I'd been driving my Mack tractor trailer for just a couple months. I'm a rookie driver, okay? I know I don't know all the lingo, don't know all the 'ins and outs' of this crazy biz.

I'd been driving long enough for the initial excitement of rolling forty tons of steel down the highway to fade. I'd learned that it's a darned lonely job, just you and the radio for company. This was one of my first trips to Philadelphia. Truckers call it 'Filthydelphia', and parts of it are just that, filthy. The same can be said for any major city, though; they all have their scummy side.

Part of the job is learning how to get from point A to point B. We had our trusty Rand-McNally road atlas, the CB radio, and our fellow drivers to rely on for directions. No GPS, no Google maps, no cell phone, just fly by the seat of your pants, your sense of direction, and the aforementioned resources.

It was late at night, pushing two a.m., and traffic was thin, almost non-existent. I was on I-276, getting close to my destination. My eyes were heavy, my back was tired and my ass was numb, just another long trip almost over. I was looking forward to some sleeper time, a chance to stretch out in my bunk. It was a deluxe two-inch thick mat laid flat on a steel deck perched over top of a very hot diesel engine. Only the finest for our nation's truckers.

Up ahead I could see tail lights, red as a pissed off possum's eyes in the dark. I was about a half mile back, business as usual, when I noticed that whatever it was, it's going pretty slow as I'm quickly overtaking the vehicle. As I got closer I could see it swerving from lane to lane. It's a big old black Cadillac, a major barge of a car. I backed off the fuel pedal, thinking it's a late bar patron slaloming his way home from a night at the taproom.

"Bet that sumbitch gonna have a big head in the mornin'," I muttered to myself.

His vanity plate read "Irvin".

Irvin seemed to be doing a better job of holding his lane now, so I decide to take a shot at blowing his doors off. He was in the left lane so I had to take him on the right. I cracked down on the fuel and the V-8 diesel growled hungrily and started to eat up blacktop. As I got up beside him, Irvin had the dome light on, so I checked out the seat covers as I come alongside.

He had his seat back and was getting a blowjob from his blonde companion. She was bobbing up and down on his knob, going for the gold. From what I could see she looked pretty good, nice shaped body, long hair. She had to be banging her head on the steering wheel, but she was no quitter! I rode alongside and watched the show for a bit, never having seen anything like this before. Now I understood the reason for swerving.

The other drivers were always telling tales of how they'd seen similar stuff on the road. I'd put it down to bovine scatology, the need to 'one-up' each other, every story getting more extreme.

I'd already learned the difference between a trucker story and a fairy tale. A fairy tale began, "Once upon a time," a trucker story began "You ain't gonna believe this, but..."

The show was a good one and I was getting some really nice wood just watching. Suddenly my man Irvin hit the gas and dove off an approaching exit. Just that quickly my initiation into highway sex was over.

I started to laugh to myself. "He didn't have to wait until the morning to have a big head!"