suck it. Come on, baby! Stuff that thing down my throat!" I straddle his face and feed my cock into his willing lips and he starts to suck me with an enthusiastic and practiced vigor.
I reach back and fondle his prick, which he is already jacking. NASCAR Boy has a very nice cock, a fat seven-incher with a pair of heavy balls to go with it. During one of our encounters, he and I did a brief sixty-nine, but it was plain that he really wasn't interested. This boy is all bottom ... he wants to suck my cock, get my dick up his ass, and call it good. There's a large, angy pink surgical scar that runs from his navel down to his cock. He has never explained what it's for, and I've never asked.
NASCAR Boy comes up for air and looks me in the face. "Should I keep going? I've never sucked you off all the way, have I?"
"Well," I laugh, I don't know about you, but I came here to fuck."
"Yeah, well, let's fuck! Get that thing up me. How do you want me?"
"On your back is fine. I don't want to miss looking at your cock while you jack it."
The first time we got together, NASCAR Boy and I fucked dog-style, but I do like looking at his prick, and he has an amazing gift for synchronizing his loads with mine, so I'm eager to fuck him face-to-face. I get his legs on my shoulders, pull the condom on, and then aim the head of my cock for his pre-lubricated asshole.
I sink all the way in to my balls on the first thrust. NASCAR Boy throws his head back, and yells, "FUCK, YEAH!! Just like that! Drive it in, baby! Fuck me real good with that big prick of yours."
"I'm sure you've had bigger," I laugh, as I settle into a fucking rhythm.
He looks thoughtful for a second and says, "Noo ... I'd put you in the top three, to be sure."
"Well, you love getting it hard and fast up the ass, don't you?"
"Yeah! Gimme! Drive that thing!"
In 'real life', I'm not much of a talker during sex. Some of my partners are definitely into it, especially dirty talking. NASCAR Boy is one of them. I feel a little foolish babbling on while I plow him, but I know he loves it, so I start in with some patter.
"Yeah, you want a real man's cock up your ass, don't you, you hot fucking bastard? Oh, man. I could fuck your awesome hole all day. You're such a hot fucking bottom. You suck dick like a dream and you just love to get your hole pounded by all the hard cock you can handle. Well, I'm sinking it in. I'm stuffin' your boy-muffin' with everything I've got. Feel my balls slapping your ass? Huh? Feel that? Keep jerking that prick, man, give me a nice show to go with my fuck. I wish I could watch you sucking another cock right now."
At that suggestion, NASCAR Boy goes nuts. "Oh, yeah! I really want some other dudes to watch me get fucked by you. Maybe I could suck all of them and let them shoot off on my face and coat my dick with their sperm. Maybe we could get a gang-bang going in here. Oh, baby! Oh, baby! Ram that thing up my fucking ass! Don't tease me! Don't be gentle! Plow that prick up there in my hole until you fuckin' blow! Are you close? Huh?"
"I'll let you know."
"Tell me when you're close, and we'll go together."
This is no idle boasting. He manages it every time. Sure enough, I soon feel the tell-tale signals down deep in my nuts that this ass-fuck is almost over.
"I'm going to blow."
"Say when, baby!"
"I'm going to shoot it."
"Any time, stud!"
"Aw, fuck ... right ... NOW!!"
I erupt my load into the condom at the same time the first thick jets of cream shoot out his dick and on to his belly, giving the illusion that it's my come that just came flying out. Don't ask me how he does it, but he does.
I roll off and shed the condom which disappears into a tiny plastic waste basket. He gets out the wet wipes and the paper towels, and we get ourselves cleaned up and dressed.
"That was fan-tastic," he says, giving me a good-old-boy pounding on the back. "Any time you see the van out there, be sure to come up and say hey."
"I'll do that," I promise him, and head back to my own car.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/gay-male/a-pit-stop-with-nascar-boy.aspx">A Pit Stop with NASCAR Boy</a>