By Bradley Baddley
I found a web page online with some tips about using the CB radio. I came up with my “handle” which was Back Door Becky … the thing is, you can’t block other users and as it turned out, not every Billy Big Rigger was gay…
“Breaker one nine, this is Back Door Becky … Hey good buddy, is there a pickle park in sight?”
A reply came quickly, “Becky, eh? Are you a female Becky … or a male Becky?”
“I dress like a girl but I got a general and two colonels hangin’. I look like Britney Spears with no tits.”
“Chick with a dick – I knew it! What are you one of those Kansas City queers?”
“St. Louis.”
“Well I ain’t lookin’ for no shemale knob polishers but I hear they got a gloryhole set-up behind the Colby, Kansas KFC … in an outhouse back in the bushes … sounds like just about your speed there lot lizard …”
How I wished I could block this gear jamming crackerhead! … Probably a fat guy with a miniature dick – he sounded like he was from some backwater shithole in Outer Homophobia or maybe even worse … So I just turned off the radio for awhile. Killed it cold.
Grindr and Scruff were both dead out in the Western Kansas hinterlands. The phone apps were impossible to use behind the wheel anyway, so after another 20 miles of exceedingly boring interstate highway travel, I turned the CB radio back on and gave it another try … The truth was, I wasn’t crazy about the idea of actually hooking up with a greasy gear jammer from some West Texas turdhole, but I can be such a little tease!
“Breaker one nine, this is Back Door Becky … Hey good buddy, looking for the lowdown on local pickle parks – come back if you got your ears on.”
I had another reply in no time: “Hey there Becky, this is Cockbird In The Corn – switch to channel 24 and we can have a private chat.”
I switched the radio to channel 24: “Back Door Becky here – come back Cockbird.”
“Hey Becky, you got the Cockbird – are you male or female?”
“I’m a dude in a dress – I look like a flat chested Britney Spears with Dick and the two twins hangin.'”
“Lookin’ for a pickle park eh, Becky? I hope you use protection,” said the Cockbird.
Hmmm, this dude sounded sort of suave and well educated, “Actually, I don’t know anything about pickle parks, I’m just curious … on a long roadtrip and decided to buy a CB radio to pass the time.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m headed out to California to check out a college. I’m from suburban St. Louis.”
“Interesting. I’m a senior at the Corn Husker Institute in McCook, Nebraska.”
“The Corn Husker Institute?” I said, “I’ve never heard of it.”
“We’re a smaller agricultural based school with emphasis on science and technology,” said the Cockbird, “Hey Becky, I’m president of the Tractor Jockey Club, our campus gay group, and we’re having a big grain alcohol tasting event tomorrow evening …
… Boy howdy could those Nebraska farm boys drink! Before long, I found myself the submissive subject of a multi-top gang bang in a hay barn somewhere on the outskirts of town … my recollection of the specifics are quite foggy due to severe inebriation, and instead of attempting to describe the multi partner sexual hijinks in erotic detail, I think I will move on to the next chapter in this loquacious serial soliloquy …