The places in this story are real, but any similarity to real persons or events is purely coincidental. The story contains explicit sexual content; so if such material offends you, or if you are under the legal age to read such material, please move on.
Feedback is appreciated. Contact macoutmann@yahoo.com.
JOHN'S HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE
Part 1
by Macout Mann
My brother, Chuck, hitched from Mobile to Atlanta and back over Thanksgiving a coupla years ago. I've been hot to do some major hitching ever since. Oh, I've hitched down to the beach and back, that sort of thing, but never any long distance shit.
I just finished my freshman year at Auburn. Big bro's working a coupla jobs in New Orleans this summer, so I'm ready to go. I figure I'll go to Atlanta, spend a day or so with Granddad, then head on to Chattanooga, Nashville, and Memphis, then down to New Orleans. If I'm lucky, Chuck'll still be down there and I can ride back to Mobile with him. If not, I can hitch that too.
Chuck's given me some advice. Some from his own experience, some from talking to other hitchers. To travel light, a coupla pairs of jeans and t shirts, toothbrush, shaving gear. A pair of tight cutoffs, cut short, in case I'm really having trouble getting a ride. A good sleeping bag. No use trying to get rides after dark these days. He says not to try anything with a gal, unless she starts it, but don't expect to get picked up by one anyway. He says I've had enough experience with guys to know what to do.
At the last minute I decided to start out on Saturday. Monday Chuck's gotta leave for N.O. real early. So Saturday he could drop me at a good I65 ramp about 7. I could get an early start. And that's what he did.
I was there about fifteen minutes, when this old guy stops and says he's not going far but can get me out of town a ways. I jump in. He's driving a beat up 90s SUV and don't talk a lot. And he meant he wasn't going far. He drops me off about three exits down. It's a good place, though. Several gas stations and fast foods. I'm on the ramp maybe twenty minutes, when I see a black, late model hybrid sedan pull off the freeway to tank up. I have a feeling this'll turn into a ride, and sure enough, he pulls to a stop and I get in.
The dude's good looking, about 30, wearing a white t shirt and black dress pants. On a hanger in back is a black coat and some other stuff. "Hi," he says, extending his hand, "I'm Father Stone. Where're you headed?"
"I'm John," I say. "Going to Atlanta right now." I pause, then ask, "So you're a priest, are ya?" Then without thinking I add, "I'm probably a little old for ya, huh?"
I bite my tongue. Shit! I'm goanna get kicked out before we even get started.
I'm surprised when he busts out laughing. "I'm an Episcopal Priest," he says. "I've got a wife and two kids. So you don't have to worry.
"Sounds like you may have had some experiences, though," he continues, halfway to himself.
So I don't know what to say. Is he goanna give me a big lecture about how big a sinner I am? Well, if it gets to heavy, I can always ask to be let out. So I reply, "Oh, I like girls, o.k., but I've messed around with some guys too. I aint ashamed of it."
"I'm not goanna criticize you," he says. "Our church even has a gay bishop with a boyfriend."
I'm practically struck dumb.
Turns out that Fr. Stone's been to a conference in Mobile, and he's going back home to Montgomery. He don't say anything more about my "experiences," but asks me what I'm going to Atlanta for. I tell him that Granddad lives there, and I tell him about my hitchhiking plans. When he finds out I'm in college, he wants to know all about that. We hit it off real good.
He did ask me if I go to church. I said no, that we wasn't a religious family. Pretty liberal about most things. He said that was for me to decide; but if I ever felt like talking to anybody about God or was ever in trouble or anything, he hoped I'd talk to one of their guys. "Most of us are pretty reasonable," he chuckled.
I told him when my mom was in the hospital an Episcopal Priest had come to see her several times. "He was cool,"I told him," just like you."
We'd been on the road over two hours. I just had to ask him.
"Dude," I said, "I got a roommate at school. Him and his family's so hung up on the Bible and church that they can't say two sentences without mentioning God. And my roomie thinks even thinking about sex is sinful, although he's always sinning. But here I am. I told you I mess around with guys and you don't say a fucking word!
"Sorry about that," I murmer.
"Not the first time I've heard the word, 'fuck.'" he says. "Don't sweat it.
"First of all," he continued, "if I started to criticize, you wouldn't listen. It'd just piss you off.
"Second, Americans especially are too hung up about sex anyway. Especially gay sex. You know, John, God made all of us. Straight, gay, bi. And he loves gays just as much as he loves me. I don't understand it. But, you know, I'm not supposed to. I do know that nothing He put on this earth is bad. Everything God made he made for our use.....in moderation. Yeah, you can fuck too much, or without any consideration for your partner. You can also eat too much, and without any concern for for those that don't have anything to eat. You can probably pray too much. I know damned well you can pray for the wrong things.
"But third, people who quote the Bible about sex don't know what they're talking about. Sure, St. Paul condemned homosexuality and all sorts of casual sex. But they were in a society where guys went to the pagan temples to fuck the priestesses--part of the religion--and nobody thought anything about dudes having sex with each other. He was just trying to say that Christians ought to be different. Moderation all over again. And not only that, some theologians think Paul was gay himself.
"And as far as the Old Testament is concerned, you gotta realize that back then the most important thing was to have kids. If you didn't have a lot of kids, odds are your race'd die out. "Spilling your seed on the ground' was a waste of valuable sperm. And sure, homosexuality was 'an abomination.' Same reason. But making a garment out of more than one kind of fiber was also 'an abomination.' The pants I've got on are a blend. So I've committed as big a sin as you have, whenever you've experimented with another guy."
(I hope I've got everything he said right. I wrote it all down as soon as he let me out.)
We approached the interchange where I85 begins. He pulled off the freeway to let me out at the bottom of a ramp heading to Atlanta.
"I shook hands and said, "You're a cool dude, father. It was great being with you."
"Thanks, John. I enjoyed it too. Hope you have a good adventure. And tell your grandfather I think he has a neat grandson."
It took me about an hour and two short rides to get to the outskirts of Montgomery. It was another forty-five minutes before I got my next ride.
The Suburban looked familiar, but, hell, one car looks like another one these days, even the expensive ones.
"Is that you, John?"
Shit! It was my Political Science Prof. from school.
"Yessir, Mr. Rogers. Thanks for stopping."
I climbed in and stowed my shit in back.
"What in the world are you doing out here?" he laughed.
I told him about my plans. "Ought to make a good 'What I did on my summer vacation' essay," I said.
"If you don't get killed in the process,". he said.
The drive to Auburn took less than an hour. I was surprised that he remembered so much about my work in his class. We had a neat conversation. He dropped me at the College Street exit and wished me luck.
So now it's about two o'clock. I havent eaten anything since six. So I spot a Burger King and head over to have it my way. I've got a credit card stuffed in my sock for emergencies. But Chuck said I needed to live by my wits, if I was goanna do my thing. Still, I've got two twenties one in each front jean pocket. They're supposed to keep me from starving.
When I get back to the ramp I'm still not totally full, and I'm short four dollars and change.
Auburn's not as active as it is during regular college sessions. I wait 'til about 3:30, before I get my next ride. It's with a towheaded sixteen year old. He says he's just headed to Opelika. That's like right next door. But I say anything's a help, and we take off down I85.
"My pop says not to pick up hitchhikers, but I do anyway," he volunteers.
"Oh?" I respond.
"Yeah. He says they're all perverts. But I don't care. I think he'd be a pervert if he could. He's just afraid."
"That ain't something you oughta be saying about your dad," I say.
"Do you like to get your dick sucked?"
"You think I'm a pervert," I ask.
"Nah," he says. "But most of the guys I see hitching these days are old homeless dudes that I'd be afraid to suck. I'd love to suck yours, though; and looking at what's happening to your crotch, I think you'd love to have me do it."
He reached over and grabbed my hardening tool, but the clatter of the tires rolling into the breakdown lane told us both he'd better pay more attention to his driving than to my dick. He left the freeway at the next exit and parked in a secluded grove.
"So you do like to get your dick sucked, don't ya?"
"Don't everybody?" I replied.
He opened my fly. "I wish I could go commando," he said. "My pop says it's gay."
"Lotta straight guys freeball," I said.
"Don't matter," he panted, "I just want your dick.
"Shit,it's a big motherfucker!"
"I aint never been ashamed of it," I told him. "Inherited it from my dad."
He was one unbelievable cocksucker. I knew he was special, when his lips closed over my knob, and when my knob touched his throat I was in heaven. His tongue encircled my pole aach time his lips slithered up and down. He was in no hurry, just gave me steady head, until I couldn't hold back any more and exploded into his eager mouth.
"God, where did you learn to suck like that?" I asked.
"I been blowing dudes since before I could cum," he answered. "A kid I knew--he was in high school--he taught me. I love it." It was fucking wierd. I gave him two loads, before he was ready to let me go.
It took me longer to get from Auburn to Opelika than it did from Montgomery to Auburn.
It was almost 8. Just across the Georgia line is was 9. Eastern time. I was afraid I was goanna have to break out my sleeping bag. But suddenly a car stopped. Inside was a dude with a boy about eight or nine years old in the passenger seat.
"Going toward Atlanta?" the driver asked.
"Sure am," I yelled back. "Heading up to see my granddad."
I hopped in back. The boy said, "Daddy, it's really nice to have a traveling companion, isn't it?" (I kid you not. That's exactly what he said.)
Nobody said anything until the kid had drifted off to sleep.
Then the father said, "You know, I don't pick up hitchhikers every day. But you look so much like my younger brother used to."
We sped through the darkness, and over the next two plus hours he told me more about himself than I'm sure even his wife knew. He was a partner in a big investment firm. He loved his kid, but his wife resented the boy. Taking care of her son kept her away from things she really wanted to do. He had been a poor boy. Had the guts to get to the top. He said his kid brother wasn't willing to do the tough shit. He'd got into drugs. Became a hustler. Hit the road. Nobody knows what became of him.
"You're probably goanna be just like him," he said.
Man, he really pissed me.
"Look, man," I said, "I'm a fucking college student. I'm out here, because I wanna be, not because I gotta be. And you can dump me out right now, if you wanna. I don't give a shit.
"But I'll tell ya right now. your goddam brother's probably twice the man you are, because he's been there, done that, and don't have any hangups about it. You act like you aint never done nothing you ain't proud of, but I can tell you've got so fucking many hangups you can't see straight. What you need is a good ass fucking!"
Well, he didn't kick me out. As we approached Atlanta, I called Granddad on my cell and we agreed on a place where he'd pick me up. I told my ride he ought to meet my granddad. He didn't want to. Dropped me where I said, and drove away.
A few minutes later Granddad picked me up. He's over sixty, but it's hard to believe it. He still works framing houses and is in as good shape as a thirty-year-old. I ought to mention that all the guys in our family are bi, and I'm looking forward to some hot sex with him. My dad wouldn't mess around with me and Chuck, but Granddad don't have any such scruples. So we've both got our palms around the other's dick as we head across east Atlanta to his little house.
Coyright 2011, Macout Mann