A to Z - 15. Roger

June 21

The road started climbing again today. Yet another long, steep hill: the world seems to be made of them. At least the road was better shaded as it climbed the flanks of the ridge, and I pushed myself to keep going. I stopped to rest once, and another time to fill my water bottle at an outside tap on a house where nobody was home. Not much different from a lot of days.

But it was at the end of the road where the trouble started.

By the time the sun began to sink into the west, I had come down the hill, gone over yet another ridge, and entered a fair-sized town. By then, my legs were moving out of habit. I had no idea where I would stop for sleep. It was then that I saw the big diner across the road.

The sign read “Merle’s Diner: Famous Pies – Home Baked.” It had a filling station and maybe a dozen large trucks parked in back. Clearly, it was a popular place.

I decided to walk over and at least inhale. I’d gotten lucky earlier that day and found a couple of quarters; added to my other change, I decided I'd have enough for an egg or something. At least I could use the restroom and refill my water bottle.

I walked in. I glanced at the menu over the lunch counter and cringed. I could afford a small glass of juice. Or, a side order of home fries. Just not both.

I sat down at the counter, setting down my bag and extracting my change.

“Hey, buddy,” a pleasant faced waitress with a tag emblazoned ‘Irene’ greeted me. “What’ll you have?”

“Can I get a side order of home fries and a glass of water?” I asked quietly.

“What are you having that with?” she asked, puzzled.

“No, that’s it. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“That’s all? Just here for a snack, huh?” she smirked at me and walked off.

I hadn’t noticed the man sitting on my right before, but he turned to look at me now. Steel grey eyes looked out from under a green feed-store cap, giving me the once over. I suppose I was getting more than a little ripe. Perhaps he was looking for the source of the odor he must have sensed.

I laid my change on the counter.

The place was certainly busy enough. Country music played blandly from speakers in the ceiling. Off to the left, there were a large number of tables and booths, most of them occupied. Some had families with small children, some had single people or pairs, mostly men. I guessed they were truckers.

The waitress plunked a small plate of home fries down on the counter, and set a glass of water next to it. She scooped up the change and said:

“You let me know if you need anything else.”

She stalked away.

I tried to make them last, but the fries tasted so good, I must have finished them in under a minute. Two minutes, tops. I addressed myself to the glass of water, and that, too, disappeared quickly.

What a day. I was still hungry even after eating the potatoes. I had no idea how far I’d walked, but it must have been farther than I’d ever done before. My feet and legs just ached. I figured that I’d use the restroom, fill my bottle, and look for a place to crash.

I entered the restroom and filled my bottle. I had stepped over to the urinals when the door opened. It was my neighbor in the green hat from the lunch counter. He unzipped and stood there, draining away into the porcelain, staring straight ahead. I almost didn’t hear when he spoke.

“You want to make twenty bucks?”

I froze. I wasn’t sure I heard him right. Twenty dollars? I could eat a couple of times a day for a week on that.

I nodded cautiously.

“How?” I ventured.

“Blow me.”

My heart raced as I stood there, motionless. So this was it. I was being offered a choice. I could sell myself for money. So I could eat. As if he could read my mind, green hat inclined his head in my direction.

“I’ll even buy you dinner,” he whispered, sweetening the deal.

And really, that was what made up my mind. My spare change supper had only taken the edge off my hunger. It had been a long day, and I’d walked a long, long way. And somehow, I knew that I could do this.

“Okay.”

I zipped up and picked up my pack. I let him lead the way out of the restroom. He stopped at an unoccupied booth and signaled me to sit. He slid in opposite me.

We sat there, looking at each other. I looked at him more carefully now, nervous as hell. The man I sat across from was about my height. He was wearing a light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Not fat. Straight nose. Close cropped light brown hair – what I could see of it. Intense steel grey eyes watching me. What had I gotten myself into?

A waitress – different from the one who’d taken my order before – appeared. She set down glasses of water, dropped a couple of paper-wrapped straws on the table.

“Hey, boys, what’ll it be?”

Before I could answer, my new acquaintance spoke up.

“My boy here will have the Merle-burger special, and I’ll have a cup of coffee.”

I looked at him. I figured he’d have had the special a bunch of times.

“Coming right up,” she chirped and hustled away.

We continued looking one another over. Finally, my table mate spoke.

“So. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yeah. I’m hungry.” I laughed shortly, nervously. “How could you tell?”

“Who buys a side order of fries without a main order? It’s kinda obvious.”

He was trying to make conversation. I didn’t really know what to say – I never talked to people much, even back when things were normal, and I was just a kid going to school. He didn’t look as edgy as I felt, that was for sure. I mean, how are you supposed to feel when you sell yourself for the first time?

“So, what’s your story, kid?”

I looked down at the scalloped edges of the paper placemat in front of me. What do I tell this guy?

“Don’t really have one, I guess.”

“What? No story? There’s gotta be a story. Everyone’s got a story.” His voice was coaxing, trying to be pleasant and casual.

“Nope. Not me. No story.”

I picked up the straw that lay on the table and started to unwrap it.

“Well, I got a story. My name’s Roger. I got a big rig parked out back, and I’m the king of the open road.”

He smiled when he said this.

“I’m on my way from Philly to Minneapolis, by way of Petersburg.”

Petersburg? Was this Petersburg? Had I ever heard of it? I hadn’t paid any attention to signs on my way into town; I was too tired. I toyed with the paper straw wrapper.

The steel-eyed man across the table broke in on my thoughts.

“Hey, kid I’m tryin’ here. Don’t leave me hangin'.”

He was smirking at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I just don’t have much to tell.”

This was a lie. I had plenty of story to tell. I just didn’t feel like telling it. And who would believe it anyway?

The food came. A huge burger – I’d never seen anything that big – and more fries, and a huge drink. I remember attacking it all, but, strangely, I hardly remember eating it. I was too anxious about what was going to happen after.

I don’t think I said a word as I made all that food vanish. I do remember Green Hat – Roger, I guess – looking at me with a mix of impatience and mirth while I ate. As I finished the last fry, Roger pulled out a wad of bills and peeled off a twenty. He slapped it on the table and rose.

“Come on, kid, let’s go see the honeymoon suite,” he snickered.

I followed him out the door. It wasn’t dark yet, but the summer sunlight was clearly waning. He walked quickly up to a silvery blue rig with the word ‘Freightliner” clearly marked on the side. Somehow, the truck looked even more enormous standing still than the occasional trucks that rushed past me on the road.

Green Hat opened the passenger door and held it open for me, grinning.

“Climb on up,” he said, pointing out where to put my feet.

Gingerly, I made my way up and into the cabin. I got a sense of how very high above the road I was, but I couldn’t linger as Roger climbed in behind me, and nearly pushed me back into the area behind the seats. I stood in a tiny patch of floor. A curtain to screen off the little chamber hung on my right. There were cubbies and shelves all around, and a bed stretched widthwise across the back.

Roger stepped into the space and pushed me roughly. I fell forward onto the dark sleeping bag that covered the bed.

“Hey,” I said, protesting.

I heard the curtain slide closed as I turned. The man grinned.

“Just playin’ with you bitch,” he laughed, nastily.

I didn’t like the sound of that. The green hat was tossed aside, and he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a lightly haired chest and a fairly flat abdomen. If I hadn’t been so fucking nervous, I might have called him good looking. He pulled his zipper down, and I got a glimpse of a good sized bulge in the shadows.

From my spot on the bed, I gathered my courage.

“Pay me first.”

His eyes narrowed. He stepped closer.

“After I bought you dinner, bitch? Pay you? No, that’s not how it works, man. First one’s on the house.”

“You said twenty bucks,” I said, stubbornly.

I didn’t see the slap coming. It stung, but I’ve been hurt worse. I was more surprised than anything else. Dad had been a lot more vicious. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could almost hear Dad cackling at my stupidity as Roger grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. He looked down into my face.

“You get paid when I feel like it, got that, bitch?”

He pushed his waistband down and exposed his cock. He pulled my head to his groin, and I slid off the bed onto my knees. I suddenly felt dizzy and sensed darkness crowding my vision. Panic. Then I had his cock in my face, and my nose was full of the powerful scent of his crotch. Musky, pungent. He rubbed my face on his rapidly hardening dick.

“Come on, now, open up,” he growled.

I wanted to shake my head, to say no, to call the whole thing off. Instead, he thrust his hard dick at my lips. The crown slid off my face. My head was yanked back again, and I got another slap, this one harder. My ears rang, and my jaw sagged open.

In an instant, he’d shoved his cock into my mouth. A billion new sensations clamored for my attention. Taste – salty, bitter, tangy; touch – smooth, veiny with ridges, and superheated – my God, he was hot; smell – musk and funk and sweat; sound – a groan from above, a juicy noise in my mouth, my own labored breathing. Only sight was missing, as I’d closed my eyes with the first assault.

I snapped to attention when I got a sharp rap on my skull.

“Shit! Watch your fuckin’ teeth, kid. Bite my dick again, and I’ll break your face into bloody pieces.”

I wrapped my lips over my teeth, and he thrust in again, deeper and deeper. He was in charge and loving it, holding my head and fucking my face. Holding me by the ears, he rammed himself into the back of my throat. When I started to gag, he pulled back, only to try it again. My reflex cut in again, and I started to heave. He pulled out, and I panted for a second, staring at the floor.

He pulled my head back again so I could see his face. Was I going to have any hair left at the end of this?

“You’re a dead man if you puke back here. Got that?”

I nodded, or tried to.

He grabbed the base of his cock, and slapped my face with his seven inch tool.

“Get ready to swallow this time.”

Obediently, I opened up, and this time, he jammed his rod to the back of my throat right away. I tried to open up my throat, so I wouldn’t gag. It was hard, because his pubes were jammed into my nose and face.

“Swallow it, bitch! Swallow it!”

God knows I tried. I tried to rub the underside of his cock with my tongue. I tried to suck and to swallow. He started up his insistent pounding away on my face again. I thought he was going to pull my scalp right off my head, the way he yanked at my hair.

In a while, he pulled me off of him. Before he could start hurting me again, I grabbed the base of his cock and began licking his tool like a lollipop. I lapped at it with long swipes of my tongue.

“Oh, yeah. That’s it,” he rumbled.

I slurped at him, taking the head in my mouth again, and sucked on the top couple of inches. I tried bobbing up and down on that for a bit.

I was rewarded with sounds of pleasure from above.

“Uh-huh, uh-hunnnh,”

Of course, any thought that I had some control in this situation was an illusion. I felt his hands on my head again, and he started fucking my face forcefully. I have no idea how long this lasted. It might have been a couple of minutes, or an hour. I was just trying to endure it.

Then I felt him swell larger in my mouth, and, in a couple of thrusts, he felt him start to shoot. The first spurt hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed involuntarily. I heard him growl with pleasure at his climax. He kept cumming and fucking my face, so much that his cum began to leak out around the corners of my mouth.

“Suck it all down, bitch, enjoy your dessert.”

Eventually, he was done, and he pulled out. He made sure to tap my face a few times with his saliva and cum-covered cock. Ugh.

I stayed there, on my knees, wiping my mouth and face off, trying to get my breath back. I heard him breathing hard, too, as he pulled up his pants and put himself away.

“Hey, kid,” he spoke without emotion.

I looked up at him. I saw him holding out a twenty dollar bill. His eyes watched me carefully.

“Take it. It’s bitch money.”

Gingerly, I reached out and took the bill. He started buttoning up his shirt.

“Listen, I want you to wait here for a few minutes. You can’t be seen leaving the truck with me, OK? I’ll come back and tell you when the coast is clear. You can hang out on the bed for a few, and I’ll be back.”

I hadn’t said a word. I just nodded.

He turned to go, making his way through the curtain – which he left closed – and down and out of the truck.

I felt dazed by what I had just done. I’d become a whore. I sold my mouth to his cock for a twenty. Just like that. And the worst thing was, I was very aware of a hard-on in my jeans.

I couldn’t stay kneeling forever. Eventually, I stood and put the money in my pocket. It seemed to burn there. There would be food from that twenty, but I wondered if it would taste any good. I looked around, then sat down again on the bed. I was still full of adrenalin; I hadn’t come down from it yet. I grew restless. It was dark outside now. I rose again and put on my pack. I was about to make my way out of the truck, when I heard the cab door open. Roger poked his head through the curtain.

“Come on, follow me. I’ve got a job for you.” He grinned in a nasty sort of way.

I trailed down after him and out of the driver’s side door. On the pavement, in the glare of the parking lot lights, stood a big, thick, man, built along the lines of my father. He wore a short sleeved checked shirt that bulged out at his paunch. Close-cropped dark hair covered a rounded head; beady eyes stared at me out of a puffy, full face.

Roger made introductions, standing at my left elbow.

“Kid, this is T.J. I want you to go with him, visit his truck for a while.”

I turned to look at Roger in disbelief. The hard look on his face told me that I’d better do as I was told, or I’d get hurt. I had no doubt about that.

I just nodded, dumbly.

T.J. just leered at me, looking at me like – like Uncle Ray looked at me. Hungry. My stomach turned over. I tasted bile in my throat. I looked around for a way out. I wanted to bolt. T.J. reached out and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. He squeezed me closer, and I smelled the beer on his breath. He began steering me across the parking lot. He turned and called out over his shoulder,

“Don’t forget, you said a money back guarantee!”

He laughed uproariously at his own humor. I really couldn’t see it. I’d been sold. Rented out. I hoped desperately for a chance to escape, but T.J. held my arm so hard, I thought he was going to pinch it off at the elbow.

“Cain’t wait to get you nekkid, boy,” he whispered throatily.

I could hear him wheeze as he waddled with me up to his rig. Holding on, he opened the passenger side door for me, and I stepped up inside. T.J. took the opportunity to feel up the inside of my leg and grab my ass. But I tried not to think about what he was doing. I felt so nervous, I was about to puke.

As I climbed up, I knew that this was my one chance at freedom.

I was a lot quicker than T.J.; he was still lumbering up into the cabin behind me when I took the only opportunity I would get. I kept right on going, scrambling over the center console, over the driver’s seat, and out the other door. I hoped to God that T.J. would be just as awkward getting down from the truck as he was in getting up.

As time slowed down, I could hear his surprised shout behind me.

“Shit! Son of a bitch!”

I hit the pavement and sprinted toward the low guardrail fence that surrounded the parking lot. I heard more yelling, but T.J. was not a runner.

“You get back here, you little whore! I’m gonna kill you when I catch you!”

I vaulted over the fence, ran straight into the next parking lot, and kept sprinting, my backpack flailing behind with every step. I took a second to look over my shoulder and thought I saw a startled Roger giving chase some distance behind me. I was afraid of him – he might be able to run. T.J. would never, ever, catch me.

I ran past the back end of a fast-food place, ducked around the corner, and then ran onwards. Roger would have to slow down and look to see if I’d gone in, or moved on. I ran past more cars, then turned down a row of cars in another parking lot and dropped low, moving toward the busy road. I popped up a second, saw Roger peering in the windows of the burger joint, then dropped low again until I reached the road. I dashed into the street, uncaring of the oncoming traffic. I saw bright lights, heard a screech of tires, and the blare of a horn.

No time to stop and say sorry.

Onto the other side of the street, into another parking lot, through the back side, and out into yet another lot, this one empty with a high fence around it. One glance, and I found a junk pickup truck parked up against the fence. In seconds, I had stormed the pickup and jumped the fence into somebody’s back yard.

A dog erupted, barking, almost at my feet, and I took off again, this time with teeth nipping at my heels. Fortunately, I was able to jump a much lower fence into the next yard before I lost any blood, but I was still running blindly. I made my way out into the street and saw a suburban avenue that looked shockingly like home. Low, middle-class houses, cars in driveways.

I looked for a house that was dark. I needed to hide. Now. I watched the street carefully. Nobody was around to see me cross to an unlighted house and sneak into the back yard. I breathed a little more easily.

In the dim light, I could see a chain link fence around the yard. Not a good place to be. I felt trapped. Then I saw a gate at the back, and in a moment, I had slipped through into woods at the back of the fence. I took a few steps cautiously away from the fence, tripped, and promptly tumbled down a steep incline to the bottom of a ravine. I hadn’t seen anything.

I lay there, in what must have been the world’s deepest pile of yard refuse – I could smell a mound of grass clippings and tons of old leaves. I was dazed but unhurt. It was a good, soft landing, for such an unexpected fall.

Looking up, I could see the moon and stars through the leaves. As I panted, all the adrenalin, all the nervous energy I had, just drained out of me. My heart slowed. I started breathing normally.

At that point, looking up at the leafy canopy overhead, and lying in the softest bed I’d had since walking away from Carlsberg, I decided I’d had enough. I was just going to lie here. I unshouldered my pack and lay back. I realized I was exhausted.

I started to drift off and I could hear the voice of my Dad roaring, somewhere in the back of my mind: “you cocksucking fairy, you’re supposed to like this!” The sound of his vicious laughter sounded in my ears, and the damn tears started as I recalled how he had hurt me.

So now I’m awake again. I can’t sleep for the thought of what I did tonight, or for the memories of my Dad. I can’t rest. At least the moon is so bright, even through the trees overhead, I can see just enough to write. I keep telling myself that I'm okay. Roger and T.J. were scary, but Dad had been much worse. I keep telling myself to remember that Dad is dead. He's dead. He has to be dead. How long will he haunt my dreams?