Hitch-hiking in America
By Guichi
I was 29 at the time, an Englishman hitch-hiking his way around America. I had travelled with some brill guys, some rather mediocre, and just one or two rather nasty. I have a motto in life, "Do as you are done by." So if I get a decent, nice guy, I respond in the same way, and we have great fun. The mediocre types are difficult to deal with. They come across as splodge. I'd rather deal with a nasty guy than a mediocre one! At least one can have some fun at his expense - literally.
The man of this story was one of the latter, a rather nasty type. I was hiking at the time out of Savannah, Georgia, and had been slowed down that day and was far from my intended location for the night down on I-95. I must make a confession here and admit I was held up by seducing a young guy of 23 years, who insisted we pull off the road and finish the job. Sure, I didn't mind the delay! Later that day, late afternoon, a car braked violently and screeched to a halt a few yards ahead of me. I ran to him. He asked me where I was going. I said I was heading for Tallahassee, via Jacksonville. He replied that was his destination, but that he was going to take a cross-country route via Valdosta, rather than Jacksonville. "If you're happy with that, hop in," he said, "and I reckon we'll have fun chatting."
So I did. At first I thought him a mediocre type, but as we began to talk I realised that he really did fit into my third category. I had a growing feeling he was an extreme southerner, his great-grand-father having fought in the Civil War. His family were malicious toward the very word Yankee. Not only so, they also held a grudge against coloured people, especially those born and bred in the south. He entertained me with an inventory of criticisms, which actually weren't very entertaining. He expressed his delight that I was neither of these, neither Yankee, nor "nigger". I asked him what he thought of the Ku Klux Klan, deliberately searching his mind. He was enthusiastic in his praise. They were decent men, trying to live up to southern virtues, which the "niggers" had always despised and abused. The KKK, he said, were god-fearing people, convinced that the white Anglo-Saxon race had been called by God to defend the free world. He was glad to have the company now of a white Anglo. I refrained from telling him I had Italian blood.
What particularly annoyed me was that sex crept into our discussion, particularly in relation to the coloured men. He assured me that they had the biggest penises, "Man, bigger than anything you ever seen. Yeah man." He told me about his dad's farm labourer's son, 15 years old, who ten years previously he had buggered behind the hay stack. I was shocked at this and said so. "No," he said, "an Englishman wouldn't understand. They're not like us. They're not really human. You'll understand a little if I tell you that this kid had an enormous dick, out of proportion to his age and size. It must have been nine inches at only 15 years!" The last sentence was almost shouted at me. To him this was the last evidence of abnormality.
I asked him bluntly whether he himself was a homosexual, by my tone of voice giving him the impression that I was against those types. "No, don't you get me wrong," he said, "Ain't nothing homo in me. Why I've beaten up more white homos than I can remember. What's more I've fucked something like twenty women. No, mister, I ain't no homo. But you've gotta understand that a coloured boy at 15 is a sure delight. Why that boy's skin was soooo soft. I slid my cock between his thighs first, man that was a beautiful sensation, then up his crack, another mind-blowing frenzy, and finally into his virgin ass. Yep, he screamed, but I really think he liked it. Made a man of him, I did." With that he gave a raucous laugh.
He now went off on a description of the coloured mans' penis. He was dumbfounded by their size and their thickness. "I've seen some as was 12 inches, I swear it. And, believe me, they know how to use them things." On and on he rambled, describing every kind of "nigger penis", till I felt nauseated with his racism and his fascination with the black penis.
"Ever seen a good long, strong, stout white Penis?" I asked. "Nope," he said, no decent Anglo ever goes staring at other guys' private parts."
"Look at this," I said, whipping out my penis, which is about 9 inches. He looked, lost control and almost crashed the car. For my part these are risks I take. He was shaken up by my totally unexpected move. I had been purposely fondling myself underneath my coat, so as to get full length and strength. He brought the car under control, pulled over onto the hard shoulder and stopped. He turned round slowly, looked down at my penis and stared at it, then at me, like an idiot. "What size you got?" I asked. "While you were describing penises of the black species I was watching your crotch getting bigger and bigger inside your pants. How about that?"
"Ok," he said, "I gotta admit a kind of fascination with the black cock. Ya see the father of that 15-year-old black boy had taken me behind the hay stack three years earlier when I was 15, had made me masturbate him till he spewed his load. Wow, what an incredible cock that was, and what a load that was! Ain't never seen that size of load before nor since. Ah've thought about it many times and even fantasized with it."
He'd fantasized with it! I knew he would soon be eating out of my hand. I tried my next move. "You want me to wank you?" I asked quietly. There was a long painful silence. He sat staring ahead, clearly wrestling with his emotions. His prejudices said no, his lusts said yes.
He looked down at my cock, which was still out. About three minutes later he said, "Man, I'm so horny I think I'll burst a blood vessel if I don't have some relief." I had kept my eye on his crotch and watched it swell in the silence. I reached over and slid his zip down. He instinctively moved his knees apart to facilitate my movement. I spread his trouser flaps apart and fondled the bulge in his briefs, running my fingers all over it, and down under his scrotum. His body quivered with excitement. I said, "You're a real sexy dude, eh? I like that, Shall I, May I, pull your cock out?"
"You fucking cunt,' he said, "You got me excited and now there's nothing else I can do. Go easy with my penis, Englishman. You hurt it, and I'll hurt you. But give it a good exercise and you won't find a more grateful guy.
I slowly, carefully, entered my fingers through the pee-hole in his briefs and manipulated quite a good-sized cock out into the open. I looked into his eyes and he grinned sheepishly. "Give it to me," he whispered hoarsely, and I set about giving it him. For several minutes I entertained him by describing the beauty of his cock. I can be very eloquent when on such an exercise, which is frequently. I wasn't altogether lying. It was an appreciable cock, about 7 1/2 inches, straight as a die, strong under my fingers. He, like me, had been circumcised, so I sang the praises of a good long circumcised cock. No messing about with unnecessary loose skin. Straight to the cock, clean and tidy. He liked that, nodded his head in agreement.
I ran my fingers round his ball sack, and he sighed with delight. "Man, I knew the English were horny, but you must be an expert. Tell me you are." By this time his cock was rigid, he was beginning to get excited. Suddenly he reached over, took my cock and began to fondle it. This excited me and I began to whack his cock with power and speed. Shortly his hand dropped away from my cock and he panted wildly, his whole body tensed and shot a load of cream over the brake stick, onto the floor and onto his trousers.
"Bravo", I shouted, "bravo, you're a real powerful shot putter. I'm just sorry I didn't get that into my mouth." His eyes glazed at the idea.
"Englishman, he said, you're brilliant. Do you want me to wank you?"
"Please," I said. "What's your name by the way?" "Duane," he said.
"I'm Guichi." "Guichi, what kind of a name is that?"
"Spanish," I replied, "my grandfather on my mother's side was Spanish."
"Yeah?" he replied. "Them Spaniards can be mighty horny, and I reckon you got his genes, Guichi." We laughed heartily together, and I knew he was falling for my bait.
I ought to explain here that in my travels I like to finish the day with sex, pure, simple, undiluted sex. Usually I try to get to my destination before 4 p.m. I then locate the local gay dive or bar through a booklet I have and spend the evening wanking, sucking and fucking with some guy. I'm not particular about looks or torsos, or height or weight. I'm after a good cock, any size, but above all a guy who has got the drive to give me sensual satisfaction. Occasionally I find a local orgy happening that night, and after a good meal with good beverages to stimulate me, I go down and mix with those who will let me, which happens to be most guys.
Just occasionally I come across a sucker like this, with a pile of crap in the brain, and unable to spot a bounder when he sees one. These guys end up paying dearly for their night's entertainment, and I still get my carnal satisfaction, even if it is a bit tarnished. We didn't move from the side of the road for several minutes. Actually we had by now pulled in under some trees in a quiet lay-by. He kept fondling my penis, expressing his gratitude for the 'privilege of fondling a very nice white guy'. "They're the best," he said loudly, "Can trust them to the nth degree." I grinned at him, applauded his intelligence and insight, and classed him again as a dupe.
"Tell you what," he said, "would you care to spend the night in bed with me?" I pretended to be taken off my stride by his request. After a long silence, I turned, looked him in the eye, and slowly, painfully, with my gob-smacked mouth wide open, nodded a dumb Yes.
"Sorry," he said, "guess I surprised you with that one, but I don't think you'll regret it. I'll give you anything you want from me. My body's yours for the night. There's a motel just down the road, about 5 miles. We could turn in there and continue our journey in the morning. I could call the wife and tell her I've had a little engine trouble. That I shall stay overnight. These things happen, and I don't reckon she'll suspect anything. Like most women she's a bit thick in the head." I almost whooped with delight. He had fallen for my bait, and the initiative had been his. I laughed with him. Expressed my opinion that the only decent sex was what two guys had together. Men understand each others sexual needs and emotional states. It would be a privilege for me to share a bed with him for the night, I said. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I held his chin, turned his lips to mine and planted a lingering kiss on them, inserting my tongue between his lips and touching his tongue briefly. I withdrew, pulled back a little, and gazed into his eyes. "Man," he said, "Ain't never been anything or nobody like this in my life before. Let's go. I can't wait." And without another word he roared his engine, spun into the road and drove five miles in 3.3 minutes. He had forgotten completely his offer to masturbate me there under the trees, but I didn't care the least. He swung into the motel car park with a wild screech of brakes. We got out, signed in and received the key to our suite. He had insisted we wanted the best they had. The young girl said this was normally reserved for honeymoon couples, but Duane assured her with a chuckle that we were "kinda like that ourselves". And she stared at us for a moment, looked confused, but gave us the key.
We got to our room, let the door swing to behind us, and I was onto Duane. I pinned him against the wall, sunk my mouth into his neck, and fondled his cock with my fingers. For several minutes we swayed our locked bodies, kissing feverishly, fingers exploring, crotches pressed together. He responded well considering this was his first experience of sex with another man. Our mouths joined and his tongue sought entrance to mine, which I conceded, and our tongues playfully battled with each other. "Let's undress each other," I urged, and we set into a frenzy of fingers finding buttons, laces and zips, till we stood with only our briefs between us and nakedness. "Ain't no guy ever seen me naked," he panted, so I grasped the elastic tops of his briefs, and yanked them down quick.
He looked at me dumbfounded. "Don't be shy, Duane," I said, "Ain't nothing you've got that any other guy hasn't. In any case you've got a cock to be proud of." He liked that, but I said nothing about him being overweight. After all, while one likes it better with a guy of beauty, well-trimmed and body abs well defined, sex doesn't depend on that, and I'd rather have a passionate guy overweight, than a beautiful body that has no passion or lust.
Duane had lust in overdrive. As we held each other round the waist he knelt down and buried his face into my crotch. There was no stopping him. Something had flared in his mind and he became a ball of fire. He lashed my cock and balls with his tongue over and over and over again. Then taking my cock in his mouth he began to 'chew' it with his lips, taking the top into his mouth, sucking it, then letting it flop out while he lashed it once more with his tongue and spittle. He seemed to want to do this again and again, and I must say I really enjoyed every moment of it. However, I decided it was my turn.
I knelt and flipped the head of his cock with my lips, pressed them tighter and started tickling his pulsating cock with my tongue, squeezing it gently with my lips. His cock reacted quickly - and in a few seconds it was leaking - and the feeling of his hot passion was driving me crazy. With a long sigh I sucked his cock deep into my mouth so that his balls slapped against my chin - he lunged, grabbed my hair with a convulsive gasp and started moving his hips faster and faster, prodding his cock deeper and deeper into my mouth. Suddenly he shot and the first two bullets went deep into my mouth. I managed to push his hips away so that the other three blasts plastered my nose, my lips and my cheeks.
Now I stood up, pushed his head down and thrust my cock into his mouth, spreading my legs as I did so. He sucked, flipped it out, splattered it all over with his spittle, and then lashed it with his tongue, while a hand fondled my balls. Somehow instinctively his other hand went to my arse cheeks, fondled them, felt its way up my crack and inserted two fingers in my back door hole. I thought, this guy is a natural for gay sex, his instincts are perfect, pity he's such a lousy looker and behaver. Reckon the only way he'll get it is by either paying for it, or indulging in some awful orgy in a lousy back-street.
He now masturbated my anus with those fingers while his mouth absorbed my cock deeper and deeper. My primal urge exploded and I grabbed his head, as he had mine, and fucked his mouth fast, deep and hard. Within a few minutes, during which time I thoroughly enjoyed that mouth-cunt ride, my whole body seized up, quivered, shivered and exploded, my cream splattering all over his mouth and cheeks. As we both had cream all over our cheeks there was no problem in rubbing our cheeks together, kissing and licking each others cheeks. We laughed together. I tried to pull away, but Duane would have none of it. "Englishman," he said, "you are the greatest thing I ever encountered. I think I could leave my wife to shack up with you. What do ya think?" "Never," I said, "This is a great encounter, but it's a one-night stand for me. I got myself a good partner for the night (I lied!), beyond that nothing. We'll have a great time. Get some food and plenty of booze this evening, return for a great fuck together, go to sleep together and wake up in the morning for another fuck before we hit the road and you drop me at some small town on the way to Tallahassee. Duane, it's gonna be a great night!"
I pulled back and looked into his yes. There was a gentle smile on his face. "No," he said, "I would never leave my wife, but you've opened up a new experience for me, Englishman, and I'm gonna exploit it in the future. I'll even go over to England and we'll spend a week together in some remote resort and give ourselves to wanking, sucking and whatever else there may be."
Reflecting on this encounter I must explain that for me sex is sex, full-stop. I had started out on this road when I was 16. Met and fell in love with a guy ten years my senior. He was tickled to death by my gob-smacked attraction to his face, his body, and above all by his genitals. He took this naive kid up, used him and abused him for 6 months, and then dropped me like a child who had lost interest in his latest toy. I was devastated. I was angry, I was shattered. However, I went on to realise that he had inaugurated me into the thrills of gay sex, and since then my motto has been "An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away." I really do think that sex, frequent sex, is good for a man's health!
With that we agreed on the food and went to a nearby Italian restaurant. The Italian waiter was a great piece of youthful cheesecake, and over-friendly to me, so as he leaned over me to take the dessert order I stroked the inside of his thighs. He slowed his movement to spend more time in that position and give me more chance to fondle him, even touching his growing rod. He sighed deeply, looked hauntingly at me, and moved away. Our eyes met several times after that and I was hurt to see the anguish in his. He seemed to be imploring me. I was tempted to abandon Duane and shack up with my Italian buddy for the night. But the material pickings would be lean in his case.
I got Duane to drink well and we bought a bottle of scotch for the motel room and headed there. A couple of whiskies more and my room mate for the night was sozzled and had only one desire. He sat on the bed looking at me with pure lust in his eyes. I stripped off his shirt and for the first time studied his chest. Very hairy, it made him look manly. I ran my fingers through his chest hair and purred, "I can't resist a hairy chest," bent down and kissed his pecs and abs. He had very white skin, which looked as though it never saw the light of the sun. His dick was strong and thick, if a little on the smaller side, 7-7 1/2 inches. Added to his body hair were thick eyebrows and a swarthy moustache.
He held my head closer to his chest and burbled as happily as an infant. I undid his belt, got him to stand up and stripped him down. He looked at me with a smirk on his face, and when I pulled down his briefs his stiff cock sprang out. I grabbed it hungrily, knelt down before him, and attended to his whole scrotum, licking and chewing his ball sac, his pubic hair and his penis.
I got up, stepped back and suggested we lay on the bed which we did, and the fun began. I won't go through the initial stages, since we had already done that twice. The crucial part came when I told him I was gonna fuck him. He demurred at this, said it was too feminine for a guy to permit that to happen to himself. I assured him that it was the culminating experience of the gay relationship. Told him he would never be welcome to another such experience unless he surrendered his male cunt to another guy, and that one day, perhaps even tomorrow before we part company, he could take me in the same way. My ass had been host to many guests, particularly American whites, even, and more often, in the south.
So he surrendered his virginity, though he maintained a certain negative attitude to it right through. O.k., I said to him, it's not everything in sex, and now that you've felt it once you can decide at a later time whether you ever want to repeat it. Actually I couldn't help feeling a little guilty. We had had sex twice so far, and by now I was tired of him. He was still the racial bigot, the overweight moron, the self-centred faggot of black cocks, the sodden drunk who I had hitched a lift from. While the first and second sexual acts were pleasant enough, by now I just wanted out, my mind screaming at me to cut and run. But take it easy buddy, the best is yet to be.
And so we went to bed. I feigned sleep and he soon dropped off, satisfied to the full by sex and booze. I hated the smell of his booze. Most of mine had gone into a bottle I had hidden. I too dropped off, but under my armpit I had placed a tiny watch which buzzed with a mini electric current two hours later. Quietly I slithered out of the bed, got dressed, and went in search of his wallet. Duane snored lustily, so I knew I was safe. In his wallet I found a little over $530, so I took the 500 and left him with the small change. I removed his Visa card. Earlier that evening I had suggested he might like to give me a small thank-offering for introducing him to the joys of man-on-man sex, maybe $100? I had watched over his shoulder as he typed in his password, and carefully noted it. I noticed he had taken out $500, and had wondered how much he intended to give me. Now I was off with his credit card and his car. To slow him down I also put his clothes into the trunk of the car! He'd have some explaining to do in the morning!!!
As I drove away from the motel I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the guy who I was swindling. But then I reasoned, in some ways we were birds of a feather. He a lousy, big-gutted, bigoted racist; me a down-and-out Englishman, tricking my way through America.
I drove for three hours south and stopped at a diner at 7 a.m. at a little town called Valdosta. I went to an ATM machine and relieved his credit card of $2,000. Since the system had accepted this it meant he had more to his credit, so at another machine I relieved his account of another $2,000. I then set off hitch-hiking again, stashing the cash in my knapsack very carefully.
That afternoon I arrived at Tallahassee. I found in the directions supplied by my contacts, the details of a local gay escort, recommended as the best guy in northern Florida. I procured him, went to his place, had sex, took him to a top of the town restaurant, where I wined and dined him in style. We headed back to his place and had sex again, went to a theatre for the evening, then back to his place for sex, bed, more sex during the night and more before breakfast. I gave him $500 for his services and continued my hitch-hiking. That escort was the finest I had ever been able to afford, and now I was happily on my way 'itch-'iking across America!
Oh, and I forgot to say, two nights later I headed back to a motel, different from my earlier one, near Savannah, and went for supper at 6 in the Italian restaurant. I took a table in the corner. Yes, he was there, that small, sweet, horny, young waiter. He recognised me and a big grin spread over his face. When he served me he stood in a position in which his crotch and my hand could not be seen by anyone. Very clever. I stroked his thigh and crotch as he lingered, and his cock sprouted. I had written a note on a card, and now passed it to him. Could we spend the night together? He gave me a beaming smile and nodded yes.
Later as he served my dishes he put my card on the table, on the back of which he had written, "I have an ensuite room above the restaurant. Be here at 9 p.m. and we'll retire to the boudoir." I liked that French madam's touch.
I didn't bother to move for the next two hours, enjoyed watching his lithe form as he flitted around the restaurant, almost I think doing a dance for my eyes. Occasionally he came over to me, either to renew my glass of water or wine, or when business was slack to pass a few words with me. My hand became wild on such moments. Well, to cut things short. We had a tremendous time that night. He was a raw recruit to gay sex, and I thoroughly enjoyed sexing and fucking him four times over the night. I was sad to leave him, but left my personal details, and we have since corresponded by email. Maybe he'll come to England one day, or I'll be back here. Let's go "'itch-'iking in America."
Note: Hope you liked this rather unusual story. If you want something more conventional see my story, "Josh k'o'd me with one Punch," located on Nifty Adult Friends, November 14 2003
I intend to develop this story by having the young Italian waiter come to me in England and enjoy some times together. It's gonna be hot stuff! Any suggestions?
Contact me on Guichi777@excite.com.