Date: Sun, 9 Feb 2014 11:38:52 -0800 (PST)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: Another Hitchhiking Adventure 4

Be warned that the story contains explicit sexual activity between males.
So if for moral or legal reasons you shouldn't read such material, please
read no further.

I look forward to your reactions to the story.  Please write me at
macoutmann@yahoo.com.

Also, please remember that these stories are made possible by your
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                                                 MM



Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.



		       ANOTHER HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE

			      by Macout Mann



				 Chapter 4


Normally I'd put my shit in a locker in the bus station, but in Charleston
both the bus and train stations are way out of the way.  So I decided to
carry it with me.  I didn't have much, just my sleeping bag and a small
duffel with a couple of changes of clothes, a razor, and a toothbrush.

I walked around the area and checked out a couple of the antique shops.  It
soon became apparent that a young dude with a duffel bag and a sleeping bag
wasn't welcome.

I'd done an assignment last term, however, that involved the economics of
the retail antiques market.  So I was really interested in seeing the shops
in Charleston.  The third one I checked out brought out the owner, who
followed me around like I was about to cart away his most priceless
possession.  I finally stopped and faced him.

"You're pricing these Hepplewhite chairs like they were `of the period,'" I
told him.  "Obviously they're not."  Then I walked out.

I had no idea, of course, but the expression on his face told me I was
right.

Mobile, where I'm from, is the oldest city in and the first capital of
French Louisiana; but although it dates from 1702, it doesn't have the
historic aura that Charleston has.  As I walked toward the battery, the
beautiful pre-Revolutionary houses that lined the street block after block
gave me the feeling that I was back in the Eighteenth Century.

At Charleston's battery I could look out and see Fort Sumter, where the War
of Northern Aggression began.  Then walking back into downtown on the way
to the City Market, I passed St. Michael's Church, built in 1752.  Damn.

The Charleston City Market is supposed to be one of the city's biggest
attractions.  It is historic, but you've got something like it in every
city that attracts tourists.  Stuff unique to Charleston, but tourist junk
however you cut it.

I did get hit on while I was there.  Dude in his thirties.  "Hello," he
said.  "Just passing through?"

"If I wasn't I wouldn't be carrying this shit around with me, would I?" I
answered.

"Well, I could let you have a place to store it.  A place for you to hang
out too."  He let his hand brush his groin.

I grabbed my cock in full view of all the tourists gathered around.  "It'll
cost ya, dude," I said.

He quickly retreated.  A couple of guys close by though that was very
funny.

It was noon and I checked out a nearby restaurant, A. W. Shucks.  It was
expensive.  At least I thought so.  But then everything in Charleston
seemed expensive to me.  It did have shrimp and oyster po-boys, but I opted
against my better judgment for the shrimp taco.  Had some weird toppings
like corn relish.  Cheapest thing on the menu at nine bucks.  Wasn't bad.

I asked a dude how to get to Folly Beach.  He told me to get on Calhoun St.
Said it was about twelve miles to the beach.  I figured I'd do what I did
on the road to Savannah.  If I hadn't got a ride in an hour, I'd abandon
the project.

I walked with my thumb out as far as the bridge over the Ashley River, then
started hitching for real. A half hour later a Ram pickup stopped.  It was
driven by a high school aged kid.  Very Anglo.  Blond hair, blue eyes.
Dressed in a white t and denim shorts.

"Where you headed?" he asked, like he thought I was on the wrong road.

"Folly Beach," I answered.

"That's where I'm going," he said.  "Hop in."

Turned out that's where he lived.  He asked why I was going there, and I
said, because I'd never been there.  We reached Folly Road and he turned
toward the ocean.  I told him about me and what I was doing.  Well, not
everything I was doing.  And damned if he didn't ask me about getting hit
on by gays.

"Everybody that giving me rides asks me about that," I laughed.  "Sure it
happens, but if you say `no,' most of 'em will go ahead and take you where
they're going.  Some will kick you out.  They don't bother me none.  Once
you've done some hitching, you get pretty tolerant."

I thought my answer gave him the opportunity to pursue sex, but he let it
drop.

Folly like Jekyll is a barrier island, but Folly is only three or four
miles long and less than a half mile deep at its widest point.  There's the
beach, many cottages, and only a few businesses lining the main street
coming onto the island.

"Anyplace in particular you want to go?" he asked.

"I was just goanna hit the beach," I responded.  "See what there is to
see."

"Well, there's the lighthouse at one end and the county park at the other.
We live up toward the lighthouse."

"How about you drop me where you're headed and I'll hit the beach from
there."

I paid the few bucks admission to the beach.  I've always thought access to
public beaches should be free, but... What the fuck?  I had a good view of
the decommissioned lighthouse, and I started down the beach.  There were
some dudes surfing, and I stopped to watch them.  The surf was a little
better than down in the Gulf but not much.  A couple of the surfers came
ashore and we chatted.  One lived on Folly and the other in Charleston.
They broke out some beer and offered me one.

"Alcohol's illegal on the beach.  They want you to hit the taverns.  But if
you keep it outa sight and there's not a lot of people around, the cops
don't fuck with ya too much," the boy from Charleston said.

After a while they went back to surfing and I continued down the beach.
I'd long since shed my shirt.  I found a secluded spot underneath a deck
and swapped my jeans for my denim shorts. Ever so often I'd go into the
water to cool off.

It was obvious that there were few stores on Folly and they were all around
Center Street, the main drag leading on and off, so when I reached the
middle of the island, I wandered up to a Kangaroo Express and bought some
convenience store sandwiches, chips, and cokes to take along with me.

Returning to the beach, I plodded on toward the other end of the island.  I
found some people my age from time to time to hang with, but nobody I was
interested in hooking up with.

By the time I reached the entrance to the park, it was after five.  There
were assorted "parking fees," but walk-ins could get in free.  At the same
time, the officer on duty looked askance at me.

"No camping out in the park," he admonished.

"Oh, I understand, officer," I replied.  "I'm just going to look around."

There were plenty of places where I could crash for the night.  I just
hoped that he wouldn't remember and come looking for me.  I'd done more
walking today than I had in years and was really tired.  I could use a blow
job, but after last night it wasn't something I had to have.  I still
checked out the rest room without finding any action.  So I found a
secluded spot, broke out my food and had supper before stripping down and
getting into my sleeping bag.  I was asleep almost immediately.  It wasn't
even dark.



It was eight o'clock when I woke up.  I'd slept around the clock.  My
shorts had dried overnight, so I put them on along with a shirt that I left
unbuttoned and headed back to the entrance to the park.  Damn.  The same
officer was on duty.

"Hey, I thought you said you were just looking around and weren't going to
camp out."  He sounded really pissed.

"I'm sorry, officer.  I got to watching the surf while the sun was going
down and just fell asleep."

"Well I'd better not see you again!"

"I'm headed to the mainland right now."

I began my trek down Ashley Avenue, the one street that runs the length of
the island.  I'd put my thumb up whenever a car would come by.

A Suburban stopped after I gone about a half mile.  It was driven by a guy
in his thirties in a dark pinstripe and rep tie.

"You headed to Charleston?" he asked.

Yes sir.  Sure am," I replied.  I climbed in and he took off toward Folly
Road.

"My family's staying here at Folly Beach, while I'm trying a case in
Charleston," he volunteered.

"I've just been up here messing around," I said.  "I'm really heading to
Atlanta now.  Going to see my granddad, then back home."  I had thought
about giving Mr. Fournier a call, but decided against it.  It's never as
much fun second time around.

"Well then," he responded, "I'll take 17 into town.  Not that much out of
the way for me, and easier for you to get onto the interstate."

"Thanks a lot," I said.  "You mentioned trying a case.  So you're a
lawyer?"

"Yes.  I'm an associate at Jones Day in Atlanta.  One of our clients is
involved in a tricky dispute over an estate up here.  I'd hoped we could
get a settlement, but instead the wrangling has led to a trial.

"So since I had to be up here a couple of weeks, I decided to bring the
wife and kids.  We usually vacation down at Jekyll Island."

"Really?" I said.  "I was there earlier this week.  Very nice."

"Yes it is, and not quite as snobby as Hilton Head or Sea Island.

"So you're hitting all the hard-to-get-to beaches on the East Coast?"

"Not on purpose.  I had some time to mess around and I'd never been to
Charleston.  I'm from Mobile, a senior at Auburn and am doing an internship
later in the summer.  Did a hitch a couple of summers ago and decided to
try it again."

"Oh?  When I finished college, I wasn't sure I wanted to go to law school,
so I hitched to the west coast and back while I made up my mind.  So I know
what you're talking about."

"Is that why you picked me up?  My dad used to say that five kinds of guys
pick up hitchers: guys that have hitched and know what it's like; guys that
are tired, sleepy, or lonely, and want somebody to talk to; good ole boys
that are looking for somebody to party with; Christian zealots that want
somebody to preach to; and gay guys."

"I can relate to that," he laughed.  "But I can't really say why I stopped
for you.  I'm glad I did, though."

We crossed the Ashley River on US17 and entered Charleston proper.  It
wouldn't be far to where the interstate begins and I still hadn't had
breakfast.  So I asked to be dropped at a Mickey D, thanked my lawyer
friend and wished him luck winning his case.  An Egg McMuffin tasted pretty
good, since I hadn't had any "real" food since noon yesterday.  Yeah, I
know.  There are lots of dudes of the road who have to eat out of
dumpsters.  But I'm not one of 'em.

After breakfast, I walked the few blocks to I26 and stuck out my thumb.