Date: Fri, 28 Feb 2014 20:59:28 -0800 (PST)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: Another Hitchhiking Adventure 7

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.

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				    MM


Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.



                       ANOTHER HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE

                             by Macout Mann



                                  7


It was barely 6 AM when Granddad reached the southern junction of I75 and
I85.  He turned into I85 and pulled off at the Cleveland Avenue exit.  We
fondly hugged each other goodbye, and he turned back toward the city.  Not
a good place to hitch anytime, but especially not at dawn.  I walked up the
on-ramp hoping that I could get a ride before a cop came by.

Several cruisers did pass during the next couple of hours, but fortunately
for me they chose to ignore that I was way past the "no pedestrians"
sign. It was almost 8:30 before I got a ride.

The driver of the 1990s era Ford was a dude in his twenties, slightly
built, unshaven, dressed in camo coveralls with apparently nothing
underneath.  I got in and thanked him for stopping.

"I shouldn've," he said, "but I'm already so late for work another minute
or two won't matter, and there've been times I've been thumbing.  I'm
probably goanna get my ass fired anyway.  Went home to Atlanta for the
weekend and overslept.  Thought my mom was goanna wake me up, but she
didn't.  She thought I hadn't come home last night."

"Sounds like tough shit all around," I responded.  "I'm John, by the way."

"Carey," he said.  "Where you headed, John?"

"Mobile," I said.

"I'm just goin' to Newnan.  It's about thirty miles.  I been livin' down
there a coupla years.  Mechanic at the fuckin' Ford dealer.  Not good to be
late on a Monday. It's generally a pretty busy day."

"Well thanks for stopping.  Every little bit helps," I said.  Fucking
cliché, but it's true.  "So you've done a lot of hitching?"

"Not a lot but enough to know what it's like.  You?"

I told him about my two hitchhiking adventures.  Not all about them of
course.

"You get picked up by a lot of drunks and queers?" he asked.  "That's the
biggest problem I've had."

"I've been lucky.  Never had a problem with drunks stopping for me," I
replied.  "I do get picked up by gay guys, but they usually don't bother me
none.  I figure I don't give a shit what anybody else does, as long as they
don't try to get me to do something I don't wanna do."

"Yeah, as long as they keep their hands off my knee, I'm cool."

"Well, if you tell `em you're not interested, most of `em go ahead and take
you where they're going.  Some of `em will put you out.  That's o.k. too."

We continued to talk about hitching for a while.  Then I asked him how he
got into cars.

"My old man was a mechanic," he answered.  "Just came natural, I guess."

We reached the Bullsboro Road exit, which leads into Newnan.  You could see
the Ford dealership from the ramp.

"Thanks again for the lift, man," I said.  I left the front door open,
while I recovered my shit from the back seat.

"I hope I still have a job," he responded.

"You did give your boss a call, didn't you?"

"Oh shit, I never thought about that!"  He sped away.



I was still standing on the on-ramp at 11:30.  I guessed Carey—was that
his name?—hadn't been fired.  I hadn't seen his car again.  There was
lots of traffic, but most of it was headed back towards Atlanta.  I figured
there was another exit down the road, where most of the southbound traffic
got onto the interstate.  Still I hadn't eaten since 5:00, so I wandered
over to the row of restaurants along Bullsboro.  Most were places like Red
Lobster or Applebee's, but I settled on a barbeque joint, called
Sprayberry's.  The pork sandwiches were good and the fries o.k.

Back at the ramp I decided to be brave and walk up onto the freeway.  It
was still two o'clock before I got a ride.  He was a black dude, an army
corporal headed for Fort Benning.  I had shed my shirt again, but once in
the a.c. I pulled it back on.

His name was Leroy.  He was returning to Benning after a three day pass.
Had been up to check out Atlanta.  He was from Detroit and didn't really
understand the South.  He was very friendly, though, and was interested in
me and my studies.  He planned to use his G.I. benefits to go to college
when he got out.  But he figured he was headed to Afganistan next.  Hoped
he'd get back alive.

It was only about twenty-five miles to the junction of I185, leading down
to Columbus and Fort Benning.  He volunteered to stay on I85 and drop me at
the Lafayette Parkway exit, which leads into La Grange.  That way I
wouldn't be left in the high speed freeway traffic.  Then he turned around
and headed the two miles back to the I185 ramp.  Nice gesture.

The sun was beating down and I was soon shirtless again.  This exit like
the last one was busy, but most of the traffic was heading north.  After an
hour I again wandered up the ramp to the main road.  It was another hour
before I got a ride, but we'd soon be in the Central Time Zone, an hour
earlier.  I began to appreciate how lucky I'd been earlier on my trip.

The car that finally stopped was a new Prius driven by a dude about 40.  He
was slender, wearing slacks, probably Dockers, polished loafers on his
feet, and a dress shirt and tie.  His distinguishing feature was his long
tawny hair, which fell below his collar.  He also had a pencil thin
moustache.

We exchanged the usual pleasantries and I said where I was going.  He said
he was headed to Montgomery.  He was a traveling salesman, representing a
women's clothing line, and had several calls to make tomorrow.

"Then I head up to Birmingham," he volunteered.  "I love to go there.  This
friend of mine gives the best blow jobs."

I couldn't help but fondle my dick.  "Really?" I said.  Then after a pause,
"Do you suck?"

"Sometimes," he answered.  "You got a big one?"

"Never been ashamed of it," I said.

He reached over and jiggled me.  "You sure got that right," he said.  "Can
I see it?"

"Why not?"  I opened my fly and exposed my pride and joy.

"Man, that's some dick," he said.

"Glad you like it," I said, zipping back up.  "So you hook up with all the
hitchhikers you pick up?"

"Not all of `em, but I try," he grinned.  "Most all of yall'll mess
around."

"That's what I've heard, but most dudes you talk to on the road deny it."

"Yeah, and the ones that deny it the loudest are the first ones that'll
strip down."

We both laughed.

He entertained me with stories of his conquests as we tooled down the
highway.  About five miles beyond Auburn was a rest area, where he pulled
off.

"The rest room's goanna be busy," he suggested.  "Let's walk into the woods
over there."

Once we were out of sight of the parking area, he got on his knees.  "I
gotta taste that fucker," he said.  He unzipped me and my jeans fell to the
ground.  He quickly got my rod up, then took my hard dick into his hungry
mouth.  He slid back and forth, savoring the full length of my tool,
piercing my piss slit with his tongue on every stroke.  As my climax
neared, I had to grab his head and fuck his face until I shot ropes of cum
down his throat.

"Fuck yeah," I cried.

"Man, that was great," he responded.  "I love a big, young sausage."

I pulled up my jeans and we walked back to his car.



As we were entering Montgomery he asked if I'd spend the night with him.
"I like to suck on that pole again," he said.

"I'd like to," I responded, "but I need to be getting down the road.  It's
only five, and I've got at least a couple of hours of daylight left."

At I65, he turned north into town.  I was left on the southbound lane but
got a ride almost immediately.  It was funny that earlier I'd been asked
about drunks and queers and had said I never had a problem with drunks.
This was to be my first time.

The dude that stopped was in his forties, and his speech was slurred even
as he said "hello."  Before I realized that he was too far gone to be
driving a car, we had sped into traffic, weaving in and out like crazy.

I thought quickly.  "I'm just headed down to the T.A. truck stop," I
shouted.

"Aw, zats too bad," he sang back, "I sought you might be going ta Mobile.
We could party all ze way."

Fortunately, he partied all the way to South Boulevard without being
killed.


"This is my exit!" I screamed.

He turned onto the off-ramp and managed to screech to a halt before
skidding into the heavy traffic at the bottom.

Tumbling out of the car with my shit, I yelled, "Thanks for the lift,
dude."  He narrowly avoided being creamed by an oncoming truck as he raced
across the boulevard to the on-ramp.

I spent several minutes calming my nerves before I could cross over and
stick my thumb out again.  I still hadn't gotten a ride an hour and a half
later.  The sun had set.  There was a wooded area about halfway up the
ramp.  I walked into it and hid my shit in some bushes, then headed for the
Subway Sandwich Shop near the bottom of the ramp.  I ordered a foot-long
and a Coke.  After eating, I returned to the woods and climbed into my
sleeping bag.