Pulling over at a rest-stop leads to an unexpected encounter.
The journey to Florida was forecast to be a long one, so we timed our trip with some extra time to allow for stopping several times along the way. This helped my smoking habit as well, since I knew I wouldn't be able to last more than an hour or so without one, unless I was dead asleep. As we passed D.C. I started to crave, so I made my girl pull over at the very next rest stop, and the next, and the next. I could tell she was starting to get annoyed. But I knew she didn't get it. As smoking hot as she is, she doesn't smoke.
It came to the point where I started keeping track of our location by how the rest stops looked. After all, each state has a different cookie cutter that the buildings come from, all along I-95. If they were generally nice to look at and pass through, I knew we were in Maryland. If I felt like I needed a Tetanus shot after using one, I knew I was further south. If there were huts selling sunglasses out front (in February), I knew we were just below Jacksonville, just hours from our final destination. While I could always use sunglasses and a bite to eat at one of the nicer ones where I didn't want to get tested after visiting, I preferred the seedy ones. They were much less crowded and relaxing.
All the way down the interstate, we saw cars and trucks from all over, even a surprising number hailing tags from Canada on their asses. This was a great opportunity for a people watcher like me. I would love to look in other people's cars, see what they were up to, who they were with, and then write a whole life story in my head for some that seemed to pique my interest. There were those that I could tell were running late for wherever they were going, either shaving, or putting on make-up with the visor mirror in front of their eyes. The Activists were the ones with too many bumper stickers, ones with too many opinions. Half the time their back seats were full of junk, like they were garnering supplies for some sort of covert mission for PETA. The White Bitches were my least favorite, thinking that whomever they were driving were the most precious cargo on the highway, and needed to get them wherever they needed to go, even if that meant cutting me off and making me swerve into the guardrail. Not a good time.
Generally speaking, you tend to see a lot of the same cars when you're driving across the country on the same well-traveled route. The same people pass you, lag behind when they stop somewhere, then pass you again. The same trucks with whatever mega-brand emblazoned along the side of the trailer seem to tear down the road. The same people hang outside their cars and smoke a cig at almost every rest stop. When a new car pops up through the monotony, you tend to take notice.
My girl was sleeping one particular leg of the journey when I decided to stop at the first rest stop I could find after passing into Georgia. I didn't even bother waking her up. I made sure she was nestled comfortably, and locked her in while I went about my business. I first made my way to the bathroom. I was the only one in there, thankfully, as there were no separations between the stalls. The last thing I needed was some queer staring me down as I take a piss.
The gallon of Diet Coke I drank in the first few hours of our drive was making its way out into the porcelain pisser. I knew I'd be standing there for a while. Note to self: caffeine, though necessary for an all-nighter such as this, comes with some serious consequences, including but not limited to my dick turning into a fire hose for a couple minutes. Normally I'm a just-unzip kind of pisser, but I decided to get comfortable. I unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped and let it all hang out. I needed the air, seeing as how I had been stuck in the driver's seat of a coupe for the majority of the night. The release sent shivers down my spine. You know what I'm talking about guys. Sometimes it just feels that good.
I let my dick hang freely as it drained, and propped myself up against the tiled wall with both hands. I knew it would probably be the most comfortable position I would be in all night. So comfortable I almost fell asleep. But then I heard footsteps from outside. Fuck, I thought. I turned so that my back was toward the door, hiding my dick. The footsteps smacked on the tile as he entered the bathroom. I could sense him at the urinal at the very end, doing his business. All clear.
My paranoia fluttered away, and I propped myself up straight again. I threw my head back to look at the ceiling. Just something us guys do. My eyes were wandering, from the paint peels, to the window, to--the guy at the end of the row of urinals. He was staring at me. I stared right back. Typically I know this is against any and all restroom etiquette, but it seemed appropriate at the time, since I was giving my best "what the fuck are you looking at" stare. Not a good idea. I see in my periphery his hand moving by his dick. He stepped back a few inches and, sure enough, he was jacking off in the urinal. He turned toward me to give a show. This guy had balls. I mean, flashing and jacking at a complete stranger. I could be a murder. He doesn't know.
Normally, the average guy, which I consider myself, would probably zip up and run. Not me. I was still going. I couldn't stop. I turned to him and pointed at my dick, just to show him that I was actually taking a piss, in case there was some confusion. He just gave me the thumbs up with his free hand. Thankfully, there was another set of footsteps coming. The Jacker quickly looked away and hid his hard-on. The footsteps, as it turns out, were coming from the black polished shoes of a State Trooper. Who says there's never a cop around when you need one?
The trooper stopped at a urinal on the side opposite the Jacker, who at this point was just staring down into the bowl. The trooper gave him a quick look-over, and he zipped his boner right up and left. All things considered, I felt kind of bad. He had to have some massive case of blue balls after that.
"Was he giving you trouble?" the trooper asked, who was now two urinals down from me.
"Nah," I replied.
"You sure? 'Cause we've been having problems with some people in here as of late." He looked right at me, and I couldn't help but tell him what happened. In the middle of my story, I finally finished peeing. I tucked my dick away, zipped, buttoned and buckled. I didn't realize that I was doing this all right in front of the trooper's eyes, until I saw his gaze drop to my groin. His eyes returned to mine, and I finished the Jacker Tale. He looked serious, or about as serious as a man can look while he's taking a piss.
"Alright. Did you see where this guy went?" he asked as he finished his business. I saw his massive forearm give a few forceful shakes before he put his dick away.
"No. He peaced out right as you walked in."
"I'm gonna go outside, see if he's still out there." He gripped his nightstick. "Stay here till I get back."
The time seemed to drag on. Five minutes is a long time to spend in a shady rest stop, especially under weird circumstances. Circumstances like waiting for a trooper who is looking for a guy who just whacked off in your face. Always a good time. Five minutes turned to ten, then to twenty. And I was dying for a cigarette.
I slowly walked toward the entrance and put my head out for a second to catch a glance. No one was there. Just me, a couple cars, and the assjuice smell wafting from the bathroom. I walked out and continued to investigate. Then I realized that the trooper either: a) forgot about me, or b) was fucking with me. What a douche.
I decided it would be a nice time to light a cig. I traveled behind the restrooms toward a small picnic area. I found a small wooden bench and sat down, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then I realized that this was the only place around where I could not hear the highway. So I figured I'd chill for a bit.
I was almost finished my cigarette when I heard rustling from beside me. I turned with a start, and a dark figure came into view. My eyes focused, and I recognized it as the Jacker. Fuck. There he was, doing his thing, not ten feet from me. Like a train wreck, it was nothing I wanted to see, but I couldn't help but watch. His plaid shirt was completely unbuttoned, and his jeans were around his knees. He must have been a construction worker, because he was tan everywhere, and his muscles were bulging as he jacked it. He was pumping his dick so hard, with both hands. I'd hurt myself if I tried to do the things I saw him do. He slowed to a stop, and touched his index finger to the tip of his dick. He turned his head to face me, and whispered, "Wanna taste?"
"Freeze!" I heard a voice yell from behind me. The Jacker and I sat on our respective benches in silence. The trooper had returned, wielding a flashlight and his nightstick. "Having fun?"
"I," I said, "was just finishing--"
"Shut the fuck up, faggot!" he screamed at me. I don't know how I pissed this guy off so quickly, but he had me in cuffs in the next three seconds, and the Jacker shortly thereafter. He led us to a second parking lot behind the picnic area, and slammed us on the hood of his car.
"You have the right to remain silent," he yelled, as he began to frisk us. I was first. The trooper put his hands on my shoulders, jostling me against the car. I felt his grip move down my arms, down my sides, and up between my legs. I thought he lingered at the top a little bit, and I definitely felt a hand wrap around the head of my dick. Maybe I just imagined it, after the chain of penis-related happenings all throughout the night.
“Dude,” I started, “I was just—”
“I told you to shut up!” he barked back at me.
“But I’m not with him!” I tried to knock some sense into him, with disastrous consequences. The Trooper grabbed me by shoulder and threw me down on the hood of the car. He bent over me as I felt a searing pain jet through my forehead, and I could barely make out what he whispered.
“You better shut the fuck up before I’m gonna be forced to make you.”
“But I’m no faggot! I was just smoking!” I should’ve just shut my mouth from the start. In a split second after I finished my sentence, he had my junk in a vice grip.
“I don’t wanna hear it,” he said quietly as he stared at me. Waiting for him to let go of my dick, I turned to the Jacker, who was just watching the entire thing with a glazed look on his face. His pants were still undone, his shirt still open, and his dick seemed to get harder by the second.
“Tell him!” I yelled at him, but he continued to stare with that longing look on his face.
“That’s it.” The Trooper released my balls, allowing me a second of relief—until he kicked me in the back of my knees and I hit the ground. Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse, he propped me up in front of the Jacker, whose rock hard cock was now in my face. Now I understand just how impolite it is to point.
“Will this shut you the fuck up?” The Trooper forced my mouth open, grabbed to back of my head, and shoved it on the dick. I felt it slide all the way into the back of my throat until I choked. My eyes watered, I started to cough uncontrollably, and I couldn’t breathe. I tried to pull back, but the Trooper’s hand was keeping me there. I felt my stomach contract, and my throat start to quiver. I knew I was about to puke. So I took every bit of strength I had and got that dick out of my mouth. I fell to the ground, eyes tearing, drool falling from my lips. But it wasn’t over.
“Are you done bein’ a smartass faggot?” The Trooper yelled over me. I muttered my affirmation through coughing spells.
“Well too bad I can’t hear you.” He again grabbed the back of my head, and forced my mouth around this guy’s massive dick. He forced it all the way in, the removed his hand. So I wouldn’t gag this time, I backed off a little bit. I felt the hand on the back of my head again, pushing me closer. When it disappeared, I pulled back again, only to feel the hand forcing me forward. Then I figured out what was going on. This guy was forcing me to give head.
“That really shuts you up good,” the Trooper said, “don’t it?”
With each undulation of my head, it became easier. My stomach eased, my eyes dried, and his cock seemed to slide easier and easier in and out of my mouth. I looked up for the first time at the guy I was blowing and saw him throwing his head back. I knew that feeling well. His abs tightened with every breath, heaving through his unbuttoned shirt. His nipples were poking out from his massive chest, hard as diamonds, and his moans were unmistakable. He was enjoying this. He threw his head down, and I saw his face for the first time. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, his breathing heavy through his nostrils. Then he opened his eyes. He had a glazed look in them like nothing I’d ever seen. Then our eyes met. He seemed to look deep into me, then threw his head back and yelled some instinctual, guttural grunt that was the harbinger of things to cum. I felt the first jet of jizz stream into my mouth and hit the back of my throat. That triggered yet another coughing spell, and I backed off till I felt the head of his cock out of my mouth. Then I felt another dollop of cum fly across my cheek and plop down on my chest. Stream after stream flew at me, and I didn’t even think to dodge it. When it was finally over, the side of my face and front of my shirt were covered in goo. I looked up, and saw the Jacker panting and licking his lips. I turned to the Trooper, who was staring intently. It was only then that I wondered how long I had actually been blowing this guy without the Trooper’s hand on the back of my head to force me.
“Nice,” the Trooper stated. “Now we can all be on our way.” He reached down and grabbed me under the arm, hoisting me back on my feet. He spun me around and unhooked my cuffs. He then did the same for the Jacker, who was still shivering from his orgasm. The Trooper got in his car and sped away, without further ado. What the fuck just happened?
“You all right, dude?” I said to the Jacker. I figured I could at least make casual conversation with the guy I had just blown.
“Yeah,” he said, still panting, “I’m good.” Meanwhile, his massive cock was still flopping in the breeze. “You good?”
“Not really.” I lit up a cig, not because I needed the nicotine, but because I didn’t really know what else to do.
“Is there anything you need?” the Jacker asked rather politely.
“I need you to put your dick away,” I responded. The Jacker obliged, embarrassed, quickly zipping, buttoning, and buckling. “I can’t believe that just fucking happened.”
“That wasn’t bad.”
“What do you mean that wasn’t bad?” I was confused as to how anything worse could have happened.
“He was just a dick cop needin’ to get his rocks off, ‘is all.” His nonchalant response caught me off guard.
“Well, pardon me, but it’s every fucking day that I’m forced to suck another guy off in front of some douche bag cop!”
“Yeah, really! Fuck this shit. I’m no queer.” I turned around and walked over to a picnic table and sat atop it, resting my legs on the bench. The knees of my pants were beginning to fray.
The Jacker followed me over. “I’m surprised.”
I took a long drag of my cigarette and replied, “Why are you surprised?”
“Two things,” he began. “One: that was an awesome blowjob. I don’t know if it was everything leading up to it, or what. But that was awesome.” As you can imagine, I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “And, two: you’re hard.”
I looked at him, and he nodded toward my crotch. My eyes followed his gaze, and, sure enough, there was a huge bulge in my pants.
“I just gotta pee real bad.” To be honest, I didn’t have to pee. I have no idea why I was hard. I just couldn’t admit that to a guy I had just blown. I’m straight. I’m supposed to be straight.
“It’s all good.” He had a comforting tone in his voice that made me ease up. “It’s all good.” I was still lounging on the table, and felt like this cigarette wasn’t long enough. I was trying to process what just happened. I blew a guy. I made a guy cum. In my mouth. What does that mean? And why the fuck am I hard?
At this point, my dick was throbbing so hard that it seemed to be draining the energy from the rest of my body. Each time my heart beat, my pants seemed to tighten. My eyes were open, but all I could see was the Jacker’s face right before he came. The same moan, the same dramatic head toss on repeat. Nothing about that seemed sexy to me, but my cock was now on the verge of exploding. Then I realized that my dick wasn’t throbbing. The Jacker had gripped it through my pants and was squeezing it to the rhythm of my blood flow. I never felt anything like it. And my dick never felt more tense.
“What are you doing?” I asked stupidly, sitting up quickly and knocking his hand away.
“It’s all good. Just let me get you back.”
“Get me back for what?”
“What the fuck?”
“Just relax, dude,” he assuaged my anger. “No big. Just let me get you back.”
“But I’m not gay.”
“I’m not either,” he replied. “It’s just some head.”
He reached for my pants and began to unzip them. Then I saw the gold band on his ring finger. Something told me I’d be better off if I were just to let it happen.
He unzipped my pants and my cock just popped out, too stiff to be contained. I felt his rough hands grip it up and squeeze it. The blood wouldn’t escape, and I felt like it was going to burst. Maybe that was just what I needed.
He released my dick a little and began to stroke slowly. All the while, he stood over me, as if examining. There was a shiver in my chest when he lifted my shirt, and he attacked my nipples with his mouth. His tongue circled around the areola, then he bit the center lightly. He pulled back, and blew on them. The sensation gave me chills, and a tingle shot straight to my groin. I felt a damp warmth envelop the head of my cock, and slowly expand to the base of my shaft. It pulled away, replaced by a strong grip. It then returned, and his hand again followed, up and down, up and down. My dick slid easier and easier into his wide open mouth, and all I could do was rest my hand on the back of his head and guide him. A bolt of lightning began to spread from the bottom of my abdomen, and my eyes lost focus and rolled into the back of my head. The next thing I knew, I was pushing his head all the way down so his lips were wrapped around the base of my cock. I felt the back of his throat quiver as my dick slid down it and shot load after load of splooge. My entire body contracted and my teeth chattered as I released all my pent up angst into this guy I didn’t even know. As I felt my breathing normalize and the shaking began to lessen, I released the back of his head. He stood up straight and I saw more cum flowing out the tip of his dick again. His eyes were yet again glazed over, and his breathing heavy. I looked at him and thought just how relaxed he made me feel, especially after the chain of unnerving events that had transpired earlier.
“Ya all right, buddy?” he asked, with a grin on his face.
“Shit, dude.” I wasn’t exactly a coherent master of English after all this.
“What? That good?”
“Good?” I replied, “I’m not real sure. I’m screaming in my head, but my dick’s never been quieter.”
He chuckled. “Glad to be of help.” He began to walk away, and suddenly turned back around. “One more thing.”
“Earlier you said it’s not every day you suck dick. I’m not the first guy you ever blew, am I?”
“Yeah,” I said as I lay back on the table, “you were.”
“Damn, dude. You’re a natural.” He disappeared into the darkness.
I zipped my pants up and made my way back to the car, where I found my girl still sleeping. I wondered to myself what would’ve happened if she woke up and saw something, the kind of craziness that might ensue. Then I realized it was just a blowjob—just two guys helping each other get off. Not like we went on a date. Fuck—I don’t even know his name. A snapshot of his wedding band popped into my head, and I wondered if that’s what I’ll end up doing after I get married. Every girlfriend I’ve had has stopped giving head after dating for a while, so I figured that the Jacker might get it in just once in a blue moon. If that were the case for me, I would end up looking elsewhere too. And if all guys give blowjobs like that, by all means.