Heat Wave: Newark

Heat Wave: Newark By Drew Hunt Impulsive was twenty-four-year-old Aaron Jones’s middle name. As soon as Ben Knight, the big hairy trucker, had shut off his engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, the words, “This is kinda like the place that time forgot,” were barely out of his mouth when Aaron acted. Aaron undid his own seatbelt and launched himself on top of Ben. Aaron’s arms and legs wormed their way around Ben’s oh-so-wide flannel-clad trunk and his mouth clamped onto Ben’s beard-framed lips, muffling the man’s protest. For the past hour or so Aaron had engaged Ben in conversation, liking what he heard but mostly using the exchanges as an excuse to perv on the big man’s body. Ben ticked every one of Aaron’s boxes. Ben was big, had a solid, wide frame, and a broad chest and soft belly. His forearms were hairy and, from what Aaron could see of the fur sprouting from his open shirt collar, he had a hairy chest, too. Best of all, Ben was kind, gentle, and totally oblivious of just how out-of-this-world hot he was. Hell, there was a heat wave going on outside but as far as Aaron was concerned, Ben out-heated the weather by several degrees. “What the?” Ben said, finally pulling free of Aaron’s questing tongue and readjusting his baseball cap that had become partially dislodged. Aaron produced his most winning smile. He’d often been told his smile could get him out of sticky situations, and now was his chance to prove that theory. This three-hundred pound bear could do Aaron serious damage, but Aaron’s gaydar was infallible. Ben was gay, and Aaron was sure the guy hadn’t had much experience. Certainly not with members of the same s*x. Aaron was totally willing to change that last part. It was his duty, his pleasure. Heck, it’d be an honour to awaken the giant. Licking his lips, Ben’s rich, full, earthy taste lingering on his tongue, Aaron said, “Could tell you needed a hug.” “Some hug,” Ben said, sounding dazed, his warm, brown eyes unfocused. “Yeah, well, in for a penny, in for a pound.” Ben returned the hug, the grip so tight, Aaron feared his ribs would crack. Aaron moved his right hand up to caress Bens’ cheek. His fingertips brushed the man’s beard, which felt surprisingly soft. “It’s okay, Big Ben, I got ya.” Although not very original, Aaron was proud of the nickname he’d thought up. It so fitted the man who sat in his driver’s seat like a king, all big and macho and furry and… “Didn’t you say you had to use the john?” Ben asked, breaking Aaron’s newest favourite fantasy, that of marvelling at his good fortune at being picked up on the side of the road by this amazing person. Ben’s words were like a trigger to Aaron’s bladder, which resumed its I need to be emptied, now! messages with increased urgency. “Uh, yeah. It’s your fault for making me drink all that Gatorade.” “Didn’t want you passing out on me or anything.” Aaron had been pretty dehydrated. He’d not been standing by the on-ramp to the interstate long, but the heat and humidity had made him sweat. Aaron smiled. “My knight in shining armour riding to my rescue on his white charger.” Ben scoffed. “More like fat trucker in his black Freightliner picking you up before the traffic cops did. You can’t hitch on the interstate in Georgia” The messages from his bladder escalated to red alert, so Aaron gave Ben a quick peck on the lips, slid off Ben’s lap toward the driver’s door, and began to fiddle with the latch. “You could get out your side,” Ben said, reseating his cap before pulling the correct handle on the door to open it. “This side’s hotter,” Aaron returned, smiling over his shoulder at Ben. “Yeah, sorry about the A/C being on the fritz. Like I said, hopefully the garage at South of the Border will have some Freon.” It was Ben with the whole trucker-bear thing going on that made the cab hot. But Aaron needed the loo too urgently to spend time correcting Ben’s wrong assumptions. Sure, the lack of air conditioning made things a bit sweaty, but Aaron had grown quite attached to the odour of sweaty man bear. Door open, Aaron stepped out onto the running board and looked down at the cracked, broken, and pitted tarmac. Pretending a fear of heights, he said, “It’s such a long way down.” “Turn around and go down the steps backward.” Aaron did as he was told. “That’s right, take hold of the grab handles and feel the steps with your feet.” Aaron nodded and continued his descent. “Thanks,” he said once he reached the ground. Dancing in place, Aaron looked up at Ben, hoping the big trucker was coming down and wouldn’t be abandoning him and driving off while he was taking care of business. “What are you waiting for? The facilities, such as they are, are back there.” Ben pointed to a building behind his rig. Aaron turned, biting his lip, his pee-pee dance ever more frantic. About fifty yards away stood a low, single-storey, cement-block, graffiti-scrawled building that had certainly seen better days. Aaron was about to ask Ben if he’d wait, when the man said, “I should probably drain my tank, too, while we’re here. Don’t want you getting lost, this being a strange country to you and all.” Despite having lived and worked in the States for over a year, Aaron hadn’t lost much of his cockney accent. Many Americans mistook him for Australian, however. Looking up at Ben, he said, “My knight in shining armour, wanting to protect me from all the big, scary bandits who’d raid the bogs while I was weak and defenceless with my trousers down.” “Yeah, right.” Aaron hadn’t known Ben long but already felt a connection to the guy, which he was sure went beyond the physical. Aaron watched Ben expertly heave himself out of the cab, lock the door, and move down the steps. Aaron took in the worn cowboy boots, faded Wranglers, red and black checked flannel shirt, and blue baseball cap. His eyes sank back to Ben’s full, round and oh-so-edible arse. For such a big man, Ben walked with effortless grace, like a grizzly bear, Aaron mused. Aaron wanted to rush up and give the big man a hug. Even though there was no one else around, this was the South, and Aaron sensed Ben wouldn’t be comfortable with public displays of affection. Reading between the lines of their earlier conversation, Aaron seriously doubted Ben had received any affection, public or otherwise, in a long time. “Thought you were desperate to go? Ben asked, turning around from several feet away and regarding Aaron with a bemused expression. “Uh, yeah,” Aaron said, snapping himself out of his musings. “Was just admiring the view.” Ben laughed, but it was without humour. “Nothing to look at. This park used to be pretty nice but the druggies and guys out cruising moved in. The cops come by every so often, but…” He shook his head sadly. Aaron chose not to correct Ben’s assumption as to what scenery Aaron had been looking at. As they walked down the side of Ben’s rig, Aaron having to take three steps to every two of Ben’s, Aaron observed, “Wow, didn’t realise you were so tall.” Ben shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yeah, lumbering lummox, that’s me.” Aaron frowned and was going to correct Ben, but decided it would be better to change the subject. “What’re you hauling?” Aaron was sure Ben had already told him, but he couldn’t remember. “Lumber. From Tallahassee. Taking it up to Maine.” “You live in Maine.” Aaron was sure Ben had told him that. “Yup.” The big man nodded. They’d reached the outer door of the toilet block by this point, and Ben, gentleman that he was, held it open for Aaron. “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Aaron wrinkled his nose at the hot, humid stench of stale piss. “God, what a pong!” Ben chuckled. “It was either here or in the woods.” Aaron would have asked if bears pissed as well as s**t in the woods, but he needed to do the former too desperately. The urinal was an ancient and battered galvanised trough. Aaron didn’t care about how primitive the facilities were, he was just relieved to reach them before pissing his pants. He pulled down the tab of his zip, fished out his d**k, and began squirting almost before he’d taken aim. Sighing in relief, Aaron returned to their conversation of earlier. “Surely you taking lumber to Maine is like hauling coals to Newcastle.” “Excuse me?” Ben turned slightly to Aaron, the latter getting a good view of Ben beginning to unzip. The sight of a big man handling his clothed goodies had Aaron’s mind wandering momentarily. Then he remembered. “Don’t you have plenty of timber, uh, lumber in Maine already?” Aaron’s knowledge of US geography wasn’t the best, but he thought they had forests in New England. “Florida has trees with softer wood. It’s mostly hard wood up in Maine.” No doubt unaware Aaron could see what he was doing, Ben had finished unzipping and fished out a sizeable trouser snake. Without missing a beat, Aaron observed, “Yes, I can see that.” At Ben’s look of incomprehension, d**k still in hand, Aaron added, “Hard wood. From Maine, where you’re from.” Ben might not have gotten the joke, but his c**k sure did, because it started to stiffen at the attention being paid to it. Aaron chuckled. “I was right to call you Big Ben.” Ben went a delicious shade of red and turned away. Aaron was about to apologise for making the man uncomfortable, when he heard someone enter the bathroom. Ben took a couple sideways steps from Aaron, finished pissing, then put himself away. Aaron did the same and looked up at the newcomer, a thin guy in his mid-fifties. The man gave Aaron a knowing smirk and then turned his attention to Ben, who had moved to the sinks. The man’s look of hungry interest had Aaron’s hackles rising and a voice in his head shouting, oh, hell no! I saw him first! Out loud, he said, “These sinks are disgusting.” Aaron placed himself between the newcomer and Ben. “Come on, we’ll use the hand wipes in the cab.” He put a hand in the small of Ben’s back and applied gentle pressure to get him moving. Ben looked momentarily confused but allowed himself to be guided back outside. “How did you know I had wipes?” “Because you’re organised with stuff like that.” In truth Aaron hadn’t known, but had said the first thing that came into his head that would get Ben out of the way of the letch. Not wanting to move his hand from Ben’s flannel-clothed back, but fearing the big guy would become uncomfortable at the prolonged contact in public, Aaron let his arm fall to his side. “Why’d you rush us out of there?” Aaron decided to be honest. “That guy was eyeing you up.” Ben laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, right. He was probably looking at you.” They reached the cab and Ben got in at the driver’s side and leaned over to unlock the passenger door for Aaron. Before Ben could buckle himself in, Aaron had climbed over to Ben’s seat and straddled the man’s lap once again. “That bloke was definitely checking you out.” Ben shook his head. “Nobody checks me out.” “I’ve been checking you out ever since St Marys.” Aaron delivered the sweetest, softest, and most tender kiss to Ben’s lips.