A6 Near Luton, 1998

Finally, a white van pulls over to the hard shoulder. The driver leans over to the passenger side and winds down the window.

"Hop in," he says simply.

As white vans go, it's been kept in reasonably good nick. It doesn't actually scream serial killer at me. The driver is older and fits the stereotypical profile for a tradesman, some fat over muscles and a thick grey beard. I'm begging not choosing, so I say "Thank you," and hop in.

As we pull away, he flicks the stereo on and Black Sabbath blares out. We drive for a little way out of the suburbs.

"What's in Nottingham?" he asks, indicating the little cardboard sign I'd been waving from the verge for the last hour and a half.

"A couch," I say simply.

He doesn't reply at first. Or maybe, in a way, the silence is part of his response. "I wasn't planning on going as far as Nottingham."

There we are. This was on my list of possible scenarios. Not on the bottom of my list -- bottom was not getting a lift at all - but I'd hoped to avoid it. It was too optimistic to hope for a purely good Samaritan, maybe. He gets silence in return, at least for the length of a Tony Iommi solo. I know I'm taking the implied deal, but I'm not sure of the proper way to seal it. "I'd be very grateful...if..."

He nods and my stammer fades into nothing.

After another pause that lasts half a mile, he looks over at me. "You do this sort of thing a lot?"

The answer should be so obvious that he's almost mocking me by even asking. "Nah," I say, looking down at my knees.

"Yeah," he says. "No worries. You've landed on your feet tonight."

"Sure, sure," I say, trying to reassure myself.

This time there's no pause. "Okay. Here's the deal. I'll make sure you get to Nottingham if you let fuck you now and then again in a few hours just before I drop you off. Think of it as a half upfront and half on completion type of arrangement."

I'm momentarily stunned by the change in tone. Just as he's about to take it as a tacit agreement, I find my voice.

"Plus twenty quid."

He looks at me in surprise for a moment. "Fine. Since it seems you're a real charity case. I'll need to stop at the services first."

Look like I've judged it right. I might struggle to find another ride, but he's not going to find another fuckboy easily at this time of night either and the sum of money clearly wasn't large enough to have given him pause. Having something in my wallet will at least allow me to spring for a round at the pub and get the lay of the land before I have to decide which of my mates to tap for a bigger handout.

Logically, that deal makes sense, although it does technically mean I'm now a prostitute rather than just a 'really grateful' hitchhiker. I slowly marinate in the enormity of this as I stare blankly out the window at the passing road lights.

A few minutes later, he pulls into a little service station. He doesn't park at the pumps, but instead heads straight into the shop. I can see the counter through the window and there's no queue. Still, he's a long time. Eventually, he pays for what looks like a small box of condoms and a tube of lube, but as he gets in the car, he cracks the plastic wrapper and pulls out a cigarette. If he notices my surprise, he doesn't show it and we drive off again.

It's not long before he pulls off the A6 and onto the side roads. We pass a couple of small villages and then he parks up in a lay-by.

"Here'll do," he says. There are not enough trees to call it a wood, but there's probably enough to call it cover. There are no lights from either street lights or houses here and he reaches past my crotch to pull out a flashlight from the glove compartment.

We get out and make our way into the gloom. We have to navigate a ditch first and then find a hole in a small hedge, but then the path is easier. He's clearly been here before. He finds a spot by one of the bigger trees.

"Well, then," he says, flicking his fag away.

I stand there like an idiot. I'm not really sure how this is supposed to go. He looks me up and down.

"You ever been fucked before?" he asks.

He clearly doesn't want to know about my fumbles, my emerging sexuality, and my emotional struggles. He doesn't want to know how much I can remember of trysts conducted through the drunken haze of university nights. He doesn't want a body count or a ratio of hetero to homo hook-ups.

"Yes," I say.

"Drop your trousers and bend over that tree," he tells me.

"Would you like me to blow you first?" I ask. I'm stalling. The direct nature of his instructions gives me no reason to think he's going to be gentle with me.

"Knock yourself out," he replies. And then he unzips his trousers and his cock springs out. He's already hard. It's big. Somehow I knew it would be.

I test the ground with my feet. I decide it's solid enough that I can get to my knees. That's probably easier that squatting down and trying to keep the dirt off my clothes.

The last time I sucked a cock, I decided I wasn't gay. A decision I'd mostly stuck to over the past six months. Oh, well.

I wrap my lips around his dick. "Good boy," he tells me. His hand is already behind my head keeping me in place. It had been a forlorn hope that I would be able to tease him and please him. Instead he takes control, thrusting his manhood as far down my throat as he can. My gag reflex flutters for a second and then I get it under control. I can do this, I tell myself. It's just been a while.

Shifting position makes things easier. I move my body down more and tilt my head up so there's more of a straight line down my throat. Then I make sure to look up at him as he face-fucks me. Eye contact -- that's what all the women's magazines say is the secret of a great blowjob. And of course, I'm supposed to be a pro now.

He doesn't notice though. He's looking off into the distance. He does take advantage of the extra depth to push even further and fast into me. It doesn't take long before I get the first taste of salty liquid, as a little bit of pre-cum leaks out.

I pull away for a second. "Want to come in my mouth?" I ask him.

"No," he replies.

As I move to restart the blow job, he pushes me away and shakes his head. I'm still thinking about that cigarette packet. It's theoretically possible that he's about to reach into his coat pocket and pull out a condom that he already had, but, no. I know he's going to fuck me raw against a tree and I'm going to let him. My life thus far has been one long series of self-destructive choices. Why should tonight be any different?

"Okay," I say. Now my trousers come down and I turn one-hundred and eighty degrees from him. I try and thrust my arse out as far as possible without bringing my head closer to the ground. I hear him flip the lid off the lube and then there's an uncomfortable pause as he prepares himself.

The touch, when it comes, is surprisingly gentle. The gel is cold, of course, but he works it smoothly around my hole. He coats the outside first and then goes back to the tube to restock before inserting a finger a few millimeters inside me. I'm still tense though, and to my relief, he senses this and doesn't push in too deeply at first. I stand there breathing heavily as one digit becomes two and then two digits push further in.

It's done all done with experience. It's not hurried, but it is efficient and before long I'm undeniably ready. He doesn't ask, he just takes his fingers out and sticks his cock in.

I feel the intense shame of being penetrated, followed by the shame of enjoying it. My emotions hurt more than the physical pain. My dick betrays me and starts to get hard.

Thing is, he's good. It's more than just the size of his cock inside me. It's the way he's exerting power over me, taking what he wants. I've had my share of encounters, but never twice with the same guy, and with guys my own age, everything is taken slowly, they've taken my feelings into consideration, held my hand both literally and metaphorically. I think that scares me off more than just being the passive partner to another man. Turns out quick and dirty is how I like it.

He's not a talker though. That's a pity. I want him to tell me how he's going to fuck me. I want him to ask me if I'm enjoying it. Hell, I want to tell him I'm loving it. I want him to tell me I'm a fag and then vigorously agree with him.

Instead, he just keeps pumping at my hips with grim determination.

The pain, such as it was, is almost completely gone now. Maybe it is the size of his cock after all. It's hitting me in the right spot. My prostate is releasing all these endorphins and it's making me crazy. It's messing with my mind how much I want to be abused.

He has staying power, but as his orgasm starts to build, all I can think about is how much I want him to spray his seed inside me. It's funny, it's not like I can really tell the difference, but being fuck raw feels so right. When it hits and he drives deep inside me, my knees collapse and all I can feel is his pole at my core. He's left holding me up as he spasms twice and then three times. When he pulls out it's all I can do to remain upright.

"Oh, wow," I say.

A smile dances across his face for a moment and then it's gone. He takes a packet of tissue out of his pocket and wipes his dick a few times. Then he tosses the whole packet to me. His spunk is already dribbling out of me. Every time I think I'm all cleaned up, I find another clump further down my leg. I go through most of the remaining tissue but eventually I'm cleaned up.

He's just been standing there. When it looks like I'm done, he takes one look at my erection.

"If you want to wank yourself off, I'll be back in the car," he says. "Five minutes."

"Nah, I'm good," I say.

We go back to the van and get on our way again. Silence except for Deep Purple. The miles go by and I'm lost in thought again.

Fuck. Every time I think I'm okay being straight, something like this happens and blows my mind.

We're a few miles outside of Market Harborough when his phone rings. He puts it to his ear and I can't make out what is being said, but I can hear that it's a woman on the other end.

"Yeah, I'm going to be a bit late...Nah, held up, just leaving Luton now...Yeah, I know what I said...No, don't wait up...No, leave it in the microwave...Yeah, love you too."

He puts the phone down and we drive.

It's like that is it? Is that the answer I'm looking for?

Girlfriends and fuckboys. A Wife at home and a arse in the woods.

That is, I want dates, and relationships and cuddling with women. I want marriage and kids. I'm pretty sure I do.

But am I also going to be slipping out every now and then to get my arse completely owned? Am I going to be able to stop myself even if I want to? Is it just a matter of finding a girl I love enough to give up cock?

Those are questions for another day though. These thoughts subside. Eventually, I'm just counting down the miles and the clock and then I realize I'm just counting down for round two.

A few minutes later and he pulls up into a lay-by. It's hardly isolated and we're nowhere near our destination.

"Power nap," he explains. "I've been on the road since six a.m."

Without another word, he hits the handle on his seat. There's not a lot of room to recline in the van as there is the separating wall behind us, but he bundles up his jacket and closes his eyes. Within seconds he's snoring.

As he's lying there, I get to study him in a way that I haven't been able to all evening. He's not a handsome bloke, but he is tough. There's age on his face, but that just makes him sexier.

I consider reaching down, unzipping him and sucking him off while he naps. It's too risky though. I don't know how he'll take it. I'm too scared to try.

He jerks his eyes awake. "Right," he says and almost instantly we're on our way again.

As we reach Leicester, he comes off the A6 and onto the side roads. I'm not sure what he's doing. There are quicker options even if he doesn't want to take the M1. Some of the turns are clearly sending us west rather than north and, before long, there's a village that we're suddenly not driving through but driving into.

I'm getting nervous and I start to finish.

Suddenly he pulls right and we're in a little garage -- an M.O.T. place. A couple of blue bay doors are shuttered for the night and round the side there's one single light shining. There's another white van parked up next to where we stop. As we pull in, a guy gets out the other side.

"All change," my lift says getting out of our vehicle. When I don't move he says. "This is as far as I'm taking you."

"But..." I stammer. "You said you'd take me all the way to Nottingham."

"No," he says. "I said I'd get you there. And I will. Via Ted here. I'm heading home though. After, of course."

He greets his friend. I'm left there for a moment, then, feeling I have no choice, I get out as well.

I find Ted running his eyes up and down me. "Jesus, Frank, where do you find them?"

"Same roads you drive, mate. I can't help it if I'm lucky. This one needed a lift and wasn't too particular about what he had to do to get it."

Ted leers at me. It's not that he's necessarily older than Frank (thanks for finally introducing us, by the way). He's just seedier. Bald and the belly doesn't look so good on a shorter guy.

"Shall we get in out of it," said Ted. He goes around the side of the garage and opens it up. As we head in he turns on a light. A Ford Focus is still suspended in the repair bay.

"Get a brew on, eh," says Frank. Ted hurries off to the back to oblige.

Near the front of the shop, there's a lounge area for customers. A few single chairs and a larger sofa made of cheap leather.

"Strip," says Frank.

I've had the wind taken out of my sails. This isn't what I was expecting. Isn't what I've been looking forward to. I'm here now though and I obey. I put my clothes on the nearby table, on top of an issue of Top Gear magazine. Only when I'm left shivering and naked does Frank begin to remove his own clothes. He doesn't seem to feel the cold the same way I do. He stands there matter-of-factly, his cock already large.

"Sofa," he says. I sit on it, primly like I'm expecting him to come sit next to me. Instead, he reaches down, grabs my ankles and pushes them high in the air. My arse slides down so it's suddenly at the front of the sofa and exposed.

The bottle of lube comes out again, but there's no prep this time. The oil goes on and then he's straight into me. It's been a couple of hours but my ring hasn't completely forgotten him and it opens up quickly. It's only a couple of seconds before he's balls deep inside me and my feet are around his shoulders.

This time, he's getting to looking at me as he's fucking me. That is, I could look back, but I find his gaze unsettling. There's desire there, and he's clearly enjoying me, but there's also this look that says that I'm nothing. A hole to be used.

I find I'm hard again. Fuck.

I suddenly feel a hand caressing across my cheek. "You like Frank's cock?" Ted asks.

"Oh, God, yes!" I say.

"Yeah, all the boys do," replied Ted.

"My wife's quite keen on it as well," Frank jokes. The two men laugh, but, being drilled, I'm not really in a position to join in and don't feel like I'm in on the joke anyway.

I've turned to look back at Frank, but then I feel something brushing across my cheek. I turn and see it's Ted's cock. He's no Frank, that's for sure. I suddenly feel resentful. I don't want to suck Ted off. Partly, it's the bitterness of having the deal reneged on. But mostly it's just because I don't fancy him.

I still need to get to Nottingham, though.

I crane my neck slightly and take him in my mouth. His cock is salty and sharp and not in a good way. It's small enough that I don't have a problem taking it the mouth at the same time as I'm being fucked. After the initial taste wears off, it's inoffensive. I decide that if I need to make him cum, I'd better put the effort into it. As best I can, I start bobbing my head up and down on it.

I've never done a threesome before.

Ted pats my head and says, "Good boy."

And then the endorphins are fucking with my head again. The fact that I'm sucking off a guy I don't even like, don't even know, becomes the very thing that's turning me on. I'm such a slut that I'm going to let this little troll nut in my mouth.

As I suck, I wonder what the deal is. Is there going to be a half-time and a change of ends? I find myself hoping that I can get Ted to finish before that happens. I find myself redoubling my effort to ensure it does.

Instead, it's Frank who finishes first. He erupts inside me almost without warning, or maybe with all that was going on, I missed the signs. Anyway, suddenly, he bucks and empties, and almost before I've realized what is going on he's out of me.

I'm now able to adjust my position, sitting properly on the sofa. Ted keeps his cock in my mouth but moves round slightly to accommodate my new stance. Frank cleans himself up with almost undue haste. I'm still blowing Ted when he's got his clothes up.

"Thanks, kid," he says. "It's been a pleasure."

My heart skips a beat. He's about to walk out the door and I'm in no position to say anything. I don't know what I should say anyway. What am I going to do? Invite him to dinner and a movie? I do want to see him again.

I push Ted away for a second. "Err, hey, thanks. If you ever want to..."

Before I finish, he just looks at me and say, "Yeah, nah." He reaches inside his pocket and throws a twenty-pound note on top of my clothes.

That's it. There's not a lot else to do except to finish Ted off. He comes in my mouth at about the same time as I hear the van outside drive off. I spit the spunk out onto the coffee table, accidentally ruining a copy of GQ as I do.

I'm about to put my clothes back on when Ted looks at me. "Are you forgetting something?"

I look at him uncomprehending.

"You haven't come yet," he explains.

"That's okay," I reply.

"Oh, no," he says, advancing to me. "But I insist..."

I've probably been a bit rough on old Frank. After all and despite everything, he did get me off and home. Eventually.