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JOHN'S HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE
Part 3
by Macout Mann
I'm less than 150 miles from Nashville and it's 8:30 in the morning. There's rush hour traffic, but nothing like Atlanta. I wait twenty-five minutes before this business man picks me up. Pin stripe suit, power tie, the whole bit. He says he's going to Birmingham and was hoping I was headed down I59 too.
He drops me where I59 begins and heads south. Now all the traffic that comes by will be headed toward Nashville. I find a place and stick out my thumb.
It's not too long before a beat-up Jeep rolls up. The driver is a guy about my age. Rough looking motherfucker. Backwards baseball cap. Sleeves ripped off at the shoulders. Holes everywhere on his jeans. Unshaven. Tat of a black widow on one arm, bloody dagger on the other. F - U - C - K tatooed on the fingers of his right hand. He seems friendly enough, though. Says folks call him Tiger.
I just tell him I'm going to Nashville, 'cause I've never been there. He says it's a good place to have fun. But he can find all the fun he needs in Tracy City, where he's from. That's where he's headed. It's up on top of Monteagle. There's a town of Monteagle. The freeway goes through there. Tracy City's to the north. Just a little burg, really. The Domain of the University of the South is to the south. That's Sewanee. Two different worlds. But some of the college boys do come down to Tracy City looking for gals into kinky shit. "And we got plenty of them, He says. "We're all white trash, I guess."
We've moved into a beautiful area. Foothills of the Appalachians. A georgeous lake stretches out to our right. Spectacular scenery wherever you look.
Tiger pulls a joint out of his shirt pocket and lights up. Offers me a hit. I tell him no, that I've got enough bad habits.
"So what you call a 'bad habit?'" he asks.
"Oh, sex and liquor, I guess."
"Fuck it, man, aint nothing wrong with sex. And if you like sex you oughta come over to Tracy City. We got some real bitches. There's this one gal: She's given head to so many guys, we've blindfolded her and lined up and had her guess who she'd just sucked, based on the taste of their cum. And a lota times she's right! Another one'll let one dude fuck her in the ass, while another one's in her pussy."
"Yeah man, that's the greatest feeling in the world," I said. "Me and my bro used to do that to a neighbor gal back home. It was fucking awesome. Chuck used to fuck her mom, too; but I never tried that."
I got a roaring hardon as we talked. And I didn't try to hide it. That's what happens when you talk sex, right?
"You want me to take care of that for ya?" he suddenly asked.
"Hell, yeah," I answered. "You like to suck?"
"I like everything," he said.
Ahead was a little island in the lake. A causeway had been built from the freeway, and the island had been landscaped like a roadside park. Tiger turned off and found a parking place. He undid my jeans and said, "Lemme know if anybody's heading over."
Motherfuck! This boy knew what he was doing. He sucked me 'til I was about to cum, then he just goes down and rests like his mouth was an envelope sealed around my dick. After awhile he starts again, edging me with his fucking lips. After I don't know how long, he finally climaxes me and I blow the biggest wad I've shot since god knows when.
"Goddam," I whisper.
"I thought you'd like that," he says.
He doesn't ask me to reciprocate and I don't offer. He heads back to the freeway, and soon we are climping Monteagle, and I'm enjoying spectacular view after spectacular view. And Tiger keeps telling me stories about sex in Tracy City. straight, bi, gay, all mostly kinky.
When we reach the town at the summit, he says there's a small truck stop at the first exit, but that the second exit would be better. US41A. More traffic. And it's still close enough to the truck stop that I might get a ride with a trucker anyway.
We shake hands and I thank him for the blow job. He says, "Thank you too, man," and turns north toward home.
I'm only there about five minutes when this 18 wheeler rolls to a stop. I climb up, and the driver is a huge bear of a man. Harriest dude I ever saw. Chest hair up to his throat and across his shoulders. He could almost comb his arms if he wanted to. He's wearing a white wifebeater and chinos. Says he can take me as far as Nashville, unless I'm going north toward Louiville. I say Nashville's fine. He tells me if he gets pulled over by the weights and measures boys, he'll say I'm lumping for him, and for me to back him up.
I give him my spiel about why I'm on the road and where I'm going. He says he's been driving OTR for almost twenty years. Finally saved enough to buy his own rig. Was doing pretty good, and then diesel went through the roof. Can hardly make it these days.
He stops in Murfreesboro for lunch. I just order pie ala mode. Tell him I had a huge breakfast, which I did. He pays. Tells me I oughta hold onto my money when I can.
We get to Nashville. He merges from I24 into I65, passing through downtown. He tells me to grab my stuff and jump as soon as he stops. He don't wanna cause a traffic jam. I say thanks and jump.
I walk under the freeway and down to where the big buildings are. Soon I'm standing right in front of the Ryman Auditorium. Goddam. People everywhere. A good-looking dude with a guitar case stops and says, "You just get here, did ya?"
"That obvious?"
"No problem," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Charles."
"That's my brother's name. Everybody calls him 'Chuck,' though."
"I wish they'd called me that," he replies. "My old lady always said that was 'common.' Fuck her."
Charles is about my age. Dressed in a dazzling white t and freshly washed blue jeans. All American boy type. He didn't ask me why I was there or anything. He did tell me where I could go to get a free meal without being preached at. Said he made a few bucks as a street musician. Used to be cool, he told me, but then they passed some laws. Cops still don't hassle him most of the time, he said. Told me about missions I could go to. But then he said there was a motel close to downtown. "It's old and nothing fancy," he said, "but it aint got bedbugs or nothing, and it's only thirty bucks. I stay there when I got the scratch.
"If you can go halves with me, you and me can share a room," he finished.
I figured I could do that and still have $5 left from what Paul gave me. "I.....I think I could swing that," I told him.
"Cool," he responded, "but you gotta know I aint into no faggot shit."
"I like gals too," I laughed.
He told me to meet him back there at 6. In the meantime I wandered around. Saw the Marketplace, the Capitol, passed by Christ Church Cathedral and thought about what Fr. Stone had said, got cruised by a coupla old farts (not that I don't love older dudes like my granddad, but old farts are something else), and saw some of the damage still left from the flood they had last year.
By seven o'clock me and Charles was in our motel room. He was right. It was clean but plain. He said he'd be right back. I waited for a half hour, wondering. He came back with a plastic bag full of fried chicken. Eat up," he said. "The motherfuckers got to throw away all this stuff and it's still good to eat."
As I was drifting off to sleep I heard the unmistakable sound of Charles beating off across the room. I didn't feel the need to join in.
Before we went to bed, though, I'd learned a hellova lot about how to survive on the fucking road. Without selling my dick.
Next morning Charles was off to catch the rush hour music fans. I told him if I stayed in town I'd see him at the usual place. I wandered west, up 21st Street and found myself at the Vanderbilt Campus. I found the library, showed them my Auburn ID, and asked if I could use the library. The dude at the desk said sure, anybody could. I was going to post my next chapter. But it turned out that to use the computers, you had to have a password.
So I continued west and found the Parthenon. A duplicate of the one in Greece. Shit, that was awesome.
By noon I found a church that was feeding us "homeless" dudes. And I saw a sign, "TO I40W."
"Hell," I thought, "I'd like to spend another night with Charles, but that'd cost money, and I've seen Nashville, or as much as I want to."
It was a walk of maybe a mile, but I wound up on the White Bridge Road ramp, looking for a ride to Memphis.