Closer and closer.
My toes curl in my boots and it becomes impossible to keep a consistent speed. Every tense of my body, every stroke, takes away my ability to control the pressure I’m applying to the gas pedal.
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
On the verge of release, I open my eyes.
Swerve.
Tires scream over the pavement as the car spins at the tail until the yellow glow of the headlights are fixated on a stranger. And fuck me forthinking he’s just what my cock ordered. He holds one hand over his eyes, shielding himself from the bright headlights.
He’s not the stranger at the gas station. He’s someone else entirely, but men like him are rare on these highways. He’s shorter than me by a half foot or so, but his skin has been kissed by the sun. He’s a twunk, caught somewhere between a boy and a man with biceps that just barely fill the hollow sleeves of a white tee.
He begins to approach, and I notice my hand is covered in something akin to jizz. It’s not a full load but it’s not merely a pool of precum either. It’s a consistency that’s somewhere between the two. That exact moment when an orgasm is interrupted. The body feels the ecstasy of release—heart racing, breath hitched—but it’s ready to go again. I wipe the evidence with the underside of my shirt but don’t have enough time to pull up my pants without looking suspicious. I pull my shirt over my still-rock-hard erection.
With my left hand, I crank the window down. “What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road?”
And I swear his fucking eyes spot the erection I’m desperately trying to hide. His lip hitches just to the right, flexing a yearning grin. Probably my imagination. He drops his arm onto the edge of the window. “Usually, it’s the one who was almost manslaughter’d who looks like a deer in headlights. But you…” He drops his head slightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone who’s now a stranger. Someone who’s dead. “Yeah, it’s been a long night.”
“That doesn’t sound much like an apology for almost running me over.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, but I’m tired.”
“It’s the middle of the night so I guess that’s a believable excuse.”
“I’m not going to go round in circles with you. You’re alive. I’m not going to prison for killing some random man on the highway. Life is good.”
He taps his fingers on the windowsill. “Maybe you should get your car out of the middle of the road before you become a casualty of someone else driving under the influence of being tired.”
I shift the car into gear and coast to the side of the road, the tires crunching over the gravel that separates the asphalt from a ditch. As he approaches to meet me again, I stuff my cock away and zip up my jeans. When I turn back to him, he’s just outside my window again, lifting his shirt just a little. Just enough to make out the V-shaped line that’s etched across his stomach.
Teasing me.
He has no fucking idea what he’s doing to me.
Or maybe he does.
Maybe that’s the point.
“Do you need a ride or something?” I ask.
He looks both ways withapprehension. Getting into a stranger’s car is a gamble, but I wonder if his apprehension is higher than mine. Letting some stranger into my car is just as much a risk, except I know I’m not a killer. Can’t be certain about him. He wears charisma like heavy cologne, but almost all serial killers were known to be charmers. Still, with a face like that, I’m powerless to not at least offer him a ride.
“It’s the least you could do for almost killing me.”
I can’t help but to let out a hushed chuckle as I scratch at the scruff on my chin. “It’d be easy enough to leave you out here. Leave you for the next stranger, and maybe he or she won’t be so nice.”
“My elders taught me to keep intrusive thoughts to myself.”
“My elders were liars and thieves, so I apologize if I haven’t been taught correctly.”
He glances both ways, contemplating. “Where you heading?”
I point to the road ahead. “That way.”
“I’m heading the same way.” He taps his hands on the windowsill before taking a step back and straightening himself out. Pushes one hand into the front pocket of his jeans, weighing down the denim to expose just enough skin to make my cock jump again.
