The Hitchhiker

I saw him from a good distance away, walking down the highway in the direction I was driving shortly after a big cloverleaf marking the intersection of two major highways. With his deep tan, ponytailed black hair, and tanned torso, he looked Native American and fit in perfectly with the highway that was descending in the western sun between red-rock buttes on either side. He hardly looked like an experienced hitchhiker, but that was exactly what he seemed to be doing. Not only was he hitchhiking illegal on a highway like this, but I also couldn't remember the last time I'd seen a hitchhiker on the roads at all. And I especially couldn't remember seeing one as ill equipped for hitchhiking as this one was. I couldn't tell how old he was, but he certainly looked young--barely out of high school, certainly, his body lean and willowy. He seemed almost to be floating--dancing--down the road.

Maybe he wasn't hitchhiking, I thought. Maybe his car had broken down. But he was walking just beyond where he could have gotten off and found places that would have helped with an automobile breakdown and I didn't remember seeing a car on the side of the highway in the last several miles.

He didn't look to be more than nineteen. He had the usual backpack, which was hanging from one of his hands, but he was shirtless, a white T-shirt hanging over his shoulder, and was wearing low-slung jeans. And a cowboy hat and tooled leather boots. This hardly was gear for hiking or walking the asphalt highways. He was of medium height, and lean, hard-bodied. He looked like he worked out regularly. In classic hitcher style, he was pointed at me, walking backwards down the road, with his thumb out.

I didn't see a stranded car back there, but I'd just passed a rest area. Maye he had come out of a rest area, where he had been left off by his previous ride. And as he saw my car coming down the road, he turned and leaned against a white light pole and looked up at the treetops. It was almost as if he was posing for me.

As I got closer to him, I was thinking that he must not have been without a ride for long. He didn't look wrung out by the summer heat. So, it was pretty evident he'd come out of the rest area. He must have been backing and thumbing for only a couple of minutes, because I don't think anyone can back down a highway for long like that and make any decent progress. Maybe he thought he could be picked up quickly like this--by being so sexy looking. And maybe he was right about that. He certainly had gotten my attention.

As I passed him, we made eye contact, and I found myself pulling over just past him. I have no idea why I did that; I'd never picked up a hitchhiker before in my life.

He opened the back door and tossed his bag in and then opened the front door, stuck his head in, and asked, "Can I get a lift down the road a ways? You're not exiting for the next couple of exits or anything, I hope?"

"Sure, hop in," I answered. "I've got a good long ways to go down this road." He already had his bag in my backseat, so I guess we both knew the request was only a formality. He draped his T-shirt over the seat back before he got in, which was nice of him. I like to keep my car clean, and, again, picking someone up like this was a new experience for me. He wasn't too sweaty, though. He hadn't been hitching for long since the last ride.

"Thanks again," he said, as he got in and buckled up and I nosed back onto the highway.

"Nice wheels," he said, "A new Lexus?"

"Yes, thanks. I like it."

"These SUVs have a whole lot of room. You could really have a party in the backseat there. Bet it lays down to provide a good bed for more than one."

I didn't quite know a good answer to that one, so I didn't say anything.

"So, what's your name?" He asked.

"Chad," I answered. "I'm on my way to the coast. I've been to the mountains for the weekend." It was lame, but I wasn't all that good with small talk.

"Sounds great. Tim. That's my name, Tim. I'm just drifting down the road myself. Seeing where it leads. Seeing how far I can get on my wits and a promise."

"Exploring your world between high school and getting bogged down in college, I suppose."

"Ummm; something like that." Maybe he wasn't going to tell me how old he was. Maybe I'd calculated that too high. But I had no idea at the time why I asked that. Later, I decided that I unconsciously knew what was afoot and was trying to protect myself, trying to play safe. He didn't know it would be someone like me who picked him up. But then I'd just speculated about how presenting himself a certain way might help him get picked up.

We went silent then for several miles. He lifted his arms and did a few twists back and forth in the seat and then massaged his biceps and ran his hand over his chest and down his abs.

I couldn't help but notice him. "Tough hitching, I guess," I said.

"Huh?"

"I said, it must be tough hitchhiking like that. Your backpack must be heavy; must have knotted your muscles up."

"Yeah, I guess so," he said. And then he laughed a little nervous laugh. "Okay, so it's getting close to supper time. What can I do in exchange for a meal and a ride for four or five exits beyond that? Maybe a blow job for the meal and then you can do me for the mileage?"

"Excuse me?" I asked in shock and almost ran off the side of the road.

"Huh, sorry, man," the young man said, "My mistake. I just assumed--from why I'm usually picked up. You can pull over there, and I'll just get out. Sorry, man. I misunderstood."

I had gotten the car back under control. "Hey, I'll give you a ride. And I'll even feed you dinner, but how did you come to the wild conclusion that I wanted anything for it, let alone that?"

"It's just the rule of the road, man. I advertise my availability--what'd you think I was doing with my shirt off back there--and a single guy stops for me, and I get down the road a ways and maybe a meal with about the only thing I have to give in exchange. I'm sorry to just come on to you like that. I didn't know. You stopped when I put out the bait. And you're a good looker. You look like someone who might be interested. You obviously take good care of your body. A good reason to care for it is so you can use it. It's why I make the effort. But, sorry. I don't mean to..." He stopped there, like he knew he'd gone too far.

He was right, though. I had stopped. And I had no idea why I'd stopped. Was it because he had been shirtless? Would I have stopped otherwise? I felt myself blushing. Was there something inside me that knew more than I consciously was willing to admit? Maybe I did know why I stopped--and maybe he was right about that; that it had something to do with his looks and how he presented himself.

"So, if you'll just let me out, I won't dirty up your car anymore."

"Hey, it's not like that. I don't care what you do to pay for your travels. I just didn't stop because of that. I don't know why I stopped. Probably because you aren't supposed to be hitchhiking on an expressway and I didn't want a young kid like you to get into trouble."

"I'm not a young kid. I'm nineteen. I'm of age." He let that register before continuing. "I don't ever have to stand beside the road with my thumb out very long," he added, with sort of a pout.

"You mean there are a lot of guys who stop for you... for that reason?"

"Yeah, there are." He left some dead space so that I could contemplate that. "So, you didn't stop because you were attracted to me?" he continued. "I don't look good to you?"

"No. I mean, you look just fine. But, no, I didn't stop and pick you up with anything like that in mind. Certainly not in the front of my mind." Shit. Now I was doing it--saying too much.

"So, you don't swing like that?"

"No, certainly not." I might have paused a bit too long before saying that, though.

"Never thought about it? I mean, the way I look at it, sex is sex is sex. You have a chance to get it on and get it off with another good looker, a girl with big tits or a guy who's hung, it's just a thing of nature. Get it on, get off with it, I think."

"So, your response would be the same if a single woman stopped for you?"

"Sure, women who would stop for a shirtless young guy like me are as prone to want a fuck than the men who do. And... whatever gets me down the road."

We were silent after that for a couple of miles. I wasn't stopping to let him out of the Lexis, so we were both settling down.

Eventually, he returned to whatever this was--negotiations? Seduction? "A great looker like you has never thought about that--picking a guy up off the road for a casual lay? The way you wear those jeans--I'll bet you're hung too."

"Well, that 'whatever/whoever' view is quite a philosophy," was all I could think to say. I had to say that it was getting me up.

"Seriously, you've never had a blow job from a guy? Never even thought about it?"

"No... well, maybe a bit curious. I'll bet all men who are honest are a bit curious. But, no, no, I've never done it or been in a position to do it."

"I bet you have one guys would love to suck."

There was no way I was going to respond to that. The kid turned his head and stared out the window. He had his elbow on the sill and was picking at his teeth with his fingernails. The other hand had dropped to rest in his lap.

"Well, then," he said after a couple of miles. "That sign says there's an exit coming up in a couple of miles. You can pull over and let me out there."

"There's no need for that. We're cool. I'm not judging you on this. But we'll stop at that exit for some dinner anyway. I'm hungry too."

"Then, can I cover the cost of a meal by sucking you off? You say you've never done it because you haven't had the opportunity. Here's your opportunity. Let me see it. I'm sure I'd be happy to suck it off. A lot of guys let guys blow them. That doesn't mean anything about them being queer or anything."

"No! I can afford the meal. I don't have to get anything for it."

Tim went silent.

We exited and pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. The dinner crowd was already thinning out and dusk was settling in.

"Hey, could you park way over there in the back corner?" Tim asked, as he stretched to pull his T-shirt on. "I've got a kink in my leg and would like to walk it out on our way into the restaurant."

"Sure thing. It should save me from getting a ding on the new SUV, anyway."

Tim was quiet and a little sad looking through dinner. Over desert, I asked him what was wrong; what he was thinking about.

"I don't take charity, Chad. I don't really have anything of value in my backpack to cover this supper and this ride, but I don't take charity. What I offered is all I got. I do have pride, though. I think you want it, and I want to pay my way."

"I don't know what to say, Tim. I understand what you're saying. We can think about this as we go down the road. Maybe there's something else you could do. You can always be my insurance against getting a flat, I suppose. If I get one, you can fix it, and that would pay me back." I thought this was funny, but Tim didn't laugh.

Tim pulled his shirt back off as we were walking back to the car. This end of the parking lot was quite dark now. I got back in the driver's seat, buckled up, put my key in the ignition, and started to turn it. But Tim twisted toward me in his seat and put his left hand over my hand holding the keys and put his right hand in my lap, searching for my cock, and finding it through the material of my trousers and briefs.

"Wow, is that a missile you've got in there, Chad? I almost thought you really weren't interested--that I'd read you wrong--but I don't think it was that old broad of a waitress who's got you hard or anyone else in the diner. It's me, isn't it?"

"Tim! I said no."

"Here, you feel me. I don't have a problem admitting that it's you who's made me hard." He'd taken my hand and put it on his crotch. I took a moment too long in taking it away. We both knew I was interested.

"I pay as I go, Chad. That's my way. I ain't changing no tire, because your tires look brand new. I don't think you're getting any flat tire. And you admitted you've thought about it and just have never had the opportunity. You're hard now, man, and I don't think it's for anyone but me--what I'm offering. This is your opportunity. Don't make me beg. Leave me with some respect." All the time he was saying this, he was unbuckling my belt, undoing my pants button, and unzipping me.

And I was letting him do that. I sat in shock, speechless.

"God, damn, Chad!" Tim exclaimed as he unrolled my cock and brought it out into the open air. "This thing is enormous. Why are you shy about showing this off?"

"Tim..." I started, but he wasn't paying any attention to me. He was stroking me, trying to get me hard, and, I must say, my cock was cooperating.

"Lay back in your seat," he said. "Let me at least give you a hand job. You're hard; you want it. Does this seat recline?"

The seat did recline and I lay back in it.

"Relax. Spread your legs," he said. I responded, pressed my forearm over my eyes, and emitted a low moan as he gave my shaft a few strokes.

"No, Chad," he said. "Don't cover your eyes. Look down and watch me jack you. That's half the pleasure--seeing that another guy is doing that and that it isn't just you pulling your own meat."

I looked down the length of my torso to where he was masturbating me and groaned. His chiseled, Native American profile was in view as well. He was a beautiful young man, and he was jacking me off.

"You got a great cock, man," he murmured, as he stroked. He didn't stop there, though. His mouth came down and swallowed me to the root, and my cock was quite a bit longer and thicker coming out than it had been going in.

"Oh, god, no," I murmured, but immediately contradicted that with an "Oh, shit, yes."

He wrapped a hand around the base and squeezed, helping to keep the blood that was flowing there stay there, and he began rimming my glans with his tongue and sucking it like a Popsicle. The size of my cock burgeoned and I felt a series of moans escape my lips.

I didn't know what to do with my hands. I swiveled and placed them both on his back and massaged his back muscles and let my fingers run through his thick, dark hair. His hair was long, a shiny black. He'd had it in a banded ponytail. I released that and let his hair cascade to his shoulders. It moved in waves in cadence with his mouth work on my cock.

He was pumping me with his mouth now, keeping fingers squeezed at the base of my cock and playing with my balls with his other hand. I was trapped behind the wheel, so there wasn't much else either he or I could do down there.

"Oh, fuck," I moaned as he took my balls, one after the other, in his mouth and sucked on them as he fisted my cock and continued jacking it.

It was all too much of a surprise for me and too much sudden sensual pleasure for me to gain control. I came in spasms on his face quite quickly. He licked me clean as he withdrew his mouth and then wiped his face with his T-shirt. He came up smiling.

"So, you really did want this, didn't you? Excited to see me. Haven't had any for a while, I guess."

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I shouldn't have lost--"

"Don't apologize. I love sucking cock. You've got a beauty."

He then twisted away from me in the passenger seat and raised his left leg and burrowed his left foot, still in a tooled cowboy boot, behind my back; raised his right foot to the dash board beyond the steering wheel; and leaned back into the passenger arm rest. There was a long line of good-looking, tanned skin running down from his neck across his youthful, clean-shaven chest and six-pack abs, his pert little outie navel, across his belly and to the top of his low-rider jeans and beyond. He'd unbuttoned his fly half way, showing the start of curly dark pubic hair and the band of black Calvin Klein's in the "V" that had opened there. He also showed tan lines. He'd been out in the sun a lot in just a Speedo.

"OK, Chad. We're well acquainted now and I think we both know what you want from a guy. Now, for a room for the night, you can do me." He arched his back at me, causing his chest muscles to expand and his belly to contract and that "V" below to open wider.

"Do you?"

"Yes, blow me. Rim me. Fuck me. Blow and fuck me. Whatever you want. Tie me up. Spank me. Be cruel, if you want. It's all good with me."

I sat there, frozen--my mouth agape.

In exasperation, he brought his right leg down and he sat back up. He took both of my hands and moved my right hand around on his chest and plopped my left hand on top of his basket. An electric shock, not unpleasant, zinged through me. Why had I stopped for him? Was there something I wasn't acknowledging to myself?

I shook my head back and forth and jerked my hands back, away from him. I stuffed my cock back into my pants, zipped and buttoned myself back up, and started the car engine.

"This is crazy, Tim. I'll get a room. But it will have two beds. And you won't owe me anything. You've paid. You've paid in full. That was new and interesting, thank you. And it's enough to cover the whole trip."

Tim remained where he was, putting himself on offer to me all the way to the next exit, where I pulled off, looking for a decent motel.

"So, you liked that, did you?"

A moment of silence.

"Yes. How can I say otherwise? But that doesn't mean I feel the need to do it again."

I registered and paid for a room while Tim waited in the car. When we entered the room, I threw my bag on a bed and turned on lights. When I turned, I saw that Tim had thrown his backpack on the same bed as I had placed my bag. I picked the backpack up and tossed it on the other bed.

While I rustled up some ice and cokes, Tim had explored the pay-for-TV channels and somehow come up with a gay soft porn film. I ignored his choice and the rapt attention he was giving it while I busily unpacked my toiletries, some pajama bottoms, and what I was planning to wear tomorrow.

"So, do you want the shower first?" I asked him.

"Naw, I've got this started. You go on. I'll wait."

I went in the bathroom, and while the shower was steaming up, I shaved. When I'd gotten into the shower and started to soap up, I heard the door open. The shower curtain was pulled back, and there was a grinning Tim, Naked and, I must admit, looking long, lean, and ready for action. The tan lines accentuated the slimness of his hips and the beauty of his erection. I very nearly dropped the soap.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed.

"I decided I couldn't really wait for a shower, and I found the pause button on the TV." He entered the shower and pulled the curtain back across the opening. Taking the soap from my hands, he said, "Here, let me do that."

"Tim, you are so exasperating. Get out of here. I won't..." I found myself going weak in the knees, though. His hands were gliding across my chest and down my belly and around my cock over the soapy film. He pulled me close into him and his hands and the soap went to my shoulders and over to my back and down to the small of my back and over my butt cheeks. I could feel his chest and belly and cock against mine, and I started to engorge again. He already had a half hardon.

"You're in really good shape, he said. A really nice butt and one of the biggest cocks I've seen. Here, now you soap me up."

With that, he stood back, facing me, holding his arms up in a posing position. His hair was down now, and some of it fell down his front, reaching almost to his shoulders.

"Chad. I said you soap me up now."

I tentatively reached out and began soaping his chest and down his belly. I was into his pubic hair, when one of his hands came down and pushed my hand down to his dick. I dropped the soap, snatched my hand back, and turned to leave the shower.