JOHN'S HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE
Part 5
By Macout Mann
It's just ten o'clock, time for Wallace to open his gallery. I'd told him I wanted to go downtown again. Figured I'd stay in Memphis another day now that I could really afford a cheap motel. But anything else I wanted to see, like the zoo, would cost more money. It was still four hundred miles to New Orleans, and over the weekend that could be a tough hitch.
I had seen the I55 bridge yesterday, when I was over at the river. So I decided to head for it, and take off right now.
It was a forty-five minute walk to I55. The ramp wasn't the best. Rundown part of town. But there was a lot of traffic on the interstate, so I got down on the end of the ramp to take advantage of that. It still took me a good forty-five minutes to get a ride. Good thing a cop didn't come by.
The dude that picked me up could've been Tiger's dad. Three day growth of beard. Shirtless. Faded Levis shorts. Tat of a naked woman on his chest. Tat of a snake wound around an arm. Tat that said "EAT ME, BABY," on his right thigh. And the tell-tale tear tat under his left eye.
"You picked a hell of a fuckin' place to try to get a ride, boy," he said.
"Yeah, but you gotta do what you gotta do," I answered.
"Where the fuck you headed?"
"New Orleans."
"I can give ya some help."
We sped through Southwest Memphis. From the freeway it looked like a ghost town until we approached the interchange where I240 meets I55, and I55 turns south.
Finally he spoke again. "Been on the fuckin' road long?"
"Nah. About a week. Started from Mobile. Went to see my granddad in Atlanta. Then came up through Tennessee. Headed back through New Orleans, then back home."
"You're makin' fuckin' good time. Can take a week to get from fuckin' Nashville to Memphis these days. I can remember when you could go coast to coast in maybe four days, if you fuckin' wanted to."
"You used to hitch a lot?"
"Fuckin' aye. Before I got sent up."
"Oh? You been in the joint?"
"Can't you see?" he said, pointing to his eye. "Spent twelve fuckin' years in stir. Been out for five. Don't aim to go back in."
"My brother had a buddy whose dad did time in California. They moved to Mobile to get a fresh start."
"Aint no fuckin' thing as a fresh start anymore. You apply for a job. They go on line. The first thing they see is your record. Then they either wanna fuck your ass or kick it.
"I finally got on with a big farm operation over in Arkansas. They got about 2,500 fuckin' acres. I keep their fuckin' tractors and shit runnin'. Only reason I got the job was that I let the boss suck my fuckin' dick whenever he wants.
"I stay over there Monday through Friday. Come home over the weekend. I got a wife and three kids, two boys and a girl."
I didn't say anything.
"Sorry if I shocked ya," he said. "That's how life is, though."
"I wasn't shocked," I replied. "I been around. Just didn't know what to say.
"How old are your kids?" I asked, trying the change the subject.
"Marvin's 24," he said. "Renegade like me. Probably goanna wind up in the joint too. I hope the fuck not.
"My girl's probably your age. Stuck up little bitch. Nothin'd make her happier than if me and both her brothers disappeared. Hurts when your own kid's fucking ashamed of ya.
"My other boy's still in school. A fuckin faggot. I can't bitch about that, though. Look at me. But at least I like women too."
I chuckled and told him that my dad had said most people would be bi, if they wasn't brainwashed from the time they could talk.
"Smart man. He live in Mobile too?"
"He was shot and killed by this punk a coupla years ago," I responded. "Dad was one awesome dude. Little motherfucker got life without parole. I hope they're tearing him a new asshole every day."
"If it's anything like fucking Parchman, they probably are. The first night I was in I was gang raped with the fucking guard standing right there."
We drove on in silence. After a while he said, "You're a good lookin' kid. I bet you been hit on, since you been on the road."
I'd know this was coming. "Yeah. Goes with the territory, I guess."
"You aint goanna tell me you aint done nothin', are ya?"
"No use lying about it," I said. "Matter of fact, I spent the night last night with this dude in Memphis. He got me off so often I couldn't get a hard on right now, if my life depended on it."
"Well, I gotta save my spunk for my wife. If I don't fuck her as soon as I get home, I get accused of all sorts of shit. Fuckin' women!"
Soon we approached the Batesville exit. We'd been talking about an hour. When he stopped, he reached over and gave me a feel. "Nice," he murmured, "I sure've liked to've played with that."
I got out and he turned left toward Oxford. The exit was pretty busy. I crossed to road to the on ramp.
The university wasn't in session, but I thought somebody from Ole Miss might give me a ride. No such luck.
I'd been standing there for about twenty minutes, when I realized that, as good as Wallace's waffles were, I was hungry again. Across the road was a Cracker Barrel and a Huddle House. I decided on the Huddle House. A cheeseburger and a coke would be plenty.
In another half hour I was back on the ramp. Fifteen minutes later my t shirt was off again and the sunscreen was on. The heat index must've been over a hundred. Thirty minutes later a 1990s Buick driven by a sixty year old woman rolled to a stop.
Damn! Women weren't supposed to pick up hitchhikers, at least not "little old ladies." I quickly pulled my t back on and opened the door.
"You must be roasting out there," she said.
"I sure am, maam. Thanks a lot for stopping."
"I'm only going as far as McComb, but you can get cool for a few minutes."
"Every little bit helps." I wondered how many million times hitchhikers had said that.
"What's a nice-looking boy like you doing hitchhiking?" she asked.
I repeated my standard spiel, and she said something indicating I was either brave or crazy. We made small talk for half an hour and then reached McComb. I was back in the sun and five minutes later I was shirtless again. I figured I'd done pretty good barechested on the way to Chattanooga.
Sure enough, pretty soon I got a ride with a guy driving a little hatchback. He looked to be about thirty-five, well tanned, wearing jeans and a chambray shirt and a baseball cap with golfing insignia on it. Said he was going to Jackson. That'd be the best ride I'd had all day.
I'd found there were only about seven things people talked to hitchhikers about: hitchhiking, work, sports, personal experiences, politics, religion, and sex. We started with hitchhiking and worked through the list. As we sped through the delta, I could see the damage the flooding had done. Water was still standing in a lot of places. And we wasn't anywhere near the Mississippi, although we passed some smaller streams that were still backed up.
As we neared Jackson we still hadn't talked about religion or sex. But then he asked, "You got a gal back home?"
"Nah," I said, "there's one at school I go out with pretty regular, but I like the play the field."
"Fuck whoever you can, eh?"
"You got that right," I laughed.
"My wife's pretty foxy," he continued. "You like to fuck her?"
Now, this was the last guy in the world I'd have expected to say something like that. I flat didn't know how to answer.
"You want me to?" I finally asked.
"She likes hot young studs," he answered, "and I like to watch. And I noticed you've got a nice bulge. She'd like that."
"Nothing kinky," I said.
"Just good healthy sex," he answered.
"No bareback," I said.
"She wouldn't let you, if you wanted to," he said.
Goddam! When I left home, I never dreamed I'd get into all the shit I've been into. I thought maybe I'd get a couple of b js, but that's all. I thought for a minute, then said "You'll take me back to the freeway, when we're done?"
"Sure. We wouldn't want you running loose in the neighborhood, you know."
"Let's go for it," I decided.
Hell, somebody watching me having sex don't bother me. Turns me on big time. And well.....we'll see.
We were already in the city limits, and he soon left the interstate and drove into a real nice middle class neighborhood full of cul-de-sacs and split levels.
"Hi, honey," he called, as we entered their house. "I've got something for you."
I'd say she was super foxy. Looked more like 25 than 35. About 5'5. Brown eyes and hair. Big fucking tits. She was wearing a neat blue dressing gown.
"This is John," he told her. "He's come to fuck you."
"Hi, John. You're cute."
She took my hand and led me to their bedroom with hubby right behind. We were standing next to their bed, and she loosened the sash of her gown. There was nothing under it. I pushed it from her shoulders and drank in her hot bod. She was shaved.
In one motion, she grabbed the hem of my t shirt and pulled it over my head. "Nice," she said.
She unbuckled me and undid my fly. My jeans fell around my ankles. "Nicer," she said.
She kicked off the slippers she was wearing and ordered me to take off my shoes. I did as I was told. It was obvious she wasn't into foreplay or anything. She pulled me onto the bed and took my dick in her mouth. I was goanna eat her in return, but she pushed me away. I was her fuck toy, and that's all there was to it.
When I was rock hard and sheathed, she said, "Now stuff me with that beautiful thing." And I did.
Her bridegroom had been sitting in a chair across the room. Now he moved it next to the bed for a closer view, pulled out his dick, and began to beat off. I still hadn't fully recovered from my bouts with Wallace, and I realized I could make it last as long as I wanted to. So I fucked her with nice even strokes for longer than I'd ever screwed a gal before. It's hard to tell, but I think she had at least three orgasms before I got down to the short strokes and buried my tube all the way down in her, wasting my essence in her little plastic balloon.
"Oh, that was great," she cried. "I love your dick."
It was over. She stayed in bed. I got dressed. Hubby zipped up. We went back to the car, and he drove me downtown. He dropped me at the High Street exit. It was close to seven o'clock.
I decided I deserved a motel. I found a semi-cheap place on Grayson street, a block or so away from the freeway. I registered. Had to pay in advance, but that was o.k. Took a shower, then found a Subway nearby and got some food.
I wandered around awhile. Walked by the Capitol and some of the other historic sites. On the way back I ran into a kid--couldn't have been more than sixteen--walking the streets.
"Hey, dude," I said. "What's happening?"
"Hello," he reluctantly replied.
I remembered Charles, the guy that befriended me in Nashville.
"What'cha up to?" I asked.
"Nothin'," he murmers, his voice shaking.
"It's getting dark, man. You're on the fucking streets by yourself. You won't talk to me. And you aint up to nothing?"
"Are you going to hurt me?" he cries.
I take the poor sonofabitch in my arms and hold him close. "Nobody's goanna hurt you, babe."
He sobs, and half-heartedly returns my embrace.
I take him back to the motel. There's a side door that my keycard works in, and we get back to my room without anybody knowing he's there.
"Take a shower," I tell him. "Make you feel better."
While he's in the bathroom, I still conceal most of my money between the matrress and box springs, just in case.
He comes out of the shower, dressed back in his long sleeved flannel shirt and grungy jeans.
"That felt good," he said.
"I thought it would," I said. "There's a coin laundry downstairs. Let me have your clothes and I'll put 'em in the wash."
"You goanna fuck me then?"
"Shit no, man. I'm just saying you'd be a whole lot better off with your clothes as clean as your bod is. Believe, me. I ain't got no designs on your ass or any other part of you."
Again he started sniffling, and again I try to comfort him. He's almost as big as I am, but he's acting like a ten year old.
When he's calmed down again, I tell him the stuff I've got on needs washing, and if he don't want me to see him naked, he can undress in the bathroom, wrap himself in a towel, and toss me his dirty shit. And in the meantime, I'll change too.
He does as I say; and while he's in the bathroom, I strip off and put on my other pair of jeans and a clean t.
"You won't leave me here alone without any clothes, will you?" he asks, as I'm leaving for the laundry room.
"I'll be right back," I say.
Shit! As I take the elevator I'm kicking my ass for getting involved with this kid. Here he is, underage. Scared shitless of me. And a coupla things he's said makes me think he's been raped. And yeah, I've got his filthy briefs in the bag.
After everything I've seen in the last week, I sure as shit don't need this. If he has been raped, I'd be the first fucking suspect.
I decide not to wash his briefs. The washer'll take about 25 minutes, so I head back to the room.
You'd think a normal American boy'd have the tv on, but he's sittling where I left him, shivering, still wrapped in his towel.
"Cold?" I said. "Let me turn down the a.c."
I sat in the side chair. I decided the best thing was not to say anything.
Five minutes may have gone by before he spoke. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?" he asked again.
"Buddy, nothing's happened to you yet, has it? If I was goanna hurt you, don't you think I'da done it by now? Dude, I wanna help ya. Will you let me?"
There was no answer. We sat until my watch alarm said the wash was ready to go in the dryer.
Back in the room I sat down on the bed next to him. "You aint told me your name," I said.
There was a long wait, before he said "They call me Ricky."
"My name's John," I say.
"What'cha afraid of, Ricky?" I ask.
"I aint afraid of nothing."
I put my arm around his shoulders. "You've asked me twice if I was going to hurt you, Ricky. You've got to be afraid of something.
"Dude, I'd never do anything to you you didn't want me to, and probably I wouldn't even do stuff you did want me to.
"Just hang loose. Let it all come out."
I was still kicking my ass. How the fuck did I get into this mess?
My arm was still around him. I finally began to feel some of the tension go out of him.
"It was Daddy," he whispered.
I waited.
"Me and Russell was.....well, we was fooling around. You know.
"We shouldn'ta. But Daddy came in and caught us. And he was like a wild man! He told Russell to get dressed and get outa the house. And he told me I was a disgrace. He didn't want no queer for a son!
"And then he took out his dick and said he's show me the only thing I was good for. He grabbed me and rammed it into me and fucked me 'til he came in my ass. It hurt so.....god, it was awful! And then he told me to get out and never come back!
"So now you know."
He collapsed in my arms, crying like a baby.
Sonofabitch! I knew it was bad, but the kid probably needed medical help.
"You gotta tell the cops what happened," I said. "I'll go with you."
"I can't do that!" he cried. "I aint turning in my own father!"
"Not much of a fucking father!" I spat.
I held him close. I didn't know what to do. Hell. This was Mississippi. I could imagine how they'd treat a gay boy at the police station. I got him calmed down, told him to relax, that I'd be back as soon as I got the clothes.
Down in the laundry I folded his soiled briefs as flat as I could and slipped them into the right-hand back pocket of his jeans. I hoped he wouldn't notice. I'd decided not to wash them to protect myself in cast I got accused of abusing the kid. Now I was hoping theyd convict his motherfucking old man.
Back in the room I found him on one edge of the queen-sized bed, sound asleep, still wrapped in his towel. I stripped and climbed in on the other side.
When I awoke, he hadn't moved a muscle.
I woke him up, gave him his clothes, and told him his briefs were in such bad shape I'd thrown them away. He'd have to go commando lke me. I said I'd like to stay, but I had to be on the road. I took him to the same door he'd come in by, gave him twenty dollars, and wished him luck.
All the motels around there were laid out pretty much the same. I didn't think he'd remember which one he'd been to.
I went back to the room and pulled my shit together. I hadn't used my cell phone since I left Mobile, but I'd put it on charge when I checked in. I expected to call Chuck when I got closer to New Orleans. I left my key card on the desk and slipped out the same side door of the hotel.
I don't know why I hadn't registered under my own name. Just thought it was a big joke, I guess. I signed in as Benjamin Wallace and gave a fake New Orleans address. The desk clerk didn't ask for i.d. and I'd paid with cash.
So now I walked down the street and stopped in front of the Hampton Inn. Entered the code to disable caller i.d., and dialed 911. They could see I was at the Hampton Inn, but I hoped they couldn't bypass the code. I'd been carrying a bandana in my jeans pocket since I left home. That's what hitchhikers are supposed to do, isn't it? I put it over the mouthpiece and spoke in as deep a voice as I could.
"You may think this is a prank," I began. "Believe me, it's not. I'm staying at the Hampton Inn, and I encountered this young boy. He's about sixteen. Red-headed, freckled face, flannel shirt, faded black jeans. Told me he'd been raped. I told him I'd take him to the police, but he ran away. I last saw him on Grayson Street. Please take this seriously. I believe the boy. He seemed scared to death."
I clicked off and hightailed it toward the freeway.
I was half a block from the ramp when a black and white stopped beside me.
"Hello officer," I said.
He said they were just checking around. Asked me for i.d. Found I was clean. Asked if I'd seen a red-headed kid around.
"Yeah, I did. Just a while ago. He was down on Grayson Street. Few years younger than me."
He was on the radio. "Seems that report about the kid was on the level. Better send backup." And he sped away.
It was Sunday. I knew getting a ride would be difficult. But to make things worse, the High Street ramp was about a thousand feet long. I was about halfway up, when another cruiser pulled up. I gave him my i.d., he looked at it, called in and said "This is the same guy that Bill just checked out.," and handed my driver's license back.
"Did they find the kid they were looking for, officer?" I asked.
He stared at me for the longest time, then finally said "Yeah. They got him."
I thought he was going to make me go back to the bottom of the ramp, but he just drove off.
Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann