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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Jordan
Mikie (mikeg236@yahoo.com)

*** 

A young man with lots of troubles meets up with a 
compassionate gay truck driver. (MM, oral)

***

The runaway shivered and pulled his collar higher as he 
trudged down the side of the highway. The sun was 
starting to set and the wind picked up as the gray sky 
threatened to dump its load of water on his defenseless 
body. He glanced up at it and shrugged without pausing. 
It did not matter. Anything was better than what he had 
left. 

There was a truck stop a few more miles down the road 
that had a lobby. He should be able to spend a few 
hours there if he was careful to avoid the cops that 
patrolled that section of the highway. 

The boy heard a truck approaching and without bothering 
to look back just moved off the shoulder into the 
grass. Very few cars had passed him and none had shown 
any inclination to pause for a passenger. As he heard 
the vehicle slow, he glanced up warily. The window 
rolled down and a pair of blue eyes stared at him from 
underneath a faded John Deere cap. 

"Hey, want a lift?" the trucker asked in a soft drawl. 

A brief flash of alarm shot through the boy. Every kid 
learns about strangers in school now. Then he nodded. 
He would take the risk. It was worth it to get further 
away from here. 

"Yes sir," he answered politely and swung up into the 
warm cab. 

He felt the trucker studying him as he fastened his 
seatbelt. He leaned back against the seat, tucking his 
chilled fingers under his arms to warm them. The guy 
had to be wondering what he picked up. He knew what the 
man was seeing wouldn't alarm him too much. 

About 5'10", shoulders wide, hips narrow, still slim 
from boyhood, but with a promise of muscles to come. 
His brown hair was slightly shaggy and wind-blown, his 
skin tanned and reddened from the cold. His face only 
saved from being too pretty by the slight crook in his 
nose. Faded jeans and a gray T-shirt with a jeans 
jacket worn at the elbows. Old work boots worn slightly 
at the heels with ragged laces. He looked like almost 
any other boy from this rural area. Except for the 
rapidly darkening bruise under his eye. 

"My name's Nate. I'll be going south on this road for a 
while before I turn off. Where you headed, kid?" The 
man asked curiously. 

"Away." The terse reply to the question avoided the 
issue of a name. 

The truck driver snorted. "You runnin' from home? 
Awfully young to be on your own." 

"I'm old enough." 

Another snort. "Nice shiner," Nate commented wryly. 

"Birthday present from Pa," the boy said sarcastically. 

"Oh." 

Silence fell for a few miles. The radio played country 
music from the city about 30 miles behind them. The 
dull roar of the wheels and the steady rhythm of the 
wipers were hypnotic. Despite his discomfort in the 
strange truck, and the problems he hoped that he had 
left behind him, the boy drifted into an uneasy doze. 

Nate glanced over at the kid he had picked up. 
Obviously a runaway. 

Equally obviously he had problems at home. But, damn, 
he was cute. Sleeping, the distrust and wariness 
relaxed out of his face, he looked awfully young. 

Nate shook his head and mentally smacked down his 
automatic reaction to check out the body on such a 
good-looking male. 'This kid has enough problems. That 
bruise wasn't an accident. Oh well. I'll be home soon 
and there's a couple of guys I can look up to take care 
of anything physical that comes up. And as horny as I 
am after this long cross-country trip, something is 
definitely going to come up without much 
encouragement.' 

Nate grimaced. He was just a bit lonely. Jim had left 
him after two years, tired of his long absences. At 
least that was what he claimed. Since Nate's family had 
never liked Jim, there were probably other pressures 
involved also. Even though their breakup had been 
fairly friendly, he was still conscious of the empty 
place in his heart. He hadn't really been in love, but 
still the habit was hard to break. He'd get over it. 

'Damn, the storm is getting worse. I can barely see 
past the hood in the sheeting rain. If I don't see a 
motel or something soon, I'm gonna pull over at the 
next truck stop and wait for the worst of it to blow 
over.' He squinted. Dimly, in the distance, he saw neon 
blinking through the water. 'Vacancy. What a wonderful 
word.' 

Nate pulled over and jumped out, dashing in to the 
desk. A sleepy clerk peered through the office door, 
then decided to come out and see what he wanted. Yeah, 
he had a room, twenty-five for the night, be out by 11 
am. 

'Not a problem,' Nate thought. 'I need to hit the road 
at dawn to make up for the lost time. But I'm really 
tired and a few more hours won't really matter. I made 
good time yesterday, now that the construction is done 
from that stretch back before the city.' 

He got the room key and dashed back to the truck, 
pulling it around back. Luck stayed with him. There was 
a parking space right across from his room. He woke the 
boy. 

"Hey, kid. Rain's really bad. I need to stop for a few 
hours. You're welcome to crash if you want. I need to 
head out again come sun up." 

The boy started awake and stared at him suspiciously 
for a second, obviously wondering who he was and where 
they were. Then he remembered and his face lightened a 
little, though not much. He glanced around at the 
sheets of rain and sharp flashes of lightning. He 
nodded at the trucker. 

"Thanks, sir." 

Nate laughed. "I told you. I'm Nate. Don't call me sir. 
I keep looking for my Dad when you do that." 

The boy flinched slightly and then nodded. "Okay Nate." 

Nate waited a second while he dug for his kit bag from 
behind the seat. 

"You got a name, kid?" he finally asked. 

"Jordan." The boy answered after a short pause. 

Nate's brows went up, but he didn't say anything 
except, "Room 112, right across the lot." 

He waited until the boy swung down from the cab, then 
locked the doors. Sprinting across the parking lot, he 
dodged the puddles revealed by the lightning flashes. 
At the door, he fumbled with the wet key for a second, 
then got the door open. 

The room was actually a pleasant surprise. From the 
looks of the clerk, he had expected something a little 
dingy and worn. The room was clean, with decent, but 
thin, towels. It even smelled clean. A lot of the 
motels had a smoky or sweaty smell to them. He grinned 
at the boy, no, Jordan. 

"Hey, this ain't bad." Nate said, heading for the back 
of the room. He turned on the water curiously and the 
thick stream of water that heated immediately surprised 
him. "Oh man. That's it." He stuck his head out of the 
bath and told the kid, "I'm taking a shower. TV's free 
with the room." He yanked off his wet jeans and stood 
under the pounding water until he felt like a well-
boiled lobster. 

Rubbing dry with the towel, he realized that he had not 
brought any clothes with him. No problem. He wrapped 
the towel around his hips and went out of the steamy 
bath, leaving the blower on to dry it out. The boy was 
sitting in the chair, not really watching the news and 
looked up immediately when he came in the room. 

"Go try out that shower, Jordan. You won't believe the 
water pressure."

Nate exclaimed enthusiastically. 

Jordan obediently rose and trailed into the other room. 
He did not really want to shower with a stranger in the 
same room, but the habit of obeying without question 
was too strong for him to break. He sighed as he stood 
under the water. He started to hurry, then realized 
that he didn't have to. No one here would beat him for 
using too much water. He could even turn it up as hot 
as he wanted. For the first time in a very long time, 
he really enjoyed a long, slow shower. 

When he got out, he didn't know what to do with his wet 
clothes. He decided to follow Nate's example and 
wrapped the towel around his waist. He steeled himself 
for what he knew would happen when he went back into 
the main room. He had seen the trucker's magazines 
under the seat of the truck. The picture of two guys 
kissing on the cover was more than enough explanation. 
He cringed mentally, then shook himself. 

'It doesn't matter. Nothing I haven't done before. At 
least Nate's clean, and not ugly.' He made himself 
straighten his shoulders and walk out the door. 

"Hang your wet stuff on the chair by the radiator. It 
should be dry by the time we leave." Nate said 
absently, without looking away from the sports updates 
he was avidly watching. 

"Hot damn. Look at that catch." He said happily. "And 
no one between him and the goal. Yes!" 

He cheered as the receiver scampered in for the winning 
touchdown. He flipped off the TV and flung himself back 
against the pillows against the headboard. 

"This is going to be a great season." He rolled over 
suddenly and looked at the boy standing quietly beside 
the bed. "Hey, Jordan. You better hit the sack. We're 
leaving early." 

His sudden move surprised the boy, who flushed 
slightly. Nate looked astonished. 'He was checking me 
out!' Nate knew that he looked good. At twenty-three, 
he was just over six feet tall and still built like the 
quarterback he had been in high school, just a few more 
muscles now. Even though he spent long hours in the 
truck, he made sure that he ran when he could. Also, he 
did a lot of the cargo loading himself and it showed in 
his chest and shoulders. 

His hair was a sun streaked blond and he tended to grow 
a heavy beard when he didn't shave regularly, which was 
most of the time. Right now, he had about a three-day 
growth of golden fuzz making his jaw itch. 

Knowing the boy had been looking at him, part of that 
body sat up and took notice. He tried to ignore the 
hardening erection that was beginning to tent out his 
towel and gestured to the other side of the big bed. He 
wasn't even going to think about doing anything with a 
kid that looked as young as this one, no matter how 
good he looked in that towel. The wet T-shirt had not 
hidden much and Jordan was just as cute bare as he had 
been before. A little thin, with a few too many 
bruises. Nate frowned suddenly and gestured at the boy. 

"Jordan, where'd you get that big bruise over your 
ribs?" 

Jordan flinched at the wave of his hand and looked 
down, not meeting his eyes. 

"Ran into something," he mumbled in an automatic lie. 

Nate believed him. 'Probably the same fist that he ran 
into with his eye.' He thought sarcastically. 'No 
wonder he's on the road. I'd split too, if someone was 
using me as their punching bag like that.' 

"Get in bed, Jordan. You're wasting time." He snapped, 
disgusted with Jordan's father or whoever had been 
beating up on the kid. 

Jordan nodded. He had expected that order. Scooting to 
the far side, he dropped the towel. He slid under the 
sheets in a quick move, trying to keep his body 
covered. He took a deep breath, watching anxiously as 
Nate stood. 

Nate tossed his towel over the doorknob to the 
bathroom. He left the light on for a moment, sat down 
on the bed, then leaned back, pulling the blankets up 
to his chest. 

Jordan thought about Nate's body. The strong muscles 
that flexed when he moved. The thick mat of dark golden 
hair that only partially concealed the tightly ridged 
stomach. The semi-aroused cock that jutted out from its 
nest and the large, full sack that hung behind it. 

'Even only partially hard, he must be almost seven 
inches long. Nate's body looks wonderful compared 
to.... No, I won't remember him, or anything else from 
the past. I'm finally away from Pa and that man and 
what they made me do. This is different. I owe Nate for 
picking me up. I can do what he wants in payment. At 
least he's waiting and not just climbing on me. One 
last time, then never again.' 

Nate closed his eyes and propped his arms behind his 
head. He could feel the boy lying stiffly on the other 
side of the bed. 

'Go to sleep, kid,' he wished. 'I really need to go to 
the bathroom and get rid of this hard on. It's keeping 
me awake.' He held back a sigh when he felt the boy 
move. 'Now what?' 

Unsuspecting, he almost jumped out of his skin as he 
felt the boy's mouth close over his cock. He gasped out 
loud as the hot wet mouth slid over the cut head and 
the tongue swirled along the ridge, right to where it 
was so very sensitive. 

"Jesus! What are you doing?" 

He yanked the blanket off the boy's head. Jordan jerked 
away from him and stared with wide, scared eyes. 

"You said to get in bed. I saw your mags and I thought 
you wanted...." 

He trailed off, ashamed. 

Nate said roughly, still in shock. "Not like that!" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir." 

Jordan had tears in his voice, if not in his eyes. He 
had been afraid of this. The other way hurt so much, 
but he knew from the past that if he complained it 
would only get worse. 

Without a sound, he rolled over and crouched on his 
hands and knees, arching his back to spread his round 
cheeks. He dropped to his elbows and stuffed a handful 
of wadded up cloth in his mouth to stifle the cries he 
knew he could not contain. Nate was so much bigger 
than, than the other. He knew it would tear him 
painfully. 

Nate stared at the perfectly smooth, round ass offered 
so temptingly to him. His cock jumped as hard as a rock 
and started to leak at the thought of burying itself 
deep inside that tight young butt. Almost 
instinctively, he raised one hand and rested it on the 
cheek so close to his face. 

Jordan flinched involuntarily, then froze. Shocked into 
sudden alertness, Nate noticed the bruises and welts 
that covered the boy's back and rear. Someone had 
beaten him badly with some sort of switch or stick. His 
erection sank partially. He swallowed and forced 
himself to speak calmly. 

"Jordan. Sit down. I'm not going to hurt you." The big 
young trucker spoke gently. 

Jordan pulled the sheets out of his mouth and looked 
over his shoulder. 

"You don't want me? I thought you wanted me to pay you 
for the ride." 

He spoke hesitantly, obviously expecting some sort of 
abuse. 

Nate shook his head slowly. "No, not that sort of 
payment." 

Jordan froze for a second with a stricken look on his 
face, then darted from the bed sobbing. Now he was very 
frightened. He dashed towards the door and fumbled with 
the lock and chain that Nate had automatically fastened 
earlier. Nate sprang up and put his hand over the knob, 
keeping the boy from running out into the storm stark 
naked. 

"Jordan. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. Come on, 
boy. Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. You don't want 
to go out there like that." 

Jordan leaned his head against the door and took 
several deep, sobbing breaths trying to get his control 
back. A warm hand fell on his shoulder and urged him 
back into the room. Despite the gentleness, he 
flinched. Then, he stood and faced the other man. He 
studied Nate's face for a second, then nodded. There 
was no hate, no anger in the man's features, just 
concern. He allowed Nate to pull him back to the bed. 

Nate pushed him gently to sit on the edge and fumbled 
for a second in his kit bag to pull out two sets of 
clean jockeys. Silently, they pulled on the underwear. 
Behind that shield, as thin as it was, both were more 
comfortable. Nate sat down in the armchair to put some 
distance between them. He did not want to pressure the 
boy while he was so very vulnerable. 

"Now, do you want to tell me what that was all about?" 
Nate asked gently. 

Jordan swiped roughly at his eyes, ashamed of his 
tears. He said gruffly. "I saw your magazines, with the 
fags on the cover. When you ordered me to get into bed, 
I thought you wanted me to do that. Whenever he told me 
to get ready, that's what he wanted." 

Nate sighed, then stated plainly. "Jordan, yes, I'm 
gay. But I would never force you. For one thing, you're 
much too young. You're what, sixteen, seventeen?" 

Jordan shook his head. "No, I'm eighteen now." 

Nate nodded. "Still a lot younger than me. I'm five 
years older than you. But who are you talking about 
that taught you these things, that made you go to bed 
with him?" 

Nate was desperately afraid that Jordan would say it 
was his father. He was not sure that he knew how to 
deal with that kind of abuse. 

'I wish Dad was here. He would know what to do, what to 
say. He always does. Even when I finally confessed that 
I'm gay and was moving in with Jim, he just shook his 
head and said he had known for a while and I was still 
his son, even if we disagreed on things.' 

Jordan looked down at his barely covered body. He did 
not see the clenched hands, the jockeys that fit his 
slighter frame more loosely than they did Nate's body. 
He saw the past that he had run away from. He closed 
his eyes and started to talk softly. It never occurred 
to the subdued boy that he did not have to instantly 
obey an adult who told him to do something. 

"We moved a lot when I was younger. The schools would 
start asking questions about the bruises and then Pa 
would pack up his pickup and we'd be somewhere else. He 
got a job at the lumberyard and found a little place 
not too far away. His boss is Mr. Smith. Pa made me go 
there after school and help out." 

The boy's voice broke for a second, then he doggedly 
continued. 

"When I was thirteen, Mr. Smith came back one night 
pretty well hammered. He was mad because some whore he 
had picked up had laughed at him and told everyone in 
the bar he had a tiny pecker. He...." 

Jordan fought for his composure briefly. Then went on 
bitterly. 

"He figured I was old enough to know when to keep my 
mouth closed. And when to open it. He gave Pa some 
money and a bottle and Pa told me to be 'nice' to him 
and do what I was told. Or else. So I did." 

He opened his eyes and glanced up at Nate. Nate kept 
his face straight, careful not to frighten the boy, 
even though he was horrified at what he was hearing. 
Jordan started talking again, reassured by Nate's lack 
of criticism. 

"He did have a small pecker," the boy spat out 
viciously. "He was short and fat and ugly. His dick was 
about half the length of yours, but really fat. He used 
to rest his beer gut on my head while I.... The other 
way hurt even more. If I cried or complained, Pa would 
take his belt to me. If my pecker got even a little 
hard, he would beat me there 'til it went down. He 
swore no son of his was going to be a butt fucking 
homo." 

Despite his efforts, Nate cringed slightly at the 
picture that made in his mind. Jordan ducked his head 
again and continued softly. 

"About a year ago, Pa stopped sending me to school and 
made me get a full time job at the lumberyard. He said 
it was time for me to start paying him back what I owed 
him, since it was my fault we had to move so often. If 
I wasn't so bad, he wouldn't have to discipline me and 
the teachers wouldn't chase us out of town. Mr. Smith 
liked having me available whenever he wanted." 

The boy stopped and took a deep breath, then finished 
his confession, face bright red. 

"Yesterday, one of the women from the church walked 
into his office and caught us with his pants on his 
ankles and me sucking his prick. He was hitting me with 
a switch to make me go faster. I jumped off of him and 
then she started screaming. It scared him so much that 
he shot his load all over her." 

Jordan rubbed his eyes briefly, but did not stop his 
story. 

"He said that I attacked him. But he couldn't explain 
why he had his hand in my hair holding me down on him 
while he was beating me. She wouldn't stop screaming. 
Everyone came to see what all the noise was about. I 
ducked out the door and ran home." 

"Pa came later. He was drunk. He said Mr. Smith fired 
him and the cops were coming for us so we had to leave 
again. He punched me, then bent me over the woodpile. 
That's where he straps me whenever I'm bad. He started 
hitting me hard. Then, still holding me down, began 
touching me, like, like Mr. Smith did." 

The boy started to cry, the tears dripping quietly down 
his cheeks, but did not stop. He had to tell someone. 

"He grabbed between my legs and squeezed my balls. It 
hurt so bad. He said I was a no-good whore. He said he 
wanted to know what Mr. Smith found so good about my 
little ass. He pulled apart my cheeks and spit. I tried 
to get away, but he was too strong." 

A gulp interrupted his story for a moment as he tried 
to catch his breath. 

"When I felt the head start to go in me, I panicked. I 
swung with a piece of wood and hit him in the head. He 
just went down. I was so scared. I knew he'd kill me 
when he woke up. I could see him breathing still. I 
just pulled up my pants and ran. You picked me up a 
couple hours later." 

Nate stared, appalled. Jordan wrapped his arms around 
his bare ribs and started shivering. 

"I can't go back. I can't." He started to cry harder. 

The boy flinched as Nate moved over to the bed beside 
him and put an arm around his shoulders. Then he flung 
himself on to the hard chest and began to sob in 
earnest. Nate wrapped both arms around the boy and 
pulled him close, holding him tightly and murmuring 
soft words of comfort. After a while, Jordan wore 
himself out and began to control the gulps of air. 

"Oh God, Jordan. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Nate said, 
rocking the boy back and forth like a small child. 
Exhausted, Jordan quickly fell asleep. Nate set him 
down and pulled the blankets over his limp body. 

The tale of abuse horrified the big man. He believed 
the boy. Jordan's story was too bad for the kid to have 
made up. The bruises, and his expertise with his mouth 
on a cock, made it only too believable. 

Suddenly, Nate shook his head, his mind made up. He 
would take the boy to his father. Dad would know 
exactly what to do. He got up and locked the door 
again. He hid the key beneath his pillow, in case the 
boy decided to split before he woke up. Sleep was long 
in coming to him that night. 

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 45