Be warned that the story contains explicit sexual activity between males. So if for moral or legal reasons you shouldn't read such material, please read no further.
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Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
ANOTHER HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE
by Macout Mann
3
I saw a twenty-year-old SUV pull off the interstate and turn in to the Love's. It didn't stop at the pumps but parked near the entrance to the store. The dude that got out was lean but packed. Probably about thirty. He was shirtless with long, scraggly black hair and a three-day growth of beard. Basically unkempt looking with several tears in his tight jeans. He put on a shirt to avoid being refused service and went in. I just knew that he was going to be my ride.
Sure enough he came back out in about five minutes and took off his shirt again. He pulled away and stopped for me, just like I thought he would.
"Thanks for stopping," I said, throwing my shit in back. I climbed in the passenger seat and extended my hand. "I'm John."
"Clark Hanson," he said. "Where ya headed, John?" His strong deep voice somehow didn't match his slender frame.
"Charleston," I answered, "but I may stop off in Savannah."
"I'm going up as far as I16, then heading west. If you decide on Savannah, you can take I16 east. It's only about fifty miles over to Savannah."
"Damn, I hadn't realized it was that far."
"So what takes you to Charleston?" Clark asked.
"Just to hang out," I replied. "I'm in school at Auburn, and had some time to waste, and I get a kick outa hitching."
"I never went to college," he said. "Never gave a shit about school."
"My bro didn't want to go to college. His boss sent him to night school for several semesters, though. He's doing what he wants to do, and that's what counts. Works for a big landscaping outfit outa Mobile."
"Well, I've done about everything at one time or another," Clark volunteered. "Construction. Factory work. Fry cook. You name it. Right now I'm outa work. Heading up to Atlanta to see if I can find something.
"So you do a lot of hitching?" he asked, changing the subject. "A good looking kid like you must get hit on a lot by faggots that pick you up."
"Funny," I said. "The last dude that gave me a ride asked me the same thing.
"Yeah. I sometimes think I'm a gay magnet. But this is the way I look at it: I don't give a shit what anybody else wants to do as long as they don't try to make me do something I don't want to do."
"I know what you mean," he said. "I hitched out to the west coast and back after I finished high school. Got rides with a lot of fags. But they don't ever bother me none. I'll let any of 'em suck me for a few bucks." For the first time he reached down and stroked his crotch.
I repeated his gesture. "You and me both.
"You like to suck?" I asked after a moment of silence.
"Nah," he replied. "Not that I haven't. Depends of how much money's involved. You?"
"I'll do it, when I'm in the mood. I'm more of a top, though."
"Well, you never know for sure what you're getting into. I was out in Texas, got a ride with this traveling salesmen. We hit it off pretty good and he says, `I gotta be out here for another ten days, and I get real lonely. If you're not in a hurry and'll keep me company, I'll take care of all the bills.'
"So I said, `sure enough.' I just knew the motherfucker was queer, but it turned out he just didn't like to be alone. Was married. Showed me pics of all his kids. Never made a move on me. Man, I was sort of disappointed," he said laughing.
"I know what you mean," I told him. "Last time I did any serious hitchhiking I got picked up by this dude coming into Chattanooga. You'd have thought he was the straightest motherfucker in the world. Was guardian of his two nephews. Offered to put me up for the night. I accepted. Turned out all three of 'em was into guys.
"Like you said, you never know."
We drove along, exchanging stories, sometimes clawing our cocks. He also seemed to be into pinching his nipples and fingering his zipper.
After we became more comfortable with each other, I told Clark about Wallace. He was a rich interior designer from Memphis who picked me up in front of the Memphis bus station and took me home for a night of very intense sex. As we had talked, I mentioned that my brother Chuck worked for a big landscaping company in Mobile. Wallace immediately guessed which it was. After all, Landcare does business all over the South. Its owner is gay, and it turned out that Steven was a good friend of Wallace's.
I told Clark all about our evening together, and then I gave him the postscript. Chuck and his boss have a very intimate relationship. Stephen has had Chuck go the Masters' with him as his "driver," but once there they share a hotel room. Although they never spend holidays together, Steven had often invited Chuck for dinner the night before or the night after, say Thanksgiving. Somehow Chuck never gets home after dinner.
So I was amazed that the next Thanksgiving I was included in the dinner invite. And who was there but Wallace. He had flown down from Memphis for some more fun.
"So you can run into some really weird shit," I said, finishing the story.
"Weirdest thing that ever happened to me was down in Orlando," Clark responded. "Five or six years ago.
"I was working out of a temp agency. This dude wanted somebody to do tree trimming. He chose me, although there were several heftier guys there.
"I was doing all right though. Sweating like hell. He told me to stop.
"'I thought I'd picked the right guy,' he said. `But you might not be high on the real job I have in mind.'
"'What d'ya mean?' I asked."
"'I make pornos,' he told me. 'You got a bod that I need. You interested?'
"'Why not?' I said. `As long as I get paid.'
"'I do straight and gay,' he said. `Whatcha into?'
"I had to laugh. `I'd fuck a snake, if you'd show me where the hole was.'
"'Gay pays better,' he said.
"'Put me down,' I told him. And that's how I became a porno star. It was so fucking funny.
"On the set all the actors are naked. Everybody else is dressed, but all of em are tenting out. There's this fairy boy. In the first scene I'm fucking the shit outa him. Then this big dude comes in and pulls me off. He tells me, This is my fuckin' bitch.' I'm smaller than he is, but I knock the shit outa him and go back to fucking the fairy boy. The bear comes back and starts making out with me. We wind up in a three-way with the big dude getting it from me and the fairy boy.
"So every take, when I'm supposed to be the top, the director says get him up' and some dude comes over and sucks me til I'm hard again.
"I never saw the finished picture, but I got enough cash to support me for a couple of months," he laughed.
I laughed too. "I would love to be in a porno," I responded. "But shit, these days you never know what's goanna wind up on the nightly news. And I don't wanna be.
"My dad got into some sorta shit when he was young. We never knew the details. But it did involve photographs. So he never allowed a picture to be taken of himself as long as he lived. We have one pic of him. A dude he worked with took it when he wasn't looking. But me and Chuck still don't fuck around with picture taking.
"And shit! These days whatever you do can come back to rip your ass. You apply for a job, and they check whatever you've put up on the internet. So I don't do Facebook or Twitter or any of these "social networks." I just hope they can't get into my emails.
"I aint ashamed of anything I do, but fucking employers aint as liberal as I am."
We'd been talking for about an hour and the I16 interchange was just ahead. It was a huge cloverleaf. He dropped me at the bottom of the east-bound ramp and then took ramp leading to the west bound lanes of I16.
It was funny. We'd practically talked about nothing but sex and both had hard-ons, but neither of us had made any move to make out with the other. That happens sometimes. But I was still horny as hell.
I still wasn't sure if I wanted to head to Savannah or stay on I95. It was already almost two o'clock. I decided to give Savannah a try. If I hadn't gotten a ride in an hour, I'd give up and head on to Charleston.
The hour passed. No one had stopped. I moved back to the bottom of the ramp and took my chances on the main highway. After less than a half hour, late model Toyota picked me up.
He was a navy man. He was wearing a white t shirt and jeans, but I could tell he was a sailor, because there was a white dress uniform fresh from the laundry handing from the hook in the back seat. He was also wearing highly polished black shoes and black socks with his jeans. He'd be about thirty- five, I'd say, weather beaten and deeply tanned.
We greeted each other. I told him I was going to Charleston, a he said he was headed up I95 but could get me as far as I26.
"So you're in the navy?" I asked.
"Yeah," he almost barked. "And please don't thank me for my service. I get so fucking tired of people saying that and not meaning it. Besides, it's a job. I always wanted to be a seal, got to be one, and am happy doing it. But it's basically a job like any other."
"Damn. Must be a blast being a seal."
"Well, I always wanted to be trained to be a bad ass. Got my wish. What d'you do?"
"College boy. I'm a senior at Auburn."
He brightened up immediately. "You got yourself a damned good coach. He could have you back to number one in a couple of years. He was something else even when he started off as offensive coordinator at Arkansas. Arkansas would be a hellova lot better off today if they'd fired Houston Nutt and kept Malzahn, but Malzahn ran off to Tulsa.
"He'll probably win 9 or 10 games this year."
"So you follow football a lot?" I didn't need to ask.
"I follow all sports," he replied. Then he launched into a comprehensive analysis of the college game and pro football. He thought the Oregon Ducks were a team to watch, but that Alabama would still be number one. He thought Texas A&M was amazing, since it got into the Southeastern Conference.
"You like baseball?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, "but I don't really get into it heavily 'til the playoffs and the series."
"It's still early, but I'm betting on the Bosox this year. Fucking Yankees have had it."
I finally got the opportunity to change the subject. "So you been over in Iraq and Afganistan?"
"Sure," he said, "I just got back from Pakistan. Fucking mess over there. I'm headed up to Norfolk for three months temporary duty. Keep the goddamned brass happy. Then I'm going to California for more team training."
"So what did yall do in Pakistan," I asked.
"You know I can't tell you that," he answered.
"You married?"
"Shit, no. I've seen too many guys have their wives fucking around on them while they're overseas. I can get enough pussy without getting hitched.
"You oughta be getting plenty back at Auburn."
"Well, I've messed around with this gal ever since I was a freshman. We both just like to make out. Nothing serious," I laughed. "But then I've also got a gay roommate. Don't ask, don't tell."
"Well, we don't have to worry about that shit anymore," he said. "Everybody was so hung up about gays, yet everybody knew we've always had a fucking boatload of them. Now they can be open, and nobody's giving a shit. Funny.
"I've had one on my team. Toughest motherfucker I've ever seen."
He dropped me at the intersection of I95 and I26, which runs from Asheville to Charleston. As I was getting out of the car, he said, "Oh, I'm Brent, by the way," and shook my hand.
"John," I said. "Thanks for the ride, Brent."
He headed north into North Carolina and Virginia.
It was just after five when I marched up the on-ramp to I26. Hitching at interstate intersections is hell. There's no convenient place to stand. It's illegal for pedestrians to be there at all. And usually there's not even an exit with so much as a gas station in walking distance. So I got to the top of the ramp and stuck out my thumb, hoping a cop wouldn't come by before I could get a ride. It was still fifty miles to my destination.
Less than fifteen minutes later a black Lincoln Town Car rolled past and stopped about fifty feet beyond where I was. I grabbed my shit and ran, before he changed his mind.
The driver was in his late fifties, maybe sixty. He had a trim moustache and salt-and-pepper hair. Skin that looked like he went to the dermatologist every time an age spot appeared. Wearing a knit shirt that was obviously expensive but without a logo and a pair of equally expensive chinos.
"May I put my stuff on the back seat? It's pretty clean, I think,"
"Certainly," he replied. "Dirt will come off anyway."
I climbed in and introduced myself.
"Harrison Fournier," he responded. "Good to meet you, John. So you're going to Charleston?"
"Yes sir. I've never been there and am anxious to see what it's like."
"Visiting friends?"
"No sir. I'm just bumming around. I have a six week internship that starts next month. So I'm basically killing time. I'll be a senior in journalism in the fall and have this opportunity to intern in the news department of a tv station in Mobile."
"I'm sure that will be interesting. Not that `bumming around,' as you call it, isn't interesting as well."
"Oh yes," I said. "You meet some really nice and fascinating people hitchhiking."
He asked where I was going to school and whether I wanted a career in television news. "As good looking as you are, you'd probably be in demand as a tv reporter," he suggested.
"I don't know about that," I joked, "but the way newspapers are going, that may be all that's left to do."
He volunteered that he had business interests in Charleston and came in about once a month to check on things. "Gets sort of boring, but if you don't keep in touch, things can get out of hand. But then, it does give me an opportunity to get away from the wife for a few days."
We both laughed.
He didn't pay a whole lot of attention to speed limits, so it seemed like no time at all before we were in the outskirts of Charleston.
"I'm sure you're hungry," he said. "Would you let me give you dinner?"
"That would be awfully nice of you, sir."
"Keep me from being lonely," he smiled. "I'm staying at the Francis Marion. I'd like to check in first. The Swamp Fox, the hotel's restaurant is very good, but I usually go first to Hyman's Seafood. It's supposedly the best in town, and the place has been around for over a hundred years. Run by an Orthodox Jewish family. Very strange, since they can't eat most of what they serve."
He maneuvered his small ship through the narrow streets of downtown and finally arrived at the hotel. He let the valet attendant have the car, telling me that we could walk to Hyman's and that I could leave my luggage in his room while we had dinner.
For a block around the restaurant the sidewalk was packed with people waiting for a table. Mr. Fournier gave his name to the gal at the door and was told that the wait would be about fifteen minutes. I couldn't imagine how all these people could be accommodated in less than two hours, but I didn't say anything. Still it was less than half an hour before his name was called.
We were given a table number and sent upstairs. That's when I understood how the crowd could be accommodated. In addition to the dining rooms downstairs, the upstairs dining rooms practically covered the entire block.
Our table was a two-top in the corner of the room. It was very noisy. I couldn't help but notice that all the wait staff were gentiles, one of which immediately came to our table.
"Welcome back, Mr. Fournier. It's always good to see you."
"Thank you, Carol. This is my friend, John." If he was going to introduce me, I thought that I'd be a "nephew." He either didn't give a fuck, or he was totally straight and above suspicion, which is what I'd thought all along.
"I'll have a Sapphire Martini, straight up, very dry, stirred not shaken."
"And you, John?" Carol asked.
"The same," I said.
"Ian Fleming with his Bond stories completely fouled up the ordering of Martinis," Mr. Fournier told me. "Before James, Martinis were always stirred. Now they are shaken like Whiskey Sours, unless you tell them not to.
"By the way, were you just being nice, ordering a Martini? You can have whatever you want."
I answered by repeating the story I'd told Reg two days before.
"Oh I'm familiar with your brother's company, I think. I don't know his boss, but I do know other members of the family. He's sort of a `black sheep,' I think. But whoever can introduce Martinis to others is all right with me."
"He's a neat dude," I responded.
In Mobile we've got great Bon Secour Oysters and Gulf Shrimp. Flounder not so much. I ordered a whole broiled flounder. It was marvelous. Even something the proprietors could eat.
One of the Hymans stopped by our table. It wasn't because Mr. Fournier was an important guest. I noticed he worked the whole room. I guess that's one way you can keep a restaurant going for over a century.
"That was some kind of dinner, Mr. Fournier," I said as we walked back toward the hotel. "Thanks so much."
"You're quite welcome, John," he responded, "but please call me `Harrison." Then he asked, "Where are you staying tonight?"
"I dunno. I'll find someplace. That's part of the adventure of hitching."
"You're perfectly welcome to share my room," he continued, "that is, if you're not bothered by sharing a bed with someone old enough to be your father."
I'd been in the room. It contained one king sized bed.
"Maybe if it was a single bed, I'd be concerned," I laughed.
Once in his room he brought out a bottle of Remy Martin VSOP. "I do like a little after dinner drink before I go to bed," he said. He even had brandy snifters in his luggage.
"I'm really glad to have run into you, John."
"Me too," I said. I'd never tasted cognac before, and I really liked it, although it was pretty strong.
"Well I've got to be up early," he said. "Have another nightcap, if you'd like."
"I'm tired too," I replied. "But I don't have anything to sleep in except my jeans shorts."
"I sleep bare," he said. "Sleep in or out of whatever you want."
I still had no indication that he was into guys. But I took him at his word. I showered and came to bed with only a towel around me. I climbed into bed and was almost asleep, when I felt his hand embrace my still-soft dick.
"If you're not comfortable with this," he whispered, "I'll get another room and you won't be bothered. If it's o.k., I'll stay right here, and we can have some fun."
I almost dropped my wad right there. My stiff dick told him what he wanted to know. I'd been hornier than a motherfucker ever since that outa-work dude dropped me outside Savannah. "Do your fucking thing," I whispered back.
He threw back the sheets and took my dick into his mouth. His tongue pierced my piss slit a couple of times, then he buried his nose in my pubes. I almost came right then, but he pulled off long enough to say, "I thought you'd be willing, when I picked you up. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing your dick right away. If I'd known how nice it was, I might have."
I told him why I was so horny, but he was already down and eating me some more. I shot a gallon of cum down his thirsty throat.
He had a "middle-age-spread" but wasn't at all overweight. I took his dick in my hand. It was average size, but his balls were enormous. I massaged him until he was fully hard, then I returned his favor. I sucked and took his load, as he moaned his thanks.
He spooned against my backside and whispered, "Will you fuck me? I have condoms."
"Bring 'em on," I answered.
He'd left his utility kit on the bedside table, and rummaging through it, quickly found what he was looking for. He easily got me back up, then rolled a plastic sheath over my prong and generously coated it with KY. I ate his ass and slobbered on his hole. "That ought to be good enough," he panted.
I stroked his body as I lodged my dick against his asshole. He was firm enough for a dude his age. "Take me, John," he urged.
The head of my tool slipped easily into his tube. "Such a nice, big one," he sang out.
He showed not a sign of pain, so I plunged all the way into his ass, planting my pubes against his cheeks. "Yes," he cried.
I began to pump in and out of him, gradually building to a stunning climax that left both of us weak as kittens. We fell asleep in each other's arms.
I awoke to the delicious feeling of his palm cupping my jewels. "Good morning," I giggled. "You want an early breakfast?"
"How did you guess?" he answered, and immediately gobbled me up. I was able to hold off, until he finally came up for air and said, "Give me some cum."
He went back down on me, furiously slipping his lips up and down my shaft. I gave him what he wanted.
We had breakfast at the Swamp Fox, the hotel's beautiful restaurant. I thanked him for his generosity, gathered up my shit, and prepared to take my leave.
"What'll you be doing today?" he asked.
"Taking in the sites. Maybe head out to Folly Beach."
He gave me his cell number. "Well, if you need a place to sleep over, you can give me a call, he smiled. He also stuffed three twenties into my hand.