Mean Trucker At Bar Manhandles Me

“Relax and take it, bitch. Be my little bitch,” he said in my ear. “I’m gonna drive you like I drive my truck—hard and fast.”
*****
I lay on the bed in the cabin behind Hal’s Tavern ten miles out of town and listened to the truck driver moving around in the bathroom. I had showered first, after I’d given him a blow job, and come to the bed and stretched out, naked, while he took his. He was going to fuck me when he came out of the bathroom. I was looking forward to it; he’d looked mean and lean at the bar. I wanted someone who made me feel it. I tried to remember what his name was—Ralph or Randy, or something like that. Although I suppose it didn’t matter what his name was for why we were here. I hadn’t told him my real name. All I knew is that I wanted him to fuck me good, to manhandle me. That was the mood I was in.
The bathroom door opened and he was standing there, a towel around his waist. I knew he’d be hairy and have tattoos. He was. I suppose the arousal for him was that I wasn’t—that I was younger than he was and clean cut, a novelist, although I don’t think he believed me when I told him that. A successful one too, but I hadn’t bothered to tell him that; I could tell that he was only interested in whether I’d take his cock. It didn’t matter. He might have asked me what the titles were of my books, and I couldn’t have given those to him without revealing my real name. He didn’t look like a writer.
He looked like what he’d said he was—a long-distance semitrailer driver—one who hit the gym wherever he...