Date: Tue, 21 Oct 1997 02:39:40 GMT
From: Michael Gouda <stachys@eurobell.co.uk>
Subject: "The Hitch-hiker"  (M/m)

THE HITCH-HIKER

The hitch-hiker stood by the side of the road and stared back at the way he
had come. There was no car in sight. He shifted his shoulders from under the
straps of the rucksack and dropped it to the ground at his side. It was a
relaxed, practised gesture, the product of many times done. He squatted
down, settling his lean haunches to find a soft comfortable area. He spread
his legs and put his hands, palms down on his knees. He looked at the
fingernails which were blunt and broken. He rubbed the palms together a
couple of times; they felt sticky, unwashed rather than dirty. There were a
few cars on the road but he was in no hurry. There was no particular
destination and the day was fine. A breeze hustled a drift of clouds across
the blue sky and his brown hair lifted gently. He tested experimentally the
inside of his mouth with his tongue. Like his hands, his teeth could do with
a clean but it was not vital. A convenience in the next town later would
suffice, whenever that would be. 

The sun warmed his shoulder blades through his thick grey shirt. It was
almost hot enough to take it off yet if a car was to come, he would have to
struggle it back. Drivers tended not to pick up shirtless hitch-hikers and
he was not sure whether his body smelt, not offensively, no, but perhaps a
slight odour of perspiration, the natural scent of a healthy body, made
anti-social by a sweat-conscious advertisement age. His right eyebrow raised
itself and he curled his lip in imitation of the fastidious recipient of an
unwelcome smell. 

He smiled and his face became attractive, relaxed and it became nondescript.
Grey eyes, a straight nose, a mouth perhaps rather wide - nothing special
though youth - he could not have been more than seventeen - and a fresh skin
browned by the sun made it pleasant to look at. 

He pondered on the alternatives, to walk on or to continue to sit. More to
occupy his mouth than for any other reason - he rather disliked the taste -
he pulled a piece of grass from its rooty scabbard and nibbled the fleshy
white end. He pulled a face, a straw-sucking hick, village idiot. He
scratched his scalp and lolled his head, rolling his eyes. Being alone made
one do odd things. Suddenly he rolled backwards onto the grassy bank, his
knees hooked over the rucksack. He shut his eyes and felt the sun on his
face, saw the red disc through his eyelids. It lapped his body in warmth,
sensuously feeling through his clothes, playing intimately with his skin. He
spat out the grass stalk and cupped his hands behind his head, spreading his
legs around his rucksack so that he lay, open and vulnerable, a sacrifice to
the sun. "Two Paradises 'twere in one to live in Paradise alone." But a
stone stuck in his back and he squirmed experimentally to avoid it. It was
wrong. To be alone was fine for a while but it palled. A garden might be a
lovesome thing, God wot but He had seeded it with sharp edged flints and
tetanus germs and grass which human beings were ill-equipped to eat. 

He sat up with an angry jerk, suddenly displeased with  the day, brushed
down the seat of his jeans with wide sweeping gestures. He stood, legs
sturdily apart, in an aggressive pose yet his still adolescent body oddly
contradicted any belligerence. He seemed defenceless, quaintly lost, sure
but insecure. To walk or not to walk. But the decision was not left to him.
A sleek car swept round the corner. His hand automatically clenched, thumb
out, six inches away from his thigh. His face took on a guileless
expression. I am young and need your help to get to the next town. I am
innocent. You have the power to assist me. The car drove uncaringly past
then thought better of it and winked a come-hither with two red brake
lights. the hitch-hiker snatched up his rucksack and ran after them, his
scuffed trainers snatching lightly at the tarmac. 

The driver leant over the passenger seat, agreed he was going in a
satisfactory direction and opened the door. The hitch-hiker got in. The seat
was low and wide; it clasped him firmly, legs and buttocks and back. There
was plenty of room for his long legs. There was carpet on the floor and he
checked anxiously to see that his shoes were clean. reassured he stretched
his legs and sank down into the upholstery - real leather. He snatched a
look at the driver, briefly, almost grudgingly and remarked on the
sumptuousness of the car. the reply was minimal, not unpleasant but
expressing indifference at the effect his car had had on his passenger. the
hitch-hiker felt obligated, subtly - did it warrant a remark on the weather?
His host would surely be as indifferent to the reiteration in words of the
glory of the morning as he was to the wonders of his car.


For a moment the boy felt uncomfortable, the favour had to be reciprocated
in some way and if not in conversation . . . Then he shrugged. If the man
gave him a lead, he would follow but until then . . . He rested his hands in
his lap and surrendered to the comfort. The engine droned, power spreading
through the chassis so that his very body seemed possessed by it, spreading
up his legs through to his loins. He could feel it in his body, working up
so that the power was in him and was him. the same sensuous attack that the
sun had made on him earlier now was in him spreading from the inside
outwards. Feeling himself constricted he spread his legs and covered his
loins, bulging now, with his hands, one on top of each other, protecting,
hiding. The under hand gently squeezed himself, easing himself so that his
prick spread out along his leg. From the corner of his eye he caught a
movement of the driver's head. though the boy did not look, he could sense
that his previous sole preoccupation with the road had been broken, that he
was taking sharp, almost sly looks at him, at his concealing, cupped hands.

The atmosphere was suddenly tense but the boy's sexual excitement was not
reduced, if anything he felt even more aroused. He waited and the hedges
slipped by. The driver spoke, crumbling the tension with a flat banality
"Cigarette?" he enquired. The boy swallowed and refused. "Light me one." A
request and a gesticulation towards the glove compartment. With his upper
hand the hitch-hiker pressed the knob and the walnut-veneered panel sprung
open. Inside maps, a pair of driving gloves, a black packet of John Player
Special and a slim gold lighter - neatness, a tidy mind, no clutter. He took
out the packet and offered it open. "Light it for me." The boy put the
cigarette between his lips, closed the box, replaced it and took out the
lighter, polished, smooth, cool in his hand. He flicked with his thumb but
it failed to ignite. The cigarette drooped as his mouth twisted in
concentration. He put up his other hand to hold it steady, revealing
himself. 

At the second attempt the spark lit and a controlled flame appeared. He
pulled on the cigarette, took it from his lips and held it out. The driver's
hand reached across as if to take it, then dropped onto the boy's erection
where it lay outlined by the restraining material of his jeans. The boy
started violently, then relaxed. He stretched out and let his right leg roll
open. The driver's hand enclosed the swelling bulge, rubbing it. He worked
the cock upwards so that it stood against the boy's stomach. The hand groped
upwards so that he found the zip link and slowly drew it downwards. He went
inside and took hold of the penis, now only protected by the underpants,
striped blue. The boy's mouth opened in a gasp. The elastic top was inched
down and the prick stood open and erect. The hand caressed the shaft, curled
underneath and took hold of the testicles, hard nuts, stretched tight by the
scrotum. A glistening drop of liquid appeared at the top of his penis. The
boy lifted himself so that the exploring hand went further underneath the
perineum, a finger probing the opening of his arse. His breathing felt
constricted. All the while the man's driving hand had not deviated as he
probed and felt. Now he swung the car off the road into a lay-by, braking
gently, one hand controlling the wheel. The hand brake applied, he used both
hands to undo the press stud at the top of the boy's jeans and edge them
over the slim hips and down to the knees. The underpants followed. The boy's
lower body was revealed, the brown tan stopping below the waist just above
the upturned vee of pubic hair out of which the genitals sprang. The boy was
half-lying, offering himself to the man's stroking hands. He leant over him,
his left hand under the thin buttocks, the longest finger embedded in the
centre of his arse, deeper and deeper. The boy's muscles relaxed, allowing
him to go yet further. Slowly the driver's face lowered. His tongue gently
licked the skin and hair, tasting the salt. His lips approached the erect
penis, nuzzled the top then took the whole shaft, sliding down until the
full erection was enclosed in the warm moistness of his mouth and throat.
The head raised and lowered and the boy's body followed, forcing up into the
mouth and down onto the finger. Sounds issued from the boy's throat. 

Words. 

"I'm coming. I'm coming."

The man stopped and withdrew. The boy gave a great shuddering sigh, a moan
of frustrated desire. The driver reached for a lever between the two seats,
depressed it and the back of the passenger seat sank back, the boy following
it so that he lay flat. The man, grasping him with both hands, one on each
side of his pelvis, gently turned him over. Limp, unprotesting, the boy
allowed himself to be turned. The leather seat felt strange and exciting to
the bare skin of his stomach and his heated genitals. The twin curves of his
buttocks bulged upwards. They looked defenceless and white. Slowly, with
great care the man parted them. The boy could feel the man's breath and then
a warm, moist tongue inserted within the open crack. It licked, leaving
moisture, lubricating. Above him he could hear a zip being opened and then
he felt a knee on each side and the weight of the man above him, settling,
with a hard warmness in the centre of his anus. The sphincter muscles
clenched automatically but the man's hand came underneath him, gripping his
tool, rubbing it up and down and, excited, he relaxed his arse. The prick
slid in, in and then further, was withdrawn and then pushed as far as it
would go.. There was a sharp pain and then the excitement took over. The boy
pressed his buttocks upwards into the man's pelvis so that the alien penis
almost seemed to pierce him through and through. His own in the man's hand
throbbed and throbbed and exploded with spunk.. The boy sobbed, 'Fuck me!
Fuck me!' Semen spurted into the man's hand and in concert the sphincter
muscles of the boy's arse clenched and clenched around the man's cock. He
also came, pulsing into the boy's rectum. For a while there was a cessation.
The two lay together, one on top of the other. 

The man was first to recover. He withdrew slowly, took a tissue from the
compartment, used it, screwed it into a neat ball and tossed it through the
window. He arranged himself and sat up in the driving seat, neat and
composed. The boy still lay there, stickily, breathing quietly, his head
pillowed in his arms, his bare buttocks now appearing rather ludicrous
between the clothing pushed up and down. 

'Come on, son,' said the man. 'There's Kleenex -' 

The boy suddenly came alive. With one swift movement he pulled up his pants
and his jeans, twisted over and zipped them tight. The seat back
automatically sloped back into place. The driver's remark tailed. The boy
was staring through the windscreen with an intent gaze. The driver started
the engine, put the car into gear and moved off. A couple of miles later
they reached a small market town and near the centre the car pulled up. 

'This do you?'the driver asked. The hitch hiker opened the door, got out. 
Then reached into the back for his rucksack. 

'Thanks for the lift,' he said. 

The driver smiled and drove off.

The boy looked round for a convenience. He would need a good wash.

In his hand he still held the gold lighter.

-- 
Michael Holt
Winchcombe
Gloucestershire
GL54 5JA
England