Love and Lust on the Alcan Highway – Chapter 3

Love and Lust on the Alcan Highway – Chapter 3

Just after noon, I rolled out of the Whitehorse yard on my way south to Seattle. The two trailers I was pulling felt light compared to the ones I usually had, and that promised to make for an easy trip. A quicker trip meant that I’d be back in Whitehorse, and in Linda’s arms, that much sooner. The prospect sure didn’t break my heart any.

Linda Coulter. Somehow, this young woman had managed to sneak past all the barriers and safe-guards that I’d ever put up to keep my heart from being trampled on. A part of this realization scared me, while another part welcomed the intrusion of her warmth and genuine shows of real feelings and caring. After a mere four days together, she had become a part of me that I cherished much more than I had ever known, cared for, or wanted from another human being. This new situation was something that I really had to think about, but with eighteen hundred miles between me and Seattle, I had a few days to do that, and another three or four days on the way back, if I needed or wanted them.

Despite the late start of the day, traffic was amazingly light, especially for July. Most of the motorhomes were heading the other way, which was the opposite of the traffic flow that I had encountered on my way up to Whitehorse. There was no rhyme nor reason to this appreciated situation, and I sure wasn’t going to question the generosity of the “Powers That Be”. Between the light traffic and the lack of weight, I sailed through Watson Lake in a record-setting five and a half hours, which was a good thirty minutes sooner than normal. I stopped long enough to phone Gordie at Muncho Lake to see how he had made out with Linda’s car, which had broken down on her way north. He said that he’d gotten it repaired, and had done some routine maintenance for her as well. I asked him how much was owed, which came to a couple hundred bucks, and gave him my credit card numbers so that he could have his money as soon as possible. He wondered when we’d pick the car up, and I gave him an estimate of about a week. That seemed to agree with him.

As much as I hate the Stewart-Cassiar Highway, that route would knock three or four hours off my trip, and I wanted to gain all the extra time I could. With the difference in rules between Canada and the US, I really had to watch my log books to be able to make the one hundred and fifty miles between Vancouver and Seattle legally. The last thing I needed was to have a run-in with the Washington State Patrol.

It was early Friday morning when the satellite phone’s annoying “beep-beep, beep-beep” alarm woke me up. Glancing at the clock beside the bunk, I was shocked to find that it was actually seven-thirty. I had slept like a log, not waking once through the whole six-and-some-odd hours. That was not a part of my usual routine, but the extra rest made me feel like I could drive all the way to Seattle in one continuous shot. I clambered out of the bunk and answered the phone.

“Six-oh-seven. Blackstone” I croaked into the handset. Six-oh-seven was my truck number, and usually it was John Robinson, the Richmond dispatcher, that would call at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

“Well, good morning, Lover” the voice on the other end introduced itself. “Did I wake you, or are you in the middle of something important?” It was Linda, and the most welcome sound to start off my day. Just hearing her voice was almost inducement enough to turn around right then and there, and head back to Whitehorse.

“Good morning, pretty lady!” I exclaimed. “Sounds like you got that phone card exchanged. So, how’s my favourite lady this morning?” I greeted her.

“Tired, lonely, and horny as hell,” she answered, “but I needed to hear your voice before I fall down and get some sleep. Last night was a bit of a rough one, and I’m fried. Where the fuck are you, anyways?”

“Just crawling out of bed” I told her. “I decided to take the short-cut down the Stewart-Cassiar. It’ll knock a few hours off the run, but it has to be one of the shittiest roads in Western Canada. I may even break down and come back up this way, too, just to be back there with you a little sooner.” That message sounded really lame, even to a horny old trucker like me. “Shit, listen to me, would ya? I sound like a love-sick teeny-bopper! What, pray tell, have you done to me, Miss Coulter? If John Robinson finds out, or rather, when he finds out, he’s gonna have a shit-fit! And ya know what? I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks!” I added. Linda giggled softly at my tirade, her laughter like magical music to my ears.

“So how far do you think you’ll get today?” she inquired.

“With a little luck, I’ll make it to Abbotsford, then lay over just before the border. I gotta watch my hours so’s I don’t get my ass locked up in a Washington jail cell. Those State Patrol guys don’t have no sense of humour, unless they’ve just gotten laid for the third time in the shift” I joked, then added, “Oh, by the way, Gordie has your car ready. He did a couple of maintenance things to it, too. I told him we’d pick it up in about a week, and he seems happy with that. Well, as happy as Gordie ever gets, anyway.”

“Awesome! Maybe I can catch a ride down and pick it up before you get back. Can a girl make it that far, and back, in sixteen hours?” Linda wanted to know.

“Not quite, unless you can fly real low both ways. With the summer terrorist season, I doubt you’d have enough open road to pull it off, either. If you can stand all the hoofing around, why not wait until I get back, and we’ll make a two-day vacation out of it? The thought of lounging around in the LLiard Hot Springs with your gorgeous body to pleasure has a wicked appeal, right now” I suggested.

“Lliard? Isn’t that down towards Fort Nelson?” she wondered.

“Yeah, but it’s more than worth the trip, believe me. Especially if we sneak into the hot springs around three in the morning, when there’s no one else around . . .” I teasingly mentioned, leaving a good part of my thoughts to her vivid imagination. I had visions of engaging in wild and uninhibited sex chasing through my head; I hoped she had the same ideas.

“Mmm, sounds delicious!” she enthused. “I just might have to get that prescription filled before you get back!” she added, referring to her birth control pills.

“Oh yeah! That sounds like a plan to me, even if we never do make it to the hot springs!” I seconded. “I have all intentions of pleasuring that fantastic body of yours no matter where we go! And speaking of going, I’d better get going myself, before you get my cock any harder than it already is. I haven’t got time to beat off in desperate search of relief! Damn, but you can make an old man so fucking horny! I hope you’re thoroughly ashamed of yourself, young lady, getting me into this state while you’re eight hundred miles away. God only knows what shape I’m gonna be in by the time I get back!” I chided her lovingly.

“Eww, driving with a hard cock. That must be absolute hell!” Linda teased back. “Just think clean thoughts, and maybe it’ll go away in two or three hundred miles! I’ll let you go, Lover, but you drive real safe. I’d hate to be left waiting for that hard cock, only to find it’s stuck in some hospital somewhere!” There was a slight pause, but before I could say anything, Linda softly added, “I love you, Ryan Blackstone. You’d better come back to me, or I’m gonna chase your ass all over Kingdom Cum, you hear me?”

Those three words. I’d spent almost fifteen years avoiding them. Now, they were something that sent thrilling tingles up and down my spine. “I love you too, Sweets,” I breathed lustfully into the handset, “and I never thought I’d say that to anyone. Girl, you’re gonna be the death of me yet, aren’t you?”

“Oh shut up and get that thing back on the road!” Linda commanded. “The sooner you get back here, the sooner I’m gonna be able to fuck the hell outta you, ya big goof! And if you think you’ve got it bad, you’re making me a walking, drippy-cunt, hormone monster! Now, get back to work!”

Reluctantly, I broke the connection, fired up the old K-whopper, and got ready to tackle another eight hundred miles of road; a road that ran in the wrong direction. Just as I was about to slip that Fuller transmission into second gear, the satellite phone beeped again. Somebody really didn’t want me to move out of Delta Lodge in a hurry. I felt the hope that it was Linda calling again, but knew, deep down, that it probably wasn’t.

“Six-oh-seven. Blackstone” I answered.

“Geez, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for fifteen minutes!” John Robinson bellyached. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Delta Lodge, and if I get one more fucking phone call, I’m gonna spend the whole fucking day here, too. What can I do for you on this fine and shitty morning, Mr. Robinson?” I replied, the discomfort in my voice at being interrupted dripping from each and every word.

“Seattle’s screaming for those wagons,” John informed me, “although I told them that Whitehorse isn’t exactly just around the fucking corner! How soon can you be down there?”

“If I don’t get rudely interrupted with any more phone calls this morning, they should see me sometime tomorrow afternoon, so tell ‘em about four o’clock. If I’m earlier than that, it’s ‘Bonus’ time. Oh, and see if you can arrange a ‘turn ‘n’ burn’ outta there that comes north, would ya? I’ve got some unfinished business in Whitehorse to take care of.”

“Forget it!” John intoned. “I’ve got a California hot-shot with your name on it, waiting to roll. You and Whitehorse ain’t gonna see each other for another two weeks.”

“California? What the fuck did I ever do to you, Robinson? You know I don’t go south any more than I absolutely have to! So forget the hot-shot deal, and find me a Whitehorse load!” I screamed, then added, “And keep in mind that ‘Points North’ is always looking for trucks. I’d hate like hell to have to move, but I don’t do ‘California’, unless I’m really desperate for miles. At this time of year, miles are easy to come by, especially the ones going in the right direction!” There was a pregnant pause before John said anything.

“Yeah, okay, but no promises. I just don’t have anything moving north of Dawson Creek, at the moment. Shit, even Dawson’s a tough one to find, for some reason. What’s the big attraction in Whitehorse, anyway?” he queried.

“Nothing much. Just five-and-a -half feet of the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, all packaged up in a body that won’t quit!” The sarcasm in my tone wasn’t lost on John.

“Christ, just what I need, a love-sick truck driver!” John moaned. “I suppose this means that you’ll be looking for some special considerations now, right? Blackstone, there are days when I wonder if you’re fucking worth it! She must be one hell of a hot number to get you all twisted like that.” John paused to take a deep breath, and I could hear the hiss of air across the phone as he exhaled. “Like I said, I’ll see what I can come up with, and hopefully I can find someone for that California trip before you get to Seattle, and don’t you drag your sorry ass in an attempt to stall your arrival. Call me when you get through the border, so I can try and schedule something for ya. Just don’t count on a ‘turn ‘n’ burn’ outta there. It’s gonna be hard enough getting you back to Richmond, let alone all the way back up to Whitehorse.” There was another short pause before John added, “and the next time you fall ass-over-teakettle for some woman, would ya make sure you’re over on the Island, please? I’ve got enough extra traffic over there to keep three trucks going full-time until November!” That gave me an idea.

“John, I’ll make you a deal. You keep me running the Alcan all summer, and I’ll chase the Island for ya from after Labour Day weekend until you’re cleaned up. Linda’s back at SFU in September, and I think I’m gonna be looking for miles that’ll get me back to Vancouver on weekends, even if I have to leave the truck in Nanaimo and take the fucking boat back on my nickel.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll have to think about it first, though. Meanwhile, would you get your fucking horny ass back on the road, and get Seattle off my butt, please? Call me when you shut down tonight, even if you have to call the house. You’ve still got my number?”

As much as I really wanted to fire a sarcastic comment at him, I let John’s subtle opening slide on by.

“Say ‘Good bye’, John. I gotta make some miles here, or my fucking asshole of a dispatcher’s gonna have my balls for bookends. Talk to ya tonight.” I hung up before he could add any more unwelcome news. A California hot-shot run usually paid good money, but not enough to keep me away from Linda any longer than absolutely necessary. John was probably wondering about the little sanity I still had left, right about now.

The trip down to Seattle and back to Richmond was spectacularly uneventful. Traffic was light, the border crossings were quick, and even the Washington State highway patrol seemed to have taken the weekend off.

John found a split load that wouldn’t be available until Sunday afternoon, but would get me back to Whitehorse. The lead trailer was bound for Stewart River, north of Whitehorse, but the pup only went as far as Dawson Creek. The revenue would pay my expenses, but just. As I considered all this, I realized that I’d have an empty wagon as I went through Muncho Lake, and if I could find a loading ramp, maybe I could pick up Linda’s car and haul it up for her. That’d be a welcome surprise; might even be able to use her car for that trip to Lliard Hot Springs, and a couple of days of luxurious love-making! My cock saluted the idea as I anticipated some of the activities we’d enjoy together!

Sunday midnight, and I was sitting in Prince George again. I was about to fall into my bunk when the cell phone started to play that annoying music that preceded a call. Who the hell would be calling me at this time of day, I wondered? There weren’t many people that knew the number, and even fewer that would use it. My curiosity got the better of me.

“Hello?” I answered the call.

“Hi, Lover. I had a couple of minutes to take a breather, and thought I’d check up on you.