Run With Jane ..By Big Matt Phelps

Some guys would be too ashamed or embarrassed to tell the story if it happened to them, but I'm going to talk about what happened when my wife rode with us one summer on an over-the-road truck run. Me, I don't regret what happened at all. Truth is it's one of the fondest memories of my life. But that's just me. You can decide from your own system of values whether or not is was a good thing.
I'm co-driver on the truck Mike owns. He hires it out to one of the big national trucking concerns, and we pull their trailers. I don't want to name the company, owing to the outlandish nature of this story I'm about to tell you. Not only did Jane - that's my wife - not only did she ride with us against the rules, but if word of what happened with her with us on that truck ever got back to the company? - well, I'll bet they'd decide that it didn't exactly project the proper professional image, and they'd no doubt make Mike scratch the firm's name off his doors.
Jane got to go with us because Mike owed me one. The previous autumn he had brought one of his nephews on the road with us. The kid was hiding out from some kind of family trouble or other, and we kept him on the road until things blew over. So when Jane's and my kids went back east to visit their cousins, and she was going to be home by herself and all, I asked Mike if she could run with us. It would give her the chance to see me at my work, and I would get to show her some of the prettiest sights this country has to offer. And since I had put up with Mike's nephew, Mike could hardly decline the company of my lovely wife.
Mike is a big black fellow from small town Texas, in his upper fifties, I guess, about ten years older than me. The facade he likes to show people is that of a real sour and ornery customer. But with those who take the trouble to know him, he can't hide his gentle and kind-hearted nature for long. I was afraid that he'd give Jane a bad first impression. Nothing can ruin a trip like a conflicting personalities when you have two, let alone three, people living in the confined spaces of a truck cab and a sleeper berth. But I needn't have worried about that. From the time Jane tossed up her bags and climbed on board, Mike was as pleasant, easygoing and humorous as I had ever seen him.
I could see right away that Mike liked having Jane on the road with us. And it seemed to me that she was going to ease the trucker's heartache for both of us. Don't get me wrong, I like the life of a long-haul driver. There's nothing else I'd rather do, and I think Mike feels the same way. But however much you love the road, it comes with a monotony of the mind and a loneliness of the heart that afflicts you to the very core. The company of women goes a long way toward making that cursed malady more tolerable. That's why you see truck drivers chatting up the waitresses or the girls at the fuel desk. They aren't hitting on them, they're letting a little sunshine into their dreary days. Jane was having that good effect on Mike, and they were carrying on together like old friends. And I have to admit that I took a bit of perverse pleasure in how Mike was attracted to Jane, and in how the chemistry between them seemed to go both ways.
I said "perverse", but I don't really see it that way. I believe in marital fidelity and faithfulness. But to my way of thinking, it is much more about commitment and honesty than it is about monogamy or sexual jealousy. The truth is that I shamelessly give full reign to my erotic nature, and I openly appreciate other women without sacrificing an ouch of my love and devotion for Jane. And the fact is that it thrills me whenever Jane looks at other men, or whenever other men look at Jane, or whenever Jane gets flirtatious or teasing with other men. Call me strange if you will, but this is my life, not yours. If you don't like it, you might better stop reading this story right now, and no blame to you.
It is my well considered but admittedly biased opinion that Mike had good reason to cast his gaze over Jane's body with a rascal's glint in his eye when he thought no one watching. Jane is a beautiful girl. She's only a year younger than me, but she looks ten. I'll allow that she carries a few more pounds than she once did, but they carry well and take nothing away from her striking good looks. Me, I've gotten paunchy wrangling these machines down the highway, but Jane has kept herself fitter and healthier than me. Her figure is still girlish, and her skin is clear and smooth. She seldom wears any makeup, and her model-pretty face is completely natural. She has big, green eyes, short reddish hair and an easy, disarming smile. Her c-cup breasts ride high and pert, though she never wears a bra. Jane doesn't know it, but she's drop-dead gorgeous - a fact that was not missed by my partner Mike. It looked to me as if this was shaping up to be a great run.. It turned out I was right about that.
We rolled up I-15 out of San Diego and picked up a load in Riverside. That evening we climbed over Cajon Pass and cruised across the California high desert on our way to Salt Lake. With Jane, we didn't drive as hard as we usually do, and we stopped for sit-down suppers more often than was customary for Mike and me. Aside from his furtive, admiring glances at Jane, Mike was the perfect gentleman, laughing, joking, telling stories and making good dinner table conversation. But it wasn't long before the sexual tension in our truck began to bust loose. That was my fault.
On the fourth night out we dropped a relay up in Davenport and hooked up to an empty trailer. While we waited dispatch, we checked into the Flying J to clean up. As Jane and I showered together, I tried to explain to her how much fun it would be if she started dressing sexy in the truck. I must have pressed the point with a bit too much enthusiasm, because Jane flashed me a slightly angry look. Not too angry, but enough so that I knew to drop it or risk spoiling a good trip. And so it came as a considerable shock to me after my drive shift the next morning when Jane came out of the truck's sleeper berth wearing a pair of my bib overalls and nothing else, so far as could be seen. I didn't know why she did it, and I still don't, but whatever caused her to do it, she blew me away moving about the cab with her breasts out in the free air. As I sat on the bunk kicking off my shoes, Mike settled into the drive seat, getting his log current, adjusting his mirrors and trying not to be obvious as he took in the open side view of Jane's left titty as she reclined in passenger seat.
Let me try to explain why Mike was not at that moment having very much success at pretending not to look at Jane's titty. Jane's titties are perfect titties. If I were a philosopher as well as a truck driver, I would say that Jane's titties are the very Platonic Form of Tittiness Itself. They are the archetype, the divine ideal and the teleological goal to which all titties aspire. I'll describe them for you now, because, alas, I cannot show them to you, and perhaps you will better understand Mike's foiled attempts at discretion and courtesy.
You know how some women's titties are flattened-out low-riders, and how other women's titties are great globular balloons? Jane's titties are different than that. If you ran your fingertips over Jane's chest, starting at her shoulder and moving downward, you would soon come to a gentle, outward sloping curve, the angle of which becomes sharper the lower your fingertips go. As you approach her dark pink nipples, the curve slants well outward, and her nipples rest on the farthest point away from her body. As big as the last third of my pinky finger, her nipple comes straight forward, parallel with the earth. Not to dwell too much on minutia, but Jane's nipples have details that have always fascinated me, like the little bumps that run around each areola, and the way in which they get all tight and wrinkly when Jane is aroused or chilled. I like to think that her nipples were tight and wrinkly at that moment for the reason that she was excited, but I have to admit that the truck's air conditioner could have been the cause. The lower halves of Jane's titties are perfectly rounded, curving back inward to meet her rips without undercut of fold. Now, maybe, you know why Mike had to try to avoid staring. Jane was well aware of Mike's mighty efforts. She grinned at me with mock reproach, as if to say, "I hope you're happy!" I was happy, and I let her know it with a sheepish smile.
No one spoke at first, but before the silence became uncomfortable Mike pulled it together and began joking and telling stories again as had been his way with her all along. And so we relaxed, and Mike and I feasted on the delightful bounty of Jane's revealed body. And I thought that, as Jane poured him coffee or reached for objects in the cab, perhaps she leaned over or stretched out just a little bit more than was absolutely necessary so that her breasts would reveal themselves more fully. Maybe that was just my imagination.
As much as I wanted to stay up and enjoy this, I was fried from the night's drive. Moreover, one does not want to try driving five or six hundred miles on short sleep. So after keeping company with Jane and Mike for a couple of hours, I had to stretch out on the bed and shut my eyes. But something strange about how the truck was running brought me up out of my dreams. Mike doesn't scratch the gears very often - not unless he's very tired. But it seemed he was scratching them now. I sat up to ask him if he was all right. I saw then that it was Jane who was scratching the gears. She knelt there between the two seats, shifting with Mike's help. He was teaching her to operate the truck's ten-speed.
"All right, let's see if we can float ‘em." he said, "No clutch. When I get off the throttle, you punch it out of gear. Then when I tach it up, push it straight up into ninth."
"I don't know. . . I'll try", Jane said.
Mike took his foot of the gas and said, "Okay, now." Jane got it out of gear. Then he said, "Now push it straight up." Jane tried but missed, making that scratching sound.
"That's all right", Mike said. "Leave your hand right there and try to feel while I do it." He laid his large, dark hand gently over hers and eased the stick effortlessly into place. "There, do you feel it?" he said. "Let's try it some more." He was driving on a deserted country two-lane, slowing down and then speeding up so that they could run through the gears, as he patiently taught her to shift. For a time he guided her hand on the stick, but after a while Jane began to get the timing and to find the right places. Soon she was doing all of the shifting by herself. She scratched the gears and jerked the truck a little, but she was hitting them.
"I think I'm starting to get it", she said.
" ‘Course you are," he said, "and I got me the prettiest automatic transmission in the world!" He laughed his big, open belly laugh.
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder, saying' "Oh, stop, you shit!", laughing along with him. "You shit" was a term of endearment she usually reserved for me alone. I didn't mind her saying it to Mike. I became frankly aroused as I watched them playing with the gears and bantering back and forth like this. The way he caressed her hand, and the way her free breast would sometimes brush his arm as she worked the gears, it turned me on very much.
Jane wore those overalls for two days, making for Mike and me some very pleasurable driving shifts. The day after that Jane set aside all remnants of modesty and rode bare-chested, wearing only a pair of cutoff shorts. And the strange thing about it was that she didn't show the slightest apprehension. There had always been a clearly demarcated limit to what Jane would show in public, and going topless was way, way over the boundary. It was as if she had suddenly discovered the thrill of erotic adventure and found that she liked it. She had become like a river nymph out of Greek legend, reveling in a new liberation, indulged with the zeal of a convert in the safe company of two adoring and protective truckers.
By the end of that first topless day, no lingering awkwardness remained and the three of us had fun with Jane's semi-nudity. We even played an exhibitionist game where Jane would let other drivers catch a glimpse of her. She didn't flash herself in a crude or brazen way like they do in those wild college girls videos, but rather, she'd just position herself so that they could see her. A few drivers registered their surprise and delight on the CB radio.
"Hey, J. B. Hunt! You'll want to get a look at the jump seat in the truck I just passed."
"You mean the silver Freightliner right here?"
" Yeah, that's the one,"
"All right - I'm coming around him now . . . . Holy smokes! Did I just see what I think I saw?"
"I think you did, driver. I need to go to work for them if that's the kind of co-driver you get over there, ten-four?"
Jane, Mike and I laughed until our sides hurt. But the CB chatter made us nervous and we quit the game after a while. This sort of thing was bound to get back to the company, so we cut it out. We could hardly justify to the safety guys why we were hauling naked girls across the country in our truck. It was in the last few days of our run - a run we were loathe to end - that the erotic energy in our truck exploded. Mike made a night delivery, then pulled into the big I-80 truck stop in Iowa and went to bed. Jane went to do some shopping in the truck stop store. While I waited dispatch for a new load, I crawled into the upper bunk for a nap. Jane woke me when she returned and climbed into bed with me, shucked off her clothes and cuddled up.
You'll agree, I'm sure, that there was nothing else I could do, in need, as I was, of carnal affection, what with Jane naked beside me and all, having stoked my furnaces for days with her incredible behavior. Jane must have been ready, too, from the low moans she made and the way her whole body trembled as I kissed her and softly stroked her rising and falling tummy. I let my hand range lower, lightly brushing her pubic hair. She arched her back and whispered a long "ohhhh..." But she abruptly pulled up short and stropped me. It would be both rude and unfair, she told me, if we made love with Mike right here with us in the sleeper.
Before I could think better of it, I answered Jane with an argument that seemed perfectly logical to me at the time. There would be no breach of courtesy if we made love, nor any injustice, so long as she made love to Mike first. I wanted to reel it back in the moment I said it. Jane is not the kind of lady to whom you want to suggest such things, and I should have known it, darned fool though I am. She slapped me hard on the thigh, and I deserved it.
"You'd better be joking, because that's just nasty!" she scolded.
"You're right, it was," I said, "and I'm sorry. It's just that you've been making me crazy lately, sweetheart." She snuggled again and said no more about it. Rebuffed, I drifted toward sleep once more.
Some time later, Jane stirred and said that she was going to smoke a cigarette. Mike and I had a no-smoking policy in the sleeper. You had to light up by an open window in the cab. Jane swung down from the bunk and settled into the drive seat, lighting a Marlboro and taking a long, thoughtful drag. With renewed desire, I watched her by the truck stop lot lights that played upon her naked form as she reclined, arms behind her head. I wondered whether Mike watched her, too, and whether he was wanting her like I was, and whether he was imagining how it would be to lie down with her. He moved in the bunk beneath me, and I guess that Jane became aware of his gaze upon her.
"Did I wake you up?" she asked him.
"Yeah, I think you probably did" Mike said in a curious, almost cautious kind of tone.
"You don't mind, do you?" Jane said as she snuffed out her Marlboro. She rose up and moved back into the sleeper berth, standing nude just inches from where Mike was lying.
"No, I don't mind. But I was thinking that you shouldn't show all of your stuff that way unless you mean to give it away to a brother."
Jane was smiling at him. "Oh. Does that mean that I SHOULD show it if I DO mean to give it to a brother?" She sat down on the edge of Mike's bunk, looking into his face.
By the sound of Mike's voice, I knew that he was out of his reckoning, and he fumbled for the right thing to say. "Well, you know, it's . . . damn, girl, your man's in the bed right up there. You sure you mean to be down here?"
"I know where I am," Jane said. "I could lie down with you, if you want me to."
I had been in situations like this a time or two in my life, but many years ago, and never with my high class and modest sweetheart Jane. It was an electric, thrilling moment - almost I'd say "sublime". But the moment was not without problems. You can't altogether escape your social conditioning, even as you reject it consciously. One feels a deep seated shame to one's early training, and a person can freeze up for not knowing what to say or how to act. Giving your wife's pleasures to a friend in 21st century American culture is about the most awkward thing you can do. But when things have come this near to the threshold, it is by far more embarrassing if nothing happens. This had gone well past the point of no return. As Jane sat with Mike, awaiting a signal to go forward, I searched for a way to let Mike know that this was a good thing, and that there would be no bad repercussions.
"Just so you don't try to keep her all night", I said lightly, hoping it would ease his mind. There, I had triumphed once again over my conditioning. Jane had clearly dealt with hers. Now it was up to Mike.
Neither he nor Jane spoke for a long, loaded moment. Just as I thought they were going to choke and back away, I heard Mike move over in his bunk and open his covers in invitation to her. "Then you better bring yourself right in here, girl," he said. I lost sight of her as she slid into the bed and bundled with him. They began to whisper together and giggle like youngsters. I couldn't quite hear what they were saying to each other.
Jane, my wife, my best friend and my life's sweetheart was lying naked with my partner just three feet away from where I listened with rising excitement. I became very hard and my brain flooded with hormones and a cocktail of delirious neuro-chemicals. It was not unlike some of the best drug trips I had taken in my wild youth, only stronger, and better.
When Jane's breath became heavy and irregular, I knew that Mike was touching her someplace - some very sensitive and arousing place. I wanted to see them, but there was no way for me to look without sticking my head right over the side like a darned fool. So I lay there listening, trying to picture in my mind what I heard - what they were doing together. Now Jane moaned in that low and airy way, and I thought that Mike was softly kneading Jane's hard, ample nipples with his large rough hands. And then there came the sound of their long, slow kisses.
The truck rocked a little and I opened my eyes. Jane had come back into my view, sitting on the sleeper's carpeted floor. She leaned her shoulders and head in toward Mike. Again, I watched the filtered truck stop lights play across the sculpted curves of Jane's back as she positioned her mouth closer to him. Mike drew in a sudden breath and he began to say over and over again, "Damn! Damn!" in a rapturous voice. I knew what Jane was doing. She was running her tongue over the whole length of his cock. I knew, too, that Jane would kiss and lick his balls, and that her tongue would explore the lowest base of his scrotum.
"Damn, girl! Oh, damn. . . ," Mike said.
I watched Jane's back and shoulders moving up and down in the silvery light. She had his cock inside her mouth now, I knew, as I heard a slow, wet and rhythmic sound. She did not hurry as she subjected Mike to this torturous delight, and she went on for a long time, making small choking sounds now and then as if he was very large and she was taking in as much of him as she could. Mike must have been very near to exploding when Jane finally stopped and lay down next to him again. And as before, they whispered and giggled with each other, though I couldn't make out their words. They even broke the no smoking rule. Jane retrieved their cigarettes and an ashtray, and they smoked and carried on for a long time like kids on a sleep over.
Finally I heard Jane tell Mike, "Just lie back." The truck swayed again as Jane moved, positioning herself over him. They both groaned and let out heavy breaths when Jane guided Mike's cock into her warm, moist pussy. They went very slowly, and I felt like I was part of their pleasure as the gently swaying truck rocked me in time with their movements. Sometimes they made little noises of delight, sometimes they laughed or exchanged soft words as they moved with one another. They went on like that for a very long time. Unbelievably, they stopped and rested together once more.
Then Jane lay down on her back and opened herself to receive him, to let him have his own way with her. They began slowly, as before, but now they let the speed of their rhythm build without restraint, and the force of their movements became increasingly powerful. Jane's wordless voice got loud and guttural, keeping time with the thrusts of their passion. Jane, who never liked bedroom dirty talk, called to him out of her heat. "Come on, give it to me Michael, hard!" Mike growled like a primordial wild man. And in my mind's eye, I saw their eyes lock together as they gave themselves up utterly to one another. Mike pinned her delicate arms with his powerful hands, and Jane gripped him as in a vice with her strong legs. Mike drove his might deep into her, and with a cry he fired his charge way down inside of her. Then he collapsed atop her, having spent himself utterly. I heard Jane making soft sounds of affection and comfort as she caressed him.
For one more hour they lay together in the bed beneath me, and they talked. Mike told Jane of his wife who had passed nine years before, of how there was no real home for him any more. He had believed that he would never again experience the comfort of a real, warm woman. And he told her that for tonight he felt a life in him that had been long absent. She listened and understood him, and she came to love him in that hour, I believe.
When Jane came back to me that night I gave her the best smile that I could and I held her with all of the affection that I had in me. I had never been so thrilled, nor so touched, by what I had seen and heard this night. We could not possibly approach the kind of passion she and Mike had just shared, and we didn't try. We made love quietly and happily, coming together, and we fell at once asleep in each other's warmth.
There is no need to tell you everything that happened in the final days of that memorable trip. Jane went topless again the next day, all the while poking fun at us incorrigible truck drivers, while we made suggestive comments to her and played grab with her. The next day she wore the overalls. The day after that, as I drove the truck back across the California high desert, Jane and Mike made love once more, this time in private. In the evening we arrived in San Diego. Jane and I threw our bags off the truck, and Jane warmly kissed Mike goodbye. Mike roared off to his apartment in Santee.
That was five years ago, and this is the first time I have told anyone about it. Through those years since our run with Jane, Mike and I have been good friends - almost brothers - and we've enjoyed a profitable partnership. When we traded up to a newer truck, we went in together. Each year at Christmas, Mike has stayed with us for the holidays. He brings presents for our girls, and they call him Uncle Mike. And every year on the night after Christmas, Mike stays with Jane in our bedroom. I sit up late and read or watch a movie, and then go to sleep on the pullout. For Mike, I can spare one night out of 365 with my love and my sweetheart. It still excites me to share Jane with Mike that way, but I stay out of it, and do not inquire what they do on their nights together.