Land of Enchantment

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He finds himself, and love, driving through the Southwest.
8.3k words
45.6k
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Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

I never used to believe that saying about bad things coming in threes. But when I lost my wife and my job in the same week, I began to wonder what was going to hit me next.

There's nothing like hindsight. Often after the fact you can look back and tell yourself you should have seen it coming. But I was honestly shocked when my wife fell in love with someone else and asked for a divorce. Sure, our love life hadn't been great lately, but she had never been wild about sex even when we were dating. When I said this to her the night she left, she shook her head.

"I was always crazy for you, Roy. You were the one who wasn't interested. I thought something was wrong with me. Now I know that's not true. I've met someone who loves me and who thinks I'm the hottest thing around."

No hard feelings, she added, kissing me on the cheek. Then she walked out the door and left me to pick up the pieces.

Getting laid off, though, shouldn't have come as a surprise. My company hadn't been doing well for months. The downturn that started last fall really hit us hard. Still, I didn't think my own job was in danger, even though they took me off some important projects and fired my assistants.

My wife left on a Tuesday night. When I walked into my area vice-president's office that Friday morning and saw the look on his face, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. All of a sudden I knew that my bad week was about to get worse.

He tried to be nice about it. He offered me a generous severance package and promised to give me good references. I found out later that he had been let go himself soon after he'd given me the ax.

I came home that afternoon to an empty silent house. I carried the boxes of stuff that I had cleaned out of my office from my car to the front hallway, put them on the floor and went to the couch in the living room. For the next several hours I sat, not moving, until it was dark. Finally I went to the bedroom that my wife and I had shared until recently. Without bothering to get undressed I lay down in the middle of the king-sized bed and stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep.

I forced myself to get up and eat the next morning, but I walked around the house for the next few days in a daze. I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. Everything I had worked for and believed in had turned to ashes. I had failed both at my job and at my marriage. What was I going to do?

My cell phone rang once in a while, filling up with messages from friends and co-workers who had heard what had happened to me and were concerned. Finally I turned it off. I didn't respond to their messages or call any of them back.

A few days later an idea came to me. It was evening and the Texas summer heat had subsided. I had walked outside and was staring at my dark blue Jeep Cherokee sitting in the driveway. It was almost new--I had bought it last year, when things were still going well--and in great shape. I could drive it anywhere I wanted. I had money in my pocket, for the time being, at least. Why not get away from this mess for a few days, a week maybe, do some thinking on the road? Maybe then I could figure out how to get on with my life.

The next morning I called and had my paper delivery suspended. That day I ran a few errands that I needed to do before leaving. In the evening I packed a few clothes and essentials in an overnight bag for my planned departure the next day.

The morning dawned bright and sunny. I walked out the door with my luggage, such as it was. Hearing it slam shut behind me gave me a hollow feeling--it was as if a whole chapter was closing in my life. As I was throwing the bag in the back of my SUV I saw my next-door neighbor leaving for work--the lucky guy still had a job. I told him I was going out of town for a few days and asked him to keep an eye on the house.

"Going on a vacation with the missus?" he asked, smiling.

"No, alone. My wife left me last week," I said. He blinked and promised to take care of things.

That was all I had to do. Soon I was driving out of Austin, heading north, armed with a sixpack of bottled water and a few roadmaps. I left the cell phone sitting on the living room table. I kept my eyes on the road and drove carefully. Other than that, I let my thoughts wander. But no revelations came to me, at least not that day.

By late afternoon I was well into the Panhandle, driving in hot, dusty and flat country. The dreary scenery matched my mood. I had to take a leak real bad--drinking all that water had caught up with me. I began looking for somewhere to stop. After some miles I saw a roadside rest stop, just a small turnoff with some picnic tables, vending machines, and rest rooms. Attempts at landscaping the area had long since succumbed to the unrelenting sun.

No one else was parked in the lot when I pulled in. I stopped in front of the men's room and hurried inside to the urinal. I barely got unzipped before releasing what felt like a gallon of pee. As the painful pressure against my bladder eased I heaved a sigh of relief.

As the stream slowed to a trickle another sensation came to my mind. It felt good holding my cock, and I realized how long it had been since I'd gotten off. Julie and I hadn't had sex for months while our marriage crumbled, and in my depressed state since she had left me I hadn't even felt like masturbating. Now for the first time in quite a while I felt horny. I gave my penis a few tentative strokes and felt it begin to swell in my hand. I hadn't heard any other cars pull up and I was quite sure I was alone at the rest stop. Still, I hesitated, uneasy about doing it out in the open.

There were two urinals side by side in the small men's room, and two wooden stalls with toilets along the same wall a bit further from the entrance. If I was going to jack off it would be safer behind a closed door. I pushed open the door of the stall nearest the urinals, lowered my trousers and sat on the toilet. The sharp smell of disinfectant hit my nostrils but somehow this only made me hornier.

My cut cock sprang straight up when it was freed, already leaking clear fluid. I began to stroke it, spreading the precum over the head and shaft, spitting into my hand and adding it for more lubrication. Damn, that felt good. It wouldn't take me long at this rate.

At that moment I heard the sound of a running motor approaching. Another car had entered the rest area and pulled up close to the restroom entrance. The driver killed the engine and in a moment I heard footsteps enter the men's room. Despite the fact that he couldn't possibly see me, I was embarrassed and stopped what I was doing.

The unknown man went to one of the urinals. As I waited for him to do his business and leave my eyes roved around the walls of the stall. In the harsh fluorescent light I saw that someone had gouged a small hole in the left wall, above the roll of toilet paper. If I looked through it I could get a view of whoever was at the urinal.

Suddenly I was consumed by curiosity. I hadn't been naked with anyone in a locker room or shower for years. I wanted to see someone else's organ, compare it with my own. I leaned forward as quietly as I could and put my eye to the peephole.

Whoever had made the hole had done it with this exact purpose in mind. I couldn't see his face, but otherwise I had a perfect view of the unknown man standing at the urinal farthest from the stall. He was wearing a striped dress shirt and khaki pants. A strong hand with sparse black hair growing on the back gripped the cock that stuck out from his fly. It was circumcised and even in its soft state it was impressive, with a healthy pink head, out of which a thick golden stream made its way into the urinal. I could hear splashing noises as it hit the rubber guard at the bottom.

My breathing was coming fast and shallow. My cock, which had softened somewhat when I stopped jerking it, was fully hard again. There was something exciting and naughty about spying on someone's private act this way. My eye was glued to the peephole, and almost without realizing it my hand began to move again on my own cock as I watched the stranger finish taking his leak.

He shook his organ once or twice and flushed. With disappointment I knew the show was over and he would leave in a moment. I hadn't cum yet and the pressure in my loins was stronger than ever. Once he left I would finish myself off and hopefully get some relief from the sexual tension built up over months.

I had taken my eye from the peephole, as twisting my body had become uncomfortable. After a moment I realized to my surprise that I had heard no further sounds, no footsteps or running water indicating the man was washing his hands. He hadn't left. In fact, he hadn't moved.

Cautiously I peered out the hole again. The unknown man was still standing in front of the urinal. His fly was unzipped and his cock was still out. It wasn't soft any more, though. It was stiff and erect as he stroked it slowly with his hairy hand.

With a shock I realized that he knew I was watching him and was putting on a show for me. I had half a mind to zip up quickly and run out the door, get away from this pervert. I couldn't move, though. It was as if my butt were glued to the toilet seat and my eye to the peephole. I took hold of my own hard cock and began to stroke it in unison with my faceless companion.

He continued to work his penis, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, now and then shaking it up and down by the root. He pulled out his hairy ball sack as well, fondling it with one hand as he masturbated with the other. I felt myself getting close and slowed my pace down, not wanting to shoot my load before him.

My anonymous partner's hand began to move faster and faster on his shaft. Soon I heard harsh gasps outside my stall. The man's body bucked back and forth. He thrust his hips toward the urinal, aiming his cock at it as white spurts shot from its head and hit the porcelain. By now I was in a fever of excitement and the sight of his ejaculation pushed me over the edge. A muffled groan of pleasure escaped my clenched jaw as I released my own load into the toilet bowl. I heard soft splashes as the semen shot from my cock and hit the water beneath.

As I caught my breath I heard the urinal being flushed,then the sound of running water and a paper towel being torn from the dispenser. Quick footsteps tapped past the stall, then I heard a motor roar to life outside. By the time I had cleaned myself up, flushed the toilet, pulled up my pants and stepped out of the stall, the man was gone. I had never seen his face.

Some time later I was back on the road, thinking about what had happened. I had always walked the straight path in life, had never had any experiences with other men. So what did that scene back at the rest stop mean? I hadn't made any real contact with the man. I wouldn't recognize him if I saw him on the street. I told myself it had been an aberration, an impulsive act caused by my horniness and recent stress.

As I fell asleep late that evening in a small motel room, though, the last image I saw in my mind as I drifted off to sleep was a veined, hairy, masculine hand, stroking an erect penis.

The next morning I checked out and set off again. I still wasn't sure where I was going. From where I was it would be easy to get to any of several states. The weather continued hot and dry, the terrain flat and featureless. By noon I was more than ready for a break.

I saw a large sign at the side of the road: "Family Restaurant." In the arid surroundings its gaudy colors leaped to the eye. It had its intended effect on me as I turned in to the restaurant parking lot a half-mile later. I needed to stretch my legs and fill my stomach.

The dining room was spacious, cool and, despite the hour, almost empty. A bustling, cheerful waitress served me as diligently as if I were in a four-star restaurant, and the food was delicious. I ate a barbecue beef sandwich, sipped iced tea and looked out the large glass window at the traffic passing by.

I finished a piece of chess pie for dessert and paid the bill, leaving a nice tip for my hardworking server. I had no place I needed to get to, and sitting doing nothing was so pleasant that I didn't want to move just yet. I looked around the restaurant again, thinking I might ask for one more refill of tea before I left.

I saw a man sitting in a booth against the far wall of the dining room, facing in my direction. I hadn't noticed him before. Maybe he had come in while I was eating. He had a cup of coffee in front of him and was reading a newspaper. As if aware that I was looking at him he glanced up and our eyes met. I quickly looked away, but not before I had noted his direct stare and the beginnings of a smile on his face.

A few moments passed and I worked up the nerve to glance in his direction again. He was older than me by maybe ten or fifteen years, dark hair turning gray, dressed in work shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. His face was craggy and lined and looked as if he smiled often.

As luck would have it, at that moment he looked up and caught me looking at him again. I ducked my head, embarrassed. My face felt hot and my heart was pounding. What's more, I was aware of a stirring in my crotch. What was happening to me? I shifted in my seat and tried to move my legs to relieve the pressure.

I knew I should get up and leave. But I didn't move. After a few more minutes of agony I told myself I was being ridiculous. Why was I letting a total stranger intimidate me? With a boldness I didn't feel inside I looked up again.

The man had put down his paper and was staring, nailing me with a pair of piercing dark eyes. I could feel a blush rising again but, determined not to back down, I held his gaze. A smile spread slowly across his face and I was surprised at how handsome he was. He was sprawled on the padded bench of his booth, slumped down with his legs apart. I let my eyes flicker downward and saw movement in the shadows underneath the table. One hand was rubbing the bulge between his legs.

Sweat began to trickle down my face despite the blasting air-conditioning. I licked dry lips. Suddenly the man got up and strode across the room. For an awful moment I thought he was heading for my table, but he instead he walked toward the back of the restaurant and disappeared into a small, darkened hallway. I saw a sign fixed to the wall above the opening: "Rest Rooms."

When my legs hoisted my body upright I was sure I was leaving, relieved that the mysterious encounter was over. Instead I found they were carrying me in the same direction the stranger had gone. I told myself I needed to go before I hit the road again.

I pushed open the door marked "Men" and found myself in a tiny lavatory, containing a basin with a mirror over it, one urinal, and one stall, whose door was closed. I had barely entered when a voice came from the stall.

"Lock the door."

I was so surprised I couldn't speak for a moment. Finally I croaked, "What?"

"Lock the door. Hurry."

I turned around and sure enough, the door had a deadbolt. I pushed at it. At first it didn't move, then it fell into place with a "clack." I heard a noise behind me and turned toward the stall. The door was open a crack and a hand from inside beckoned me forward.

The few steps to the stall seemed to take an eternity. As I reached it, the door opened wider and I saw the man who had been sitting in the dining room perched on the toilet, his jeans pushed down to his ankles. I hesitated and he waved me forward again with more impatience.

"C'mon. We don't have much time."

Finally I was inside the stall. It was so small I couldn't close the door. The man on the toilet rubbed his hands up and down my hips. He stared at the swelling mound of my fly and licked his lips. With one hand he reached up, unbuckled my belt, and drew the zipper down. In a second my pants and underwear were halfway down my thighs. My erection jutted out, hard and dripping.

"Very nice." Without another word he gripped my bare butt, drawing me forward, and took me in his mouth. At the first contact I gasped and threw my head back. The sensation was electrifying. My wife had given me oral sex once in a great while, always with reluctance and for as short a time as possible. Her halfhearted efforts were nothing at all like the hot slippery pleasure that now engulfed me.

He continued to work, sucking with a hard intensity, flicking his tongue around the head. In only a few minutes I felt my climax rising but was helpless to stop it. A strangled cry escaped my lips as my knees buckled. Had the other man's grip not tightened on my body I would have pitched forward as my cock exploded. I managed to brace myself with my arms against the wall as I shot, and shot again into his mouth. I heard faint gurgles coming from the stranger who still held me completely inside him, his nose pressed into my pubic hair.

At last he pulled back, released my softening organ and looked upward.

"That was fast."

I was embarrassed again, and somehow humiliated that I hadn't been able to hold back. "I'm sorry," I said. I pulled up my pants and began stuffing my shirt back into them, thinking only to get out of there as quick as I could.

"Whoa. Don't be sorry. That was great."

I stopped and stared at him. "Great?"

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and winked at me. "Sure was. Nothing better than giving head to hot young fellas like you."

I shook my head, uncomprehending. "I've got to go. See you."

Without waiting for a reply I unlocked the restroom door, hurried out of the restaurant and jumped into my Wrangler. Soon I was roaring down the road.

My thoughts were in turmoil. For the second time in two days I had let myself be drawn into something I had never done before, something that went against everything I had been taught. I told myself I hadn't been an active participant. I hadn't done anything except stand and let it happen. I shook my head when I thought of the other man in the toilet. Great, he said. He had enjoyed sucking my cock, had swallowed my cum. How sick was that?

The only good thing was that somehow I had been shaken out of my lethargy. I felt more alert, and interested in what life held in store for me. I noticed cars passing by with colorful plates on their bumpers, splashed with orange and yellow. "Land of Enchantment," they read. New Mexico. The idea of going there intrigued me. I wasn't too far from the town that people had told me was the most enchanting place in the state--Santa Fe. I made up my mind. That was where I was headed.

Later that afternoon I got on the interstate heading west and crossed the border into New Mexico. Soon I noticed the scenery had changed. I was still driving through desert country, arid and desolate. Here, however, the terrain was spectacular. Huge rock formations jutted from the earth, near and far, forming ever-changing vistas. Gray mists covered distant mountains. I drove through a brief but intense rain shower that ended after only a few miles, after which the desert sun beat down as bright as ever. I began to understand the reason for the license plate slogan.

A lot of this was Indian territory. The highway was dotted with signs indicating that I was entering one reservation after another. Occasionally huge new constructions rose by the side of the highway, incongruous sights, announced with garish billboards and electronic marquees spelling out coming entertainment attractions. By building these gambling casinos the tribes had figured out a way to make money, appealing to the baser instincts of the white man. I chuckled at the irony of it all.

Santa Fe, by contrast, emerged so smoothly from the surroundings I hardly noticed I was approaching it at first. I began to see square, flat-roofed constructions rising from the countryside, colored in various earthen tones. I remembered that the city had an ordinance requiring uniformity of appearance and the use of traditional materials and architecture. This gave the place a unique look.