when doobs struts into the flyin' j to get his shitpipe stuffed with man juice, everyone knows what's up. he's an old-timer by now. he's like the old motherly waitress/chef at the family-owned diner where you grew up — one look at you walking through the front door and, with a warm smile and nod, she gets cracking on your old regular order without a hitch, not having forgotten even though you haven't been there for five years. doobs knows all the johns by now, knows just how they like it, and comes ready to please. when the deed is done, the deed is done right, and everyone goes home happy — both the ginger with the brimming boipussy and the john with the emptied load. there's almost a semblance of respect in it all — everyone knows their place and puts their heads down to get the job done.

but peterman's new to this game. he scampers in like a bucking bull — arms akimbo, rosebud wide — pining uncontrollably for a heaping slab of man meat and a slurp of the ol' west virginia chowdah. no grace. no control. no self-respect. he comes in hungry as they come, but he's gotta learn how to please — and the johns gotta keep puttin' him in his place. a nice hard smack here and there. leave a beet red hand print on that ass so the next trucker knows that this boy's an ornery one. but he'll learn his way around a cock if it's the last thing he does — he's puttin' in hours at record pace, and the boys at the ol' j won't have it any other way.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5083254&forum_id=2#44368830)