STORY: Honeypumper's Handle (Encounters) Horny Hitcher Story #1 (first of an occasional series of hot hitchhiking encounters) by Jack Fellowes Copyright 1998 by the author
When my college friend Paul wrote to tell me he could guarantee me a job in Sydney if I could get to Australia by the end of the U.S. summer, I started looking at my options. I was jobless after an abortive try at grad school, and I had less than $400 in the bank, which wouldn't have covered my fare anyway.
A friend of my dad's in the merchant marine told me, if I could get to California, he had another friend who could get me on a freighter that took a small number of passengers on the crossing to Australia. The shipping company hired a few crew members, who could work off their fares as stewards, chefs, or galley help, to keep the rest of the passengers happy. Finally, having parents who put all their kids to work in the family restaurant business was going to pay off in something besides free food.
To save more money, I decided to hitchhike to California, bum a few meals and overnights from friends along the way, and maybe do some temp work when I got to the coast just to keep from eating into my savings before I got to the land of Oz. There, I was going to stay with Paul, my best buddy and favorite bi-guy, and his new, equally bi, and open-minded wife. Needless to say, I was pretty motivated to get to Sydney any way I could.
Getting from Ohio to Chicago across Interstate 80 was easy, and took only one day. After that, I had more trouble. Few cars would bother with a grubby-looking guy with a backpack, and most trucks couldn't carry riders. Finally, about 90 miles out of Chicago--the distance I'd managed to travel during the daylight hours of the second day--a big independent moving van pulled over to side of the entrance ramp where I was waiting with my thumb out. When he stopped about 50 yards past me, I saw the passenger side door swing open. I ran up beside the cab and looked up hopefully.
The driver, a big, burly guy who looked about 30-35, asked me, "Where you headed, kid?"
At 23 I didn't consider myself a kid, but I certainly wasn't going to be picky with the only person to offer me a ride that day. "California," I said, "or as far as you'll take me."
He smiled, and I noticed how good-looking we was. His teeth were pearly white, in stark contract to his black hair and olive complexion. "Well, hop in," he said. "I'm only going to Lincoln, Nebraska, but that's clear through Iowa. And I wouldn't mind some company."
I climbed in and he told me throw my backpack back in the sleeper compartment and get comfortable. As he pulled out onto the interstate, he introduced himself as Jim. I told him my name was Gary. He started asking a lot of questions about where I was from, where I was going, and how long I was planning to stay, and so on. He seemed really interested, especially that I planned to work my way to Australia.
Gradually the conversation shifted to him, and I soon felt as if I'd known him for a while. While we talked, I had a chance to size him up physically. He had a bulky look, but he wasn't fat. He was just big. I estimated he was about six-feet-four and 250-275 pounds. He had his short sleeves rolled up, and his arms were huge. I'd worked on my own arms for a couple of years, and had just gotten my biceps up to 15 inches. I figured his were 21-22 inches.
It was really a hot day, the air coming in the open windows was really humid, and we were both starting to sweat. It was starting to get dark, but it wasn't getting any cooler. I made kind of a show of mopping my brow with the tail of my shirt, and he said, "Sorry the AC's on the fritz. Just have to grin and bear it." He paused for a minute, and added, "Or bare it--if you want to take your shirt off, you can."
I did take off my sportshirt, but I left my T-shirt on. Just then a summer shower started to pop, and we had to close the windows most of the way. The rain just made it muggier. Then the wind picked up, and the rain started coming down in sheets. He got on the CB and said, "Honeypumper here, just east of Moline and heading west on 80. How much rain will I see?" He found out it was storming clear through the Quad Cities and on across the Mississippi well into Iowa.
I was going to ask about his CB handle, but he sat up and focused all his attention on driving. By then his curly black hair was starting to look wet and fall down over his forehead. The underarms of his light denim shirt were soaked. I kept watching him with fascination while his muscles flexed as he gripped the wheel and gearshift lever. He was too occupied with keeping the truck on the road to notice, until I decided to pull my T-shirt over my head and let the air from the vents blow directly on my chest.
"That's a good idea," he said. "I'm about to melt, too, but I can't take my hands off the wheel. Would you mind unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it out of my jeans for me? I've got to try to cool down a little."
I hesitated, and he said, "Go ahead. I won't bite, and I'd really appreciate it."
The veins in my temples throbbed as I slid over closer to him. My hands were trembling as I opened the top two buttons, revealing a blanket of black fur covering a massive, well-muscled chest. The hair tickled my shaking hands as I reached for the third button.
"Do you know why you're so nervous, Gary?" he asked, with the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
I answered, "It's just that it's strange to be doing something like this."
Jim chuckled. "No, that's not it. It's because you're close enough to really touch me, but you're afraid of how I'll react." He turned his head quickly toward me and then back to the road. "I've seen you giving me the once-over most of the last 50 miles or so."
I started to protest, but he laughed again. "Go ahead if you want to, and I'm sure you do. I like being touched."
Given permission, I finished unbuttoning his shirt exposing a bear rug from his neck to his waist. I couldn't help running my palms through the damp hair over his pecs. Then I started to tug his shirttails out of his jeans. He sucked in his gut to make it easier, and I could see the ridges in his abs--not gym-style definition, just basic, solid muscle.
I spread his shirt wide open so he could get some of the breeze from the vent. I was still twisted toward him, with my right hand on his chest just below his nipples, which stiffened and enlarged when the vent air contacted his damp skin. I watched them grow, and I realized a certain part of me was also enlarging in perfect harmony. The more I stared at Jim's chest, the more uncomfortable my jeans got. I subtly popped my top button and reached in to make the needed adjustments.
The rain was starting to let up some, but it was still heavy and he was still concentrating on the road ahead. "I could use a little help with that, myself," he said. Did he have eyes in the side of his head, or what? "Could you help me with the belt and first couple of fly buttons, Gary?"
His nipples weren't the only things growing. For the first time, I noticed that there was a large bulge in his Levi's, pointing up from where his big, denim-covered thighs came together. The swelling was slightly angled toward his waist. My hands slid down the hairy ridges in his belly to his waist. I opened his belt buckle, then undid the waist button. More black curly hair filled the gap. When I opened the second button, I could tell he wasn't wearing any underwear.
Before my hand could reach the third button, Jim pushed out with his stomach muscles and the rest of the buttons opened by themselves. The flaps of his pants spread open, and a meaty erection sprung out. It was big, uncircumsised, ruddy, and lined with swollen veins.
As automatically as his cock had stood up to salute me, my hand reached down to take its measure. It was a handful. I couldn't close my fingers around it, and my hand, which wasn't small, covered less than half its length. I moved my fist down, pulling the skin off the gleaming head, which was as purple as a plum and about as big. A big squirt of fluid came trickling out of his peehole, and flowed down toward my fingers.
Jim moaned, "Oh, baby, don't play with it too much! I'll start pumping more honey than you can handle. Just hold it until I can find a pull-off."
Pumping honey--oh, I get it! I stopped sliding my fist on his thick shaft, but I gripped it harder and another big gush of precum spurted out. "Find someplace quick," I croaked. "I'm going to have to start gathering honey before my hand gets soaked." If I could have gotten my head under his arms and my lips on that drooling head, I would have. The anticipation was almost painful.
As we kept moving down the highway, I finally released my grip on the 'honey pump' and contented myself with caressing his belly and chest, and playing with the curls of hair. It didn't help. I was still painfully hard--hard enough for me to open my jeans and let my boner breathe free. My five-and-a-half uncut inches looked like a scale model of his, which still stood about eight inches tall, pointing straight up and swaying with each course of blood through its veins. As I watched, another spurt of precum would ooze out of the hole and drool down the shaft every minute or so. There was already a big puddle in the pubic hair at the base of his cock.
Jim surprised me by pulling off the interstate and into the parking lot of an old motel just off the next intersection. I mean old--it still had individual cabins instead of connected rooms. He grinned at me, and struggled to stuff his meat back into his jeans. Before he started to button them up, he scooped up a finger full of his thick cock drool and offered it to me: "Wanna taste?"
I slurped Jim's thick finger into my mouth and stripped it free of his sweet, tangy precum. "M-m-m," I said, "I want more of that." Then I remembered my financial situation. "What's with this place?" I asked.
He kept straightening himself up, and gestured for me to do the same. As we were putting clothes back on and getting ourselves in order, he said, "I figured, the hell with getting to Lincoln early tomorrow morning. I'm tired of driving, and I can't really concentrate on it, anyway, thanks to you. Don't worry about the motel, Gary, it's my treat. Once we get inside, you can figure out how you can pay me back." He chuckled, buttoning the waist button. "Grab your pack and my satchel and shaving kit out of the back while I go register."
In less than ten minutes, we were opening the door of the cabin farthest from the office. He flipped on the light. A quick look told us the place was clean and well-kept, if a little worn around the edges. There was one queen-sized bed. I looked at it, then at him.
"I told them you were my brother-in-law, and we worked together in the family moving company," he laughed. "And who cares if they believed me? Put those bags down, and let's get showered up." He walked around the room, making sure all the blinds were closed, while I started to peel off my sweaty clothes.
I watched him strip out of his shirt and jeans. I'd already seen the chest and the cock, but the whole nude package was even more arousing. He was Conan the Fur-Bear-ian! I gave my stiff cock a couple of quick pulls as he walked toward the bathroom door. In front of the shower, he turned around and looked at me. "Gary, don't play with that now. Get in here with me and play with this," he said, nodding toward his cock, which was once again rising to full erection.
My five-and-half must have swelled up to at least six right then. I dashed into the shower after him. In the narrow booth, his huge size overwhelmed my regular proportions. At five-feet-eleven, I wasn't short, but I felt like a kid next to him. And comparing my smooth body and light brown hair made me feel extra naked. We both just stood there, lightly bumping together, for a couple of minutes, letting the steaming water rinse off the sweat and other bodily secretions.
Then Jim grabbed a bar of soap, turned me around, and started lathering my back with massaging movements. I sighed when he ran a soapy hand down my buttcrack, but I jumped when I felt a big finger make a quick poke in and out of my hole. Chuckling, he spun me around and soaped up my front, giving my stiff dick a couple of playful pulls as he lathered my light brown pubic hair and gently kneaded the suds into my scrotum. He crouched and washed down one leg to the foot and back up the other, giving my balls a sharp tug as he stood up again and handed me the soap.
"Your turn, baby," he said, grinning. It took me longer, mainly because I had a lot more geography to scrub down. Besides, I kept getting distracted as I discovered his hot zones. He kept pulling my hands away from his tits and cock and telling me to wait until we got in bed.
While I toweled myself off in the tiny bathroom, he stepped back out into the bedroom to give himself more room to spread out. Finished quickly, he dropped the towel, and plopped down on his back in the middle of the bed. He grasped his big shank and milked out another dollop of clear, thick precum, which he spread over the head of his cock with the index finger of his other hand.
Jim angled his big dick toward me as I stepped out of the bathroom. He grinned again and said, "You want more? He-e-e-re's more! Come and get it, baby, it's all lubed up for you!"
I walked over to the foot of the bed and got on my hands and knees between his outstretched legs. Using his muscular calves and thighs as kind of banister for my hands, I walked on my knees up to his crotch. Jim was lightly stroking his erect monster, milking out more cock drool by the teaspoonful with each upstroke. As I started to lower my lips to the shining head, he pulled the skin all the way down with one hand and put the other on the back of my head to guide it. Why do guys always think cocksuckers need help doing what they love to do?
But he didn't push my head down. Instead, he slowly thrust his pelvis upward until his cockhead bumped into the back of my mouth. Only the head and about an inch of the shaft were in. I slapped Jim's hand away from his cock, and used mine to pull his cock down, to change the angle a little. With determined effort and a lot of cock-hungry lust, I managed to work that big purple plum past my tonsils and down into my throat. He stopped thrusting to watch my lips slide down his stalk, moaning passionately all the way. When my lips bumped into his hair-covered pubic bone, he slid both hands around to my throat to see if he could feel how deep the head was. At the same time, he flexed and I could feel the cumtube swell and more precum trickle out.
I waited until I was sure I was relaxed enough to take a good face-fucking by a monster dick--I knew he wouldn't be able to resist--I reached up with both hands, found his nipples, and pinched them both, using my nails. Jim yelped and jumped on the bed, almost pulling his cock all the way out when he suddenly dropped down on the mattress again.
I grabbed a quick breath, and in the next instant he plunged all the way in again. His hands again went to the sides of my head, holding it still as he began a rhythmic in-and-out motion. He withdrew just to the flange of his cockhead, then pushed the head, followed by about seven inches of shaft, down into my gullet again. Each he pulled almost all the way out, I slapped my tongue back and forth against his shaft and head.
His moans became staccato groans, and his thrusts came faster and faster. When the pitch of his voice started to go up the scale, I tried to suck in extra air on each upstroke, so could I survive what was coming. I could tell by the mounting passionate noises that Jim was a man who came from his toes to his head, and that I was in for a bumpy ride.
When he exploded, he fired volley after volley of hot cum straight down to my stomach. He half-sat up, hugging my head to his crotch with both meaty arms. He held me like that until every tremor had stopped. He lay back down, gently lifting my head up until his quickly softening tool popped out of my mouth and dropped over toward his left hip.
I gulped in several deep breaths as he caressed my cheeks. I looked up into Jim's eyes. He was smiling contentedly. His hands gripped my shoulders and he dragged my body up his until we were mouth to mouth. I didn't expect what happened next. He pulled my face to his, and invaded my lips with his thick tongue. The kiss lasted several minutes, until I once again had to pull away to fight oxygen deprivation.
He smiled again. "I loved it, Gary. You are the best! Got any energy left?"
I nodded weakly, and he almost spun me around so my face was back in his crotch. I felt his hot, wet mouth engulf my stiff cock to the root. I guess that definitely proved he wasn't trade. Then he began lifting me up and down by the hips, as if he were doing bench presses, and started slurping and sucking on me. I could have just lain there, resting my face in the lush fur at his groin, but something started to stir at my cheek, trying to push my head to one side.
We did get a little sleep, after an incredible sixty-nine and an exchange of leisurely, but incredibly satisfying, buttfucks. In the morning, he woke me up by plugging my open mouth with his still-drooling cock.
After we showered again, separately this time, and got back on the road, he handed me his card. "Here's my address and phone number, Gary. I expect to hear that you got to California okay, and I want postcards and photos from Australia. And when you get back, call me, you hear?"
"You can count on it, Jim," I said. "I'll be on my way back home in a year or so, and I can't think of any way I'd rather celebrate my homecoming than with you."
Just before we pulled into Lincoln, he got on the CB and tried to find another trucker who was headed west. A friend of his recognized his voice. We heard, "That you, Honeypumper, ol' buddy? Over."
"Yeah, is that you, Mike? You going west? Got room for a ridealong? He's a good friend of mine going to earthquake country. Back at ya."
"That's where I'm headed, Jim, buddy. Could use some company. I hope any friend of yours will be a friend of mine, too. Over."
"I'm sure he will be, buddy. Good friend, good company, real good!"
Jim gave me the "OK" sign. After he arranged to meet up with Mike outside Lincoln so I could catch another ride all the way to California, he signed off and turned to me. "Mike's a great guy, Gary, fun to be around... Oh, I guess I forgot to call him by his CB handle. I bet you'll enjoy finding out why we call him 'Fireman.'" He guffawed when he saw the look on my face that meant the light in my brain had gone on.
I knew it was going to be a great trip.
(THE END)
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