Date: Sun, 19 Jan 2014 10:06:44 -0800 (PST) From: Macout Mann Subject: Another Hitchhiking Adventure 1 This story is a sequel to "John's Hitchhiking Adventure," which you can locate by checking my name under "Prolific Authors." 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 contributions to nifty.org. Please donate, and be as generous as you can. MM Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved. ANOTHER HITCHHIKING ADVENTURE by Macout Mann 1 My name is John. I'm a senior in college. A couple of summers ago I set out from Mobile and hitched up to Atlanta, Chattanooga, Nashville, and Memphis, then down to New Orleans where I was met by my older brother. I had a ball, and wrote about it in "John's Hitchhiking Adventure." I've wanted to do it again, and this last June I got my chance. This time I decided to go to Charleston by way of Jacksonville and come back through Atlanta, where my granddad lives. And would you believe? This is what happened: I had to get an early start. Brother Chuck was going to drop me at the Water Street ramp leading to the I10 eastbound tunnel on his way to work. So it was hardly light when I started my hitch. Not much traffic at six in the morning. But I was lucky. After only fifteen minutes or so I got a ride with an old couple in an ancient Olds. At least they'd get me across Mobile Bay and maybe into Florida. They had to be in their seventies. Papa was wearing a faded chambray shirt and jeans. His wife a flowered blouse and a cotton skirt. I climbed in back and they were off. We dived into the tunnel under the shipping lanes and emerged onto the bridge that took us over the bay just as the sky began to brighten in the east. "Where 'bouts you headed, young fella?" the man asked. "I'm going to Charleston this time," I answered. "You got people up there?" "No. I just wanted to hitch someplace, and I'd never been to Charleston," I said. "You must be like our boy, Winston," the missus interjected. "He used to hitch places just for the fun of it." "We lost him in Nam," her husband said. "Got blowed up just before he was due to come home." "Golly, I know that was awful." I didn't know what to say. "He wanted to enlist," the old man continued after a moment, "and he did want to go over there where the action was. "Anyways, we allus pick up young guys like you. It helps us remember him." They were headed to Bagdad--Bagdad, Florida, that is. I learned that it was a community of about 1,500 a few miles on the other side of Pensacola. They were retired. He had worked for a nursery and garden center in Bagdad. They had a married daughter who lived in Mobile. Two grandchildren. I told them about my bro working for a big landscaping outfit in Mobile. The old man had heard of it. It took just over an hour to get to their exit. Garcon Point Road wasn't the busiest place on the interstate. A couple of service stations and a Dairy Queen. It would have been better if they'd dropped me at one of the busier exits around Pensacola. I thanked them, though, and walked over to the on ramp. The sun was already hot, and I stood there almost an hour before I walked up to the top of the ramp, hoping that a cop wouldn't come by and send me back down to the bottom. After another fifteen minutes I stripped off my shirt, leaving only my denim shorts and flip flops. The car that finally pulled over was a black BMW sedan. The driver was about forty in a dress shirt and tie with the tie at half mast. His suit coat was on a hanger next to a back window. Dark wavy hair and a deep forehead accented a handsome face. I opened the door and climbed in. "Thanks for stopping, man," I said. Faced with the chill of the car's a.c., I immediately pulled my shirt back on. "I wouldn't have," he replied, "but I'm already about to doze off. Need somebody to chat with, I do." His accent was decidedly Brit. "Where're you off to, lad?" "Jacksonville, right now," I answered. "Ultimately Charleston, South Carolina." "I'm on the way to Jacksonville. Must meet my wife at the airport. She's flying in from New York. That is, she's coming from London with stops at New York and Atlanta. Can't fly anyplace over here without going to Atlanta, now can you? After I meet with some folk in Jacksonville tomorrow, we'll be going on holiday at St. Augustine and Orlando. Why the fuck she wants to go to Disney World, I'll never know." "I didn't finish my business in New Orleans as early as I'd planned," he continued, "and then I played around more than I should have done. Just an hour or so of sleep. So now I'm not only knackered but still a little pished." "Well, I know what you mean about New Orleans," I chimed in. "I've had some fun times over there." I didn't think I should mention all the different kinds of fun times. As we cruised down the freeway, I learned that his name was Reginald Welby. He was a rep for a British high tech firm dealing with the oil industry. He comes to the U.S. for a month or six weeks at a time at least twice a year. His wife sometimes joins him at the end of his visit, and they'll vacation someplace she wants to go. He said they'd been married for several years but had no children. I told him something about myself. Orphan. Living with my older brother when I'm not in school. Going to be a senior at Auburn next fall. In journalism. Have to start making a living for myself next year, if I can find a job. It was almost noon when we passed Tallahassee. He slowed down and took the Thomasville Road exit. After checking his I Phone, he announced that there was a T.G.I. Friday's nearby. "That's a little rich for me," I said. "Don't worry, mate. I'll treat...if you don't order everything on the menu." During lunch I told him that although I grew up in Mobile, I wasn't high on Florida and it wasn't just Disney World. "It's like my dad used to say," I told him. "He'd never been across the border down here he didn't get the feeling everybody he met was out to fuck him one way or another." Reg laughed and agreed that if he had his way he would've stayed in New Orleans. "I sure got pissed last night though," he admitted. "Oh?" I was confused. "Right," he said. "In the U.K. `pissed' means you've had too much to drink, not that you're angry, like over here. "Oh," I said. "So I went to this bar, had one or two too many, and then brought this bloke back to my hotel room. Shouldn't have done that. "Oh?" I said again. "Sounds like you were someplace like the Golden Lantern." "How could you know the Golden Lantern?" He looked totally shocked. "Yes, I was staying at the Andrew Jackson Hotel. It's only three blocks away. And a mate back in London had told me about the Golden Lantern. "So I suppose I don't have to tell you I go both ways, now do I?" "I do too," I laughed. "And I've been to the `Lantern' with my brother Chuck a coupla times. Good pickup spot." "Well, this lad I mentioned was a hellova fuck, but I should have been asleep instead of putting my leg over." "So does your wife know?" "Oh, yes. But we don't talk about it. I know she lets other blokes fuck her. We don't talk about that either. Occasionally we'll both get together with another guy, then pretend it didn't happen." I couldn't help but laugh. "Sort of like my folks. My dad always said god hadn't made the person that could keep his dick satisfied. He and mom had a wonderful, loving marriage. But being faithful sure as hell wasn't part of it. "He was killed before I was old enough to raise hell with 'em, but he and Chuck used to go out on the town. They wouldn't get together, but whatever else happened, there were no questions asked." "You and Chuck?" he snickered. "Sure as shit," I replied. He raised his eyebrows like he wanted to hear more. "I guess it started with the lecture," I began. "I was only nine, Chuck was eleven. Dad said he was talking to us because kids got active sooner these days. He wanted us both there, because he said Chuck would tell me anyway and get it all wrong. Then he gave us the whole story about hetero sex. Then he asked if we had any questions. "Well Chuck's always been a wiseass. I guess he thought he was goanna shock Dad or something. Anyway, he asked Dad if he'd ever had sex with a dude. Dad just laughed. "'Sure,' he said, `Aint nothing wrong with that. I've fucked around with guys lots of times. Still do.' And then he gave us the lowdown on what gays do. So we got more info than Dad had planned to give us. But after that we never had any hangups about anything. "When Chuck could cum, he had me start sucking him off; and when I could, we started doing each other." "I was an only," he said. "But in British Public School more shagging goes on than you'd think. I did my share." "I've sure done my share in college. Had a roommate when I was a sophomore who was an Aussie. He was bi too. When we weren't together, we were getting with one or both of our girlfriends." I didn't know why in hell I was sharing all this with him. But shit! I'd never see him again anyway, and it wasn't anything I was ashamed of. "Funny," he responded. "The manager of our Australian operation has a son who did a year over here a couple of years ago. I don't remember which college Colin attended." "Colin? Shit, man, it's gotta be the same guy. What is his last name?" "Paxton." "Goddamn, it is!" I cried. "I can't believe you copped off Colin. I sure love to boff him. He's one switched on fucker." "He's sexy all right." Reg paid the check and we left the restaurant. His head was still giving him hell, so he asked me to drive the rest of the way to Jacksonville. I was happy to. Damned fine car. Back on the freeway he continued to talk about sex. The dude he was doing business with in Houston had set him up with a gal that then they both screwed. "I'd have done him too, but he was straight." He reached over and fondled my dick through my denim shorts. "Nice one," he said. "May I see it?" "Be my guest," I answered. "Just be careful you don't make me wreck your car." He unzipped me and began to play with my stiffening tool. I let him do his thing. I didn't figure a semi driver noticing us in passing would alert the cops that two dudes were messing around on the interstate. I continued to let it hang out. We would chat a while, then he would play some more. I half expected he'd go down on me right there, but he never did. Instead, as we were approaching Jacksonville, he said, "John, could you stay over with us? I'd really like you to meet Madeline, and I know she would love to meet you. I could drop you off tomorrow morning. You'd already be north of the city. Give you a fresh start." "Nice of you to offer, Reg; but I know you two haven't been together for a while. I'd just be in the way." "Not at all. Nothing we'd do you haven't done. If it bothers you, you can pretend to be asleep. And Madeline might even want to shag you. You never know," he laughed. "Come on," he continued. "We have reservations at the airport Hampton Inn. I'll check in. We can have a drink or two, then meet her plane at seven thirty." "Why fucking not?" I finally said. "Smashing!" he responded. By this time we were almost at the interchange for I295 leading around the city. I took the northbound ramp and in less than a half hour we had merged into I95, and a few short minutes later were at the Hampton Inn. It was about four-thirty. "I'll be right back," Reg said, and he disappeared into the lobby. Quite a guy. Here he was, leaving me at the wheel of his BMW with the rental car documents stuck in the door pocket and all his luggage in the trunk. I could have driven off in a sec. He did return and we found a parking place near the side entrance of the hotel and carried our stuff in. Once in his room, he shed his tie and his shirt. He was a fine specimen with a neat matt of hair all across his chest. "Let me put on something more informal," he said half to himself. "We'll be going to dinner after we pick up Madeline, and nobody dresses anymore." "I guess I need to change too, then," I volunteered. "I can at least pull on a pair of jeans instead of these shorts." "And I can get to play with that big, beautiful cock again. Is Chuck's as big as yours?" "No, but he aint got anything to be ashamed of. Our dad had the biggest dick I've ever seen, the size of a pint can of beer, and I got his dick genes, I guess." Reg didn't hesitate to pull off my shirt and loosen my shorts. I was immediately bareassed with my shorts around my ankles. He dropped to his knees and tasted my tube for the first time. I stroked his back and fingered his ears. He'd learned his Brit schoolboy lessons well. Soon, he'd transferred me to one of the queen-sized beds, and his head was bobbing faster and faster as he pleasured my dick and sent waves of excitement through my whole bod. I held back as long as I could, then shot blast after blast into his willing mouth. "I knew it would be mint," he said. "Is that good of bad?" I asked. "Heavenly," he answered. His trousers were still on. I rolled over and removed them, then began to nibble on his nipples. "I want you to fuck me," he said. "After I blow you," I responded. "Taste me if you want, but don't make me cum. I need to save it for Madeline. I'd rather be doing you, but...you know how it is. " I took his dick into my mouth, all of it, and just lay there letting him feel its warmth. "Oh, I wish," he mumbled. "You got condoms?" I asked. "I come prepared, I do," he laughed. He quickly crossed the room, and from his tote produced not only a condom but a small tube of some kind of British lube. "Easy to hide in your luggage," he giggled. Back on the bed, I again kissed his pecs, then tongued his ears, kissed his abs, tongued his navel, kissed his knob. I squeezed stuff from the tube into his ass and onto my plastic-covered shaft. He shuddered in anticipation. "Bang my ass," he cried. "Take me now!" I didn't need more convincing. I aimed my rod at his hole and popped the head of my dick into his sphincter. He moaned, but not in agony. I let him get accustomed to my size. "Go on," he said. Soon I was humping him like it was going out of style. Long strokes in and out of his obviously well-used hole. I screwed him for five or ten minutes before I finally dropped a second load. We cuddled for another five or ten minutes, before he broke into my reverie. "If we're going to have that drink, we'd better get dressed. We may as well go on to the airport. The hotel here doesn't have a bar." He was careful to flush the used condom down the toilet after filling it with water, and we tidied up the bed to erase evidence of what had been going on. We showered, and I put on a fresh shirt and a pair of cowboy cut slim Wranglers. He donned a pair of designer jeans that cost ten times what mine did, but I wouldn't have exchanged outfits with him for a thousand dollars. At the airport's cocktail lounge, Reg discovered that they did have an acceptable single malt Scotch. I ordered a Beefeaters' martini, very dry, straight up. "Well, John," he ventured, "you don't strike me as the martini type." "Chuck's boss got him hooked on them," I explained. "He introduced them to me. Like they say, `they're an acquired taste,' but I didn't have any trouble acquiring it. Otherwise, I usually drink beer." "I don't mind a pint or two myself," he said. Reg kept track of Madeline's flight's progress on his cell. By the time we'd finished our second round, her plane was on the ground. They were to meet at the baggage carousel. When she arrived, they embraced warmly, then Reg introduced me as if the situation was the most normal thing in the world. "Madeline, this is John Herrington. He's a college student enroute to Charleston. I gave him a ride today and invited him to stay over with us. I thought you'd enjoy meeting him." "Why, yes," she said. "I am glad to meet you, John. What college do you attend?" "He can tell you all about himself during dinner," Reg interrupted. "Right now, let's find a place to eat. About the only place around here that's not fast food is Red Lobster. Is that all right." "Certainly," she said. At the restaurant, I filled Madeline in on Auburn and some of my background. "And would you believe?" Reg began. "His roommate once was Alistair Paxton's son, Colin. You remember him, Madeline. He came to London with his father last year." I detected a slight blush. Was she a bit startled? Made me wonder if Colin might have fucked Madeline while he was in England. "Oh yes. He was such a nice boy," she finally responded. "Did you like him, John? "We became real buddies," I said. "I wish he could have stayed more than one year. He was a lot of fun. Even got the hang of American football." The dinner was very pleasant, and Madeline seemed to accept me as if Reg and I had been friends forever. Once we were back at the hotel, she said that she was really exhausted after her flight. I said that I'd been up since five. Reg said that all of us had had a long day. Madeline went to the bathroom to shower and prepare for bed. I told Reg that I'd just sleep in my jeans. I usually slept raw and didn't have anything but jeans or my denim shorts to sleep in. "Don't get modest for Madeline," he told me. "She's seen a cock before, even big ones like yours. And you certainly don't have to be modest around me. I've had it in my ass, you know." And with that, he stripped off and sat on the edge of their bed waiting for her. So I went ahead and got naked and climbed into the other bed. I couldn't resist pulling the covers far enough down, however, that Madeline would know I was bareassed. When she came out of the bathroom she may as well have been naked. She was wearing only a negligee that could just as well have been transparent. I wished them goodnight and turned to face away. It was apparent that she removed the negligee before they climbed into bed and turned out the light. I did pretend to be asleep, and they were quieter than I expected. But before I actually lost consciousness, I could tell that Reg finally got off. It was sometime later that I was gently awakened. The covers had been pulled further down and a soft hand was on my hardening dick. I was about to experience another thrilling orgasm. When my tool was once again soft, the covers were pulled up to my neck and I drifted off once again. Next morning, I didn't have any modesty problems. The Welbys both asked me how I'd slept and I replied "really good." We got dressed and went down for the hotel's free breakfast buffet. I wasn't registered of course, but I did sleep there, so we figured I might as well partake. Conversation during breakfast was your standard small talk. Afterward Reg volunteered to drive me the few blocks up to I95. Enroute he cupped my jewels and told me he wished I was going on holiday with them. He also said that Madeline had really enjoyed meeting me. "And I really enjoyed meeting both of you," I smiled. We parted at the intersection of Airport Road and I95.