Jcs Hitchhiker

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.

2. I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've been happy to hear from everyone who wrote to ask questions or say how much they liked this so far. This is my first attempt at this sort of writing, so the feedback is appreciated.

And now, back to our story in progress.

JC's Hitchhiker - Part 6

"So then he comes out of the bedroom, and all he's wearing is this giant diaper, and he's carrying a bottle of baby powder, and he's like, 'Does mommy want to help me?' and I was like, 'I have to go, right now, I think I left my house on fire,' because I couldn't think of anything to say, and I swear I'm never going on a blind date again, ever, as long as I live, and Jack, are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" I asked, pulled out of a daydream of running down the beach with Josh and some large dog that neither of us owns.

"I asked if you were listening to a word I just said," Carla repeated. "I was telling you about my adventures in diaper-land, and you didn't even giggle."

"Sorry," I said, smiling sheepishly. I'd been tuning out all day.

"All right, out with it," Carla said. "And I've already figured out half of it, so you might as well just give me the whole story. It would be nice to tell my mom that one of us is dating."

Carla was my best friend, the health teacher at the school where we both worked. Every day after school we jogged the track, or, in winter, around the inside of the gym. We'd been friends for about three years, having both started at the school at the same time, and Carla was fond of referring to me as her "best girlfriend". Her mom nursed a delusion that I was just a little confused, because she thought Carla and I were the perfect couple, and was forever encouraging her to "help me out" of my confusion. She was also forever fixing Carla up with random men (God knows where she met them), and Carla kept going on these dates on the off chance that one of them might turn out to be a good guy.

"But Carla, you are dating," I said. "And you'll already be set with diapers when the baby comes."

"Funny," she said. "So, Mr. Springer, let's see what I've gleaned from my students today. It would appear that you have been harboring a longstanding and secret friendship with a certain pop star that you somehow forgot to mention."

"Where would you have heard such a thing?" I asked casually, smiling. Yeah, she had me.

"From one of the girls who saw him in your library last week," Carla answered. "Now, just coincidentally, you've also just returned from the weekend apparently completely out of touch with reality. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say you had a well-fucked glow about you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I protested lamely, trotting out tired clich‚s. "We're just friends."

"Really? Because, you know, you and I are just friends, too, and I've never given you one of those," she said, tapping at the base of her neck. That she'd be able to see the enormous and junior-highish hickey when I changed into a t-shirt to jog in had completely slipped my mind. "I know you like that dirty pop, Jack."

"Shaving accident," I said, even less believably.

"Were you shaving with the vacuum?" Carla asked in mock-seriousness.

"Ummm, yes?" I answered. "It's nothing. Josh and I are just friends."

"Really?" she asked.

At that precise moment the cell phone in the pocket of my shorts rang, the tiny tinkling notes playing out "I lie awake, I drive myself crazy" before I could answer it.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hi," Josh answered. "I love you. Bye."

Hanging up, I slid the phone back into my pocket, my face now bright red.

"Oh, and did I mention the cell phone that you didn't have last week?" Carla asked, laughing. "You know, the one that plays N'Sync when it rings? Did I mention that? Because I don't think I did."

"All right! I give up! You win!" I almost yelled. Luckily we were almost done with our run, so I didn't really have the lung power to scream. "I knew I should have set the phone to vibrate."

The phone had arrived that day, at lunchtime. I had been quietly eating my lunch at the front desk of the library ("No food or drink!" unless you're the librarian) when a deliveryman had knocked at the front door.

"Can I help you?" I asked, answering the door.

"Package for Jack Springer," the man said, holding a silver foil-wrapped box with a large silver bow on top.

"That's me," I said, taking it, and signing for it.

As I carried it back to the desk, I checked the top and sides, but there was no card. Suddenly music, the tinkling electronic music of programmable cell phone ringers, began to emit from it. Listening as I struggled to untie the bow, I realized it was playing the chorus to "Drive Myself Crazy", from N'Sync's debut album. Inside the box, a tiny silver phone lay nestled in a bed of silver-streaked tissue paper, cheerily playing its ringer-song like a bird in a silver cage.

"Hello?" I asked, answering the phone.

"Hi, I miss you," Josh said.

I melted at the sound of his voice.

"I miss you, too," I said, sitting down. The library was empty, so I didn't bother carrying the phone into my office.

"I sent you a present," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I see that," I said, smiling, too.

"It's programmed with my cell number, the studio where we're recording, and the condo where I'm staying while we're here," he said. "You can call me whenever you want, and now I can call you, too."

"You are such a sweetheart," I said. "You know I won't always be able to answer this, right?"

"I know," he answered. "It sends text, too."

"Good God," I said, laughing. In the halls the bells rang. "Josh, lunch is over. I have to go."

"OK, I have to go, too," he said, sighing. "But I love you."

"I love you, too, and I miss you like hell," I said. "Bye now."

"Bye," he said, hanging up the phone.

I shut the phone off, assured by the instructions I found under the tissue paper that it would forward all calls to voicemail. Checking it before I left the locker room to go jogging, I discovered that it did, because the voice mailbox was full. I had a message, every hour on the hour, from Josh, telling me he loved me and he missed me. I couldn't decide if I thought it was really sweet, or just completely over the top, but hey, that was Josh.

"OK, so remember that librarian conference thing I went to last year?" I began.

"That one where your car caught on fire?" Carla asked as we began walking.

"Yeah, well, I left out a little part," I began. "The car that gave me a ride to Phoenix wasn't technically a car. It was N'Sync's tour bus."

I laid out the entire story for her, from getting on the bus to dropping Josh off at the airport last night. I left most of the dialogue intact, paraphrasing, but cut out most of the sex, or at least glossed it over. When we finished our cool-down walk, we paused at the bleachers, where Carla lit up a cigarette. She did this after every run, as if to counterbalance the effects of fitness.

"Oh, that's healthy," I said, smirking. "Which class unit do you go over smoking in, again?"

"It's right after the one where we talk about random sexual encounters with drunken celebrities," she answered, grinning. "So you go to visit him in 14 days, huh? Can I go?"

"Why?" I asked. "You hate their music."

"Yeah, but you know, you got one of them," she said, blowing smoke rings. "A girl only gets so many chances."

"Oh, and you think one of them's just going to randomly fall in love with you because you're my best friend?" I asked. "What kind of stories have you been reading?"

"Sorry, I thought I might have a chance," she said, shaking her head. "Because, you know, Joey's cute."

"The fat one?" I blurted.

"You're evil," she said. "So, what are you going to do when you get out there?"

"I don't know," I answered. "Hang out, see what he does, you know, stuff like that."

"Sigh a lot, moon around his house like a couple puppies, have a lot of sex," Carla added. "Jack, are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, you haven't dated in like, how long?"

"Sorry, Good Humor girl, we can't all have been around the block as many times as you," I said. "You make it sound like he had to crack open the sarcophagus to pull me out, Carla."

"I'm not saying that," she said, taking another long drag. "It's just that you've gone from like, zero to sixty in about three seconds. You've been with him for all of five or six days, and now you're flying out to see his house and meet his friends. Are you ready for this?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I've already met his friends. I met them on the bus."

"Yeah, for like three seconds, as the guy whose car broke down, not as JC, their friend's, secret boyfriend," she said. We stopped, having reached the parking lot, and she put a hand on my shoulder. "I just don't want you to get hurt, kiddo."

"Carla," I began, shrugging off the hand and the "kiddo", "I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing."

But, like a good friend usually will, she'd said what needed to be, whether I wanted to hear it or not.

The next week was like the twelve days of Christmas or something. Josh called several times a day on the phone, but barely stayed on long enough to have a conversation. I gathered that they were very busy, fine-tuning some of the songs, writing and rewriting some new ones, and recording, and doing publicity, so he tended to call me between things, when he got a minute alone. I missed the sound of his voice, so the calls helped, but I also missed actually speaking to him, so I was hoping we'd find time soon. To make up for not being able to talk much, Josh showered me with presents, so many that I started to feel a little overwhelmed.

On Monday, the phone had arrived.

On Tuesday, I came home to find a delivery truck out front, loaded with an entire living room set.

"Josh, why is there an entire set? I told you I'd replace the chair," I said, watching the guys remove my old couch. "I appreciate you doing it, but really, a whole living room?"

"I wanted it to match," he said. He sounded a little hurt. "If you don't like it, you know, you can tell the guys to take it back."

"No, Josh, no, I like it fine," I said quickly. "It's very nice furniture. It's just a little bit of a surprise."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I answered. "But, Josh."

"I gotta go," he said. I heard someone talking in the background. "We'll talk about it later, ok?"

"Sure," I said. Sure, later.

Except we didn't get to talk about it that night, and the next day, on Wednesday, a truckload of roses arrived at the library. I handed them out to the teachers, and invited the guys to take them home to their wives or girlfriends, keeping one vase for myself.

On Thursday, Carla stopped by the apartment after school just as the chef arrived, having come to prepare me a dinner, because, he said, "I'm told you don't eat right because you like to cook." I didn't have the heart to send him away, knowing that he was paid for and that it would be a waste of money, but I also felt a little odd having a total stranger wander my kitchen, so I invited Carla to stay for dinner.

"So, this is nice," she said, her silverware clinking on the fine china that the chef had brought and left.

"Isn't it?" I said flatly.

"Did you call him?" she asked.

"Got the voicemail," I answered. My dinner seemed oddly tasteless.

"You guys need to talk," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed.

The rest of dinner was spent in either awkward silence or idle chatter about work and our other friends. I never got Josh on the phone that night, although he did text message me sometime after I'd gone to bed to tell me he loved me.

He loved me so much, in fact, that I almost tripped over the cooler I found on my doorstep Friday afternoon. Opening it, I found a large box of expensive chocolates, sitting in ice, with a note from Josh.

"Hi. I was afraid they might melt. They're sweet, but not half as sweet as you. Love, Josh"

Exasperated, I set the cooler down inside my door, without even taking the chocolates out, and called Josh. As had been typical, I got the voicemail.

"Josh, it's Jack. I really, really need to talk to you. I know you're busy, but I need you to call me tonight, please whenever you get in. Go ahead and wake me if you have to, but please, please just call me. I love you."

And then I waited. I washed my new dishes and put them away. I sat on my new couch, reading, with my new phone next to me. From where I was, I could see my rose bouquet drying on the wall of the guestroom. (Yes, I'm that sentimental.) Eventually I emptied my new cooler, putting it in a closet and throwing my new chocolates in the refrigerator, but I still had not been called by my new boyfriend.

As the evening wore on, without any calls or text messages, I decided that I was tired enough to settle into bed, and keep reading there. I stripped down to my boxers, propped a couple pillows against the headboard, and was just settling in and reaching for my book when the cell phone finally rang.

"Hello?" I asked, even though I knew who was calling.

"Hi there," Josh said warmly. "Is everything ok?"

"That depends," I answered, stretching out. I shut off the lamp, wanting only to concentrate on his voice.

"On what?" he asked.

"On whether or not we have time to talk," I answered. "Do we?"

"Of course we do," he said, urgency creeping into his voice. I could picture that little line forming between his eyebrows. "Jack, is everything ok?"

"For starters, I miss you," I said. "Not being around you hurts a little more than I thought it would."

"I know," he said. "I miss you, too. Can't you tell?"

"Actually, Josh, that's part of the issue," I said. "Please don't get upset, but I don't want anymore presents, Josh."

"What?" he asked, confused. "Did I do something wrong? You don't like them?"

"No, no, please calm down," I said, running my hand through my hair. I could see him sitting up somewhere, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, looking frantic and drumming his fingers absently yet urgently on his knee. "Josh, I like them fine, but it isn't presents I want."

"What do you want, then?" he asked. "Just tell me whatever it is, Jack, and I'll get it."

"Josh, I'm trying to tell you what I want," I answered. "I want you, ok? I want you. I like flowers. I like chocolate. I liked dinner, and the new couch is comfortable as hell, but Josh, none of it matters to me."

"But I thought that if I wasn't there, it would be like I was," he answered sullenly. I could tell he was getting upset, because he'd thought he was doing the right thing, but here I was not appreciating it. "I thought you'd like it."

"Josh, please calm down," I said. "Wherever you are, please just sit down, and hear me out. I like everything you bought me, I told you that, but Josh, it's not about the stuff. It's not about the presents, it's about you. It's you I miss, Josh, and it's you I want. I'd rather have five minutes to just talk to you, and hear your voice, than all the presents you could ever buy me."

"You really mean that, don't you?" he asked.

"Hell yes I mean it," I answered. "I feel better right now than I have all week, just lying here talking to you."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have known."

"Don't be sorry, Josh, please," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong. You've gone to amazing, great lengths this week to try to make me happy, but Josh, all you really have to do is pick up the phone."

"Jack," he sighed. "I love you. I really do. And I never get tired of saying it."

"Good, because I never get tired of hearing it," I said. "So, how was your week?"

Josh began to explain everything he'd done this week, his long explanations of recording and editing mixed in with equally lengthy explanations of setting up the gifts for me. He'd handled all of them himself, to avoid unwanted questions, which left me surprised. I hadn't realized how much work he'd actually done for all of this, just assuming that he'd given it all to some intern or something.

As he talked, I tried to imagine him. Closing my eyes I pictured him laying back on his bed, just like me on mine. I saw his hair tossed casually back from his forehead, and imagined him with one arm thrown casually over his head, because that's what I was doing. I imagined the planes of his face, so familiar to so many people but intimately familiar to me, the shape of his nose, the way his lips moved when he said my name, the dark shape of five o'clock shadow on his cheeks and jaw. I saw the rise and fall of his chest, his small brownish nipples moving in time to his words, his abs a little crunched from elevating his head and decorated by that tiny almost invisible strip of dark hair that led down to his waistband. In my head, he was wearing the black boxer briefs he'd worn the night I met him, clinging to his waist, wrapped tightly around his firm thighs, loose but full over his crotch. I saw his calves flexing as he shifted his legs absently, being the kind of person who was always moving at least some part of his body.

"I love being back here with the guys, and you know I love my music, but I really wish I was back there with you, too," he said, sighing.

"I wish you were here, too," I said, my eyes closed as I pictured some of the things we'd done in my bed. "The things I'd do to you."

"What kind of things?" he asked. Oh yeah, we were on the same wavelength.

"Well, I think I'd start by running my hand over your chest," I said, running my hand over mine. "I'd slide it down between your pecks, and then rest it on your heart for a minute, just feeling it beat."

"That's where my hand is right now," he said. "What else would you do?"

"I'd realize that your nipple was right there, and I'd brush it, ever so lightly with my little finger," I said. "Then I'd slide my hand across your chest, feeling you breathe, and I'd grab your other nipple with my finger and thumb and just pull it, just a little, not too hard, though."

I heard a sharp intake of breath over the phone.

"And then?" he asked.

"And then I think I'd run it down your stomach, right over your abs, and I'd dip my fingers just below the waistband of your boxer briefs," I said. "I'd leave them there for a second, and then I think I'd slide my hand all the way down."

Holding the phone to my ear with one hand, I slid my hand into my shorts and wrapped my fingers around my throbbing pole.

"Oooh, guess what I found in there?" I asked. "I'm wrapping my fingers around it, and squeezing, just a little. Tell me about it, Josh."

"I'm hard," he panted. "I'm so hard it hurts, and when you squeeze me my hips jump a little, and I want you to do more."

"What do you want me to do, Josh?" I asked, squeezing.

"I want you to run your hand up and down it," he said. "I want you to stroke it, hard, and fast."

"I am," I said, and I was. "I've got my fingers around it now, and I can feel how hard it is. I can feel it throbbing in time to your heartbeat, and I'm pulling my hand up and down it right now, slowly at first, but now I'm starting to go faster. I'm starting to really feel it now, and I'm brushing my thumb over the top."

I heard his breathing increase over the phone, and realized I could also hear both of our beds squeaking.

"I'm going very fast now, and running my hand over the top," I said. "I'm squeezing harder, because I can see that you're close. You're leaking a little, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he panted.

"I know, because I am, too," I said. "I'm going faster now, Josh. I'm going a lot faster. How does it feel?"

"Oh, God, it feels good, Jack," he panted.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Josh," I said, close to the end. I imagined he was, too, and behind my closed eyelids I could see him getting tense, his legs drawing up a little, his chest flexing, his nipples hard and pointed, and his head thrown back, mouth hanging open. "Do you want me to do it just a little more? Do you want me to go even faster than I have been? Faster? Faster, Josh? Because I am. I'm going faster, and faster, and now I'm flicking the head again, I've got my hand right there on you, and I'm going faster now."

I heard him cry out on the other end of the line, and the sound of it sent my cock spasming as well. Cum splashed across my belly.

"Josh, you ok?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah," he panted. "That was good, Jack."

"Pretty messy, though," I said, looking down.

"I've never done that before," he said, in a "wow" sort of voice. I could see his face, eyes wide, smile wider.

"Me either," I confessed, feeling amusedly dirty. "On that note, I vote we go to sleep."

"I love you, Jack," Josh said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, and I promise no more extravagant presents."

"OK, Josh," I said. "I love you, too. Good night."

True to his word, Josh sent no more extravagant presents. We talked every night for the next week, finalizing the details of my travel, and just sharing the usual stuff that people who are separated share. The urge for phone sex somehow never came upon us again, but I was looking forward to having some real sex soon to make up for it.

At school, the year wrapped up in kind of a haze for me. I floated through finals, helping out with exam proctoring, locating books for summer school and summer reading lists, and closing up the library for the year. I did my orders for next year, and separated out the older books for sale. The morning after graduation, which went off without a hitch, Carla drove me to the airport. As they called for my plane to board, she gave me a big hug.

"Good luck, and call me, ok?" she said.

"Sure I will, kiddo," I said.

"You know, I kind of envy you," she said. "You're going on an adventure."

"Hey, you'll have a blind date again soon," I said, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"You know what I mean," she said. "Go find yourself a man, ok?"

"I already have," I answered.

The flight passed rather quickly with a thick book in hand. I was fortunate enough not to have to change planes, although we made a few stops, so I could just tune everything out. On the final approach to the last airport, my stop, I had to put my book away, because I was too full of anticipation. I was going to see Josh, finally, after what seemed like forever.

I was so intently focused on this, and on finding Josh, that I walked right past Chris without seeing him.

"Jack?" he called. I turned, and saw him walking toward me. "I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure, since I only met you that one time."

"Chris," I said, shaking his hand. "Hi. Did you drive Josh?"

Chris swallowed uncomfortably.

"Actually, no," Chris answered. "I'm here because JC isn't coming."

That's it for now. Thanks again for the feedback, everyone, and the next installment is coming soon.