FORGOTTEN HIGHWAY (M/M)

[Deleted User 3263]

A buzzing from atop the nightstand pulls me into some somnambulant state. I fumble to answer my phone.

"Where's my car, dickweed?  You said you'd bring it over this morning."  

I only begin to register the voice saturating my ear.  It's Derek.  But I'm still a member of the groggy undead.  "Huh?" I get out past my thick tongue.  “Wh — Where are you?"

"At Sara's.  I told you last night at the party, " Derek bristles with impatience.  "Man, are you still wasted?"

I look around at my trashed place.  By the looks of things, I should be.  But I’m just a little hungover at this point.  I remember the party.  I think. There was that friend of Brent's I liked and who I was trying to get to find out if he was into guys, but didn't really get an answer...

"Hello?  You still there, Clay?"

"Huh?"

"Sara took me to her place, and you said you'd bring my car to me this morning.  Look, you gotta wake up and get my wheels over here.  I’m late for work.  I left the keys on the kitchen table."

I find them in a sea of crushed chips and toppled beer cans.

"Got 'em," I say as I place them near the door.

“Good. Sara’s off the interstate.  I’m texting the address. Like I said last night, I’ll drop you back on my way to work.  Get going, man."

“Okay, okay."

I hang up, view the text, and then it’s gets covered over by “Low Battery” that pops onto my phone screen. I’ll charge it in the car, I think, still dizzy as I trudge to the bathroom. Light on.  I catch my reflection in the mirror.  Wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and socks.  I smirk at my tousled brown bed head. Attractive sight, I think — no wonder I couldn’t get a straight answer about Brent’s friend. Brent’s maybe straight friend? Never mind. I wet my toothbrush under the faucet, paste it up, and scrub away the last six or so hours from my pearlies. I silently resign to lay off the benders.  Or at least to seriously slack off. After all, it’s wrecking my chiseled physique!  

I chew on the brush as I rifle through my bedroom bureau, pulling out a ripped pair of jeans and a grey running shirt.  Grit the brush harder as I pull up the jeans and slip on the snug shirt.  Back at the bathroom mirror, I spit out the paste, ditch the brush and run a comb through the hair mess.  I slip on shoes, grab my wallet, phone and house key, Derek’s keys, and plod out the door.


*****


I’m a couple of miles down the road when I realize. Shit. There’s no charger in Derek’s car. The phone is now, of course, dead. But I remember Sara’s address. I think. Shit. Why do I agree to do these things? I don't even know Derek all that well.  But the consumption of beer in mass quantities tends to forge fast friends, and I was always taught to help people out if they’re in a bind…or want to make it with Sara at her place after the party.

I exit the interstate.  Travel for a few minutes.  The sky grows overcast.  This old road is pretty wooded.  It's almost like night back here.  Now to find Sara's address.  Checking the reflective numbers on mailboxes beside the road. Was it 253 or 235? Or was is 135 or 153? Doesn’t matter. These are four digit numbers. But this is the right road. So it’s gotta be here somewhere. I drive a little ways further.  

You'd think Derek would have a charger in this new car. It’s nice.  He must have a good paying job.  I have a crap paying job. I still haven’t been able to afford a new ride since I totaled mine last year. That’s a plus about hosting the party — you don't have to get a Lyft to drive you home…

The car shudders.

What?  It's a new car.  New cars don’t have engine trouble.

The car shudders again, slows on its own, and dies.

It rolls forward, and I brake it to the side.

“Just great," I say aloud.  Try to turn the engine.  Clicks and grinds.  I don't want to drain the battery, so I take my hand off the key.  It's then that I notice the gas gauge is on empty.

Screw you, Derek.  The guy could have told me he was almost out of gas.  Of course, Clay, I tell myself, you could have noticed yourself...if you hadn't been so hungover.  I pop the trunk and get out.

Nooooo.  Why would Derek have a gas can in the trunk when he has me to go and get it for him?  I slam the lid.  

I know the interstate's back the way I came.  I could probably get there in no time walking, but I need to walk off this anger, and I'm thinking Sara's place is just up around the corner.  I start walking in the other direction from the main road.


****


I don't know how many minutes of walking.  Dead phone, remember?  No cars on this damn road.  I'm lost.  And it's cold, too, in the shrouded woods, with the sun hidden behind the clouds, and me in my tight running shirt.  I've seen no more mailboxes since I passed the last one when the car was still running on fumes.  I pick up my pace.  Determined to beat the cold. Determined to find Sara's place. 
Then I hear an engine behind.  I glance as a dark car rounds a bend and comes into view.  I think to flag it down, but something in me says to just keep walking.  Sara's place will be around the next turn.  Plus, Derek should deal with this mess, not me.

The car passes.  It slows to the right side of the road ahead of me and stops.


I slow my walking. What should I do? Maybe this is a guy who, like me, likes to help out a guy in a bind. Screw it. I’m over this cold. I hurry to the passenger's side as the window rolls down.

The driver is in his thirties. Dark hair, blue eyes.  Tall, I can tell, and in good shape.  There's something about him.  I gush a little too much, relieved to have been rescued like this.  He doesn't have a phone and can't make a call for me.  He's surprised to see anyone this far off the main road.

"How many miles from the interstate?" I ask when I hear his description of where I am.  I can't believe I've traveled that far, but I was lost in thought.  Hell, just plain lost. I’d better just go back home at this point. Or even to a house with a phone.

"You think I can get a ride?" I ask tentatively.

He pauses to respond.  I'm screwed now, I think.  I'm going to have to walk back past that dead car and then God knows how many more miles to the interstate.  Then he speaks.  

He tells me there has been a rash of crimes committed in the area, that the authorities suspect hitchhikers or robbers working their way from town to town.  I try and convince him I'm not a robber.  Would a robber dress so skimpy in the cold? I’m just trying to help out a friend.  

"Is there something we can work out?” I ask. “I mean, I can pay you, if you want.  You can hang onto my wallet."

I can't believe I just said that.  It's pretty naive to be that trusting, but there you go.  It's who I am.  I'm pretty sure that was the wrong thing to say.  But, to my surprise, he finally agrees.  I reach for the door handle.  "But..." he adds, "You have to allow me to check you over for hidden weapons."

I think about it.  “Sure, but I don't have anything on me."  

"And you have to let me tie your hands together during the ride.  So you won't try anything."

"I'm not going to try anything," I say, smiling a bit, looking at him a little differently now.  I realize I'm bouncing on my heels, maybe in an effort to show him how cold I am, to gain sympathy.  Either way, I'm legitimately cold.

His voice grows firm, but calm.  "I tie your hands.  Otherwise, I have to leave you here until I can send the authorities to help you.”
Then he smiles slightly.  "I don't want to end up in a gutter, robbed and bleeding."

I hesitate, but it's the smile that convinces me.  I nod.  "Yeah, okay.  I get you. Whatever you want.”

He turns off the car ignition and asks me to remove my shoes, socks, and shirt and lay them across the top of the passenger door.  I feel a little self-conscious as I begin to strip, but I do it all.  He takes each piece of clothing, inspects it, then folds it and places it in the back seat of his car.  

"Now the jeans."

Another moment of hesitation, but I unbutton, unzip, and get out of them quickly, and put them on the passenger door.  Stripping for a guy.  It's all pretty hot. I woulda stripped for Brent’s friend last night. But this guy is pretty hot, so it’s not so bad. Despite the biting cold out here, I notice that I'm growing an erection.  I don't want to show it, but I'm sure he notices.  It's pretty embarrassing.  My hands move instinctively to the front of my boxer briefs to cover my crotch.

He doesn't really check the jeans, just folds them up and puts them in the back seat.  

"It's okay to keep your underwear on, but you have to pull them down."

I look at him.  He gestures.  I turn, slowly and drop my underwear, flashing my butt.  I've gotten harder now.

“Now the front."

I pause, then turn toward him, looking away.  There's no way he doesn’t notice the change in me now.

"Okay," he says, satisfied, and reaches over and finally opens the car door.

I pull up my underwear and get into the passenger seat as he pulls a length of clothesline from the glove compartment box.  (Just what every guy keeps in his glove compartment.) He reminds me of my agreement to have my hands tied during the ride, and I nod, presenting them in front of me.  I've never been tied by a guy.  It scares me a bit, but I'm just happy to be out of the cold.  He begins to loosely loop the rope around my wrists, faltering with which way to wind it.  Then he stops, removes the cord, and explains that he thinks it might be better if he tied my hands behind my back, to guard from my being able to grab the wheel and take possession of the car.  I try to convince him once more that I'm no criminal...  

"I just prefer to be cautious," he says.

There's that look in his eye again, that makes me trust what he says.  I nod, and move my feet and legs out of the car, cross my wrists behind me, and lean forward.  The rope is wound around and between my wrists with more confidence this time.  In fact, I detect a sort of precision with the way he wraps, pulls, and ties.  In fact, he even ties the loose ends of the rope off above my elbows.  What for, I wonder?  I sort of like the way the ropes feel.  Their snugness.  The way my arms strain, tied behind my back.  But my mind turns to other thoughts in the next moment.

"Will I be able to get dressed before we get to a place where I can call my friend?"

"I'll pull behind a building, let you out, then you can get dressed and find someone with a phone."

He finishes knotting my elbows together and tying off the rope.

"Let me close your door," he says.

I pull my feet inside as he opens his door and crosses behind the car.  I look down at the ignition and see that he's taken his car keys with him.  Then I hear the trunk lid pop open.  The lid fills the rear-view mirror.  My heart jumps.  What's going on back here? 
Instinctual fear begins to grow.  I turn to my left, straining to see what he's doing in the trunk.  He moves from behind and walks toward the passenger side.  It looks like he's carrying...more rope!

"What are going to do with..."

But it's all I can get out before my mouth is stuffed with a thick cloth.  It's one of my socks from the back seat!  The other sock is used to keep it in place, tied behind my head.  I start to squirm out of the seat, but he grabs my bare ankles, pulls them together roughly and uses the extra rope to bind them fast.  Despite my kicking and pulling, he wraps the rope about a dozen times around my ankles and another dozen times between them before knotting the rope in place.  He deposits my bound legs inside the car and pushes me back into the seat.  A strong hand holds me in place as the other draws down the seat belt and locks me into the seat.  He drops the seat back and shuts the door, returning to the trunk.

I'm breathing heavily now, my eyes bulging in terror at what is happening to me.  The trunk slams closed, and the man returns to the driver's side of the car, gets in, then quickly reaches over and pulls my underwear down to my knees.  I hear it rip as it catches on the seat belt lock, then I feel it drop to my bound ankles.  My erection pops to attention.

I close my eyes.  I can't believe what is happening.  Unable to speak.  Unable to move my hands and feet.  Unable to control the images flooding through my brain of being taken from the road.  Not knowing what my fate will be in the hands of a complete and total stranger.

The man starts the engine and turns to me.

“You said whatever I want.” And he smiles. “This is what I want.”

As he pulls back onto the road, past the abandoned car, and the row of mailboxes, I see one with the number 253. Sara’s place. At least I got Derek’s car somewhat close.

[MaxRoper]

Excellent. I'm always pleased to find something new from you and this is another gem.
I'm sure Derek will be pleased to find his car. He probably doesn't know Clay well enough to care where he got off to.

[Xtc]

Great description at the start of the tale.

[MountainMan_91]

Awesome!

[Trickster]

That was great. I hope you'll continue it!

[Deleted User 3263]

Awesome!

Thanks so much! Greatly appreciated!

[Deleted User 3263]

That was great. I hope you'll continue it!

This is a one-off. Glad you enjoyed it!

[jay_write]

Heh, people always warn you about the perils of picking up hitchhikers. Not many stories I've read about the perils of being a hitchhiker, but this was certainly a fun one. Great job!

[Deleted User 3263]

Heh, people always warn you about the perils of picking up hitchhikers. Not many stories I've read about the perils of being a hitchhiker, but this was certainly a fun one. Great job!

Merely providing a pubic service. Thanks for commenting!

[DeeperThanRed]

A great story, with a very classic and hot atmosphere. You can never have enough hitchhiker stories. Thanks for sharing it with us.

[Deleted User 3263]

A great story, with a very classic and hot atmosphere. You can never have enough hitchhiker stories. Thanks for sharing it with us.

I agree! You can never have enough hitchhiker stories. In my corruptible youth, I played out a few similar scenarios like this. Gullible boy that I was. This one is based on a story from our good friend Jake.

[Deleted User 3263]

Excellent. I'm always pleased to find something new from you and this is another gem.
I'm sure Derek will be pleased to find his car. He probably doesn't know Clay well enough to care where he got off to.

Clay's pretty screwed. Or about to be.

[Deleted User 3263]

Great description at the start of the tale.

Thanks!!!

[Josh99]

Great storyline. Hitchhiker stories never get old.