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.
"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.
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