Red Rider
"Kid, you'll either flame out or you won't. I hope to Goodness you don't, and there ain't a thing that makes me suspect you would. Not a thing about you. But it's sure as hell not certain, and ultimately there's no getting halfway to it. It's not like a goal you set, where you might fall short but console yourself with what you did accomplish. It's more like a transplant. Either you'll take to it or you won't. I don't mean to be severe about it," and he took that moment to take a long draw off his cigarette. He didn't particularly savor the taste of it, though the drag was certainly lazy and indulgent. He exhaled out the side of his lips so that the stream got caught in the wind rushing past the truck, and not a string of smoke left curling inside the cab though the smell itself permeated. Aloysius had an expert precision at this, specifically. Of course he would. I'm sure had he lived in the frontier west he'd hit a spittoon from half across the saloon. "I don't want to worry you. I can feel you tensing up over there," he said to me in the passenger's seat. "You're not worried about it, are ya, kid?"
"No, Al-" I shortly lied. The bear whistled, a single note held and drawn out til it died.
"That's good," he said with immediate relief. "It didn't faze me at the time. It kind of hit me afterward." I expected the speech to go on from there, and I'll admit I was riveted by his monologue. The miles I'd been collecting in Aloysius' rig had been truncated by his knack for stretching even minor anecdotes into wondrous tales. But he took another drag on the cigarette and I realized something in the subject, in myself, in the cabin, whatever, had shut him off from the subject. I wasn't going to press him on it, but when he turned the radio to some benign sports chatter I felt free to quietly dwell on the matter.
I think it would've been easy for me if I were some brute, one of the beasts of burden that had constructed my university's football team's defensive line. I'd been a bookish exchange student then, and was now a newly permanent resident with only one hot idea on how to support himself.
I just wanted to look the part, was all, though of course that was too much to ask. A red panda whose body looks like it was smoothed away by a stream isn't the type you ever expect to see in a big rig, but they told me time and time again during training: You don't need to look like a trucker to drive a truck. The wheel turns just as easily for everyone. And what you need just to get your haul in and out of the truck keeps you nothing if not well toned. It's never an impossible weight, and my thin arms can conjure up surprising energy. I could have all the confidence I need in myself, if only I didn't get confused looks at every site by guys who think Aloysius picked me up off the side of the road. But I don't care if they think I'm a trick. I do just as much work as anybody.
The thoughts in my head started to churn a little too rapidly, so I tried to follow the banter on the radio. One of the commentators was having a fit over some pitcher who stiffed his hometown fans to take less money with a playoff contender, and his partner was incredulous that anyone would think athletes have any sincere obligations to the cities they play in. That's about all I gathered before Aloysius turned the knob to an obscure station hidden deep in the index of his treasured radio. It played only old sad country songs and bluegrass. I know how that must sound, but I liked it, too. It was a good station, though I think they've since replaced or retooled it. He turned it down low and got onto his HAM, filling the cabin with lingo I understood increasing chunks of. But I couldn't learn any more as my thoughts kept going back to what Aloysius had said: I was either going to flame out, or I wouldn't. Either the transplant would be accepted or shut down.
"Red," he made my ears perk when he called my nickname. "We're gonna haul this nonsense up to the next stop and let the engine idle, what do you think?" When I didn't answer, he asked if he wouldn't mind a friend stopping over to the rig, an old trainee of his he'd found on the HAM a few moments ago.
"I think that'd be great," I said plainly, trying to piece together which of other men on the other radio he had been talking to. But I didn't think too much as I was anxious for us to park. Getting off the road meant so much more to do - necessary things, work-related things - but for me it was was still much easier to relax once we could fold the chair back and open the humble cabin up to its fullest extent. Aloysius was certainly proud of his truck, and the closest thing to pure joy you saw in him was when he maneuvered through his apartment-on-wheels, proud of the simple fact that he was able to. Generous as it was, it was still only built for one. I slept on the long, plush seat. But that wasn't bad. I swear to God it wasn't. No worse than any couch, really. And then the cabin roof itself, the windows looking out onto three directions, made you seem so close to the outdoors. It gave very much an impression of sleeping on something like a cot in something like a tent, but where you could hear the singing of tires along the highway.
He passed a few likely candidates before settling upon a rather spartan, but spacious stop bordering the highway on one side and dense forest on the other. If we weren't stopping, Aloysius told me, this is the kind of place where you'd want to look out for deer. "I dunno if they changed the test, but I remember among all that nonsense about appropriate speeds at various weights, they never once tell you what to do if a deer jumps out on the road. I think you and I both know what the answer is. Don't think the deer do."
We hadn't parked more than a moment before Aloysius had reached behind the large plush couch to find the release that laid it out flat to open to the living compartment. He disappered into the burrow and out from the dark flung my pillow and blanket. "Thanks," I said, putting them on the floor beside me, out of the way. Putting aside concerns of invading Aloysius's privacy I ducked my head into the dark alcove, and while I waited to adjust the darkness my eyes were scandalized by a vibrant spark of bright flame. The bear's lighter flickered its fire diligently in lighting up what the bear had been looking forward to all that day. The smell, at least, was unmistakable. I might not have gotten through, but I had gone to college. He exhaled without a cough, but not from the side of his mouth as he had the cigarettes. He let the smoke ooze from his lips as easily as a flower releases perfume.
I didn't question his habit. But I didn't partake.
"Kid," he said, "how many miles did you get today?"
"Um-" I said, and quickly gathered my logbook out of the glove compartment. I compared the mile numbers, crunching the numbers efficiently in my head. When I wasn't sure I could trust the number, I dug around for an old pen and scratched the figures on an unused fast food napkin. "Just a second-" I said, explaining my pause. I exacted the numbers and studiously wrote it into my logbook before announcing the result: "Five hundred and thirty-five."
"Five hundred, yeahh-" the bear groaned as he got comfortable in his hovel. "That's about what we needed to do. That's good. That'll do." I couldn't see him in his den, but I had the impression he was laid back, his eyes shut as is he were trying to blot out the image of the road burnt into his head. "Good work, Kid," he offered me. Of course it made me blush, the tinges of red blazing in the whites of my mask.
A slow double tap came at the door. "That's Rocko, you'll like him," was all the bear said, quickly shifting to turn on a light in the darkened den. The double tap came again, and I let Rocko in. He opened the door wide just as soon as I released it, and greeted me with a toothy, exuberant smile. He seemed to be celebrating something, like he ought to be wet with cheap champagne in a clubhouse somewhere. "Hey, Buddy!" he said to me, grabbing my hand and using me to pull himself into the cab. He slapped me on the shoulder as he brushed by me and peered into Aloysius's private hollow.
"Al!" He shouted, leaning in past where I could, though I saw Aloysius's burly brown arms wrap around the soft, plush body. They hugged like old friends, they really did, though Rocko himself couldn't have been around for all that long. Or did he just look very young for his age? He had been one of Aloysius's trainees, hadn't he? And Aloysius had only become senior enough to start accepting trainees not too many years ago, hadn't he? That was the phrase he'd used, "not too many." I realized our standards might have been dramatically off. This bear, who was already leaning back against the steering wheel and blowing smoke into my face with a coy grin, didn't seem more than just a few years older than me. Yet he seemed as fixed and permanent in his position as a mile marker. After Aloysius introduced us, Rocko unveiled his role as the entertainer, reeling off with dramatic precision stories about his time playing football in high school. They had been big fish in a little pond - some obscure athletic conference they thoroughly manhandled from season to season - and the bear had enough stories of triumphant conquest to give you a sense of a lifetime's successes. He had a certain flair for telling stories - his hands weaved through the air with a conductor's grace, and seemed to pull especially visceral, even dirty images out of the ripcurrents in his flow of consciousness. It would only be halfway through the next story that you realize the event had been trivial. But the ritual of the story itself had been long and lazy enough to lull you into a satisfied slump. Through it all Aloyisus laid back, his chin tucked into himself, laughing heartily at all the best lines, just as he did when he switched on his prized radio.
Rocko, to construct an image, was a frequency you could only find with foreknowledge and luck. The cab of the of the truck started to remind me of the studio of a pirate radio station, and it could have been, if only we left the HAM on.
"So we're going up against Denton, and Denton got this big motherfucker, this panda who was about fifteen feet around. He put every buffet in that crummy little town out of business, but nobody cared, he was their pride and joy. Their star player, an offensive lineman. I swear to God. It's like saying Monday's your favorite day of the week. But this town was like that," he would circulate himself off into another point, swatting his hand away as if fending off the original topic. "They grew corn but they would've planted sawdust if they could have. Dry towns are just broken, you know? There's just something that refuses to function when a town's dry. Anyhow-" he cut himself off, veering the story back on course. "These Denton nerds are saying their tubby panda's gonna stuff our defensive line single-handedly. They get real chippy about it before the game, and we ain't never done nothing to this team. Never knocked them them out of the playoffs, never kicked a field goal in overtime to spoil homecoming, never broke their hometown hero's ankle in his last game before before he was supposed to start as a true freshman at Stanford. Nothing. We never did nothing, these kids just had a bad attitude.
"And that panda, he stayed real quiet, he'd mum up like someone just asked him if they could have a little of what he's having. Like he wanted to be above it. But he'd have this dumb grin on his face the whole time, and you could see the fame had really gotten to his head." He looked over to me from time to time - when he wasn't looking at Aloysius, or at nothing at all - and each time I would feel something in me tense up unwillingly. I was having a magnificent time. I openly admired the bear, even though his record-breaking body had softened a degree since he entered working life, which had proved markedly more sedate than his recreational adventures.. But my insecurity left me feeling exposed around this bear who had only recently managed to transition to the life I so badly wanted.
"The offensive lineman. I swear to God. It could have been the kicker though, right? What if that were their ace in the hole? You- Hey Al- Can you imagine it if-" Aloysius's husky laugh emanated from the dark hole. This got Rocko to laughing, too, and they exchanged glottal guffaws as if to make an amicable end to the story.
"When I was in high school, the football coach asked me to be the kicker." I volunteered. Rocko turned to me with excitement, seeing that he finally had a bit to work with in me.
"Yeah? You don't look much like a footballer, but maybe that's why you woulda made such a good kicker, huh?"
"Hah-" I sigh, not wanting Rocko to see the particular nerve he struck with me. I know he didn't mean to, so I answer anyway. "I, ah- I played soccer before I moved to the US. I wasn't very good, but the technique- you know how-"
"You kick it off the side of your foot, yeah?" Rocko took the conversation's wheel for me. I'm thankful for him to be talking again, really. "Like the pros do it. I'm sure the coach saw you booting that soccer ball around and got visions of fifty-yard field goals in his eyes. Maybe you shoulda gone out for it, you mighta saved the day once or twice."
"But I-" I try to wrench the conversation back to myself, feeling it important to say something now while I was in the headlights. "I didn't go out for the team. It would'nt have been very fun. I might've been on the team, but the same people didn't, you know, embrace me or anything when we were in the cafeteria. So maybe I kick for the football team. It'd be a chore. It'd be like a crummy part-time job. And maybe I botch some real important kick with the season on the line? It's just as likely as not, isn't it? Then I'd really be popular! And to top it all off, our rival school - they wore deep red. I could've passed for their mascot. It never could have worked. It just wouldn't have been fun. I just wouldn't have had a good time." I start stammering, putting one word after another automatically. And eventually I just stop. I don't realize quite where I am in my explanation, or what little threads of argument I'm leaving untied. But it didn't take long to fatigue myself on the matter.
"What you're saying, Red-" Aloysius tried to pry my eyes up from the floor mats, "Is that you really wouldn't have felt like one of the gang? That you woulda stuck out like blood on a bedsheet, yeah?" He had crawled up from his little space and was leaning into the front section of the cabin, now, his burly arms supporting him like stone pillars as he hunched forward into the front compartment. Aloysius could have been easily mistaken for a retired great, though he swore he'd never played. He went out of his way to lug the biggest boxes, to throw his shoulder into the most stubborn loading dock doors - the path of most resistence, even in such a sedentary lifestyle, would at least keep his muscles firm and vital. Maybe he was less like a football player, and more like a coach. He seemed right around the age a guy with a solid career in the pros would be opting to hang it up. And he didn't seem like the type to stick around long enough to sully his legacy. "It seems, to me, Red," he continued his thoughts in my silence, "That you were then and are now just a little bit tired of being reminded how different you are. Yeah?" He looked me hopefully. "Yes?" He said again, trying to prime the answer.
"Yes- Yeah." I squeaked under a whisper. "I mean-" I start to explain myself, my voice coming back to me with confidence, "I was never unliked, I was never-" but my patience with explaining myself really had gone past me.
Aloysius put his burly hand on my thigh and I felt myself light up as if the red of my fur were recharging its shine. "Don't worry about it, Kid," he tried to tamp down the insecurities that had flared up on my face. I still didn't know how they'd risen up to the surface, but I never really could figure out why it happened. And I could always be confident of it happening again. The slightly strained glower of concern never quite vanished from my face. It had settled into the lines of my face awhile ago, and it would take awhile still to melt those crevices away. Sitting in the cabin with the bear's palm on my thigh, squeezing so tight it felt as if it were taking roots, I knew I'd have all the time in the world to wait for the wind of the highway to polish them off, like river rocks in a shallow stream.
Aloysius had settled himself between Rocko and I. "Hot damn, when was the last time I heard this?" Aloysius exclaimed as he pushed forward to adjust the volume. He swayed his head casually with the lazy strumming as Rocko added his own short words of encouragement, though he quickly became lost in the song, too. I'd never heard it. The strings were of the typical twang and the lyrics were melancholy. I didn't quite like it. It wasn't offensive, it just wasn't something I could really imagine wanting to reminisce over. Bluegrass might have been a bridge too far in taking up this job. But I figured, there were a lot of stations on the dial. And I'd have my own truck some day, and I could develop fond memories of whatever I wanted to. I looked past Rocko out onto the highway. The headlights whizzed by, mostly amber and red, filled in with the occasional vibrant blue. It had all seemed so monotonous, sometimes even tortuously paced on the roads. The roads felt like clogged arteries always promising the threat of a sudden, fatal stop. But once you stepped back from it, it all whizzed by free and easy as if the channels had been carved by time and not the Federal Highway Administration.
Aloysius yanked me bodily from my daze. His muscular arms, which he nightly tended to with a Catholic's devotion to ritual, embraced my waist and pulled me back into his compact lair. The air down there embraced me next. It flowed into my lungs so that I drowned in the pungent mix of musk and smoke. After the first few moments in the dark dungeon, writhing in Aloysius's lap as we settled into his humble cot, it was as surprising to learn I could breathe this air as if I could breathe underwater. There was nothing distasteful about it- but you could taste it all the same. If it wasn't the bear's flavor, it was something to amuse the tongue. And while my tongue was amused, Aloysius's hands delighted themselves inside my dark-grey tanktop, sinking deep into the fur to graze his nails along the skin underneath in long tracks with a touch as light as tires racing over pavement. He buried his nose in the nook of my neck and filled his nostrils with one curious, drawn-out snuff, his broad chest baring into my back until his lungs could take no more. He exhaled in a sharp whistle, obviously intrigued.
"Al-" I protested weakly for a moment, but it didn't take me long to get comfortable in his lap.
"Wish there could be a body like this waiting for me in every county I drive through," Aloysius mused in my ears. I couldn't tell if Rocko, peering down into our den from the cabin, could make out the words himself. I wouldn't have been surprised if the thick, musty air had bottled them right up. Besides, Rocko's eyes seemed to follow the bear's paw as it exposed more of my long, lithe trunk. "You gotta promise me, sweet cheeks, that you're not going to let this all go to ruin," the bear demanded as he wrapped his arms around me, wide as tree trunks but supple as vines. "It's difficult, being out on the road, eating whatever junk they can pass you through your window, sitting on your can until it starts to settle like curdled cream. But you've got too much to lose here, kid," Aloysius flattered me, tracing the tips of his fingers along the slender curves he wanted to highlight. "You gonna promise me you're not going to let this beautiful body go to waste?" and as he asked me, he slipped his hands inside my jeans and cupped my package in his hands. It had already begun responding to the titillating temptations, but the bear's grope - paired with a satisfied whistle - made it fight against the cotton confines of my briefs like an ice skater trying to break back through thin ice. "So that's a no, then-" he said, consoling himself in his disappointment by withdrawing his hand from under my tank to grab a joint. The spark of his lighter lit up the den like a lightning flash, and when the flame died, the hot red embers gave the meager fake wood paneling the vitality of the woods around a bonfire. The smoke seemed to rise like bubbles of air to the top of the ocean.
"No- no- I promise, Al," I corrected him. "I never liked fast food anyway. I'll- I'll just look for grow-ops on along the country roads or something."
"Hah-" Rocko huffed from above. "Buddy I like you but you are in for an awakening. Just do what I do and only eat at the chicken joints. Too much beef makes your cum taste like road tar." The bear's belly rose over unbuttoned pants like a hearty muffin. Having been slowly undressed by Aloysius, so that my tank was bunched up above my pecs and my pants fallen to my ankles, I couldn't help but shiver a little bit with cold. I'd always been so thin, and so sensitive to cold, but the bears were naturally heartier and seemed nothing if not perfectly comfortable. I was transfixed on that plush, warm belly, thinking of the actual heat it put off, its real, mechanical heating of the small space as the hefty bear popped out of his pants a fat rod that suffered only in length from the effects of the bear's husky frame. He was already hard as a rock. It had happened just that fast, like being T-boned at an intersection. And when Aloysius finally pulled my tight designer briefs off of my rod it was as if he'd taken the blinders off a stallion. My cock leaped out the gates.
"Oh no, I can see it, for sure," the older bear played my defense as he sucked on the crook of my neck. I'd stepped out of my pants and undies by then so I could spread my legs, and now Aloysius cradled my package like a bottle in a discreet paper bag. "I pass those little co-ops in those drive-through states all the time. And I don't care if you have to hold up traffic on a two-lane mountain highway for fifteen minutes, pick up everything you need to keep this body for as long as you can. Ain't nobody gonna hold it against you if they ever get their hands on it." By then I could feel Aloysius's cock growing harder in his lap. I nodded in agreement to his terms. "Not everybody has to choke down a second McChicken like Tubby the Tailback up there."
"Hey Al, tell me about the latest fitness gadget the radio sold you. Was it worth the third payment of $29.99? Is it anything short of the next revolution in fitness?"
"Hah! Hah-" Aloysius grunted. He was immediately disarmed by the joke and he reeled me in close as he chuckled with Rocko. I was excited if not anxious, and still a little cold, so I didn't laugh with them. Instead, I nestled in close to his hearth of a chest. I think he could feel me shiver then. He must have known how nervous I was. He popped the joint between my lips and said "Relax, kid." I coughed and cleared my throat, my slight chest heaving, the placid stream of smoke swirls disturbed by my coughs. But the tickle in my throat didn't last long, and in moments my trembles were placated by the glowing warmth of the luscious body.
Rocko couldn't fit down in the cabin, too. Not comfortably, at least. But he had laid across the cushion so that he could watch us in our den as he fondled himself. He rubbed his belly with idle comfort, I think trying to guide my glare to him. "Psst-" he feigned a whisper at me. "Psst-" he called again until he got my attention. "You weren't on the team. But you don't seem like a bookish type. You must have gone to parties."
"Yeah-" I said, melting into Aloysius's body.
"Are there had to have been jocks at these parties, right. You must have- you must have hooked up with them. Cliques end in the bedroom, you know. I can't imagine any guy kicking a cherry red motherfucker like you out into the alley just cause you refused to kick a ball."
"I wasn't about to be their little cheerleader," I answered him.
"Oh." Rocko said, feeling only a little rebuffed on behalf of the high school jocks from my past. "I'm sure their playing days are long over now. I know mine are. So don't think of it as cheerleading, Red-" he said, kneeling on the cushion so that I could reach his stout prick through the narrow passage into the den if only I leaned forward.
So I did. I pried out of Aloysius's hands, only having to tell the paws twice to let me go, and I leaned forward from to let Rocko's plump rod rest on my tongue. "Ooooooh, nice-" the bear oozed with pleasure. "I got here from Cincinnati. Can you believe it? Cincinnati. Goddamn that tongue's like velvet," he jibbered with pleasure. I started to bob my head, but he tempered me, telling me "Take it easy. No one's on our tail. We've got too much time to kill tonight." His burly paw at the base of his cock nudged against my nose as we occasionally fought for space, but it was generally amicable. And as I leaned forward, Aloysius pulled himself out of his jeans. The blue denims crumpled on top of mine on the scarcity of floor in the tight den. Aloysius pushed me forward to make room for himself so that I mashed my nose into the soft gut ahead of me. The bear wasn't quite long enough to bore into the back of my throat, but I wriggled the length of my tongue along the underside of his stout rod bent like a tower with a bad foundation. He stood on his haunches behind me, his back pressed up against a firemen's charity calender he'd tacked to cheap paneling. I propped my ass up, wanting to give Aloysius as flattering view as possible. I even clutched my tail against my chest so that my slow bobbing on Rocko's cock became imbued with dramatic flair. My temptations were successful before too long and I felt Aloysius's sure grip at ten and two on my spiced-red fur.
A horn blared next to the truck and made every bristle of fur on my neck a hard wire. "Easy with the teeth there, killer! It's just another truck. Here," he said, popping his dick out of my mouth and shuffling on the cushion so that our noses met. The ember on his spliff flared bright red. His pressed his blunt muzzle against mine. The lips on his squat muzzle dominated mine. The smoke flowed into my lungs and tanned the nerves in my chest. After our lips broke, smoke was still oozing from my mouth when the bear plugged me up again, the fat rod pushing it all out my nose. I took in deep breaths through my nose, feeling myself growing minutely more inward, until the unexpected slick sensation of Aloysius's tongue between my cheeks. He didn't plunge forward immediately like barrelling into an off ramp. He lapped at my ass with a casual ease, each slurp deliberate and purposeful, every curl of the tongue savored. He would press the tip of a finger against my hole to test its elasticity and see just how easily the pucker would relent to his advances, though he managed this without quite slipping the digits into me. And then he would purse his lips against my hole and tease it again, waiting for my ass to ripen. When it finally hit that perfect moment he burrowed his meaty tongue into my hole, darting it in and out, until I gave up a moan. Rocko appreciated the moan, that much was sure.
"You slip a quarter in him, Al? He's vibrating!" Rocko rubbed between my ears, keeping my head pressed into his lap while I sighed. Aloysius's tongue played me like a flute so that my throat vibrated a heavenly resonance through Rocko's cock. He laid lengthways along the cushion, his head propped up on one arm, the other engaged in handling his prick. He didn't hog my mouth, and I didn't mind when he'd pop his sucker from my lips to stroke himself for awhile. "Keep your jaw fresh, sweet cheeks. Ain't nothing worse than a sloppy blowjob." He was especially passive, even less than passive, he seemed almost evasive. I would sit there with his cock inches from my nose and lick my lips with impatience while the bear stroked himself. If he were working toward any climax, any conclusion at all, it was miles in the distance. My fever-red tongue curled over my lips again. I wondered, how long could I sit in this cabin with my mouth around this bear's prick? It didn't seem like a test of endurance, thanks to the bear's frequent spells. And Aloysius, pawing and tonguing at my ass, didn't allow an idle thought to settle in my mind so that I was constantly ooing and ahhing. Already I didn't know how much time had passed. But how much could? My mind stayed on the thought even when Rocko's gruff hand gripped between my ears and invited me back onto his cock. I had long ago run out of tricks in my bag, but Rocko didn't seem to mind. I circled my tongue inside the foreskin again and again. Again and again I suckled on the tip of his cock and let my tongue play with his head. Whenever my lips were on his cock his breathing would become short, almost labored, like a man who's up to his neck in a boiling hot tub. "Goddamn, Red," he would say what seemed like hours later. "You wasn't a drama major once, were you? I don't get head like this but when I'm hauling through Hollywood." Some quip that poured out of him like salt out of a tipped shaker. The hushed, fuzzy twang of the radio filled most of the dead air beneath sounds of satisfied slurps and soothed sighs.
Aloysius's fingers worked in and out of my ass in tepid, drawn-out slips. They would sink up the knuckles and slowly begin to plumb my insides, feeling patiently for the buttons that make my tail quiver. His fingers were especially thick and he only needed two before I began to moan passionately enough to warn him against going for a third. One more digit and I feared this could only devolve into something requiring axle grease, but Aloysius didn't seem interested in stretching me out so much as plucking the cords deep in my ass, and he only needed two fingers for that. His free hand petted me along the small of my back. He dug his nails deep into the fur. He scratched my itches like this for a good while, and when Rocko would pop his dick out of my mouth I would turn around to see Aloysius watching us like I was a dirty flick, his tongue harassing his lips in a lewd show I'm sure he was wholly unaware of.
I couldn't help but make a similar hideous show of myself by gawking at his cock. It wasn't tremendously long, but bent toward his abs and wide as an expressway. I'dve sworn the stout tool could've plugged the exhaust pipes, but I think the shock of seeing it affected my perceptions so that the relief in the soft, brown skin was magnified. He held it like a cornerman holds a boxer from behind the ropes.
"Want another take, Red?" Rocko asked. I pinched the joint from his fingers without comment and thought of the cement truck parked behind me as I drew in the smoke, warming my throat like fresh-brewed coffee. I didn't cough this time, and the strings of smoke that leaked from my nostrils stirred easily into the hazy cabin. It was as thick now as morning fog over a bridge. I looked at the burning tip again, drawn to it with insect curiosity. I took another drag, drawing it deep into my lungs. And as I did, I felt the meaty fingers in my ass slip out. I held the puff deep in my lungs until I felt the fat, lube-slick rod push against my hole like I'd been waiting for, and the smoke oozed from between my gritted teeth as the head of that great fat cock pried me loose like a stubborn lugnut, finally giving with such a tremendous release of kinetic energy that a plume erupted from between my lips and I went into a coughing fit.
"Easy- Easy there, Missy-" Aloysius teased, his beefy hands holding my hips steady. "Once you get the first of it, you've done the hard part. Just relax." It was true enough, that. As my chest heaved, I settled into Aloysius's lap, grinding there, trying to blunt the head of his cock against the same spots his fingers had agitated only a few moments ago, but the raw sensation of my ass predominated, slipping away in imperceptible degrees, but dispersing surely enough. Wiping my chin with the back of my hand, I bowed my head back into Rocko's lap, my nose beating back his overeager fingers. I had then a real craving for his cock, wanting to suck the tastes out of it, wishing for a dab of silky precum to wash over my tongue, a masculine taste to distract me from the pain under my tail. I wasn't disappointed. The bear's cock had seemed to hit a wellspring, and I slurped at it hungrily, thankful the bear's ambrosia and for his antipathy to beef.
"Al- Fuck me," I asked, trying to rid my voice of any nervous tremors before I did. I meant it sincerely, I couldn't think of a way to make it not sound like the desperate begging it was. But Aloysius hurt, and that stretched sensation in my ass wasn't going to go away until Aloysius fucked it out of me. So I sad it again, "Fuck me, Al- I really need it-" my voice a soft distilled whine.
"You hear that, Al? Red needs it baaaaad, you must not have let the poor guy have any fun since ya left the depot." Rocko was actually spot on there. We weren't exactly hitting up clubs at the end of the night. The first week had been hell, and I'd torn Aloysius's ears off with dirty questions only because the subject had spread to fill every crevice of my brain. It had tapered off after that, but regardless how manageable it had become, Rocko was still spot on. "You know not all of us are so uptight about the rough trade at the truck stops. You could have just as soon let him pop his rocks into some wayward preacher's son and not had to deal with him begging for dick like he's taking up a collection."
"Aw come on, Rocko," Aloysius seemed ready to play my defense, though I certainly didn't want him to. "Does the guy look like a cockhound? But I guess in any case-" and at this, Aloysius grabbed my hips, pushed me off of his fat cock until the tight right squeezed only around his head, then rolled his hips forward and a gutteral groan vibrated my tongue around Rocko's cock. The chubbier bear kept his hand firmly on the back of my head - he wasn't long enough to choke me, so I rolled my tongue along his cock as if I were trying to make it shine. The vibrant, gruff moans that Rocko loved to feel on his cock lasted a for a few more thrusts before their power was sapped. Each powerful drive burned up the painful sensation as if it were alcohol and before all the fuel was gone and Aloysius was rocking his wide hips against my ass, a well-oiled machine that had gotten comfortable in its gears, so that all I felt now was the Mack-truck cock boring out new spaces in my ass like it was plowing through snow. I wanted to ask him to fuck me harder - but if begging the first time had been a little embarrassing, it had at least had a purpose. Now I figured I was set to Aloysius's time, whether I could sit still for it or not.
"I'm gonna pop," Rocko intoned. "Red," he addressed me, though his arm was draped over his eyes to blot out the piercing light from a streetlamp above, "If you don't wanna get any of this on you, just move to the side and I'll see if I can't hit our old buddy Al." The statement seemed so incongruous with the mood of the scene that I could parse it, and instead I burst out laughing. I was laughing when the blunt rod burst a thick, almost violent stream of cum onto my cheek. I hushed quickly before the second could land on the lips of my gawking mouth. I tongued at the sweet nectar as more dollops rained down onto my face, soaking into my fur and dripping onto the cabin floor. "Ah, yeah-" Rocko muttered and groaned to himself on repeat as he stroked the last drops out of his cock. "Ah, yeah-" He was saying, and inspecting his wet, reddened rod, when I wiped off my eyes and opened them, sucking at the fur on the back of my paw as I cleaned myself up.
Aloysius got a real kick out of that, it fired him up about as much as anything does. "Goddamn, look at that panda go! He think his paw's an ice cream cone!" Aloysius teased with rambunctious fervor as he slapped at my ass and pulled my ass against his hips. "It's a shame he probably wants a second dip, cause this one's gonna end up splattered all over the floor!"
This got Rocko cracked up, of course, and I was still licking my paw clean when he peered into the cabin to tousle my hair. He watched Aloysius with a wide grin plastered across his face. He might've been a horse owner watching his prized stud at work. I wanted to feel insecure, wanted to feel peered at and judged, like I always had whenever eyes fell on me- but my eyes didn't lose focus on his face which had been eased into a look of dirty curiosity. The pangs of insecurity I'd known to come as well as an arthritic ache had disappeared, as if banished from the intimate confines of the cabin. Aloysius's musk, which had flooded my nostrils, pushed them from the truck like water displacing oil. Rocko eventually found my reverent glare and tousled my mat of sticky hair. "I like you, Red," he said, then laid himself back down on the cushion. He turned up the radio and fondled himself idly, and before long I could see spools of white smoke unreeling over his trunk.
The monstrously fat cock had earned itself full reign of my ass, and no whimpers of displeasure from me held the bear back, now, and he merged into my passing lane and floored the pedal. There are certain risks when you get such a big piece of machinery moving at such a high rate, but Aloysius navigated them like a seasoned vet. His rod didn't once slip out of me as he pounded at my hole with the reliability of a jackhammer. And when his cock happened to bore into some sensitive fold inside me, his burly arms tamped down immediately any shivers of discomfort that might shake me. "Easy, Red- Relax, relax-" he'd say. It wasn't much. "Relax, Red, relax," he'd say as a mantra as he plowed me. He was too concentrated to be eloquent, but the words seemed expressive if only in their silky resonance. The beefy rod seemed to spear me for ages. Aloysius didn't seem interested in changing positions once he had gotten himself comfortable, and would content himself to find new chunks of my body to latch or grab onto while his rolled his hips against me. "We've got too much time to kill," Rocko had said, and the phrase came up to me again and again - with what seemed like eras between them, wherein Aloysius would make me moan or whine a thousand gibberish cries. The sturdy bear had taken that message to heart, and was showing his dedication to it.
I refused to touch my own prick, though it wobbled beneath me. It would be stiff as an iron if it weren't fatigued. Either I wasn't born or hadn't yet become the machine the bear had, the one that operated with such perfection. Mine leaked. Mine was dripping thick, clear juice that soaked into the cheap carpeting. Mine wore down under the constant friction, always promising itself on the verge of final structural failure - but never quite delivering on it. Every thrust seemed to penetrate right through to the head of my dick, made it spit and sputter with a surplus of energy for a moment, before it could settle back down a moment later, its gears stripping and its oils burning off. I'd either burst or go limp at any moment.
"Al-" I asked him, waiting for some kind of response to know I'd gotten his attention. "Al-"
"Yeah?" he asked. He seemed clear as day, if not a bit distracted.
"I gotta cum," I admitted. Wanting to impress the urgency of the matter, I repeated myself "I gotta cum, Al-"
"Hold on-" he said simply. He moved his hands to new positions on my body - the left gripping my hip, the rip affixed to my shoulders - and he started to plow. Deep, decided heaves of his hips. As if he were trying to burst through some annoying barrier. My cock awakened, turned rock hard in the moment, brought up on its second wind. And Aloysius gave me the same miracle pump, and he could have been playing chimes deep in my ass, the sensation was so crisp and immediate and clear. I'm gonna cum, I thought, I'm really gonna cum. And he fucked me again, huffs of effort in a gruff drone of a voice- "Mm- mm- mm- mm-" Oh my God, I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum- I'm thinking, though not quite really feeling it. But I could see the green light up ahead. Aloysius slapped my ass, took a firmer hold of me, and threw coal into his boilers. It became too much, too fast. I'm going to cum, I thought, and I was still thinking it, I'm going to cum, after the first eager jet burst from my cock. Then the wave of pleasure sweeping in, seeming to pour out of my cock with every generous stream. I don't know how much I came, but I could feel the weeks in it. The first day I'd gotten in the truck, my first fast food joint, my first truck stop, my first 1000 miles, my first blown tire, my first-" the days seemed to stretch themselves before me with every throb of my cock. As my balls empties on Aloysius's floor, his fat rod slipped suddenly out of my ass, and only a moment later - as I the last of my fevered pangs were petering out - I felt Aloysius splatter his seed under my tail. "Oh, fuck-" he intoned to himself. The weighty globs ran in streams down my cheeks, and I could feel them drip in succession from my balls.
"Jesus Christ- You two are cleaning that up," Rocko said resolutely, peeking in once again from above. I looked behind me, trying to clue myself into the damage that had been done, and saw Aloysius cleaning himself off with a dirty t-shirt, which he quickly used to give my ass a toweling off, too. He tossed it as far from himself as the small space would allow, then pulled me back into his lap as he settled into his bunk. His hands wandered over my body with absent wonder, as if they didn't already know it well enough. "Al," he said, getting the big bear's attention. "You got any cigarettes, old buddy, old pal? I swear I'd have my own but that the last truckstop I hit didn't have Ross's. But I figure I could use a hit now either way, beggars can't be choosers, right?" Aloysius didn't answer immediately, and Rocko begged himself off, "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, you know- anything."
Aloysius put me off to the side and fished into his pair of pants and picked up a burnt red package, half flattened, and handed it to Rocko. "Take as many as you like. Take fifteen minutes."
"All right, Al- I think I'll drive down the road and pick us all up something to eat," Rocko said. He slipped into the artificial light and shut the door quietly behind him. And Aloysius came back to bed.