Date: Sat, 20 Sep 2008 15:19:13 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Craving for Slim Jims

			   CRAVING FOR SLIM JIMS
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

The cell phone rang at least three times before I had covered two miles
from the office. I had to pull over each time, somewhere, and answer it and
then try to go on. Shit, I had left the office to try to beat traffic, and
the three calls chewed up over twenty minutes. It all could have waited
until the next day, the people at Tri-Tech weren't going to go somewhere
else just because the contract details hadn't been finalized, damn it, but
some people seem to thrive on stress, not taking it...giving it out. I had
to keep a hundred details straight, and God help me if I forgot something
without having documented it somewhere.

You didn't have to be anal-retentive to do my job...but it sure helped!

So I was caught in traffic. When I saw the gas station, I checked my gauge
and decided to pull in and get gas, try to let the main flux of traffic go
by and see if I could make better time that.

I went in to pay for the gas and there it was, the bright yellow and red
box with the product sticking up like so many blossom-less roses.

Slim Jims, the kind that's like a foot long. I snatched up a half dozen of
them and laid them on the counter. "And these, too." I told the clerk.

Trouble with the long Slim Jims is you can't really put them anywhere. They
stick up out of the bag they give you, they lie exposed on the seat beside
you on the trip home. And they reveal themselves to your wife when you walk
in the door.

Who gave me an exasperated groan. "Why do you keep buying those things?"
she said. "They spoil your dinner every time you get them. You eat them
like you're addicted or something."

I shrugged. "A memory of my youth." I said. "Before I grew up, these things
were a treat to me. I couldn't afford more than one of them at a time then,
if that." They weren't that expensive back then, I was just that poor. "In
college, too, I had to budge my money so carefully, I could only buy one of
them every week when I bought my groceries. I swore that when I made it
big, I would buy Slim Jims just anytime I felt like it."

"They're garbage food." my wife sniffed.

"I like them." I defended myself. "I wasn't born to money, you knew that
when we got married...."

"But I didn't expect to be dealing with these trailer-park trash ideas of
gourmet food with you." my wife expostulated, and I groaned. I shouldn't
have married a rich man's daughter, but I was rising in society and had to
get married to present a "stable professional appearance" in order to make
partners. I could have Mary, and I had taken her. That simple, that
easy. Only easy thing about the entire relationship. Mary arrived with a
hundred expectations of her husband, and none of them involved his loving
to eat Slim Jims. My doing so was tantamount to betrayal to her.

I guess it was the stress of the day. Normally I just let her talk and hid
my Slim Jims in my room (separate bedrooms for us, as I said, Mary arrived
with expectations), and ate them quietly, when she was elsewhere.

But this time, it blew up. I didn't want to listen to her talking about my
low-brow habits, and how it mortified her to even know I did such things,
and how if she'd known about this when we'd married, she would never have
agreed, and on and on...I told her that if she wanted someone other than
me, then why didn't she go out and find one and until then, leave me the
fuck alone!

Mary stormed out and I heard the Mercedes burn rubber as she left. Probably
going to her mother's house, out in the Hamptons. I fell on my bed and ate
one of the Slim Jims, and cursed Mary for stealing some of the simple,
unfettered joy I usually had with eating it. I considered a second one. I
felt hungry...and yet not for anything I could think of, not even a Slim
Jim.

I wanted...I wanted out of my life! God, everything I'd fought for so hard
and so long and won, I wanted away from it!

My home town was only a hundred miles away. It was only seven o'clock on a
Friday night, I could get there in time to see if the old places were still
there, if any of the old friends were around. See if Jeff's Tavern was
still open.

What about Mary? I compromised, I took my cell phone but I turned off the
ringer, set it for voice mail only. If she wanted to call me and talk, I'd
call her back. If she was civil in her message, ready to talk sense and not
heap more recrimination on me.

Driving my own Mercedes and with a certain amount of disregard for the
speed limit when I got outside the city, I made good time. It was a bit
before nine o'clock when I pulled into Jeff's Tavern's parking lot. It was
still there...only it was called Mabel's Pub. Mabel, I knew, was Jeff's
daughter, Jeff had passed on and I suppose she was entitled to change the
name to hers. But nothing else looked different.

I had changed into some older clothes, but it still didn't quite look at
home among the strictly red-neck crowd of Haughton, New Jersey. These men
worked in factories and drove trucks and hauled freight. They came in here
after work to relax and blow off steam and play pool and drink more than
they should. Usually, they didn't have a wife to go home to...or they did
and didn't want to go home to them. I had worked at this tavern while in
school, summers, that is, of course, and holidays. Jeff had known I had
dreams and given me the work to help me make it. I owed the guy big time
and I had cried at his funeral. Not every red-neck is a wife-beating
bastard, not by a long shot, no matter what my wife thinks.

I looked around and found a face I remembered. "Hey, Peterbilt!" I called
out. The guy's name was Pete and he drove a Peterbilt truck, ergo the
nickname.

Peterbilt was surprised, turned around. Didn't recognize me. "Who the fuck
are you?" he said to my happy face.

"I'm Dennis. Dennis Brown." I said.

"Hey, Mike's boy?" Peterbilt gave me the smile I'd been looking for. "Good
to see you again! What's it been, ten years?"

"About that." I agreed. Peterbilt had been an adult when I was a teenager,
now he was on the second half of forty but wore it damned well. Driving a
big rig takes muscle, and Peterbilt had it. His deep brown hair had receded
in the years between us, forming a sort of an M on his forehead, but as my
own thatch on my head wasn't as thick as it had been before, I was ready to
forget this. His face was more lined, but it was the kind of lines that
spoke of hard living, not cruelty. The sort of man you knew could get that
load to Chicago or Denver on time, no problem.

"I heard you were an attorney in a New York firm." Peterbilt said.

"Yeah, I did."

"So, what brings you back here?" Peterbilt knew my dad had passed away and
my mother had moved in with my older sister out in Indiana. I didn't have
the excuse of family to drag me here.

"Oh, just missing the old times, I guess." I said.

"Pull up and have a Miller's on me." Peterbilt said. He was a proud union
man and Miller's Beer was a solidly unionized corporation.

"Sounds good." I said, and meant it. My wife didn't like me drinking beer,
either, I was supposed to be sipping wine and speaking about bouquets and
good years and that crap. With a beer, you didn't spout that crap, you just
upped and chugged it, which is what I did!

Peterbilt and I talked over old times, and I asked about others I had known
from those days...but there weren't that many left. Twelve years is a long
time, after all, people grow up, move away, die, find other jobs
elsewhere. Peterbilt had his friends and I played some pool with them (I
was a mediocre player, but it really doesn't matter that much unless you're
betting and I kept out of those games) and I felt like something close to
normal for the first time in a long time.

Then in came a face I recognized, an old childhood friend. "Paul! Hey,
Paul!"

Paul didn't recognize me at first, either. I blame it on my hair and my
clothes, I just didn't look like I belonged here.

But he remembered well enough when I told him who I was! I got a welcome
like I needed, he grabbed hold and hugged me and even did a bit of a dance!
Paul had stayed around, working at one of the factories, long enough he was
a foreman of one of their shipping departments. He was my age, but his work
had put some strains on him. On Paul, though, it looked good. The faces of
a life of labor honestly done and diligently won, they bore a dignity that
the manicured set I worked with just couldn't match. Business executives as
they aged just sort of looked like they were melting. Paul and Peterbilt
both looked like they were toughening up, the way dried cowhide becomes
leather, strong, durable and able to stand the ages.

I could talk about the next few hours, but believe me, it would be
tedious. Let me just say that about midnight, when Mabel's closed, I'd had
more than a bit too much to drink, and so had my two old friends.

"Where the fuck we going to go now?" I asked my buddies rather drunkenly. I
didn't want this night to end. If it ended, I'd have to go back to my bitch
wife and that miserable office, there to sweat over the endless, endless
details upon which spun the wheels of commerce. I'd have to go back to the
life I'd built for myself...and no longer wanted.

"I got a bottle back in my truck, which I keep parked out back." Peterbilt
offered. "You want to go there?"

"And sit in the cab?" Paul asked.

"Nah, not enough room in there." Peterbilt said. "One of us would have to
get in the tucker in back for that. We'll crawl inside the fucker, there's
some boxes of damaged goods I have to return to the warehouse on my next
trip, so we can sit on them and talk."

"Great." I agreed.

The truck even had interior lighting, though it spoke with musty syllables
of the long hot days it had borne without complaint. The yellowish light
seemed to suit that vague aroma of exhausted, dried-out air. But it wasn't
hot in there now, and I was willing to put up with it for the chance to
extend this visit; I settled myself on some boxes, and said, "So, guys,
it's been great seeing you after all these years."

"Yeah, why the fuck did you move away, Den?" Paul settled in next to me on
the same box. "Fuck, man, I've missed you a hell of a lot."

"Yeah, we had fun back then, didn't we?" I said to Paul.

"Best kind of fun." Paul agreed. His hand came down on my knee, like you do
to a buddy you want to touch. It didn't mean that, though, I knew full
well, not when Paul did it.

"I miss this life." I admitted.

"What about your dreams, all you talked about when you lived here?" Paul
wanted to know.

I shrugged unhappily. "It didn't turn out like I thought it would. Those
benefits turn out to come with a lot of responsibilities that aren't a
single damned bit of fun. I had it better in the old days, back then. I was
happier, too." My own hand rested on top of Paul's, as if casually, but
Peterbilt saw it.

"I heard you two were best buddies back then." Peterbilt said.

"We were." I had to agree.

"Hung out together a lot." Peterbilt went on.

"We did." Paul affirmed.

My biggest fear growing up had been that I wouldn't get out of this town,
that I would end up like Paul. I'd fought so hard for so long to get
away. Now...I wish I'd never gone. I was drunk enough to mutter a good bit
of this to them. "I didn't know what I was losing." I moaned. "What I'd
have to give up. No wonder I keep getting a craving for Slim Jims. Only
thing that reminds me of these days and how good I had it."

"You can still have it." Paul said to me gently. His hand on my knee slid
up and curved over my leg and got a lot more familiar. Not touching my
basket...yet. But well on its way when it stopped. Not a demand...an
invitation.

I started to reach to kiss Paul and then I remembered Peterbilt here with
us.

"Do I need to get out of here and leave you two alone?" Peterbilt said. And
it was kindly as could be.

I looked at Paul, who smiled. "When you left, who do you think I ended up
with?" he asked me.

"Plenty of truckers out on the road go in for that." Peterbilt put
in. "Easier on you than a woman you might knock up or ruin her virginity or
something. Men don't expect sex to lead to anything like a woman does."

"Not to mention you always say you like the way a man does it." Paul smiled
at Peterbilt.

"I've been known to admit that now and again." Peterbilt agreed.

Now Paul's hand did cup my crotch. "How about it, city boy?" Paul asked
me. "You feel like a stuffing a couple of Slim Jims in your face right
now?"

I was giddy from the booze and ready to relive old times when my biggest
worry had been my grade on an algebra test. "I could stand to chow down on
one, just for old times' sake." I agreed.

"Something long and meaty ought to feed you right." Paul said.

"Damn, I got to see this." Peterbilt said. "Fuck me leaving you two alone."

I didn't care at that point, I was finally getting what I really
wanted. Fuck the Slim Jims, I wanted this again! The love of a blue-collar
man, ready to serve the men who serve us all.

Paul was more than ready to turn my lunge at his crotch into a sixty-nine
position, I ended up in the top position more out of coincidence than any
plan. Fine with me, that box wasn't any too soft, and I was out of practice
at sucking cock. Mary had kept us to the missionary position, fending off
my attempts to do anything else. I had bought respectability by marrying
her, all right, but I'd paid the price of a loveless marriage, I was ready
to cast the promises aside without a thought here, at least for a few
hours, while I remembered what else was out there for me.

Paul's blue jeans spoke of the hours of wear on the job, there was a brief
rush of musky breath as I opened his fly, and more when I fought his
jockstrap down to get at the wonderful, meaty center inside. Like some
dried sausages, you had to peel the skin off them to enjoy the meat, though
with a Slim Jim, that tough outer layer is all part of the fun of eating
them.

I was surprised how easily Paul's cock fit into my mouth, it was like my
body remembered everything from those wild teenaged years we'd had. Fitting
that dong into my mouth, feeling the slight resistance from the shaft to
the curvature of my mouth and throat, it was the next-best thing to going
back in time and being young and horny again.

Paul's lips found my tool and I felt the familiar, warm wetness envelop me
as it had so often in m younger days. Why had I ever left? What dreams
could ever compare to this reality? I had come back, I had returned, and it
was all still here, every bit of it, it hadn't gone away, it had been right
here, waiting for me to resume where I'd left off.

Our bodies fell into the rhythm that had dominated the last year of my
living here before. I could come home again, I could, I could! That
horrible office, that misery-making wife and her standards and the debts
and the house that I didn't want and the neighbors that made a night's
conversation out of what they bought and what it cost and how it was better
than anything you had, it all fell away from me in that embrace as our
mouths slid back and forth over each other.

"Ah, damn!" Peterbilt groaned. "I want in on this, I want in, damn it! This
is my truck, I want in!"

My cock was humming happily in Paul's moist embrace, and I slurped up
Paul's dong and I released it long enough to say, "Well, what's stopping
you?"

"Oh, man, oh, man!" Peterbilt moaned and he began to strip off his
clothes. I hadn't thought of that, not here, but hell, the truck was as
private as any room could be, more so, because it had no windows. Why
couldn't he get naked so he could join us?

Peterbilt's body was as finely tuned as if he'd spent hours at the gym. You
have to work in an office to have your body melt on you, and Peterbilt
spent hours on the road, but more hours loading and unloading his
trucks. That took muscle, and he had it to spare. The thin patch of hair on
his chest just accented the pectorals, his nipples were a pair of oval
points that declared their supremacy as rulers of the mountains that they
adorned, like twin castles.

His legs were tree trunks, and between them depended a magnificent love
muscle, buried in a deep thatch of pubic hair, it nonetheless shone out and
over the heavy forest of hair and rose slowly as a leviathan from the deep,
to seek out and point at us.

"You want to do him or shall I?" Paul asked me.

"Let's both get some." I compromised.

Two men intent on a common goal, we rose from the box and advanced on the
now-nude Peterbilt. He stood with his cock as a sceptre and him the king
who wielded it, and we the petitioners before his majesty, and when I knelt
down and kissed his man-finger on the ring of his foreskin, Peterbilt
moaned like I had granted him the gift of eternal life.

Paul had feasted at this table before, and he let me have the long pud
while he knelt lower and nuzzled Peterbilt's nuts, washing them with the
towel of his tongue, caressing them and coaxing them to begin their
conveyor-belt production of their hot, creamy product like any good foreman
would.

As I nursed Peterbilt to full erection, I felt Paul's hand find my cock and
begin to stroke me, my own hand returned the favor as soon as I figured out
by feel alone where it was lurking. It had slipped back into his trousers,
Paul had suffered a deflation.

And we couldn't have that. I let go of Peterbilt's pud and I said, "These
clothes are pissing me off. Let me get them off and we can really go at
it."

"Yeah, bo!" Peterbilt agreed. His eyes feasted on us as Paul and I stripped
in front of him. As we finished, he ascended the throne of a box and
splayed his legs out. "Good. Now come get it."

I moved in, but was alone and wondered. Paul and Peterbilt had been lovers,
so I figured Paul was letting me enjoy Peterbilt for a while as he watched,
so I knelt over and resumed the lock of my lips on his prod, my hand
encircling his balls and working the thick flesh of his cockshaft like a
velvet curtain being drawn back from over a project where it had protected
details until I was ready to reveal them. Thick, warm flesh surged in my
mouth, there was a rush of hot salty fluid as Peterbilt's cock began to
clear the way for the main flood to come.

Then I felt the reawakened dong of Paul's body as it kissed my
buttocks. God, Paul had fucked me exactly once before, and that had been a
decade ago. My mouth had remembered, but my ass had a shorter memory. Could
I still take it like I had that time before. Even then there had been pain
at first. Was I about to be re-deflowered, the restored virginity of my ass
to be breached by force again?

My availability didn't suit Paul, I know, for I felt him pull back and he
left me as he fumbled through his clothing. When he returned and I felt the
now-well-lubricated cock contact my sphincter, I said, "Damn, did you bring
lube with you tonight?"

"Why not?" Paul said. "I was coming to see Peterbilt like I always do on a
Friday night."

"Oh." I said and went back to Peterbilt's dong. I hadn't thought about why
Peterbilt had been there at Mabel's Pub, and why Paul had come in and seen
us so quickly. He had come to see Peterbilt! I was the third player here,
not Peterbilt!

Then I laughed. I was about to play the meat in a human sandwich and was
feeling like an interloper? Hell, I was getting celebrated here! That gave
me the reminder of the joy I'd had so long ago, enough to remember how to
relax my anus and let Paul push his cock into me. It hurt, yes, of course
it did. But it wasn't being ripped apart, it was more like being stretched
a lot more than I expected to be. Paul had a respectable pud on him, but
this felt like twice the size being stuffed into me.

"Yeah, come on, fuck him." Peterbilt said as he watched Paul over my
back. "Plow this guy, make him remember how we do things out here in New
Jersey. Give him a good, hard, Haughton welcome back!"

Paul groaned and his steady push then drove his prick into me to the
hilt. As I groaned at this, Peterbilt pulled my head down until he, too,
was buried inside me.

"Now you got yourself a pair of puds inside you, Dennis." He said to
me. "Does that satisfy you?"

God, yes, it did! I moaned what was intended for an agreement but came out
a muffled racket instead, and then showed my answer by moving my body fast
as I could, bucking my hips back against Paul's crotch and thrusting my
face down onto Peterbilt's prick.

I couldn't keep that up very long, but I got two cocks warmed up and ready
for action in the time I could manage it, and when I slowed, Paul's hands
gripped my hips and he began to lustily hump my butt. Peterbilt just sat
there and watched his pal fuck my ass, and seemed content with my
now-exhausted movements. His cock was warm, it throbbed in my mouth...but
it didn't get closer to climax that I could tell.

Paul, however, had no such problems, he was fucking me like a bunny,
nearly, fast thrusts that barely moved his body back and forth, but still
wrung his passion out of his cock and I felt the hot steel of his dong
building in my butt and I focused on helping him reach his climax, send
that hot pack of factory foreman's jizz into my city-lawyer ass, I needed
to feel blue-collar again, I needed to get back to my roots, remember my
dreams, and make them worthwhile again! I need hot New Jersey spunk, and I
needed it now! Now!

Paul rammed my ass and he let out a series of yelps that must have shaken
the trailer we were in with the echo's force, and as he did, I felt the hot
splash of Paul's seed gusting into me, it poured like a hot summer
rainshower, full of force and fury, and as brief as a moment, the energy
all released at once and once spent, it releases its hold on the sky and
the sun shines through.

Just like that, Paul sprayed my ass with his jizz and then he was done and
panting and resting his upper body on my back. I couldn't move like this,
and Peterbilt moved instead and slid his cock out of my mouth. "My turn
now." he announced. "Now you got him opened up for me."

I wasn't sure about that, but I had a solid coat of spit on Peterbilt's
cock to grease the way and when he stuck it in, Paul's sperm squelching
around his dick, it fit into me well enough.

"Time to give you a trucker's fuck." Peterbilt said. "You know how a
trucker fucks?" He didn't wait but a few seconds for my answer, which
wasn't forthcoming, but went on, "Long and hard and all day and night."

I put my hands on the box that Peterbilt had been sitting on and braced
myself for Peterbilt's promised butt-fucking and with that, it wasn't as
bad as it could have been. Peterbilt was rough, all right, but Paul's cock
had stretched me out, and I didn't have but a spot or two of pain as he
carved his own path into my body.

Paul did me the honor of sliding between our legs and sitting on the floor
of the trailer, he sucked my cock into his mouth. The force of Peterbilt's
thrusts were more than enough to move my cock in and out of his mouth as he
humped my ravaged butt.

With this undivided attention of two studs, and my own body's passive
position, I could let my body concentrate on its joy and my cock sprang
into gear, the excitement grew in my cock as it slid in and out of Paul's
mouth under Peterbilt's driving power, and in that way, my climax rose in
me and like the steam lifts the lid off a cooking pot and there is a sudden
surge of noise as the boiled over liquid hits the hot stove metal, a
hissing like a thousand snakes, so did my orgasm build and build and
then...HISSSSS!

"AH-AH-AH-GAHH-HAHHH!" was all I had time for and then I was squirting my
juice into Paul's mouth, and he gulped it down like when we were young, and
my eyes teared up at this old memory, the past I had had and hadn't known
how much it was all I'd ever wanted, and now I had it again, a little, this
much, and I let my climax shake me like only the earthquake of a renewed
memory can. I was home, I was home again!

Peterbilt wasn't done, but in my lassitude following climax, I could let
him do as he wanted. Paul moved to hold me in his arms while Peterbilt
rammed his way to his thundering climax, and he came with a roar and as he
did, Paul kissed me hard, open-mouthed, the way we had kissed so many, many
wasted years before.

"Aw, fuck, that was good." Peterbilt groaned as he staggered away from
us. Paul helped me down onto a box, and I winced as my violated butt
contacted the hard wood there.

"How much more time you got in town?" Paul asked and I started to answer
and then realized he'd aimed the question to Peterbilt.

"Got to leave in the morning at five a.m." Peterbilt said. "I'm going to
sleep in the tucker, in fact if..." he checked his watch. "Shit, it's
one-twenty a.m. already."

"Come on, Dennis, let's go." Paul said. "We're keeping him from the only
sleep he's going to get for a few days."

Abashed at this, I got dressed and Paul and I stepped out of the truck. We
shook hands with Peterbilt (hell of an ending to that love-fest!) and left
him crawling into the cab to snatch a four-hour nap.

"I need to get back to my home, too." I sighed. "Mary will be wondering
what happened to me."

"Sure." Paul said. "But next time you get a craving, come on up. Paul's on
the road three weeks out of four, but I'm here all the time."

I got his phone number and kissed him good-bye, went to my car and started
to input the number into my cell phone. A message was there, but I knew it
was Mary and didn't want to listen to it, not just now.

I got home about four in the morning and Mary's car was still gone and only
then I listened to her message. She was at her mother's and would return
home Sunday night. Fine with me. Mary didn't sound very forgiving yet, she
avoided insult but didn't sound ready to patch things up any.

On my bed was the sack from the gas station, the five Slim Jims I hadn't
eaten yet sticking up out of them, their yellow-and-red labels proudly
declaring their status as the favored food of people like Peterbilt and
Paul...and, when I was feeling like an outsider in this big city, like me.

I ate another Slim Jim just to savor the luxury of it, and crawled into
bed. I had an entire wifeless weekend to relax, a weekend filled with the
memory of my visit back home, and the taste of those remaining Slim Jims to
help me face the world again on Monday.

Whatever Mary might want, I wouldn't be giving up my craving for Slim Jims
any time soon!

				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM