A Road Back

The road was deserted, not a car in sight for the last two miles. The Kenworth I was riding rumbled through its gears as I decelerated around the bend. It had gone cold since the sun set four hours ago, so I rolled the windows up to keep the damp October fog out of my cab. Thank Fuckin’ God the truck firm my brother works for gave me a shot at this job, and I was runnin’ freight again, just like before Attica.

The rap was for real, and it wasn’t my first, so I guess I deserved to do the time after that hitchhiker ID’d me in the lineup. Hey, the fuckin’ bitch gave great head, sure, but she turned on me fast, and tried to slip out with my wallet. I roughed her up a little more than I planned. I never expected her to pull a knife, to fight back like that, and by the time I was through with her she had multiple breaks and her face looked like hamburger. Her goddam fault, bitch shoulda just given up the wallet and I woulda cut her loose. Guess leavin’ her on the interstate was a big mistake, she almost bled to death. Somehow her greasy shyster got the attempted murder rap to stick.

I was the ripe old age of twenty-six when I passed through the stone arch at the prisoner drop-off door the first time, ten years ago. I quickly got the lay of the land, and assimilated to lockup society. The joint is full of rules and regulations, both official and unofficial. The inmates live in a closed society with unspoken rights and privileges for the most aggressive and dangerous prisoners. The weaker survive by “rolling over” and making concessions to the stronger. I wasn’t gonna take shit from no one, and a guy my size can be pretty intimidating…I was high on the food chain, and everyone steered clear of me. 

I got a cushy attachment to house duty as a porter. I delivered hot water and meals from 3 to 9 pm to the higher risk inmates. I never saw nothin’ in my twenty-six years like the characters in 24 Company, the protective-custody unit in Block A. Mostly child molesters and such, or prisoners the warden identified as vulnerable based on sexual orientation or gender-identity. They all looked bewildered and lost. If allowed out into the general prison population, they would last a few days, tops. I flew lots of “kites” to them, messages from other inmates. 

Usually a dude would hand me the folded slip of paper with a couple bucks or a pack of butts as payment for my delivery services. I dropped it into the meal tray next to the plastic fork. I knew what the deal was: sex for protection. It was Attica’s unwritten code of ethics that sheltered the weak from predators. The guards can’t be everywhere and there’s more shit going down than they can monitor, in a pen the size of Attica. A man who hasn’t had sex in a while will find a way to get off, so you can bet there were more hook-ups and more cum flying around the joint than a whorehouse on payday.

I had seen Ricky around, mostly in the yard. He was slender, but working on his biceps on the weight rack every afternoon. Lean, smooth and graceful, you could mistake him for one of those fags in tights you see prancing around on PBS specials from the Met or some fuckin’ place. He was more hard-boiled than he looked, having been incarcerated for murder, the ritual slaying of a rival gang member back in the Bronx. When he arrived a year ago he was voted the most fuckable perp by the prison guards. This turned out to be true: Ricky was immediately raped by two inmates his first week behind bars. Where there’s the will, there’s a way… that’s what they say. Battered and broken, he was moved to protective when he got out of the infirmary.

By the way, Ricky is also a bit of a gender-bender; his long brown hair streaked lemon yellow with bleach snuck out of the laundry room. When in his cell he wore a sarong of coarse cotton fabric tied loosely around his smooth waist, and his gentle manner didn’t hint at his violent past. I thought he had a nice smile, and good character. I began to give him extra food and some candy from the commissary. Guess he thought I was cute or somethin’, ‘cause he finally said, “Yo, Frank, why don’t you write me and tell me what’s on your mind?”

A couple days later, I dropped him a kite, and the rest is history. I told him I thought he was different, and wouldn’t mind getting’ to know him a lot better. I was getting good at this delivery crap, and could finish up the meal run in plenty of time to visit with Ricky every afternoon. He would warm something up on his hotplate that I smuggled in to him, another luxury the guards “overlooked”. (Sometimes it’s easier to allow little luxuries, in order to keep the peace.) I would sit on a box outside his cage and we would eat a meal together. It was like being married, and although I didn’t understand why, I really enjoyed that time we spent. Ricky proposed an “arrangement”. I didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. He said it means we stick together no matter what, like a team. I liked that, so I said yes. Ricky had my name tattooed around his wedding ring finger, a sign of our commitment.

After downing the food, I would drop my pants and press my belly against the bars. Ricky put his face to the gate, and devoured my penis. He loved to please me, and although I didn’t feel gay, I gotta say he was the best cocksucker I had ever met. I just concentrated on the feeling of my dick in his mouth, and didn’t think too much about Ricky’s gender. Ricky reached through the steel bars and pulled on my fuzzy ass, forcing my thick cock deep into his throat. I was nervous at first that we would get caught, but soon word was out that we were linked up, and the guards didn’t seem to give a shit. I got bolder, and began to visit him a second time after the hot water run. 

I was amazed at Ricky’s hunger for my meat. He never said no, never had a headache or shit like that. His soft, full lips would wrap around the head, slowly pulling me into his warm wet mouth, his tongue dancing on my piss-hole as he coaxed the pre-cum from my prick. I can still feel the cold bars pressed against my hairy chest. I shot so many loads of cum into Ricky and he took each one, swallowing my seed into his belly. Afternoons, I watched him press weights in the yard and would think how much of his body mass was probably made from the shots of protein I fed him twice a day. It kinda turned me on that we were connected like that.

One day Ricky acted a little weird, and his blowjob was sloppy and fast. He seemed to be thinking of something other than my fat tool jammed in his throat. It was finished and he hadn’t even jerked himself off, like he usually did. He avoided my eyes as he wiped my sticky jizz from his chin, and I knew he had found someone else. Within a week another dude was visiting his cage, and I was old news…Some freakin’ arrangement! I sent dozens of kites to him; I poured my fuckin’ heart out like a freakin’ fag. His mind was made up. He thought the advantages of playing wife to this new guy from the Hood outweighed the benefits I could offer. One afternoon I came into 24 Company to deliver mail. I saw Ricky, his ass pressed up to the gate; a big “latin King” named Juan banging his ass like it was a punching bag. 

The high-ranking gang member had just been transferred up from Rikers, where he had forced several inmates into sexual submission. I saw Ricky’s body bucking with every thrust, his fucker’s big copper-colored dick jamming into his gut like a piston. The back of Juan’s denim shirt was soaked with sweat as he pounded Ricky’s creamy white ass. The big ‘Rican had been moved upstate because of his aggressive behavior, and the influence he had with the other prisoners in New York. Ricky looked at me, and grinned. The fuckin’ pussy asshole, getting’ just what he deserves. Hope his new husband rips him open, goddam cumslut!

Now I was out. The Pen can sure screw a guy over. It took away my life, my future. Thank God my brother believes in me, and gave me my chance to start again while I was still young enough to make a life for myself. I love driving rigs, the feeling of a powerful diesel roaring under my feet as I guide it down the road. It’s a sense of power, of unlimited horizons, of freedom…something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was just past nine, running north through Maryland, headed to New England. I saw a figure in the pool of light in front of the truck as the Kenworth rumbled down the ramp on the other side of the bend. Couldn’t tell at first if it was a chick or a dude. Didn’t matter, I’m flexible. It was a man, dressed way too light considering the cool weather we were having. He wore baggy cargo shorts and a long sleeve sweatshirt, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hand raised in the international symbol of the hitchhiker: fist clenched and thumb lifted to the sky. I could see his warm breath, hanging in the frosty autumn air as he exhaled. I braked, the big rig squealing to a stop just past the dude. He jogged to the side of the cab, and I popped the passenger door open for him.

Danger signals went off in my head. I’m not lucky with hitchhikers, and I had sworn to never put myself in jeopardy again. But damn, the dude looked freakin’ hot. If I waited another hundred miles or so, there would be plenty of tail at the rest area outside of Newark. The truck-hawks would be hovering, just waiting for a hot and horny driver to roll into the lot. There would be plenty of guys waiting there to service the truckers, and they were all dick-crazy. 

The hitcher looked to be about 20 or so, and I thought, if I do end up screwin’ him, at least it won’t be child molesting. I considered the desperate fags waiting at the rest stop, and decided this guy was worth pursuing. He shivered and hugged himself, trying to shake off the damp cold that had settled into his bones. I turned up the heat and aimed the vents at his trembling body.
“Hey, bud, fuckin’ cold out there. Where’s your coat, man?” I asked him, as I checked him out. “Name’s Frank. Where ya goin’ to?”

He told me his name was Jimmy, and he didn’t care where he was going, as long as it was away. I guessed he was running from something or someone, but decided not to press it with him. I watched as he rubbed his slender, athletic legs, trying to get some circulation going. His waist was slim and his shoulders wide and powerful for such a skinny guy. His biceps looked nice, his arms long and defined. I looked up to his attractive face. He was watching me, and smiled as our eyes met. His handsome angular chin had just a shadow of facial hair, like he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. His aquiline nose and wide blue eyes were topped with a thick mop of curly blonde hair that danced around his ears, a golden halo. 

I reached back into the bunk and pulled out a wooly plaid blanket, and tossed it over to Jimmy. He snuggled under it like a kitten, and sighed as the warmth of the cab surrounded him. His breathing became heavier, and I realized that the steady hum of the Kenworth had lulled him to sleep. He lay there like some kinda freakin’ apparition, a ghost or angel snoring softly in my cab. We rolled on, the truck barreling through the frosty October night. Crossed the Delaware just outside Philly, my dick raging against my fly. Newark: 78 miles.