This is Insane

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This Is Insane

"This is insane," I told myself as I pulled over. "But he's soaking wet!" the devil in my head replied, oh so helpfully. I opened the window. "Where're you headed?"

"Outta here."

"Hop in."

"Thanks!" The kid slid into the passenger seat. "Sorry about your car. I've been out here for hours. I'm soaked through."

"I noticed. No problem. You want me to turn on the heater?"

"No. I'll be okay." He peeled off his non-descript jacket and set it on the floor. "That okay down there?"

"No problem." I turned the heater on low, anyway. "So, where are you headed? Anyplace specific?"

"Not really. North."

"Well, I sort of figured that out," I laughed, as I pulled onto the freeway. "You're traveling pretty light, though."

"Yeah. I was in a hurry."

"Police interested in you?"

"No! Nothing like that. I just wanted to...you know...travel."

"I see," I said. I drove on in silence. Most people can't handle too much silence. My devil uses that a lot.

"It's kinda personal," he said at last. "I just needed to find a new place, you know?"

"You born and raised in Albyville, then?"

"Yeah."

"Too small?"

"Yeah. Yeah," he repeated, more decisively. "Too fuckin' small. Sorry about that--too small, I mean."

"I don't mind the occasional curse, when necessary. And I guess that one must have been?"

"I don't...it's hard to explain. I just didn't have any..."

"Loner?"

"I didn't want to be."

"I get it." I was silent once again.

"I didn't fit, you know?"

"Lots of people feel like that when they're kids."

"I'm not a kid! I'm almost eighteen!"

"Sorry. Kind of hard to get a good look while I'm driving--and anyway, you're soaked. Makes you look... Didn't mean to insult you, okay? My name's Ted, by the way."

"Mitch."

"I'm headed to Illinois for a job, Mitch. I gave myself two weeks for the trip. I decided I deserve a vacation. So no pressure. We can talk about whatever."

Mitch was quiet for a few seconds. "I slept outside last night," he said, staring out of the passenger window.

The windshield wiper "thonked" rhythmically for a while. It was my turn to be uncomfortable. "What kind of music do you like?"

"I dunno. Not country, though."

I pointed to the radio. "See what's on."

Mitch slowly worked his way along the dial. Suddenly, a loud voice burst out, proclaiming "the wrath of God!" Mitch pressed the scan button hard. "I hate that crap!"

"Amen, brother," I joked. Mitch froze. "That's a joke, son. I feel the same way," I said, gently. "Whole lot of people know exactly what God wants. Funny how they don't agree with each other."

"They do about...some stuff," Mitch muttered.

"Yeah. Like what to hate."

"Yeah! Like they tell you God is love and then how he's going to send us all to Hell. That is so fucked."

"Not the kind of God I'm interested in, I can tell you that. I guess I'm an agnostic."

"Is that one of those guys that doesn't think God exists?"

"No. Just undecided. And crap like that--" I pointed to the radio-- "that makes me pretty sure that if God does exist, that's not Him."

"I'm a Methodist. I mean, I was. Maybe I'm an agnostic, too. Or that other thing."

"Like when you're sure there's no God? That's an atheist. I'm not sure you can be an atheist and have doubts. So if it's 'maybe,' you're an agnostic."

"I got disfellowshipped. That's Methodist for excommunicated."

"Sounds heavy."

"Yeah. I mean, not for me, but my family was pretty angry. Way angry."

"That why you left Albyville? Or is that none of my business?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No problem--keep looking for music, then."

"Oh, yeah." Mitch started scanning again, and settled on jazz. "Is this okay?"

"Fine. I like instrumental stuff."

We drove on. The station was the sort that played one selection after another without a DJ. We were silent, lost in the music, the hum of the wheels, the "thonk" of the wipers.

"Weird weather," Mitch offered, when the music finally ended and an advertisement came on.

"Global warming, maybe. Or El Nino. Or is it La Nina?"

"El Nino, I think. It's confusing." He sighed. "Like everything else."

I turned the windshield wiper to "thonka-thonka-thonka." "Rain seems to be getting worse." I slowed the car. "Visibility's lousy."

"I can drive, if you need to take a break."

"No, I'm okay. I'll keep that in mind--shit!" A huge semi-trailer had slid off the pavement. I swerved to avoid it and slowed the car. "Holy crap! Sorry about that."

"There's another one on the median," Mitch pointed.

"I think I might get off the freeway. I've got two weeks--a couple of hours won't hurt."

"It may take couple of hours to get to an off-ramp," Mitch replied. Ahead of us, traffic had slowed.

I turned on the defroster in an attempt to defog the window, but it didn't help. "This can't last much longer. Storms like this don't last."

"We hope." Mitch wiped the windshield with his sleeve.

Traffic stopped. "Oh, hell. I hate being stopped on the freeway. It's like being naked in a crowd."

"That ever happen to you?" Mitch asked, tentatively.

"Only where everybody else was naked, too." Mitch didn't laugh. "But defenseless, I mean. All we need is one asshole back there, and wham! You know? See if there's a weather station, or something, would you?"

Mitch started scanning again, as the traffic began to creep forward.

"--sual weather pattern is expected to persist. The National Weather Service is urging people to avoid unnecessary travel. The storm warning is in effect until nine o'clock tonight--" The voice disappeared in static.

"Definitely getting off the freeway," I said. "If we can." Of course, I wasn't the only one with that idea. Many of the cars and trucks ahead of us were headed for the exit, as well. We followed the herd until I saw a restaurant. "Let's get something to eat, Mitch. On me."

"That's okay. I've got some cash."

"Hang on to it. I've got a credit card." I pulled into the parking lot. "There should be a dry jacket back there." I nodded toward the back seat. "Open that duffle and see if you can find something for yourself."

Mitch went to work while I parked the car. He pulled out a hat. "I can wear this, if that's okay."

"Whatever you find, man. Dibs on that jacket, though."

"Here you go." He handed me my jean jacket. "Don't know how much good it will do."

"I run fast," I answered, squirming my way into the jacket. "You find anything?"

"This okay?"

"Hell, yes. You win the jacket competition." My devil smiled.

Mitch had found my bike jacket. "I may get the lining wet. Is that--"

"Just put it on and let's get inside!"

There was a crowd ahead of us, stuffed into the lobby in damp sympathy. Phrases like "Excuse me," "some storm," and "Don't know how I'm going to get there," drifted through the air, as well as the occasional laugh. Mitch and I stood too close for his comfort, not looking at each other. Eventually, the hostess led us to a table and handed us menus. "The waitress--"

"Don't worry," I interrupted her, smiling. "Looks like you're slammed, and we've got time." She hurried off to seat the next couple--looked like Mom and Dad and two kids. I picked up a menu.

"Whatever you want, Mitch."

"You sure?" He removed his--my hat and set it on the chair next to him.

"Yes." My devil was fully awake now. The jacket fit him perfectly, and now that I had a chance to look at him head-on in decent light, I realized I'd made a smart move. Or at least a pretty one. With that jacket, he could almost be rough trade. Without it, he could be preppy. "Everytrick," my devil whispered.

The busboy hurried over and gave us coffee without asking if we wanted it, then moved on. "Thanks," I said to his back. I smiled at Mitch. "I hope you like coffee."

"I do, actually. Especially now." He dumped two packets of sugar into the cup, picked it up in both hands and took a drink. "Feels good," he said, half to himself, and set the cup down.

"If we weren't in a restaurant, I'd suggest taking off your shirt and wringing it out."

He looked around and chuckled. "If I did that, everybody else would start doing it, and the place would flood. How'd you stay so dry?"

"I didn't. My shoes are soaked. And my socks, dammit."

"You could go to the can and wring them out."

"I suppose. Maybe after we eat." The strings of hair on his forehead were starting to dry out and soften. He was really a good-looking kid. Crush material. I stood up to take off my own jacket.

"Something wrong?" Mitch asked, startled.

"Just getting my jacket off." I hung it on the back of my chair.

"Oh, yeah. I guess I should--"

"Leave it on, if you're cold."

"Thanks. But I don't want it to get wet inside." He hung the jacket on his chair. He was wearing a sweatshirt with an unfamiliar insignia. He saw me studying it, and said, "James Monroe High School. Dorky?"

"James Monroe? Monroe Doctrine? Not dorky."

"No, I mean the sweatshirt."

I shrugged. "Not particularly dorky. I used to have one. Spilled paint on it, had to throw it away. Central High--could have used it in any city in the country."

Mitch laughed. Pretty mouth. "Albyville Central High was our rival school. Only other public school in town."

"So...you just graduated, I suppose."

"Dropped out." Mitch looked down at his chest. "Should of thrown this out, too."

"Bad school?"

"Nah, I guess not. Better than Central, anyway. That's what everyone says." He stirred his coffee. "Just bad for me." My devil perked his ears up.

The waitress appeared and Mitch ordered a hamburger.

I interrupted. "Make it a cheeseburger, at least. And a cup of the tomato soup. It's on me. I'll have the barbeque burger and a side salad. Mitch, you want onion rings?" Without giving him a chance to reply, I ordered a basket, and the waitress hurried off.

"I've got money, man," Mitch whispered, leaning over the table.

"So have I," I replied, leaning forward to meet him. I smiled. "Let me be a decent guy for an hour, okay?" My devil was rolling his eyes.

"Okay." He settled back in his chair. "Thanks, uh..."

"Ted," I reminded him as I held out my hand. "Glad to meet you properly, Mitch." We shook hands. He had a nice, firm grip.

"Why--" he started, then stopped and concentrated on his coffee, stirring it some more, turning the cup different directions, staring into it as if it were a crystal ball, or something.

"It's nice to get a fresh start," I offered. 'New job, new town, new people."

He suddenly raised his eyes to mine. "Does it help?"

"Depends on the problem. If you hate your old job--"

"The new people part."

"Sure. Usually. If the old people are the ass--jerks, and not you."

"What if you're..." He stopped and went back to his coffee cup.

"Sometimes," I said, carefully, "Sometimes, decent people just don't get along. Like if you love football and they love baseball."

"It's not about baseball," he snapped. "Not about that shit." He blushed. "Sorry."

"No problem. It's...you can't find a friend, say, in a small town. But maybe you can someplace else."

"What's a friend?"

The question came out of left field, like they can with kids. And it was a stumper. "A friend," I said carefully, more or less thinking aloud, "is someone who...someone you can be honest with, I guess-- someone who will keep a secret, if you ask them to. Someone who gets you. Understands. And you feel that way about them."

"Can parents be--never mind."

"Friends? Sometimes, maybe...Tell me about your parents."

"No."

The food arrived. My devil sat, sulking. Mitch was obviously pretty hungry: the soup and the cheeseburger disappeared quickly. I managed to snag two onion rings. I forced pie on him for dessert, and had a slice myself.

"Now what?" he asked, when he'd scraped the last of the pie off the plate.

My angel and my devil glared at each other. I looked out the window. "Still coming down pretty hard. Should we get a room?"

Mitch blushed.

"Too fast," my devil said. "Come, let us reason together," he added, with a wink at my angel. I tapped my fork on the empty plate. "If we don't leave pretty soon, it's going to be night" I said, pretending to be thinking aloud. "And I don't want to try driving at night in this shit. Going to be hard enough, finding a motel."

Mitch stared at the window across from us for a few moments, trying to see past the reflections. "Okay," he muttered.

"Good," I nodded. "Feel like another piece of pie?" My angel threw up his hands in disgust. My devil just grinned.

"You folks planning on heading out?" the hostess said, when we went to pay our bill. "They said no unnecessary travel."

"We're thinking about staying over. This rain doesn't seem to be stopping."

"The classy motels are up by the next exit. There's a little family one down the road out there." She pulled a postcard from the rack by the register. "This place."

"Looks all right."

"That picture's more than ten years old. It's faded some."

"We all have, I'm afraid."

The hostess smiled. "That your son?"

"Oh, no"--I stopped. Better safe than sorry in a small town like this. "My nephew. He's helping me with the driving. Headed north for a new job." Talking too much, I scolded myself. Just in time, the register started printing out the receipt.

"Sorry that took so long." The hostess shook her head. "Everybody in town must be using credit cards."

"No prob--"

"One of these days, that damn power line's going to go and we'll be running this place in the dark."

I finished figuring out the tip and handed the receipt back. "Thanks. Where's that motel?"

The motel was about a mile down a poorly lit side road, and the VACANCY sign was still on. I pulled up and parked. "You might as well wait in the car, Mitch. No point in both of us getting wet again." I rushed into the office.

As soon as I signed the invoice, the clerk reached behind him and flipped a switch. "Full up. Pretty good storm."

The sign read SOR Y, NO when I got back to the car to drive to our room. "Single with a cot was all they had, I'm afraid," I explained as I pulled my duffle out of the back and my devil chuckled. "Town's filling up pretty fast." Even under the overhang, the rain was intense, and we hurried inside.

"You're wetter, so you take the first shower," I said, digging out my little toiletry bag.

"Thanks. Where's the cot?"

"Clerk said he'd bring it down later." I tried not to be too obvious, but I really wanted to get a good look at naked Mitch. Thank goodness for mirrors: in the one over the dresser, I could just see him stripping in the bathroom. He was sexier than I deserved, which meant he was probably straight. My angel and my devil settled onto my shoulders for a debate about virginity and such.

I stripped to my t-shirt and boxers and hung my wet clothes on the hook on the front door, then spread Mitch's on the little table near the window. I turned on the TV and flipped to the weather channel, which was focused on an entirely different part of the country. My devil suggested that I should take a piss, even though I didn't need one. Nah, I replied. Damn shower curtain's opaque. And the clerk will probably be knocking at the door pretty soon with the fucking cot. Or not-fucking cot, come to think of it.

The weather channel finally got to us. "Really nasty weather in the southeast," the announcer said. "This coastal storm system seems to be stuck, and as you can see, it's dumping rain all over the area. The National Weather Service has extended its storm warning until six a.m. tomorrow morning. Once again, non-essential travel is discouraged. Good night for hot cocoa, down there. Moving up the coast--" I flipped to the channel guide, hoping for a movie, just as the shower stopped.

Mitch emerged, toweling himself off. "Not much in the towel department," he announced, which gave me an excuse to look directly at him. What can I say: seventeen, healthy, nice trail of hair from mid- pecs to crotch, decent definition, arms not as full as I like them, but not bad. "Did the cot come?"

I sighed. "Not yet. Why don't you call the desk to remind them, and ask for a couple of additional bath towels? I'm going that-a-way." I pointed toward the bathroom and hurried past Mitch before he could spot my rising erection.

When I emerged from the shower, Mitch had moved a chair next to the bed, and was watching a movie. "What's on?" I asked. I'd wrapped a towel around my midsection--barely--while I rooted through my duffle for something to serve as pajamas. I've slept nude since the seventh grade. None of my bedpartners since then have objected, so I didn't own a pair of actual pajamas.

"Something about giant ants, I think. Pretty cheesy. Black and white, even."

"'Them,' I think. That's the name of it--monsters in the desert? Turns out to be--"

"Don't spoil it, Ted. I'm sort of into it."

"Did you call the desk?"

"Not yet. I thought I'd give them a little more time."

At that moment, my towel fell off. Genuinely accidental, I swear. My angel frowned. "Oops! Sorry," I said, pulling my duffle between us.

"I've seen it before. Remember high school locker rooms?"

"Do I ever. Talk about awkward. I kept getting--" I stopped myself. Idiot, I thought. The angel demanded to know what the hell I'd been about to say. "That he kept getting boners," my devil answered. Aha! Sweatpants! Perfect! I pulled them out and hurried into the bathroom to put them on. They did nothing whatsoever to hide the erection. The phone rang. "Go ahead and answer that, Mitch."

"Hello?" "Yes, it is." "Oh. I see. Can I get some fresh towels, at least?" "Thank you." Mitch hung up the phone. "No roll-away, they said. But they're bringing towels."

Great. I ran into a similar situation in college. Just touched the guy's chest once and wound up sleeping on the floor. Didn't even get a decent feel. "Well, enjoy the ants. I'm going to crash, if you don't mind. Left side of the bed okay?"

"Sure. Don't worry about it." He politely turned the volume down.

I turned off the bathroom light and slipped under the covers. If I could actually get to sleep, maybe we could get through the night without any awkwardness. And as soon as I thought about the awkwardness, of course, my devil perked up. On the TV, the camera panned slowly across the desert landscape as sinister music began to build. I slid my right hand to where Mitch would be laying, then to my over-eager crotch. "Show a little self-discipline," my angel scolded. "Right," my devil sneered. I rolled over to my side. Sooner than I'd expected, the day's driving worked its magic, and I drifted off.

He was pressed against me, cock to butt. It was a dream. His breath wafted around my neck, his chest rose and fell against my back. His right arm pinned mine, his hand brushed my nipple. Clearly, a dream: I hadn't even felt him get into the bed. I settled into the sensation, grateful even for this. I dreamed him nuzzling me, dreamed his left arm slid under my neck and over my shoulder while the right one slipped beneath my sweatpants and began to stroke holy shit I wasn't dreaming it was real pull down my goddamn sweats and get your cock into my hole, boy; fuck me but there wasn't any lube it was buried in my duffle I turned to face him and thrust my tongue into his mouth while he tried to pull his hand free and we were thrashing my sweats off and grinding against each other. He was solid beneath me, we rolled over and he pressed heavily against my body. My fingers slipped into his hair as he wrapped his legs around me and I felt him burst, felt his cum spreading across our bellies as he pumped his dick, and mine joined his as my whole body was reduced to a pulsing cock.

When the room stopped swaying, we pulled apart, my arm under his neck, his hand spreading our juice around our bodies. "Hey," I whispered at last. "Thanks."

"Least I could do," he whispered back. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't be. You can wake me like that any time."

"You're hot."

"You're hot. What gave me away?"

"The way you kept trying not to look at me. I was trying not to look at you and I suddenly realized you were doing the same thing. So I figured maybe, you know. And then you pushed your ass against me like that, and--"

"I was dreaming!"

"Yeah, sure."

"How big is that thing, anyway? Feels like a log."

"Not hardly." He turned on the bedside lamp and I screwed my eyes shut. "Shit, that's bright." He groped for my hand and put it on his cock.

I tried to force my eyes opened, and saw him doing the same. He had the advantage of not facing the lamp, of course. I slipped down the bed to get into his shadow. Boycock, already stiffening again. Looked longer than mine, maybe a little bigger around. I moved further down, licked the head, felt the drying spunk.

"Oh yeah, man, take it."

I obliged eagerly, felt it filling my mouth and throat, began working it with my tongue. I am a pretty good cocksucker, if I say so myself, and his prick apparently agreed. In a few minutes he was pumping eagerly. Then his fingers dug into my skull and he pressed his shaft deep into my throat. I needed air but I hung in there, manfully. Wave after wave pulsed through him, until he finished and fell back enough for me to get a breath.

"Shit, man, you're hot. I never been sucked like that."

"How many men have you had, then?"

"Six, at least. But most of them were drunk, you know? Ever had a guy fall asleep on you?"

"Once," I laughed. "We both did, actually. One dick too many, I guess."

"Can I return the favor?"

"Not quite yet. I'm a little older than you."

"Yeah. I like that, making it with a man. Come on up here, Teddy. Can I call you Teddy?"

"I'd rather you didn't. Makes me feel like I'm back in elementary school."

"Get teased a lot?"

"Better believe it."

"Get fucked a lot?"

"Not nearly enough," I chuckled. "Six guys, huh?"

"Yeah. I used to go to the park. We all pretended we didn't know each other, but hell, it was Albyville." He was silent for a moment, then, "Assholes!" he growled, suddenly angry.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, startled at his change of tone.

"Complaining about stuff going on in the park at night. I know damn well who complained, too. Little dick. One week he's out there poking everyone, the next week, he's all up in arms about perverts. So I told. Told everyone he was a fucking hypocrite. My folks had a fit, the school expelled me, all of a sudden everybody was threatening to lynch me or have me arrested. So I split. Before they issued a warrant, or whatever they do."

"So the cops were interested, after all?"

"Not quite. They might be, now. Or they might be perfectly happy to put it all behind--" He interrupted himself, laughing. "I wish I knew why things were like that. It's my goddamn body!"

"It's a pretty decent body, if you ask me."

"I need to put on a few pounds. Muscle up some, you know? Do you think I could make porn?"

"No. You need more practice. I'll be happy to help with that."

"Pervert."

"Yeah."

Mitch rolled over onto his back. "But why? Why's it such a big deal with those guys?"

"Maybe because they're attracted to you?"

"God, I hope not. Except for Jamie Spear. He was hot."

"Spear? Really?"

"Yeah," Mitch sighed, then chuckled. "Not that I ever saw it, dammit."

Somebody knocked at the door. Mitch quickly pulled the covers over himself.

"I got it. Don't worry." I stumbled into my sweats and hurried to the door. "Yes?"

"Got your towels, Sir."

"Ah. Of course." I opened the door just far enough for the desk clerk, or whoever it was, to slip them through.

"Got a lot of calls for those, tonight."

"I'm not surprised," I said, and shut the door before he could go into more detail, then tossed the towels toward the television, only to see them slide to the floor. "Shit," I muttered.

"Fuck the towels. Get back in here. It's cold all alone."

I shrugged, hurried to the bed, and slipped under the covers. I felt Mitch's hand on my thigh. "Ready yet?" he smiled.

"Don't you love rainy nights?" my devil whispered, settling down with my angel.