Date: Thu,  4 Mar 2004 08:05:31 -0500 (EST)
From: Guichi <guichi777@excite.com>
Subject: 'itch-'ikin' in America

Hitch-hiking in America

By Guichi

I was 29 at the time, an Englishman hitch-hiking his way around America. I
had travelled with some brill guys, some rather mediocre, and just one or
two rather nasty. I have a motto in life, "Do as you are done by." So if I
get a decent, nice guy, I respond in the same way, and we have great
fun. The mediocre types are difficult to deal with. They come across as
splodge. I'd rather deal with a nasty guy than a mediocre one! At least one
can have some fun at his expense - literally.

The man of this story was one of the latter, a rather nasty type. I was
hiking at the time out of Savannah, Georgia, and had been slowed down that
day and was far from my intended location for the night down on I-95. I
must make a confession here and admit I was held up by seducing a young guy
of 23 years, who insisted we pull off the road and finish the job. Sure, I
didn't mind the delay! Later that day, late afternoon, a car braked
violently and screeched to a halt a few yards ahead of me. I ran to him. He
asked me where I was going. I said I was heading for Tallahassee, via
Jacksonville. He replied that was his destination, but that he was going to
take a cross-country route via Valdosta, rather than Jacksonville. "If
you're happy with that, hop in," he said, "and I reckon we'll have fun
chatting."

So I did. At first I thought him a mediocre type, but as we began to talk I
realised that he really did fit into my third category. I had a growing
feeling he was an extreme southerner, his great-grand-father having fought
in the Civil War. His family were malicious toward the very word Yankee.
Not only so, they also held a grudge against coloured people, especially
those born and bred in the south. He entertained me with an inventory of
criticisms, which actually weren't very entertaining. He expressed his
delight that I was neither of these, neither Yankee, nor "nigger". I asked
him what he thought of the Ku Klux Klan, deliberately searching his mind.
He was enthusiastic in his praise. They were decent men, trying to live up
to southern virtues, which the "niggers" had always despised and abused.
The KKK, he said, were god-fearing people, convinced that the white
Anglo-Saxon race had been called by God to defend the free world. He was
glad to have the company now of a white Anglo. I refrained from telling him
I had Italian blood.

What particularly annoyed me was that sex crept into our discussion,
particularly in relation to the coloured men. He assured me that they had
the biggest penises, "Man, bigger than anything you ever seen. Yeah man."
He told me about his dad's farm labourer's son, 15 years old, who ten years
previously he had buggered behind the hay stack. I was shocked at this and
said so. "No," he said, "an Englishman wouldn't understand. They're not
like us. They're not really human. You'll understand a little if I tell you
that this kid had an enormous dick, out of proportion to his age and
size. It must have been nine inches at only 15 years!" The last sentence
was almost shouted at me. To him this was the last evidence of abnormality.

I asked him bluntly whether he himself was a homosexual, by my tone of
voice giving him the impression that I was against those types. "No, don't
you get me wrong," he said, "Ain't nothing homo in me. Why I've beaten up
more white homos than I can remember. What's more I've fucked something
like twenty women. No, mister, I ain't no homo. But you've gotta understand
that a coloured boy at 15 is a sure delight. Why that boy's skin was soooo
soft. I slid my cock between his thighs first, man that was a beautiful
sensation, then up his crack, another mind-blowing frenzy, and finally into
his virgin ass. Yep, he screamed, but I really think he liked it. Made a
man of him, I did." With that he gave a raucous laugh.

He now went off on a description of the coloured mans' penis. He was
dumbfounded by their size and their thickness. "I've seen some as was 12
inches, I swear it. And, believe me, they know how to use them things." On
and on he rambled, describing every kind of "nigger penis", till I felt
nauseated with his racism and his fascination with the black penis.

"Ever seen a good long, strong, stout white Penis?" I asked.  "Nope," he
said, no decent Anglo ever goes staring at other guys' private parts."

"Look at this," I said, whipping out my penis, which is about 9 inches. He
looked, lost control and almost crashed the car. For my part these are
risks I take. He was shaken up by my totally unexpected move. I had been
purposely fondling myself underneath my coat, so as to get full length and
strength. He brought the car under control, pulled over onto the hard
shoulder and stopped. He turned round slowly, looked down at my penis and
stared at it, then at me, like an idiot. "What size you got?" I asked.
"While you were describing penises of the black species I was watching your
crotch getting bigger and bigger inside your pants. How about that?"

"Ok," he said, "I gotta admit a kind of fascination with the black cock. Ya
see the father of that 15-year-old black boy had taken me behind the hay
stack three years earlier when I was 15, had made me masturbate him till he
spewed his load. Wow, what an incredible cock that was, and what a load
that was! Ain't never seen that size of load before nor since. Ah've
thought about it many times and even fantasized with it."

He'd fantasized with it! I knew he would soon be eating out of my hand. I
tried my next move. "You want me to wank you?" I asked quietly. There was a
long painful silence. He sat staring ahead, clearly wrestling with his
emotions. His prejudices said no, his lusts said yes.

He looked down at my cock, which was still out. About three minutes later
he said, "Man, I'm so horny I think I'll burst a blood vessel if I don't
have some relief." I had kept my eye on his crotch and watched it swell in
the silence. I reached over and slid his zip down. He instinctively moved
his knees apart to facilitate my movement. I spread his trouser flaps apart
and fondled the bulge in his briefs, running my fingers all over it, and
down under his scrotum. His body quivered with excitement.  I said, "You're
a real sexy dude, eh? I like that, Shall I, May I, pull your cock out?"

"You fucking cunt,' he said, "You got me excited and now there's nothing
else I can do. Go easy with my penis, Englishman. You hurt it, and I'll
hurt you. But give it a good exercise and you won't find a more grateful
guy.

I slowly, carefully, entered my fingers through the pee-hole in his briefs
and manipulated quite a good-sized cock out into the open. I looked into
his eyes and he grinned sheepishly. "Give it to me," he whispered hoarsely,
and I set about giving it him. For several minutes I entertained him by
describing the beauty of his cock. I can be very eloquent when on such an
exercise, which is frequently. I wasn't altogether lying. It was an
appreciable cock, about 7 1/2 inches, straight as a die, strong under my
fingers. He, like me, had been circumcised, so I sang the praises of a good
long circumcised cock. No messing about with unnecessary loose skin.
Straight to the cock, clean and tidy. He liked that, nodded his head in
agreement.

I ran my fingers round his ball sack, and he sighed with delight. "Man, I
knew the English were horny, but you must be an expert. Tell me you are."
By this time his cock was rigid, he was beginning to get excited. Suddenly
he reached over, took my cock and began to fondle it. This excited me and I
began to whack his cock with power and speed. Shortly his hand dropped away
from my cock and he panted wildly, his whole body tensed and shot a load of
cream over the brake stick, onto the floor and onto his trousers.

"Bravo", I shouted, "bravo, you're a real powerful shot putter. I'm just
sorry I didn't get that into my mouth." His eyes glazed at the idea.

"Englishman, he said, you're brilliant. Do you want me to wank you?"

"Please," I said. "What's your name by the way?"  "Duane," he said.

"I'm Guichi."  "Guichi, what kind of a name is that?"

"Spanish," I replied, "my grandfather on my mother's side was Spanish."

"Yeah?" he replied. "Them Spaniards can be mighty horny, and I reckon you
got his genes, Guichi." We laughed heartily together, and I knew he was
falling for my bait.

I ought to explain here that in my travels I like to finish the day with
sex, pure, simple, undiluted sex. Usually I try to get to my destination
before 4 p.m. I then locate the local gay dive or bar through a booklet I
have and spend the evening wanking, sucking and fucking with some guy. I'm
not particular about looks or torsos, or height or weight. I'm after a good
cock, any size, but above all a guy who has got the drive to give me
sensual satisfaction. Occasionally I find a local orgy happening that
night, and after a good meal with good beverages to stimulate me, I go down
and mix with those who will let me, which happens to be most guys.

Just occasionally I come across a sucker like this, with a pile of crap in
the brain, and unable to spot a bounder when he sees one. These guys end up
paying dearly for their night's entertainment, and I still get my carnal
satisfaction, even if it is a bit tarnished.  We didn't move from the side
of the road for several minutes. Actually we had by now pulled in under
some trees in a quiet lay-by. He kept fondling my penis, expressing his
gratitude for the 'privilege of fondling a very nice white guy'. "They're
the best," he said loudly, "Can trust them to the nth degree." I grinned at
him, applauded his intelligence and insight, and classed him again as a
dupe.

"Tell you what," he said, "would you care to spend the night in bed with
me?" I pretended to be taken off my stride by his request. After a long
silence, I turned, looked him in the eye, and slowly, painfully, with my
gob-smacked mouth wide open, nodded a dumb Yes.

"Sorry," he said, "guess I surprised you with that one, but I don't think
you'll regret it. I'll give you anything you want from me. My body's yours
for the night. There's a motel just down the road, about 5 miles. We could
turn in there and continue our journey in the morning. I could call the
wife and tell her I've had a little engine trouble. That I shall stay
overnight. These things happen, and I don't reckon she'll suspect anything.
Like most women she's a bit thick in the head." I almost whooped with
delight. He had fallen for my bait, and the initiative had been his.  I
laughed with him. Expressed my opinion that the only decent sex was what
two guys had together. Men understand each others sexual needs and
emotional states. It would be a privilege for me to share a bed with him
for the night, I said. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I held his chin,
turned his lips to mine and planted a lingering kiss on them, inserting my
tongue between his lips and touching his tongue briefly. I withdrew, pulled
back a little, and gazed into his eyes. "Man," he said, "Ain't never been
anything or nobody like this in my life before. Let's go. I can't wait."
And without another word he roared his engine, spun into the road and drove
five miles in 3.3 minutes. He had forgotten completely his offer to
masturbate me there under the trees, but I didn't care the least. He swung
into the motel car park with a wild screech of brakes. We got out, signed
in and received the key to our suite. He had insisted we wanted the best
they had. The young girl said this was normally reserved for honeymoon
couples, but Duane assured her with a chuckle that we were "kinda like that
ourselves". And she stared at us for a moment, looked confused, but gave us
the key.

We got to our room, let the door swing to behind us, and I was onto Duane.
I pinned him against the wall, sunk my mouth into his neck, and fondled his
cock with my fingers. For several minutes we swayed our locked bodies,
kissing feverishly, fingers exploring, crotches pressed together. He
responded well considering this was his first experience of sex with
another man. Our mouths joined and his tongue sought entrance to mine,
which I conceded, and our tongues playfully battled with each other.
"Let's undress each other," I urged, and we set into a frenzy of fingers
finding buttons, laces and zips, till we stood with only our briefs between
us and nakedness. "Ain't no guy ever seen me naked," he panted, so I
grasped the elastic tops of his briefs, and yanked them down quick.

He looked at me dumbfounded. "Don't be shy, Duane," I said, "Ain't nothing
you've got that any other guy hasn't. In any case you've got a cock to be
proud of." He liked that, but I said nothing about him being overweight.
After all, while one likes it better with a guy of beauty, well-trimmed and
body abs well defined, sex doesn't depend on that, and I'd rather have a
passionate guy overweight, than a beautiful body that has no passion or
lust.

Duane had lust in overdrive. As we held each other round the waist he knelt
down and buried his face into my crotch. There was no stopping him.
Something had flared in his mind and he became a ball of fire. He lashed my
cock and balls with his tongue over and over and over again. Then taking my
cock in his mouth he began to 'chew' it with his lips, taking the top into
his mouth, sucking it, then letting it flop out while he lashed it once
more with his tongue and spittle. He seemed to want to do this again and
again, and I must say I really enjoyed every moment of it. However, I
decided it was my turn.

I knelt and flipped the head of his cock with my lips, pressed them tighter
and started tickling his pulsating cock with my tongue, squeezing it gently
with my lips. His cock reacted quickly - and in a few seconds it was
leaking - and the feeling of his hot passion was driving me crazy. With a
long sigh I sucked his cock deep into my mouth so that his balls slapped
against my chin - he lunged, grabbed my hair with a convulsive gasp and
started moving his hips faster and faster, prodding his cock deeper and
deeper into my mouth. Suddenly he shot and the first two bullets went deep
into my mouth. I managed to push his hips away so that the other three
blasts plastered my nose, my lips and my cheeks.

Now I stood up, pushed his head down and thrust my cock into his mouth,
spreading my legs as I did so. He sucked, flipped it out, splattered it all
over with his spittle, and then lashed it with his tongue, while a hand
fondled my balls. Somehow instinctively his other hand went to my arse
cheeks, fondled them, felt its way up my crack and inserted two fingers in
my back door hole. I thought, this guy is a natural for gay sex, his
instincts are perfect, pity he's such a lousy looker and behaver. Reckon
the only way he'll get it is by either paying for it, or indulging in some
awful orgy in a lousy back-street.

He now masturbated my anus with those fingers while his mouth absorbed my
cock deeper and deeper. My primal urge exploded and I grabbed his head, as
he had mine, and fucked his mouth fast, deep and hard. Within a few
minutes, during which time I thoroughly enjoyed that mouth-cunt ride, my
whole body seized up, quivered, shivered and exploded, my cream splattering
all over his mouth and cheeks.  As we both had cream all over our cheeks
there was no problem in rubbing our cheeks together, kissing and licking
each others cheeks. We laughed together. I tried to pull away, but Duane
would have none of it. "Englishman," he said, "you are the greatest thing I
ever encountered. I think I could leave my wife to shack up with you. What
do ya think?"  "Never," I said, "This is a great encounter, but it's a
one-night stand for me. I got myself a good partner for the night (I
lied!), beyond that nothing. We'll have a great time. Get some food and
plenty of booze this evening, return for a great fuck together, go to sleep
together and wake up in the morning for another fuck before we hit the road
and you drop me at some small town on the way to Tallahassee. Duane, it's
gonna be a great night!"

I pulled back and looked into his yes. There was a gentle smile on his
face. "No," he said, "I would never leave my wife, but you've opened up a
new experience for me, Englishman, and I'm gonna exploit it in the future.
I'll even go over to England and we'll spend a week together in some remote
resort and give ourselves to wanking, sucking and whatever else there may
be."

Reflecting on this encounter I must explain that for me sex is sex,
full-stop. I had started out on this road when I was 16. Met and fell in
love with a guy ten years my senior. He was tickled to death by my
gob-smacked attraction to his face, his body, and above all by his
genitals. He took this naive kid up, used him and abused him for 6 months,
and then dropped me like a child who had lost interest in his latest toy. I
was devastated. I was angry, I was shattered. However, I went on to realise
that he had inaugurated me into the thrills of gay sex, and since then my
motto has been "An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away." I really do think
that sex, frequent sex, is good for a man's health!

With that we agreed on the food and went to a nearby Italian restaurant.
The Italian waiter was a great piece of youthful cheesecake, and
over-friendly to me, so as he leaned over me to take the dessert order I
stroked the inside of his thighs. He slowed his movement to spend more time
in that position and give me more chance to fondle him, even touching his
growing rod. He sighed deeply, looked hauntingly at me, and moved away. Our
eyes met several times after that and I was hurt to see the anguish in
his. He seemed to be imploring me. I was tempted to abandon Duane and shack
up with my Italian buddy for the night. But the material pickings would be
lean in his case.

I got Duane to drink well and we bought a bottle of scotch for the motel
room and headed there. A couple of whiskies more and my room mate for the
night was sozzled and had only one desire. He sat on the bed looking at me
with pure lust in his eyes. I stripped off his shirt and for the first time
studied his chest. Very hairy, it made him look manly. I ran my fingers
through his chest hair and purred, "I can't resist a hairy chest," bent
down and kissed his pecs and abs. He had very white skin, which looked as
though it never saw the light of the sun. His dick was strong and thick, if
a little on the smaller side, 7-7 1/2 inches. Added to his body hair were
thick eyebrows and a swarthy moustache.

He held my head closer to his chest and burbled as happily as an infant. I
undid his belt, got him to stand up and stripped him down. He looked at me
with a smirk on his face, and when I pulled down his briefs his stiff cock
sprang out. I grabbed it hungrily, knelt down before him, and attended to
his whole scrotum, licking and chewing his ball sac, his pubic hair and his
penis.

I got up, stepped back and suggested we lay on the bed which we did, and
the fun began. I won't go through the initial stages, since we had already
done that twice. The crucial part came when I told him I was gonna fuck
him. He demurred at this, said it was too feminine for a guy to permit that
to happen to himself. I assured him that it was the culminating experience
of the gay relationship. Told him he would never be welcome to another such
experience unless he surrendered his male cunt to another guy, and that one
day, perhaps even tomorrow before we part company, he could take me in the
same way. My ass had been host to many guests, particularly American
whites, even, and more often, in the south.

So he surrendered his virginity, though he maintained a certain negative
attitude to it right through. O.k., I said to him, it's not everything in
sex, and now that you've felt it once you can decide at a later time
whether you ever want to repeat it. Actually I couldn't help feeling a
little guilty. We had had sex twice so far, and by now I was tired of
him. He was still the racial bigot, the overweight moron, the self-centred
faggot of black cocks, the sodden drunk who I had hitched a lift from.
While the first and second sexual acts were pleasant enough, by now I just
wanted out, my mind screaming at me to cut and run. But take it easy buddy,
the best is yet to be.

And so we went to bed. I feigned sleep and he soon dropped off, satisfied
to the full by sex and booze. I hated the smell of his booze. Most of mine
had gone into a bottle I had hidden. I too dropped off, but under my armpit
I had placed a tiny watch which buzzed with a mini electric current two
hours later. Quietly I slithered out of the bed, got dressed, and went in
search of his wallet. Duane snored lustily, so I knew I was safe. In his
wallet I found a little over $530, so I took the 500 and left him with the
small change. I removed his Visa card. Earlier that evening I had suggested
he might like to give me a small thank-offering for introducing him to the
joys of man-on-man sex, maybe $100? I had watched over his shoulder as he
typed in his password, and carefully noted it. I noticed he had taken out
$500, and had wondered how much he intended to give me. Now I was off with
his credit card and his car. To slow him down I also put his clothes into
the trunk of the car! He'd have some explaining to do in the morning!!!

As I drove away from the motel I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for
the guy who I was swindling. But then I reasoned, in some ways we were
birds of a feather. He a lousy, big-gutted, bigoted racist; me a
down-and-out Englishman, tricking my way through America.

I drove for three hours south and stopped at a diner at 7 a.m. at a little
town called Valdosta. I went to an ATM machine and relieved his credit
card of $2,000. Since the system had accepted this it meant he had more to
his credit, so at another machine I relieved his account of another
$2,000. I then set off hitch-hiking again, stashing the cash in my knapsack
very carefully.

That afternoon I arrived at Tallahassee. I found in the directions
supplied by my contacts, the details of a local gay escort, recommended as
the best guy in northern Florida. I procured him, went to his place, had
sex, took him to a top of the town restaurant, where I wined and dined him
in style. We headed back to his place and had sex again, went to a theatre
for the evening, then back to his place for sex, bed, more sex during the
night and more before breakfast. I gave him $500 for his services and
continued my hitch-hiking. That escort was the finest I had ever been able
to afford, and now I was happily on my way 'itch-'iking across America!

Oh, and I forgot to say, two nights later I headed back to a motel,
different from my earlier one, near Savannah, and went for supper at 6 in
the Italian restaurant. I took a table in the corner. Yes, he was there,
that small, sweet, horny, young waiter. He recognised me and a big grin
spread over his face. When he served me he stood in a position in which his
crotch and my hand could not be seen by anyone. Very clever. I stroked his
thigh and crotch as he lingered, and his cock sprouted. I had written a
note on a card, and now passed it to him. Could we spend the night
together? He gave me a beaming smile and nodded yes.

Later as he served my dishes he put my card on the table, on the back of
which he had written, "I have an ensuite room above the restaurant. Be here
at 9 p.m. and we'll retire to the boudoir." I liked that French madam's
touch.

I didn't bother to move for the next two hours, enjoyed watching his lithe
form as he flitted around the restaurant, almost I think doing a dance for
my eyes. Occasionally he came over to me, either to renew my glass of water
or wine, or when business was slack to pass a few words with me. My hand
became wild on such moments. Well, to cut things short. We had a tremendous
time that night. He was a raw recruit to gay sex, and I thoroughly enjoyed
sexing and fucking him four times over the night. I was sad to leave him,
but left my personal details, and we have since corresponded by email.
Maybe he'll come to England one day, or I'll be back here. Let's go
"'itch-'iking in America."


Note: Hope you liked this rather unusual story. If you want something more
conventional see my story, "Josh k'o'd me with one Punch," located on Nifty
Adult Friends, November 14 2003

I intend to develop this story by having the young Italian waiter come to
me in England and enjoy some times together. It's gonna be hot stuff!  Any
suggestions?

Contact me on Guichi777@excite.com.