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
6
It was a little after nine when I took my place on the westbound ramp headed to Atlanta. I had been very lucky this whole trip. No rain. Now however the clouds had rolled in and it looked threatening.
I waited for over an hour, before a late model Mercedes surprised me by rolling to a stop. I was even more surprised when I saw that it contained a well-dressed couple in their sixties. I thanked them profusely for stopping and crawled into the back seat with my shit.
For about five minutes no one spoke. The heavens had opened and the rain was so hard it was difficult to see beyond the hood of the car. Finally I did repeat my thank you. "I really do appreciate your giving me a ride," I said.
"You're most welcome," the man finally responded. "We often give rides to hitchhikers, when my wife decides they are respectable."
"Then I'm glad I looked respectable," I laughed. Made me glad that I had changed from my cum-stained shorts to clean-looking jeans and a shirt with buttons.
"We never pick up girls," his wife interjected.
"My wife doesn't think it's proper for women to hitchhike," her husband explained.
"Well, these days it's sometimes difficult to tell the difference," I suggested.
"I was a physician," he said. "Females have more protrusive cheekbones than males. I can almost always tell if a hitchhiker is a woman even at a distance."
"And it's not hard to tell if a man is respectable," his wife joined in. "A lot of hitchhikers are dirty, ragged, and unshaven. They look like they haven't bathed in a month, and they appear to have no self-respect.
"You looked like you were in charge of your life. That's why I said `let's stop.'"
"Very interesting," I said. "I've got to ask, how did you first start to give rides to hitchhikers?"
"It was about thirty years ago," the man began. "We were on a road trip out West. It was a hundred degrees out in the desert, and out in the middle of nowhere was this young guy thumbing. He was about your age, and I stopped to give him a ride. My wife berated me for stopping, telling me it was dangerous and all that sort of thing.
"Well, the young man got in the car and proved to be a charming travelling companion, and Thelma decided that she had been wrong. So ever since then, she has made the decision whether to stop or not, when we see a hitchhiker. Usually her instincts are correct. But rarely we give a ride to someone we'd just as soon not have picked up."
We chatted for a little over an hour. They were going to Greensboro. I was dropped at the Main Street exit, thanked them again, and hit the on-ramp. The rain had temporarily stopped. I still had about eighty miles to go, though.
After an hour, the rain started again. I decided it was time for lunch. There were several restaurants nearby. I chose the Pizza Hut. I ordered a pepperoni and sausage pizza and took my time eating it, hoping that the rain would stop again. It finally did.
It was 1:30 when I got back on the ramp and stuck out my thumb. They say it's always harder to get a ride when it's rainy, and that sure proved to be true today. It was 2:15 when a nondescript flatbed truck finally stopped. The driver was maybe three or four years older than me, a mousey-looking dude, wearing a khaki shirt and trousers and sporting a three-day growth of beard.
"Hop in," he commanded, "or you're goanna get your ass soaked."
"Thanks for stopping," I replied. "I'm headed to Atlanta."
"I'm going to Covington," he said, "but I've got to stop in Madison and pick up a load of lumber at Lowe's. I'm supposed to be off today, but my fucking boss wants this goddamned shit at the jobsite first thing Monday. I'd rather do it today than tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon I've got a hot date I don't wanna miss out on. She just loves to put out."
"Bosses can really fuck you up sometimes," I responded.
"This bastard makes a habit of it. But as hard as jobs are to get these days, I just got to grin and bear it. Still pisses me, though.
"What sorta work you do?"
I decided I didn't want to say I was in college, so I replied, "Nothing, right now. Maybe I can get on with somebody in Atlanta. I've worked for a big landscaping company down in Mobile before."
"I've done some landscaping. Cutting lawns and raking leaves."
My brother, Chuck, gets really pissed when people equate lawn work with landscaping. But I just let it pass.
"So you live back in Greensboro? Got your own place?" I asked.
"Yeah, Greensboro's o.k. I've lived there all my life. So I know which gals fuck and which don't. But I still live with my mom. That's a fucking pain."
"I'll bet. My folks are both dead, so when I'm home I stay with my big brother. He's a wild motherfucker, so I don't have to bother about not doing shit when I'm there."
"That's a blessing," he said.
When we got to Madison, I'd planned to ask him to drop me off, while went and got his load, then pick me up again when he came back, if I hadn't gotten a ride. But the rain was coming down in sheets, so I opted stay with him, when he stopped at Lowe's.
"There's Home Depots in Covington and in Greensboro," he bitched. "It'd be a whole lot more convenient to do business with them. But my goddamned boss is friends with the manager here, so we have to do business with him."
It took only a half hour to load the flatbed. Then we were back on the road. It was just a few miles more to Covington. He dropped me at the Martin Luther King Drive exit.
Fortunately it had stopped raining, but it was still threatening; so I decided to take my chances with the cops and go up to the top of the ramp where I might get a ride with somebody coming along the freeway.
I was lucky. A ten-year-old Honda Civic was barreling down the interstate. He was going over eighty, which is not unusual on Georgia freeways. When he saw me, he hit the brakes and came to a stop about fifty yards beyond the ramp.
When I had trudged down to where he stopped and opened the door, I found myself looking at the classic portrait of a "fella" out looking for dick. Styled hair, plucked eyebrows, an orchid t shirt a size too small. If he'd stood up, I'm sure he'd have shown a bare midriff. He was wearing tight jeans with holes at obvious places. I could see skin almost up to his joint, and he had a hole at his hip that revealed he was freeballing. Although the holes appeared to be worn, they obviously had been cut, then washed to appear ragged.
"Hello," he said. "Where to?" I was surprised that his voice was a well-modulated bass.
"Headed to Atlanta," I answered.
"That's where I'm going." His hand grabbed his crotch in an obvious gesture.
I'm not into obvious faggots, but this motherfucker was so delicious that, if I hadn't still been recovering from last night and looking forward to tonight, I'd have shown him my dick as soon as I got in the car. Instead I decided to have some fun.
"Do you live in Atlanta?" I asked, like I thought it must be the grandest place in the world.
"Yeah, but it aint all it's cracked up to be. I've been over to Augusta looking for some action. Nothing happening over there either."
If he only knew!
"I can't believe there's not a lot going on in Atlanta," I said.
"Oh, there's shit going on all right. But not my cup of tea." He scratched his groin again. I was careful not to touch anywhere near mine.
"So what all you into?" I asked.
"About anything. But I want the guy I'm with to be like me. Willing to do it all and not worry about shit. I like it bareback."
As much as I wanted to, I didn't say that anybody taking it bareback was stupid. I just mused, "Do you now?"
"You look like you got quite a piece of meat," he ventured.
"I aint never been ashamed of mine," I answered. Then I added, "I got picked up by this dude back in Charleston the other night. He was staying in a real nice hotel. He really liked it. I spent the night with him."
"You could spend the night with me tonight." He reached for his dick again. It was straining against his jeans almost poking through the hole at the top of his thigh.
"That'd be fun," I taunted, "but it'd still cost ya."
Shocked, he cried, "You're a hustler?"
"Gotta support yourself somehow, when you're on the road," I grinned.
He was quiet for several seconds. "How much?" he finally asked.
"Can't do it tonight anyway," I said. "Gotta meet my granddad when we get to Atlanta." We were already cruising through Decatur.
He was really pissed. He realized that I'd been messing with his head.
Moreland Avenue separates Fulton and DeKalb Counties. It would be a good place for Granddad to come and get me. So I asked to be dropped there. He stopped at the top of the off ramp, and I thanked him nicely. He didn't say a fucking word. Just drove off.
I called Granddad as I walked down the ramp. There was a convenience store at the bottom, and I told him I'd be waiting for him there. I bought a Coke and told the clerk I was waiting for someone. We chatted between customers. In about twenty minutes I saw Granddad's pickup pull in to the parking lot.
As I ran out of the store, he jumped out of the truck to greet me. We embraced warmly. I hadn't seen him in some time. He doesn't come down to Mobile as often as he used to. Now in his mid-sixties he still works framing houses. Says he can get jobs a lot easier than most younger guys can, because he does good work.
We began the drive back to his place. "So you been making out like a tall dog this trip?" he asked.
"I've had some fun," I answered. Told him about Welby and his wife, my encounter in Charleston, and Clint and Rob's little party last night. Finally we both had a good laugh over the fag that just dropped me off. Checking out his jeans, I noticed his could get it up as good as ever.
"You still fucking that old gal down the block?" I asked.
"Shit no," he replied. "The bitch moved. But what they say about guys as they get older is true. We're more in to guys than broads." He reached over and gave me a feel to emphasize his point.
We stopped at a Krystal for something to eat. Their hamburgers are small and cheap but really tasty. I had four crystals and fries.
Granddad's house is small, but requires little upkeep. One big living and dining area, a kitchen, two little bedrooms and a bath. Once there he poured us both a straight bourbon and asked if I'd rather see straight porn or gay. I said he'd told me he liked guy dudes better these days, and that was o.k. with me.
He put on a French video. It didn't have subtitles, but it didn't really need any. It was about a bunch of young guys, sorta like scouts, that were out competing to find a hidden talisman with instructions hidden in various places along the way. In the process of reaching the goal, they had all sorts of encounters with each other and with men along the trail. It was hot as hell.
After the movie we hit the sack. Both slept in his bed. He was still hot as hell too.
Sunday we mostly lounged around, watched a coupla more of Granddad's videos. In the afternoon drove around awhile to see some sights. Had dinner at a neighborhood restaurant. Good Southern cooking. Afterward we went to a bar where Granddad was well known. Even after I was introduced I had to show my fake I.D. Got to meet some of Granddad's friends, though. Later we stopped by a gay bar, where I got propositioned a couple of times. I told them I was taken, and pointed to Granddad. It was a real pleasant day.
We still got to bed early. He had to get to work, and we had to get up especially early if he was to drop me at the freeway.