Date: Sat, 18 Nov 2000 03:49:20 EST
From: ZLATAZOBO@aol.com
Subject: Boys Dare not Dance! part six

Welcome again! Here are the legal statements. If you are not yet old enough
or if it is not legal to read this type of material where you live, please
leave now. If the subject of homosexual relations offends you please read
no further.

The Author reserves all rights. copyright 2000.

The Author is Terrence 'TJ' Julian. E-mail me at Alphazendada@aol.com

			   Boys Dare Not Dance!
				 Part Six
			  by Terrence 'TJ' Julian
		   Copyright 2000.  All Rights Reserved

*******************************************************************************
          "One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small
and the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all..."
'White Rabbit', Jefferson Airplane
*******************************************************************************

When it was time to leave San Francisco, April drove us to a spot the
locals referred to as 'hitchers point'. From there we were told it would be
no problem to catch as ride going north. Our next destination was the San
Juan Islands in Washington State and then Vancouver, British Columbia. We
thanked April for the great time we'd had and she thanked us for the 'free
entertainment'!

True to her word, April had deposited Andy and I where it took no more than
five cars to get a ride. I had just started to set down my backpack when an
early 1960's Vauxhall coupe painted with 'Electric' colors in a wild
psychedelic swirling pattern pulled to a stop. Andy poked his head in the
car and said "Canada?" The driver nodded enthusiastically and Andy yelled
"Come on!"

Now, getting into this car was more difficult than it sounds. The back seat
was nearly filled with boxes and assorted items. This meant we had to work
our backpacks around and into the available space. The twin 'bucket' seats
in front meant Andy and I would have to share one. Along with the drivers
snow skis. It took us a minute or two to get everything sorted out but we
finally managed. I noticed the driver didn't say much, if anything, while
we rearranged items to accommodate our packs. He mearly pointed here and
there, directing our movements. Andy settled in and I sat sort of half way
on his lap. He pulled the door shut and the Vauxhall accelerated away,
leaving a cloud of black smoke behind. We'd traveled no more than 100 yards
when the driver, a wild haired, bespectacled hippie type leaned forward in
his seat and glanced at the two of us.

"Parlez-vous Francais? He asked.

Andy turned to face me. Although he knew French when he heard it and could
pretty much order in a restaurant, Andy hadn't bothered to learn much of
language during the time we'd spent in Cannes. He preferred having me
translate.

"Oui, Je fais" I replied. This seemed to cause some relief to the driver
and he began to chatter on to me at breakneck speed. He detailed how he was
an Artist from Quebec.  He'd been living nearly penniless in Santa Monica
for the last ten months while his 'fame' back in Canada had been growing
without his knowledge. By chance, his roommate had read an article in an
'Art' magazine talking about how he was now 'famous, but mysteriously
missing' back home. The article also said one of his paintings had recently
sold for $35,000 Canadian Dollars. So, Gerard (he finally introduced
himself) was hurrying home to cash in on this new found fame. He also
informed me that he'd made a quick stop in San Francisco to score some
'crank' from a biker friend. This was to 'help' him stay awake on the trip
back to Quebec. As I watched him fire the words out in rapid succession, I
imagined the crank having the effect of making his hair grow at 90 miles an
hour! He rambled on at me for nearly a half an hour, during which Andy
would occasionally lean over to me.

"What's he saying?" Andy would whisper. I just waved him away with my hand
and continued listening.

He babbled on and on, telling how he had packed in a hurry and started up
Highway 101 with almost no money. What money he did have was spent on the
crank. This was when I asked my first question. Now, remember, the
following conversation was in French and Andy had no clue as to what we
were saying.

"How are you paying for gas?" I asked him.

"I'm not paying for it! I'm stealing it as I go." He replied

"What if you get caught?" I asked.

"I just rattle on at the Police and they let me go. None of them can ever
speak French so they don't have a clue what I'm talking about. So I say to
them 'You Policemen are all fucking queers and like big dicks in your
butts.' They just nod their heads and tell me to go away."

I thought about this carefully. Here we were, both crammed into one bucket
seat of a battered, vision provoking pretentiously frescoed psychedelic
Vauxhall with a mad French Canadian behind the wheel. Not to mention the
fact he was exceeding the posted speed limit by a good 15 miles per
hour. The embodiment of a target for law enforcement.  It appeared the
drugged out driver was homophobic as well. He was as high as a Canadian
goose flies, carrying illegal drugs and stealing gas whenever need. Not to
mention his admitted habit of taunting the Police.

Andy and I had accepted a ride that could have been the plot from a
movie. The theme music from 'Midnight Express' started to play in my
head. It would stay with me the rest of our ride with Gerard.

This entire time Andy was sitting between Gerard and myself, wishing he'd
taken French in high school instead of German. While living in Cannes he'd
picked up just enough to understand a word here and a word there in the
conversation. The effect of this was to drive him slowly insane.

"TJ!" He suddenly cried "What the hell are you two talking about?"

I knew better than to tell Andy, a devout paranoid when it comes to police,
that we had accepted a ride with a potential felony charge if we got pulled
over. I had to think fast.

"We're talking about art." I replied. "He's an artist from Quebec. That's
where he's headed."

"Oh, OK." Andy said. This seemed to calm any worries he had due to the
language barrier. Gerard began babbling at me again and continued to do so
until I fell asleep somewhere near Mount Shasta in Northern California. He
then proceeded to babble on at Andrew, who simply smiled and nodded his
head until we pasted Grants Pass in Oregon. I woke up to find Gerard still
blabbing and Andrew, although no longer smiling, still nodding his head. It
was soon dark and Gerard was in dire need of both gas and sleep, admitting
to me that he'd been awake for over seventy two hours. He explained that
sleep depravation was beginning to cause hallucinations in the on coming
cars headlights!

Another five miles up the freeway he spotted a 'rest area' and started to
pull in. As he did, the Vauxhall sputtered and died, running out of gas. I
at that moment I was shown that there is a God and he does perform miracles
when you pray.

We had to push his car the last hundred yards into the rest area, but this
was little payment for the relief it provided. Gerard explained that he was
going to try and sleep a few hours, so Andy and I pulled our backpacks out
of the car and went looking for a quiet spot. At the far side of the rest
area the forest came right up to the roadway. Andy suggested we look there
and soon we found a small opening through the trees which led to a secluded
area just big enough for us to roll out our sleeping bags. I was actually
wide awake, since I'd slept in the car. I soon discovered Andy didn't have
sleeping in mind.

"I'm so fuckin' horney!" He said. "Take off your clothes!"

'Yeah!" I snickered and dropped my cutoffs. "C'mon, let's both get naked!"

Andy needed no further encouragement and quickly removed his
clothes. Finishing, I dove onto him. Our naked bodies intertwinded with the
wild abandon young homosexuals have when deprived from physical release for
a time. I couldn't wait to taste his cock in my mouth. Within moments I had
his taught pole firmly gripped between my lips. Andrew lay back on the
sleeping bags moaning and quivering as I sucked his cock and stroked his
ball sack with my hand. His 'trimmed to tiny pubic patch' tickled at my
nose each time I descended the length of his throbbing penis. Within a
minute I felt him tense, then fire into my mouth. Oh, how I loved it! I
love the taste of his cum and I swallowed every bit of it!

Andrew retaliated by giving me a blow job that nearly made me pass out when
I came! He sucked me, then licked at the final dropletts while he giggled
at me.

:Oh, I love it when I make you dizzy!" He said and threw his arm around
me."I'm having a great time! This trip was a brilliant idea, TJ!"

We lay there talking, giggling and pawing at one another like the two young
lovers we were. We got into the sleeping bags after a while, 'cause it was
getting a bit cool. Andy napped for about an hour or so. When he woke up,
he wanted to walk around a bit and see what Gerard was doing. After getting
our things repacked we exited the forest and began walking throught the
rest area. A huge big rig with a flatbed trailer had pulled in and the
driver was standing along side it, staring at the load of lumber. As we
walked past, Andy noticed its load had come loose and the driver was trying
to figure out how he was going to rearrange it.

"Got a problem?" Andy asked. The young driver, no more than twenty five,
turned and stared at us. Surprisingly, he had long hair and looked like a
hippy type.

"Uh, yeah. My loads is about to fall and I don't know how I'm going to fix
it." the driver replied.

"Got a Comealong?" Andy asked. Now, Andy was raised on his Families ranch
with Horses, Chickens, Pigs and hundreds of Orange Trees. He worked as a
boy helping out and knew about things I'd never heard of. I certainly had
never heard of a 'comealong'. This turned out to be a sort of hand winch
and the driver did have one. Andy got it from him and climbed up on the
stack of lumber. Within fifteen minutes, Andrew had the lumber all pulled
back into place and the tie downs replaced to hold the load correctly.

"Shit, dude! How'd you know to do that?" the young driver asked.

"I grew up on a ranch." Andy replied, to which the driver scratched his
head and remarked

"I didn't know they had ranches in England."

Rather than explain, Andrew just smiled. The driver looked at our backpacks
and asked if we were hitching rides. I told him yes and he asked if we
wanted a ride to Portland, Oregon.

"Well, we kinda have a ride, but he's sleeping." I said thinking to myself
about the weird Canadian and his car. "If he's still asleep, may be we
could take a ride." I remarked.

"OK." He replied "Go find out."

Andy and I left our backpacks and walked towards the far side of the rest
area. As we rounded the rest room building, we spotted two huge State
Policemen struggling with a figure holding a gas can and a hose.

'Oh, shit Andy! Look!"

It was Gerard and he'd been caught siphoning gas!

"S'arrter le! Je suis pas une malfaiteur. Vous tes une malfaiteur!" He
screamed while being thrown head first into the backseat of a police
cruiser.

"TJ? I suggest we take the ride with the Trucker. "  Andrew announced.

"Good idea, Andrew!." I replied. "Let's go tell him right now."