It was with the most sudden of starts that I was rudely evicted from my blissful reverie at the exact moment where I was about to insert my inflamed member into the inviting and warm crural crevice of my dream bottom.
My bedside alarm clock said it was 5 A.M. But Mother’s voice shrieked even louder.
With justified indignation, I slapped the shrieking alarm and picked up my new iPhone. I tucked my morning wood away and zipped up my traveling bag.
Mother and her friend were already outside, where my brother was waiting to drive us to the motor park. We were travelling to Abuja for a wedding.
Traffic was horrible, and by the time we got to Lokoja that afternoon, we were stuck. No one knew the cause of the traffic jam, and there were no traffic controllers in sight. Stranded commuters got out and strolled by the roadside, expecting to spend the night underneath the stars.
I got out too, pinging madly and sending my friends snapshots of the standstill.
And that was when I saw him.
I struggled to believe my eyes.
In the distance ahead, a dark-skinned truck driver was stepping down from the driver’s side of his truck into the traffic jam below.
And he was butt naked.
In broad daylight, this charcoal-black dick-tease clambered slowly down the elevated sides of the articulated petrol tanker, his crown jewels jangling and swaying till, with a spritely leap, he bounced off the truck and on to the hard tarmac below.
Without thinking, I quickened my pace and fixed my gaze.
A few meters in front of me, this naked truck driver surveyed the traffic, and then bent low to examine the tires of the truck.
Face to the ground, rump in the air, the charcoal black animal of a man fiddled with things underneath his vehicle. He looked like a beast from the jungle. His raised rump had the sculpted musculature of a well-fed horse, and it parted ever so slightly as he continued to examine the tyres.
He leaned a little to this side, and then to that, and as he stretched out his left leg to creep underneath the truck, his formidable buttock muscles clenched and rippled, glistening with sweat in the hot afternoon sun.
I could feel the tight space in the front of my jeans filling up, and there was the awkward sensation that concrete was being poured into my underwear.
Suddenly he was done, and he sprang up to his feet, catching my gaze as he did so. As he stood, what I thought was a baby python swung from between his tree-trunk sized thighs and then side-to-side, with a hard slapping flip flop sound – Thwack! Thwack!
I stared, mesmerized.
The thick-veined, shimmering snake swung slowly like a pendulum as Truck Driver stared into my eyes, then down at his bushy midsection, then placed his massive left hand firmly over his unruly member to keep it from swinging so rambunctiously.
Unfortunately, it must have been sensitive to touch, because slowly but surely, it began to unfold until its bulbous head popped out of the truck driver’s grip and nodded repeatedly like an agama lizard.
My mouth was dry as a parched sea scroll.
The tumescent truck driver flashed me a toothy smile and hopped back into his truck, taking his rampant snake with him.
Ten seconds later, I still stood there in awe.
I looked at the fancy new iPhone in my hand and wished I’d had the boldness to take pictures, but I had been afraid, until he smiled, then disappeared into his truck like a dark secret.
It was warm out there on the highway and noisy. People were everywhere. Mum and the others were asleep in our car.
So I wandered around.
And I found him again.
He sat by the roadside, on the floor, but this time in a pair of fitted, faded jeans. He might as well have been naked – he had that kind of sculpted body that showed through his clothes. He was smoking marijuana. I coughed, for the dense smoke that he sat in.
He looked up, and then he smiled. He spoke in Hausa, and stretched out his weed to me in a friendly invitation.
Partly out of fear, curiosity and lust, I walked over and sat next to him. I was drawn to this beast of a man.
So, I found, his name was Idris. And judging by his looks I presumed he was in his mid twenties. He seemed a jovial fellow. He asked why I was staring at him earlier that afternoon. My curiosity peaked at the directness of his conversation. So I answered honestly, how could he have been butt naked in broad daylight?
He laughed again.
We talked about ourselves, about the ghettos of Kano where he grew up, and how he became a truck driver. Nudity was normal in the ghetto. We gisted like old friends already. He made me laugh, this beastly truck driver.
Idris and I had kept each other’s company all night. He put out the stub of his last stick of marijuana and rose, dusting himself. He said he ought to sleep for about an hour. He asked where I was going to sleep. I said my car was full of sleeping women.
Idris laughed and told me his truck was full of sleeping women too. I was puzzled, so he asked me to follow him to the back of his truck. He unbuckled the worn dirty tarpaulin that covered the back entrance and climbed inside, me after him, and there were four young women in various positions of slumber. The inside of the truck smelt of weed, and was littered with empty bottles of beer.
Then I understood why Idris was a naked truck driver. Driving the truck was half the job. Fucking travelling traders for free was what kept him truly busy.
As he spoke with relish about his sex life, I detected a bulky transformation in the front of his jeans. I followed him out again, to the front of the truck, and we climbed up into the driver’s seat. It was a large cabin made for three drivers, who took turns to drive.
But today, Idris had been driving alone.
As he shut the door, he unhooked the seat back, and it folded out into a bed. In one swift movement, Idris was out of his jeans and so was that thick black snake.
Hausa boys had no use for underwear.
I took his cue by getting out of my clothes, but kept my boxer shorts on. He lay down on the inner side and made space for me. There was about ten minutes of quietness between us, and I listened to Idris’ gentle breathing as he stared at the roof. He wasn’t sleeping. I asked why, and he said sleep wasn’t coming.
He turned away from me and his hard muscled butt brushed against my hips as he faced away. I couldn’t move back or I would roll off the seat. My hands went first to his sinewy back, and then to his smooth thighs. He murmured something in Hausa and nestled into me.
Idris’s perfectly muscled thighs rippled as I spread his legs and turned him around to face me. He was built like a horse. And now he watched, petrified, as I towered over him, growing rampant and strong. His legs, flung apart to reveal his most vulnerable self gave the false impression that he wanted me, which he did, but he was also paralyzed by lust.
Thus weakened by primal emotions, Idris lay on the altar, exposed to the turgid flesh that rose between my thighs. And I approached him, my sordid erection rising and bobbing like a ship on the sea; it seemed to leer at Idris, ridiculing his openness, taunting him to resist what was about to be done to him.
But I was a god, and he was a mere man.
Already, the leather seat where he lay was scented with the wetness of his innermost perfume, a fragrant, musky dew that poured in pulses from his inner whore, as though squeezed by a strong hand. It poured and came, he came and it poured, and yet he was not yet touched. It filled the air with madness. The scent between us was unbridled lust. We were two wild animals caged, about to devour each another.
Saliva dripped in my mouth at the sight of his open man-pussy, and I made guttural sounds that could not be interpreted. I dragged one rough finger over his parted lips, and they oozed nectar. I lowered my head, opened my dry lips and tasted some of his sweet water, and I was drunk immediately with lust. My stretched-out manhood strained as though it would burst and kill me.
I positioned myself in front of his exposed man-pussy and brandished my erect phallus. Idris began to mumble something in Hausa, but before the words were out of his mouth, my fully engorged flesh was plunged into the depths of his succulent wetness.
A strained cry escaped from his lips as he felt the first stab of my awesome divinity in his softest parts. There was sweet pain. There was intense pleasure. And then there was nothing. His warm pussy walls gripped my pulsating flesh and pulled me all the way in, as he relaxed to accommodate the fist-sized prepuce.
Idris moaned, delirious, pouring warm pussy fluid all over my rock-hard penis, in floods of intense pre-orgasms as I fucked him till kingdom come. I felt the waves of my impending climax approaching and I clenched my teeth. The spasms rocked my lean, muscular body like Chinese aftershocks. But I willed myself against coming.
I carried him in the moonlit cabin of the truck, and laid him on his back on the drivers’ seat with unwashed leather covers, stained with the mixed cum of him and the many women he had ravaged there. Tearing off what was left of his singlet, I grabbed his big soft ass cheeks tight in both hands and entered him like a sharp sword. He screamed.
Hard as baked granite, my savage rod drove into his previously un-fucked man-pussy like a speeding truck. With each thrust, I withdrew all the way out and reinserted all the way in with brutal force. Idris’ eyes rolled back in his head and he gasped.
I asked him in Hausa, “IS IT GOOD? EEZ EET GUUUUDDD?” And as he screamed “YEEEEESSSS!” with all his might, he came, and I came, lunging my fat dick-head past his innermost sphincter and tearing into his stomach, planting my fertile seed, thrusting violently, pounding while spurting – Pound, Pound, POUND! Slam, SLAM, SLAAAM! Spurt, Spurt, SPURT!
And I was screaming, and he was screaming, and my semen spurted like a fountain out of his soft man-pussy and splashed on the leather seat as his massive muscled bubble butt clenched on my powerful penis.
Bang! Bang!! Bang!!! One of the women who had been sleeping at the back of the truck knocked on the door from below. Idris got up groggily and looked out. He shooed her away like a bad dog and fell back in my arms.
“Good morning,” he said to me in Hausa.
“Good morning, Idris,” I replied. “It seems they are missing you already, ko?”
He laughed and pushed me away playfully. He tucked his baby snake into a pair of tight jeans and climbed down to meet the women.
I looked through the window. The sun was coming up. Traffic was clearing. It was a good way to start the new day. I got dressed and climbed down too. I brought out my new iPhone and pretended to make a phone call.
But instead, as I raised the phone to my ears, I snapped the laughing half naked Hausa truck driver with my back camera, ogling those nubile curves for the last time as I walked off into the rising sun.
Written by Lanre Swagg