The car slowed to a halt, the window wound down and a smiling face looked out at us. “Where are you headed?”
Do you remember the days when it was still safe to hitch-hike? When you could just make your way to the nearest highway, stick out your thumb and rely on the kindness of strangers to do the rest? It’s been years since I last even thought about doing that, and even longer since I actually did it. But there was a time when I did almost all my travelling by hand and foot, and I never met a single serial killer or weirdo.
Dave, my boyfriend, gathered up the couple of bags that we were travelling with, and we clambered into the back of the car. Chris, the knight in shining chrome who had stopped for us, waited while we made ourselves comfortable and then eased back out into the traffic. We chatted, the usual pleasantries that occupy strangers on the road – he was a skiing instructor heading home for a vacation; we were kids making the most of our break year, so we talked about that and a pile of other topics and, somewhere in the midst of all that I just happened to mention our final destination, Boulder.
“Hey, I’ll be passing through there tomorrow!” Springs, he explained, was just an overnight halt, stopping off at the apartment he rented with a friend, before driving up into the mountains to visit his parents. “If you want, you could stay at my place tonight, then I’ll take you the rest of the way tomorrow.”
I looked at Dave. We were certainly in no hurry, and it would save us spending another however-long standing at the entrance to the interstate, waiting for another ride. Silently we agreed; “thanks, we’d love to.”
Which, to cut a very long story short, is how I wound up naked on a strange man’s bed, sucking on my boyfriend’s cock, while he had another man’s halfway down his throat. It’s a visual I don’t think I’ll ever forget.