Welcome again! Here are the legal statements. If you are not yet old enough or if it is not legal to read this type of material where you live, please leave now. If the subject of homosexual relations offends you please read no further.
The Author reserves all rights. copyright 2000.
The Author is Terrence 'TJ' Julian. E-mail me at Alphazendada@aol.com
Boys Dare Not Dance!
Part Six
by Terrence 'TJ' Julian
Copyright 2000. All Rights Reserved
"One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small and the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all..." 'White Rabbit', Jefferson Airplane *******************************************************************************
When it was time to leave San Francisco, April drove us to a spot the locals referred to as 'hitchers point'. From there we were told it would be no problem to catch as ride going north. Our next destination was the San Juan Islands in Washington State and then Vancouver, British Columbia. We thanked April for the great time we'd had and she thanked us for the 'free entertainment'!
True to her word, April had deposited Andy and I where it took no more than five cars to get a ride. I had just started to set down my backpack when an early 1960's Vauxhall coupe painted with 'Electric' colors in a wild psychedelic swirling pattern pulled to a stop. Andy poked his head in the car and said "Canada?" The driver nodded enthusiastically and Andy yelled "Come on!"
Now, getting into this car was more difficult than it sounds. The back seat was nearly filled with boxes and assorted items. This meant we had to work our backpacks around and into the available space. The twin 'bucket' seats in front meant Andy and I would have to share one. Along with the drivers snow skis. It took us a minute or two to get everything sorted out but we finally managed. I noticed the driver didn't say much, if anything, while we rearranged items to accommodate our packs. He mearly pointed here and there, directing our movements. Andy settled in and I sat sort of half way on his lap. He pulled the door shut and the Vauxhall accelerated away, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind. We'd traveled no more than 100 yards when the driver, a wild haired, bespectacled hippie type leaned forward in his seat and glanced at the two of us.
"Parlez-vous Francais? He asked.
Andy turned to face me. Although he knew French when he heard it and could pretty much order in a restaurant, Andy hadn't bothered to learn much of language during the time we'd spent in Cannes. He preferred having me translate.
"Oui, Je fais" I replied. This seemed to cause some relief to the driver and he began to chatter on to me at breakneck speed. He detailed how he was an Artist from Quebec. He'd been living nearly penniless in Santa Monica for the last ten months while his 'fame' back in Canada had been growing without his knowledge. By chance, his roommate had read an article in an 'Art' magazine talking about how he was now 'famous, but mysteriously missing' back home. The article also said one of his paintings had recently sold for $35,000 Canadian Dollars. So, Gerard (he finally introduced himself) was hurrying home to cash in on this new found fame. He also informed me that he'd made a quick stop in San Francisco to score some 'crank' from a biker friend. This was to 'help' him stay awake on the trip back to Quebec. As I watched him fire the words out in rapid succession, I imagined the crank having the effect of making his hair grow at 90 miles an hour! He rambled on at me for nearly a half an hour, during which Andy would occasionally lean over to me.
"What's he saying?" Andy would whisper. I just waved him away with my hand and continued listening.
He babbled on and on, telling how he had packed in a hurry and started up Highway 101 with almost no money. What money he did have was spent on the crank. This was when I asked my first question. Now, remember, the following conversation was in French and Andy had no clue as to what we were saying.
"How are you paying for gas?" I asked him.
"I'm not paying for it! I'm stealing it as I go." He replied
"What if you get caught?" I asked.
"I just rattle on at the Police and they let me go. None of them can ever speak French so they don't have a clue what I'm talking about. So I say to them 'You Policemen are all fucking queers and like big dicks in your butts.' They just nod their heads and tell me to go away."
I thought about this carefully. Here we were, both crammed into one bucket seat of a battered, vision provoking pretentiously frescoed psychedelic Vauxhall with a mad French Canadian behind the wheel. Not to mention the fact he was exceeding the posted speed limit by a good 15 miles per hour. The embodiment of a target for law enforcement. It appeared the drugged out driver was homophobic as well. He was as high as a Canadian goose flies, carrying illegal drugs and stealing gas whenever need. Not to mention his admitted habit of taunting the Police.
Andy and I had accepted a ride that could have been the plot from a movie. The theme music from 'Midnight Express' started to play in my head. It would stay with me the rest of our ride with Gerard.
This entire time Andy was sitting between Gerard and myself, wishing he'd taken French in high school instead of German. While living in Cannes he'd picked up just enough to understand a word here and a word there in the conversation. The effect of this was to drive him slowly insane.
"TJ!" He suddenly cried "What the hell are you two talking about?"
I knew better than to tell Andy, a devout paranoid when it comes to police, that we had accepted a ride with a potential felony charge if we got pulled over. I had to think fast.
"We're talking about art." I replied. "He's an artist from Quebec. That's where he's headed."
"Oh, OK." Andy said. This seemed to calm any worries he had due to the language barrier. Gerard began babbling at me again and continued to do so until I fell asleep somewhere near Mount Shasta in Northern California. He then proceeded to babble on at Andrew, who simply smiled and nodded his head until we pasted Grants Pass in Oregon. I woke up to find Gerard still blabbing and Andrew, although no longer smiling, still nodding his head. It was soon dark and Gerard was in dire need of both gas and sleep, admitting to me that he'd been awake for over seventy two hours. He explained that sleep depravation was beginning to cause hallucinations in the on coming cars headlights!
Another five miles up the freeway he spotted a 'rest area' and started to pull in. As he did, the Vauxhall sputtered and died, running out of gas. I at that moment I was shown that there is a God and he does perform miracles when you pray.
We had to push his car the last hundred yards into the rest area, but this was little payment for the relief it provided. Gerard explained that he was going to try and sleep a few hours, so Andy and I pulled our backpacks out of the car and went looking for a quiet spot. At the far side of the rest area the forest came right up to the roadway. Andy suggested we look there and soon we found a small opening through the trees which led to a secluded area just big enough for us to roll out our sleeping bags. I was actually wide awake, since I'd slept in the car. I soon discovered Andy didn't have sleeping in mind.
"I'm so fuckin' horney!" He said. "Take off your clothes!"
'Yeah!" I snickered and dropped my cutoffs. "C'mon, let's both get naked!"
Andy needed no further encouragement and quickly removed his clothes. Finishing, I dove onto him. Our naked bodies intertwinded with the wild abandon young homosexuals have when deprived from physical release for a time. I couldn't wait to taste his cock in my mouth. Within moments I had his taught pole firmly gripped between my lips. Andrew lay back on the sleeping bags moaning and quivering as I sucked his cock and stroked his ball sack with my hand. His 'trimmed to tiny pubic patch' tickled at my nose each time I descended the length of his throbbing penis. Within a minute I felt him tense, then fire into my mouth. Oh, how I loved it! I love the taste of his cum and I swallowed every bit of it!
Andrew retaliated by giving me a blow job that nearly made me pass out when I came! He sucked me, then licked at the final dropletts while he giggled at me.
:Oh, I love it when I make you dizzy!" He said and threw his arm around me."I'm having a great time! This trip was a brilliant idea, TJ!"
We lay there talking, giggling and pawing at one another like the two young lovers we were. We got into the sleeping bags after a while, 'cause it was getting a bit cool. Andy napped for about an hour or so. When he woke up, he wanted to walk around a bit and see what Gerard was doing. After getting our things repacked we exited the forest and began walking throught the rest area. A huge big rig with a flatbed trailer had pulled in and the driver was standing along side it, staring at the load of lumber. As we walked past, Andy noticed its load had come loose and the driver was trying to figure out how he was going to rearrange it.
"Got a problem?" Andy asked. The young driver, no more than twenty five, turned and stared at us. Surprisingly, he had long hair and looked like a hippy type.
"Uh, yeah. My loads is about to fall and I don't know how I'm going to fix it." the driver replied.
"Got a Comealong?" Andy asked. Now, Andy was raised on his Families ranch with Horses, Chickens, Pigs and hundreds of Orange Trees. He worked as a boy helping out and knew about things I'd never heard of. I certainly had never heard of a 'comealong'. This turned out to be a sort of hand winch and the driver did have one. Andy got it from him and climbed up on the stack of lumber. Within fifteen minutes, Andrew had the lumber all pulled back into place and the tie downs replaced to hold the load correctly.
"Shit, dude! How'd you know to do that?" the young driver asked.
"I grew up on a ranch." Andy replied, to which the driver scratched his head and remarked
"I didn't know they had ranches in England."
Rather than explain, Andrew just smiled. The driver looked at our backpacks and asked if we were hitching rides. I told him yes and he asked if we wanted a ride to Portland, Oregon.
"Well, we kinda have a ride, but he's sleeping." I said thinking to myself about the weird Canadian and his car. "If he's still asleep, may be we could take a ride." I remarked.
"OK." He replied "Go find out."
Andy and I left our backpacks and walked towards the far side of the rest area. As we rounded the rest room building, we spotted two huge State Policemen struggling with a figure holding a gas can and a hose.
'Oh, shit Andy! Look!"
It was Gerard and he'd been caught siphoning gas!
"S'arrter le! Je suis pas une malfaiteur. Vous tes une malfaiteur!" He screamed while being thrown head first into the backseat of a police cruiser.
"TJ? I suggest we take the ride with the Trucker. " Andrew announced.
"Good idea, Andrew!." I replied. "Let's go tell him right now."