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
7
It was barely 6 AM when Granddad reached the southern junction of I75 and I85. He turned into I85 and pulled off at the Cleveland Avenue exit. We fondly hugged each other goodbye, and he turned back toward the city. Not a good place to hitch anytime, but especially not at dawn. I walked up the on-ramp hoping that I could get a ride before a cop came by.
Several cruisers did pass during the next couple of hours, but fortunately for me they chose to ignore that I was way past the "no pedestrians" sign. It was almost 8:30 before I got a ride.
The driver of the 1990s era Ford was a dude in his twenties, slightly built, unshaven, dressed in camo coveralls with apparently nothing underneath. I got in and thanked him for stopping.
"I shouldn've," he said, "but I'm already so late for work another minute or two won't matter, and there've been times I've been thumbing. I'm probably goanna get my ass fired anyway. Went home to Atlanta for the weekend and overslept. Thought my mom was goanna wake me up, but she didn't. She thought I hadn't come home last night."
"Sounds like tough shit all around," I responded. "I'm John, by the way."
"Carey," he said. "Where you headed, John?"
"Mobile," I said.
"I'm just goin' to Newnan. It's about thirty miles. I been livin' down there a coupla years. Mechanic at the fuckin' Ford dealer. Not good to be late on a Monday. It's generally a pretty busy day."
"Well thanks for stopping. Every little bit helps," I said. Fucking cliché, but it's true. "So you've done a lot of hitching?"
"Not a lot but enough to know what it's like. You?"
I told him about my two hitchhiking adventures. Not all about them of course.
"You get picked up by a lot of drunks and queers?" he asked. "That's the biggest problem I've had."
"I've been lucky. Never had a problem with drunks stopping for me," I replied. "I do get picked up by gay guys, but they usually don't bother me none. I figure I don't give a shit what anybody else does, as long as they don't try to get me to do something I don't wanna do."
"Yeah, as long as they keep their hands off my knee, I'm cool."
"Well, if you tell em you're not interested, most of em go ahead and take you where they're going. Some of `em will put you out. That's o.k. too."
We continued to talk about hitching for a while. Then I asked him how he got into cars.
"My old man was a mechanic," he answered. "Just came natural, I guess."
We reached the Bullsboro Road exit, which leads into Newnan. You could see the Ford dealership from the ramp.
"Thanks again for the lift, man," I said. I left the front door open, while I recovered my shit from the back seat.
"I hope I still have a job," he responded.
"You did give your boss a call, didn't you?"
"Oh shit, I never thought about that!" He sped away.
I was still standing on the on-ramp at 11:30. I guessed Carey—was that his name?—hadn't been fired. I hadn't seen his car again. There was lots of traffic, but most of it was headed back towards Atlanta. I figured there was another exit down the road, where most of the southbound traffic got onto the interstate. Still I hadn't eaten since 5:00, so I wandered over to the row of restaurants along Bullsboro. Most were places like Red Lobster or Applebee's, but I settled on a barbeque joint, called Sprayberry's. The pork sandwiches were good and the fries o.k.
Back at the ramp I decided to be brave and walk up onto the freeway. It was still two o'clock before I got a ride. He was a black dude, an army corporal headed for Fort Benning. I had shed my shirt again, but once in the a.c. I pulled it back on.
His name was Leroy. He was returning to Benning after a three day pass. Had been up to check out Atlanta. He was from Detroit and didn't really understand the South. He was very friendly, though, and was interested in me and my studies. He planned to use his G.I. benefits to go to college when he got out. But he figured he was headed to Afganistan next. Hoped he'd get back alive.
It was only about twenty-five miles to the junction of I185, leading down to Columbus and Fort Benning. He volunteered to stay on I85 and drop me at the Lafayette Parkway exit, which leads into La Grange. That way I wouldn't be left in the high speed freeway traffic. Then he turned around and headed the two miles back to the I185 ramp. Nice gesture.
The sun was beating down and I was soon shirtless again. This exit like the last one was busy, but most of the traffic was heading north. After an hour I again wandered up the ramp to the main road. It was another hour before I got a ride, but we'd soon be in the Central Time Zone, an hour earlier. I began to appreciate how lucky I'd been earlier on my trip.
The car that finally stopped was a new Prius driven by a dude about 40. He was slender, wearing slacks, probably Dockers, polished loafers on his feet, and a dress shirt and tie. His distinguishing feature was his long tawny hair, which fell below his collar. He also had a pencil thin moustache.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries and I said where I was going. He said he was headed to Montgomery. He was a traveling salesman, representing a women's clothing line, and had several calls to make tomorrow.
"Then I head up to Birmingham," he volunteered. "I love to go there. This friend of mine gives the best blow jobs."
I couldn't help but fondle my dick. "Really?" I said. Then after a pause, "Do you suck?"
"Sometimes," he answered. "You got a big one?"
"Never been ashamed of it," I said.
He reached over and jiggled me. "You sure got that right," he said. "Can I see it?"
"Why not?" I opened my fly and exposed my pride and joy.
"Man, that's some dick," he said.
"Glad you like it," I said, zipping back up. "So you hook up with all the hitchhikers you pick up?"
"Not all of `em, but I try," he grinned. "Most all of yall'll mess around."
"That's what I've heard, but most dudes you talk to on the road deny it."
"Yeah, and the ones that deny it the loudest are the first ones that'll strip down."
We both laughed.
He entertained me with stories of his conquests as we tooled down the highway. About five miles beyond Auburn was a rest area, where he pulled off.
"The rest room's goanna be busy," he suggested. "Let's walk into the woods over there."
Once we were out of sight of the parking area, he got on his knees. "I gotta taste that fucker," he said. He unzipped me and my jeans fell to the ground. He quickly got my rod up, then took my hard dick into his hungry mouth. He slid back and forth, savoring the full length of my tool, piercing my piss slit with his tongue on every stroke. As my climax neared, I had to grab his head and fuck his face until I shot ropes of cum down his throat.
"Fuck yeah," I cried.
"Man, that was great," he responded. "I love a big, young sausage."
I pulled up my jeans and we walked back to his car.
As we were entering Montgomery he asked if I'd spend the night with him. "I like to suck on that pole again," he said.
"I'd like to," I responded, "but I need to be getting down the road. It's only five, and I've got at least a couple of hours of daylight left."
At I65, he turned north into town. I was left on the southbound lane but got a ride almost immediately. It was funny that earlier I'd been asked about drunks and queers and had said I never had a problem with drunks. This was to be my first time.
The dude that stopped was in his forties, and his speech was slurred even as he said "hello." Before I realized that he was too far gone to be driving a car, we had sped into traffic, weaving in and out like crazy.
I thought quickly. "I'm just headed down to the T.A. truck stop," I shouted.
"Aw, zats too bad," he sang back, "I sought you might be going ta Mobile. We could party all ze way."
Fortunately, he partied all the way to South Boulevard without being killed.
"This is my exit!" I screamed.
He turned onto the off-ramp and managed to screech to a halt before skidding into the heavy traffic at the bottom.
Tumbling out of the car with my shit, I yelled, "Thanks for the lift, dude." He narrowly avoided being creamed by an oncoming truck as he raced across the boulevard to the on-ramp.
I spent several minutes calming my nerves before I could cross over and stick my thumb out again. I still hadn't gotten a ride an hour and a half later. The sun had set. There was a wooded area about halfway up the ramp. I walked into it and hid my shit in some bushes, then headed for the Subway Sandwich Shop near the bottom of the ramp. I ordered a foot-long and a Coke. After eating, I returned to the woods and climbed into my sleeping bag.