He wasn’t just all that bad himself. He had kept the trim runner’s body he had developed in high school. His dark hair and skin were still warm with the flush of the youth he had left not too far behind him, and he knew his large, dark eyes were his best asset. Not too bad for 28, he thought. Perhaps a bit effeminate, well not exactly effeminate, but soft.
The other car pulled out and he sat staring vacantly after it as it went down the ramp onto the highway. Then he saw him. He was coming around the front of the trucks over toward the building. He was wearing a faded blue denim workshirt, sleeves rolled back, open a little at the neck showing the glint of a silver medallion against his chest. He wore his jeans tight, but not provocatively so, yet even from the distance it was evident that a blanket thrown around him could not hide the bulge in his jeans.
It was difficult to tell his age, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, but not at all what Ken had been expecting. His softly waving blonde hair offset the angularity of his face and, as he came closer, he gave Ken a slow, but piercing look and went on into the toilet.
He was a tall lanky dude, but his body was solid and hard, seemingly put together of nothing but sinew and muscle, not the kind that come from hard work and have a roughness about the edges that is instantly appealing. And there was that strained hardness about his eyes that was both fascinating and frightening and had made Ken shudder. It was almost as if he had the power to see beyond ordinary human dimensions. His glance had held Ken coolly in its grip, seeming to see and understand everything that was going on inside him.
He was definitely not what Ken had expected and he felt his courage begin to waver. He sat glued to the bench, trembling half in anticipation, half in fright. Should he follow him in?
He decided against it. He might not be the right one and it was best to let him make the first move. They usually showed what they wanted, rubbed their baskets or something. As he sat waiting he wondered what the guy would want, if it would be more than sex, or if he would be one more in a series of truckers who had used him, blew their nuts in his mouth and pulled it out with maybe a gruff thank you or a pat on the ass. But then, those were not the kind who left messages. You only got them by being lucky enough to be there when they drove in with a hard-on, willing and ready to give them a release that was better than jacking off on it alone.
The man came out and walked over to the water fountain without so much as looking in Ken’s direction, stooped and took a drink. He stood erect, stretched, putting the beauty of his muscular body on full display, but Ken did not notice. He could not take his eyes from his crotch, where his freshly put away cock was now more evident than ever. He stood at the fountain for long moments, still ignoring Ken, staring off into the distance as if looking at something that only he could see. He’s not the one, Ken thought, and a feeling of sadness crept through him. Then, abruptly, he turned, walked over to Ken and stood directly in front of him.
“Are you the foreskin freak?” (…)
(To be continued in Part 4)