On The Road: Chapter 2

The Road to Schenectady

This is the second in my On The Road Series. If you like it, let me know at [email protected]. Please don't send pictures or attachments. Enjoy.

This is the second in my "On the Road" series. The first, which you can find on this site, is called "Heading East Head." These are stories from the late 1970's and early 1980's, when a young guy who was clean, dressed respectably and looked "normal" could hitchhike across the United States. It wasn't the fastest mode of transportation. It wasn't the safest, either. But it sure was fun and if you did it right you could get to where you wanted to go for next to nothing and meet some interesting people along the way. Of course, you could meet some people who were a little too interesting (read: scary), but I was fortunate enough to have met only a few of them and to have come out of that stage of my live alive and relatively unscathed.

But these On the Road stories are not about the scary people who picked me up. These stories, as you likely know because you're at this site, are about sexual adventures and fun. All of the stories in this series are based on real-life occurrences but I've taken the author's privilege of embellishing when I want to and filling in the blanks when memory fails. And at this point in my life the latter happens all too frequently.

I had dropped out of college for a semester. The history professor who brought his German shepherd to class and issued commands to "Adolph" (the dog's name, no lie) in German--and who was a clear fascist who gave me a B for the course because I finished his tests too quickly (even though I wrote A's on every one); the English writing professor who seemed to like my work but didn't have an original thought in his head; the girls who I liked but who didn't like me and the girls who liked me but I didn't like; in short, the game of college just wasn't doing it for me. So, I packed up my belongings at the end of the spring semester and left Keene, NH, never (to this day) to return again.

I was at home, living with my parents and my youngest sister, outside of Boston, and working for minimum wage at a job I neither loved nor hated. Bored. I received a letter from my boyhood friend, John, who was in his sophomore year at Union College, in Schenectady, New York. "Come and visit me," he wrote, "you can get a minimum wage job out here and you can live with me. I've got a spare room in the house I'm renting. Chip in on the food and utilities and we'll have ourselves a time."

Unlike me, John was from an upper-middle-class (or lower upper-class?) family. He had one brother and his mother was a lawyer and his father was a doctor. They paid for all of his college costs, including his housing, thus he was renting a house, alone, and he had more than enough room for me to visit. His parents both liked me and when I ran into his father once at the convenience store, he told me that I should go and stay with John. It will be good for both of you, he said.

So, sometime in mid-October I packed up everything I owned and cared about into a backpack and hit the road. My parents and my sister were sad to see me go but they too supported this move. The one thing my parents definitely did not like was my transportation plans. "Why not get a bus out of Boston," my dad asked. "I'll give you the money. It will be faster." He didn't add safer, but I knew that was what he was thinking. I also knew that the cost of a bus ticket, while not much of an extravagance for some families, would be a hit to the budget. And I didn't like that. Instead of talking about the money, I just responded that it was more fun to hitchhike and that I would be fine.

So, he drove me out to Rte. 128 (that's as far as I would let him take me) and he dropped me off at the exit. I waved to him and headed down the ramp. Within five minutes of putting out my thumb, I was picked up by a guy in a late-model Buick. He was probably in his 50's. I jumped in and he asked me where I was going. I told him Schenectady or as far west as he was going. "You're in luck," he said, "I'm heading to Albany." We chatted a bit. He told me he was salesman for an insurance company and was going to Albany for a company meeting. His son, he said, was about my age and living on the West Coast, where he hitched when he needed to get around. "I would hope," he said, "that someone like me would pick him up and give him a lift if he saw him on the side of the road."

I had scored big time. Schenectady is just a little north of Albany. We chatted a little bit and then I dozed off. When I woke up we were crossing over the Massachusetts state line into New York. I apologized for sleeping for most of the 3 hours we had been in the car, but he just laughed and said it was nice to have the company anyway.

While I think it was a bit out of his way, he dropped me off at the Rte. 9 exit and wished me luck getting to Union College.

I got two more short rides and was beginning to think it was going to take most of the rest of the day to go the 20 or 30 miles up to Union. Just as I was thinking that a beat up late 60's or early 70's Oldsmobile rolled up beside me. The passenger window was down and when the car came to stop, I looked in. A guy who looked to be in his twenties was driving. He looked to be about the same height and build as me (about 5'8" and around 130 pounds). But he looked a bit like a Hobbit behind the Olds' big ass steering wheel. He asked me where I was headed. When I told him Union College he said: "you're in luck. That's exactly where I'm going. Jump in."

So, I climbed in. I put my backpack at my feet, as I always did. "Why not throw it in the back," he asked. "I like to keep it close," I replied. He just nodded his head.

The car smelled faintly of pot. It had a big bench seat and a massive interior. I felt like I was also a Hobbit sitting in it. He had a cassette deck mounted below the original equipment on the dashboard. Canned Heat's "Going Up the Country" was playing through the speakers. He turned it down just a bit but left the cassette running. It turned out it was a mix tape he had created. As each song played, I marveled at how similar our tastes were. He laughed at that and said something about us being "fellow travelers."

He told me that he was from Albany but was a junior at Union. He had run down to help his mother move some things, he explained, and now he was on his way back to college. He lived alone, he told me, in an apartment looking over the Mohawk River. "Must be nice," I said. "It's a bit of a dump," he replied, "but it's clean and safe and I like looking at the river."

We drove on and as we approached Schenectady he asked me if I felt like getting high. Sure, I said, it was just barely noon and I knew John wouldn't be back from classes until after 2, so I had time to kill. "I have some back at my place," he said. "You ok if we go there?" "Sure," I said.

In less than about 10 minutes we were at his place. As promised, it wasn't much. A triple decker. He said each floor had two apartments. His was on the top floor on the right side. We went up and went in. His door opened up to a hallway. Looking down the left side, I could see a couple of doors and the hallway ended in a kitchen. I assumed the doors were his bedroom and bathroom. To the right was a good sized living room. He had a couch and two chairs and in the corner his stereo system sat on an old chest. His vinyl collection filled a five-shelf bookcase, that sat beside the chest.

The room was clean. The furniture wasn't new, but it wasn't ratty or old, either. The most amazing thing about his apartment was that the wall behind the couch had two huge windows that looked out at the river and a door that led out to a balcony, that also overlooked the river.

"Wow," I said, "this is great." He smiled and asked me if I needed the bathroom. When I said yes, he pointed me down the hall to the second door on the left, just as I'd guessed.

When I came back, I found the door to the balcony open and went out to find him sitting on one of the two chairs that were out there. He had already gotten his bong loaded and had taken a hit. He handed it to me. I looked to the left to see if anyone was on the balcony of the adjacent apartment and then took a hit and set it down. After a while, we each took another hit. But we both sat there looking at the river, neither of us talking much.

"You know," he finally said, "I always get really horny when I'm high." I laughed and told him I did too. "Too bad we can't do anything about that," I said--even as I was hoping he would suggest that we should.

We sat there a little longer and he mentioned his horniness again. Once mentioning it I would have just passed off to a guy making an observation. Twice? I started to think maybe there was something going on here. The whole drive there hadn't been any kind of gay vibes or anything else between us. But now I was wondering.

So, I took a chance and said, "you know, I'm betting that two creative guys who are both horny could figure out a way to make each other feel better."

I paused after I said it. He stared at the river for about 3 or 4 seconds that felt like 3 or 4 hours. This is the moment I love best about chance encounters. It can go either way and it has for me on a number of occasions. But I'm a firm believer that you don't get what you want 100% of the time that you don't ask. I don't know what the percentages are when you do, but I know it's better than zero.

He turned toward me, smiled and said: "Hmmmm. I was hoping you might say that. Let's go inside."

We went back inside and down the hall to his bedroom, which was the first door on the left. He opened the door to a small room with a double bed, a dresser and a bureau. Like the rest of his place, it was clean and while the furniture was not new, it was in good shape.

"What would you like to do," he asked. I said, "I recently learned how to give a pretty good massage. Want to start there?" He smiled and in response he took his shirt and flipped it over his head. While he pulled the neck of the shirt past his head, I got to study his body a bit. Like me, he was thin, but he had well-defined pecs. His stomach was firm. He had blonde hair on his head and to my delight I saw that he had a thick patch of blonde hair under each arm. He had nice, strong and rounded biceps. His chest was bare. His nipples were small and round, like raisins. There were wisps of hair running from his belly button down under the waste of his jeans.

He took the shirt off and I looked at his face. He was cute, there was no denying that. As mentioned, he had blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, in the style of the day. His blue eyes sparkled and his pert nose turned up a little at the end. His lips were full and red. His skin was basically clear, although, like me, he did have a little bit of acne going on.

As I stared at him, he undid his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. I gasped a little because he was commando and when his jeans dropped his cock, cut and about 3" or 4" in a semi-flaccid state, and tantalizingly big blonde bush, captured my attention. He shucked off his jeans and then looked at me questioningly. "Are you not going to be nude for the massage?" he asked.

"Of course," I said, as I smiled. I took my shirt off and dropped my pants. My cock was tenting my BVD's, as I was already harder than he. Six inches of cut cock strained against the cotton fabric. He smiled at me and asked "may I." "Sure," I said. And he reached over and slid my underwear down to my ankles. As he bent back up, he stopped at my cock and took my balls into his hand. Holding my balls in his left hand and my cock in his right he murmured, "so nice."

Then he stood up and asked me where I wanted him. "Lay across the bed," I said, "with your head over here on the side. Do you have any lotion of any kind?" I asked. "I have some baby oil," he said, "it's in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

I retrieved it and when I returned, he lay face down on the bed. I stood and admired his body for a second or two. His skin was clear and unblemished, and the last remnants of a summer tan made a slight contrast between his lower back at the waistline and his pure white globes. His legs stretched out and down to his feet.

I moved to the top of his head. My cock was just inches from his hair as I reached forward and started rubbing his shoulders, pushing, and rubbing deep. My hands moved across his arms and massaged them and then worked back to his shoulders. I sprinkled a little oil on his back and shoulders and went to work.

I leaned forward, my rock-hard cock pressing against the hair on his head and began to rub his mid- and lower back. He was moaning his approval and I moved to the side of the bed and continued to work on his lower back.

I moved down to his butt and dribbled out some more baby oil, taking a second to let a little bit run into the valley between his cheeks. I rubbed and massaged first the right and then the left cheek, rotating my hands in a circular motion and pushing and pulling on the two sweet globes. I parted his cheeks and moved my fingers in to rub his hole. It looked clean and naturally bare. I leaned down and lightly blew on his hole. He arched his back and moved his hole closer to my mouth. I let a little saliva drip down and continued to stroke his cheeks and his hole, occasionally slipping a finger or two just inside.

After a while I moved down and massaged first his left and then his right leg. Rubbing up and down and returning to his ass every few seconds. My hand slipped under and played with his balls. This made him cry out in happy surprise. I then went back to his legs and gently massaged his toes and his feet and his ankles and then went up each shin and back to his thighs.

After about 15 minutes of this, I grabbed him by the ankles and rotated him over. He helped, of course, and then he was on his back. His cock was now rock hard. It had grown to about 8" and was thick and round. I went back up to his head and once again leaned forward to massage his chest. My cock poked at his hair and his forehead as I reached down and gently massaged each of his breasts. He was naturally bare of any hair. His nipples were rock-hard and jutting out. I rubbed them and stroked them. I then took each of his hands and pulled them back over his head, revealing his pits.

His blonde bush of hair stuck out from each. I moved my hands up and started to rub his underarms, playing with his hair. I was now standing to the right of his face. His hand came back down and found my cock and he started to stroke it. Gently, lightly, at first. But as I kept up my massage to his arms and chest, his stroking became more intense. I couldn't move. He then took my cock and pulled it toward his open mouth. His tongue came out and licked the tip and then he licked down along the underside to my balls. He pulled me closer so that my balls were now on top of his face. I moaned as he sucked first one and then the other into his mouth. He did this for about 2 or 3 minutes and then he put my cock in his mouth. He held it by the base and pushed it into his mouth. Jacking me off at the bottom licking and sucking me at the top. Taking me out of his mouth and then putting me back in.

He reached up and grabbed me by the hips and maneuvered me around to the top of his head. He then scooted up and dropped his head over the edge of the bed. I got the message and stuck my cock deep in his mouth. His hands reached up, fingers pulling and scratching at my pubic hair and wandering below and squeezing my balls, lightly at first and then with a bit more strength. "As hard as you want," I whispered. He got the message and really started to play with my balls while I face fucked his mouth.

I was standing straight up and had lost all sense of giving him a massage. My cock slid in and out of his mouth, his cock licking the underside as I slipped down his throat. I moved in and out in a steady cadence. I was getting close but I didn't want to cum that soon, so I backed out of his mouth. "Not yet," I murmured. He just moaned.

I lay down on the bed beside him and took his face in my hands, pulling him close for a kiss. Our mouths opened at the same time and our tongues started a slow and sensuous dance--a little sucking and a bit of licking of each other's tongues and teeth and mouth followed.

Our hands weren't idle. I was rubbing his tits with my right hand as my left traced a trail down to his belly button and then followed his slight treasure trail down to his pubes. I love pubes. No one shaved back then. I'm sure guys have their reasons, but I don't get the whole shaving thing today. Hair is sensual and should be enjoyed, in my opinion. But I don't begrudge anyone who likes to either shave bald or play with a bald cock--and I've had plenty. I'm just saying there's nothing like a nice bush.

My hand spread out over the top of his blonde thicket and grabbed it and pulled it and stroked it, combing it with my fingers. His moans told me he was enjoying what I was doing. I then slipped down and took his balls in my hand. They were as big as walnuts. I rolled them around and grabbed them, pulled on them and tickled them.

As I was exploring him with my two hands and ten fingers he was exploring me. His finger traced a line down between my chest to my belly button and then down to my cock. He was holding me and stroking me with his right hand while his left hand played with my nipples.

We continued to kiss and touch each other for a while.

I then scooted down on the bed until his crotch was even with my face. I grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled him toward me. His cock pushed through my open lips and my tongue was waiting. I held him there at the opening and used my tongue to lick the tip of his cock. I lapped the bottom and then swirled around the sides and then darted my tongue into his tiny hole and then withdrew and licked the helmet and the sides again. His cock tasted wonderful. I couldn't get enough. I slid him into my throat slowly, pulling his ass to draw him closer. He followed my commands. I felt him slide in and slide out. He was not pushing deep--I doubt either of us could handle deep throating back then--but I pulled him as deep as I could and then drew him out. I was holding on to each cheek and pushing and pulling. He got the hint on the cadence and started moving without me. That freed my fingers up to explore.

I traveled down the valley of his ass crack with both hands. His hole was still slick from the oil. I pushed the middle finger of my right hand into his hole. I heard him gasp and felt his hole relax as my finger pressed in. Soon I was finger fucking him using the same cadence as I was blowing him. In and out and in and out.

My other hand slipped around and found his balls. And I started to manhandle them. Pushing and rolling and pulling and tugging and pressing them up and pulling them down. His cock was going in and out of my mouth. My finger was pounding in and out of his ass and my hand was massaging his balls. There was only one place this was leading: I felt him tense up and encouraged him by squeezing his balls. My finger picked up the pace and started diving in and out like a jackhammer. I pulled him back just a bit so that my tongue was once again in place to lick and tickle his head and the top of his cock. It took only a few seconds more and I was rewarded by a canon blast of cum into my mouth. Actually, it was like a number of canon blasts as he convulsed a sweet load of jism into my mouth. I swirled it around and his cock continued to convulse more drops onto my tongue, I swallowed and at the same time bathed his cockhead with my tongue.

He started to deflate but I kept his cock in my mouth. Cleaning it of whatever was left in there. Until he finally withdrew with a little bit of a giggle. I knew he had reached the ticklish stage, so I backed off his cock but did take one more mouthful of his ball sac. I licked his balls while his now flaccid cock lay across my cheek at an angle. I did that for a minute or two before he grabbed me by the ears and pulled me back up toward him.

The Road to Schenectady (Part Two in the "On The Road" Series)