The Trek

“Jer, you want a sandwich?” Andy asked as he came into the screen porch.

Jerry blinked, bringing himself back to the present.

“And one of those apples from the Graham’s orchard?” Jerry asked.

“Yes, that would be good on the side,” Andy replied, easing into the house.

Jerry smiled as he watched Andy through the window going to the kitchen sink and washing his hands. Then the puttering around in the kitchen as he made two sandwiches, sliced a couple of apples, and poured them chilled water from the frig. It was all so normal, a routine of their daily lives, and yet when he thought back to how it had been, it was a miracle in some ways. Two men able to live so openly, with acceptance by their neighbors, except for the Owens down the street. But then, most everyone along the old mountain lane didn’t like the Owens. Mrs. Bradshaw, the widower who lived near the switchback, called them ‘sanctimonious assholes,’ and it made Andy and him laugh every time they heard her say it. And she was right, if not somewhat blunt in her description.

Jerry turned to look at the sky. It was such a vivid blue. It reminded him of that day in Laurel, Mississippi. The sky had looked the same. Only back then, the world was full of sanctimonious assholes, and a young gay male hitchhiking had to be careful. And he had been careful, turning down a few rides in different locales, but on that sunny day, in June of 1977, he had been lucky, as he would be for his entire trip. He had walked along the shoulder of the highway for only a couple of miles, trying to make his way over to 49, when he heard a vehicle approaching. He held out his right hand, thumb up, expecting the approaching car to speed on by. But it hadn’t blown past him. Instead, it slowed until stopped next to him. He remembered the man behind the wheel and the friendly smile.

“Where ya heading?” the man behind the wheel asked.

Jerry looked at the car, a big Ford station wagon with the fake wood siding and the back crammed with boxes. Was this man safe? He wondered for he looked like the kind of man who was a deacon in some church, someone with strict worldviews. 

“I’m…I…up to Jackson, then on to Memphis,” Jerry stammered.

“Memphis? I’m heading there myself. Got a sales convention to attend. Hop in.”

Jerry put his backpack in the backseat next to a suitcase and got in the front seat. The first thing he noticed was the new car smell. The next was how the man was dressed, a dark blue suit with the jacket draped over the back of the seat. 

“I’m Edward.”

“Jerry.”

“So, Jerry, where ya heading?” Edward replied as he accelerated down the road.

“California.”

“California! You don’t say. I’ve taken the family to Disneyland and to Yosemite. Wonderful place to vacation. Have you been?”

“No. I’ve never been before.”

“I don’t know if you’ll like Disneyland, but Yosemite…you have to visit that place. It is amazing.”

“I’ll do that.”

Edward let them ride in silence for some time. He drove to 49, then headed north to Jackson. Jerry listened to the country music playing over the radio, not recognizing most of it, as he watched the rural countryside of Mississippi roll past them. The big Ford wagon seemed to float over the road, the hood moving up and down slowly at times. 

“Where ya from?” asked Edward when they can to a stoplight in the town of Mt. Olive.

“Alabama; a little place called Webster.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know it. The school is in the nearest town.”

“So why are you hitchhiking?”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Your parents okay with you doing this?”

There it was; the fishing for his story. Why he was hitchhiking to California, the furthest place he could think of from Webster. He knew the truth would be unacceptable for most people, and he didn’t need the hassle. But he also knew not to get too elaborate in his lies.

“Yeah, one less mouth to feed at the table.”

“Your family is poor. I know what that is like. Mine were too. Dirt poor we called it. My brothers and I are lucky. We’ve each found a job in this economy that provides for our families.”

Jerry listened to Edward talk of his childhood, answering questions tossed his way on occasion. After a while he grew to like Edward. There was nothing sexual about this attraction, for Edward portrayed a family man content with his life, and it was that contentment that made Jerry like him. Two hours later they drove into Jackson, making a stop at a gas station just before getting on the interstate.  

As Edward drove up I-55, passing more cars than passed him, Jerry listened to him ramble on about family, business, and his views about life. It was comforting, the casual nature of Edward’s descriptions, something Jerry assumed he may never be able to enjoy. He knew he would never have a wife, much less children, so everything Edward talked about seemed far from his reach. He looked over as Edward talked of a family reunion where he and his cousins tried to one up each other, and he wondered what Edward would say if he admitted to being gay. How would it change things? The first image was of Edward pulling the car to the side of the road and putting him out, and he looked back at the wide interstate highway, knowing he would admit nothing to anyone he came across in his trek across the country.

It was after eight, the sky darkening quickly with the sun below the horizon, when Edward pulled into a service station on the outskirts of Memphis. 

“Are you going into town or looking to hitch a ride west from here?” asked Edward.

“I…” and Jerry laughed. He saw the confused look from Edward, and quickly stopped, needing to explain. “I haven’t considered it, to be honest. You think I can find cheap lodging and maybe a part time job? I might hang around a little while…you know, check the place out.”

“In Memphis? I expect you can find almost anything you want in this old place. You want me to take you into town?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“I’m heading that way myself, so let me fill up and we’ll be on our way.”

Thirty minutes later, Jerry watched the station wagon pull away leaving him standing at the curb. He looked around the old business district, the buildings run down and in a state of disrepair. He slung his backpack on and started walking. He passed a hotel, but it was more run down than he was comfortable, and it was even less inviting to him by the two women standing near the door. He knew by their dress and makeup they were trying to lure someone, and he knew they were in the world’s oldest profession. 

“Hey, honey, come to ma-ma,” one of the women uttered.

“No thanks,” Jerry replied as he sped up.

Jerry walked to the next intersection and turned north. He thought the area might be a little better further north. He crossed a few streets then turned left, seeing brightly lit signs. A few buildings down he came to a two-story inn, the front sharing space with a small bar. Inside the lobby was small, dark, and just as worn as the exterior. An old man sat behind glass at a counter reading a Time magazine. The bright red cover caught Jerry’s eye and he recognized the face on it. It was Brezhnev, the leader of Russia. 

“Excuse me, do you have a room?”

The old man looked up at Jerry and frowned. 

“How old are you?” the old man asked in a gruff voice.

“I’m nineteen,” Jerry lied, thinking it best to add a year. 

“Nineteen,” the old man grumbled as he stood up, slid a register book under the glass. “It’s cash up front, eight dollars a night, clean towels an additional dollar, and I need your name and address.”

Jerry slid three tens across the counter.

“Two nights for now, plus towels,” said Jerry, wondering about the bed, and if he should ask for clean linen too. He picked up the pen and printed his name across the page, then an address that was for the church at the end of his street back home. He picked up his change and the towel and two wash cloths setting next to it, and watched the old man turn to the wall behind him and take a key from one of the cubbies.

“Upstairs at the end of the hall, room 18.”

“Thanks.”

Jerry stood at the door, looking at the dreary room. It was just large enough for the bed, a nightstand, and a table on the opposite wall with a small television and brochures and flyers scattered over its top. He eased into the room, locking the door behind him, and tossed his backpack on the table. After hitting the bathroom, he sat on the bed, wondering if everything would be okay.

Jerry glanced at his watch and saw it was a little after nine and he was hungry. Grabbing up the room key, he made his way back down to the lobby and out to the sidewalk. He walked further down the street until he could smell food cooking in hot oil. Just past a small bar where blues filtered out to the street, was a diner with customers sitting along the front window. One was eating fried chicken and it made his mouth water. He had a burger from a fast-food joint for lunch and nothing since, and his stomach growled with need. Opening the door rang a bell hanging at its head, and Jerry found himself in a busy dining room with waitresses hustling from table to table.

“Just sit where you want,” a waitress directed Jerry as she passed with a tray of food.

Jerry moved into dining room, to a table in the middle. He glanced around the busy dining room, noticing the other customers, how they looked a part of the neighborhood. Simply dressed, some in old worn clothing, and all of them obviously of lesser means. He took some comfort in it, a sense he fit in, despite their obvious differences. 

“What can I get you to drink?” a different waitress asked, catching Jerry off guard.

“Oh, sweet tea.”

“Okay, and here’s a menu. The specials are at the top, but we’re out of the chicken and dumplings.”

“Thanks.”

Jerry noticed it was a quarter to ten when he finished, pushing back his empty plate. The dining room was fuller than before, and he wondered what everyone did for a living that had them eating so late. Finally sated, he glanced around the room, noticing the eclectic décor. Elvis Presley album covers and memorabilia, University of Tennessee and Vanderbilt banners, signed jerseys and a photograph of Tennessee’s football stadium, and photos of musicians. Jerry assumed the latter were mostly blues musicians for they were mostly in dark small clubs that looked exactly what one would expect. He looked behind him at the wait station, the opening to the kitchen where hot plates were being set, and a reach-in cooler filled with drinks. Just past the cooler was a corridor to the restrooms, as noted by a small sign overhead, and on the wall at the place the corridor started was a bulletin board. In its center, a white flyer by the diner. “Help Wanted – Busboy”.

Jerry’s waitress came around the counter and toward him, carrying his check.

“Just pay Irene at the register,” said the waitress as she set the check on the table.

“Excuse me, but is the job still available for a busboy?”

“Yes. Benson posted it this afternoon. Calvin didn’t show up again and Benson fired him. You interested? It don’t pay much, but it ain’t hard work. Ya don’t have to deal with customers or nothing.”

“Who do I talk to?”

“Benson ain’t here, but his cousin is working in the kitchen tonight. I’ll tell him you’re interested.”

“Thanks.”

Jerry looked at the price for his meal and drink, knowing he couldn’t eat like this every day if he was going to make it to California. He flipped the check around in his fingers while wondering if he should set off or take some time, work at a job to earn a few dollars and catch his breath. He had only been gone less than a day, but it felt much longer. A shadow passed over him and he looked up at a large man, upper body stretching the t-shirt out of shape. 

“You looking for a job?”

“Yes…sir,” Jerry replied as he watched the big man sit across from him.

“I’m George and this is my cousin’s place, but he has me help on managing things, especially the staff,” said George, looking over Jerry’s shoulders to see what someone was doing at the wait station. When he looked back down, Jerry saw someone who catered no foolishness. “$2.30 an hour and you can start tomorrow. We need you here at 4:15 for the evening shift.”

Jerry ran the numbers in his head and realized he needed at least 5 hours a day just to cover the hotel room. And that didn’t include meals. He didn’t intend to hang around long enough to do a lease on an apartment but knew he would need to find something cheaper.

“How many hours a day do you think I will be able to work?”

George appeared to be considering the question, then he shrugged his shoulders. “Probably six to eight on days we need you. We close at midnight and open at ten in the morning.” He got up from the table and started to walk away but stopped by Jerry’s chair. “You can fill out the paperwork Benson will need when you get here tomorrow. I need to get back into the kitchen.”

Jerry was shocked at how George didn’t ask him anything about himself but knew a busboy didn’t need experience to clean tables and wash dishes.

Three days later, Jerry arrived early, smiling with satisfaction at his luck. He had worked two days for eight hours each day, knowing it would put some money in his pocket. But his greatest satisfaction was being able to check out of the hotel that morning. He had found an extended stay place that rented rooms by the week or the month that saved him nearly three dollars a day. 

Apron tied around his waist, he wrote in his time, went into the kitchen, and grabbed up a pan. Moving around the partition wall that separated clean up from the cooking line, he saw Benson at the grill.

“Good afternoon. Anything I should know?” asked Jerry.

Benson looked up, shook his head once, and turned his attention back to the burgers on the grill. Jerry moved through the swinging door into the dining room, seeing it was quiet, only a couple of customers eating alone at tables at the windows. At the wait station, Mary was making fresh tea and someone else was stooped down behind the counter. When they stood, Jerry found himself staring.

Jerry has assumed it was Iris, for the hair looked the same, but it was a guy who looked about his own age. But what struck him the most was the guy looked like Elvis Presley. The same dark hair, the same cheeks and smooth complexion.

“Hey, you must be Jerry. I’m Sam.”

Jerry heard the voice and it sounded like the musician from the songs he had heard played over the jukebox late at night. 

“Sam? Nice to meet you,” Jerry replied after a hesitation that was far too long. Sam smiled at him, and Jerry tried to think of something to say, anything to hear Sam speak again.

“Excuse me, could I get a refill?” one of the customers called out.

“Yes, I’ll be right over,” Sam replied, picking up a pitcher of tea. “Duty calls,” he uttered as he passed Jerry.

The restaurant became busy, customers waiting at the front by the counter and out on the sidewalk. Sam and Mary hustled from table to table, and Jerry rushed to clean each one that became available. He carried dirty dishes into the kitchen, washed them quickly, and carried out any that were dry to the wait station. It was after eleven before the restaurant finally settled down, the last customers taking their time, chatting, and laughing while they got one more refill, or ordered a dessert. 

Jerry was at the 3-compartment sink, washing dishes as fast as he could, for he had been so busy busing tables he had fallen behind on the washing. A couple of glasses were set down on the drainboard, and he looked up to see Sam.

“There are still four tables occupied, and from the looks of it, they’ll be there until we have to run them out.”

“Just as well, I’ll be here washing dishes trying to get caught up.”

“It was a busy night.”

“How many nights during the week will it be like this?”

“Three or four…maybe. It varies. Sunday is the worst. Wait until you have to deal with the after-church crowd. They’re the worst.”

“Really?”

“Don’t tip for shit, and more demanding than any of our other customers. I wish Benson would close on Sundays, for its not worth it for us waiting on them.”

“Why does he open on Sunday?”

“His family wants the place open so they can come after church,” Sam replied, then he leaned closer, lowering his voice, “and they are the worst of the worst. They take advantage of Benson, wanting free drinks or dessert and bossing us around like we’re slaves or something.”

“Well, I won’t see it this weekend. I’m scheduled for Saturday, but not Sunday.”

“Really? Me too. Are you from around here? I’ve not seen you around before?”

“No, I just arrived. I’m from Alabama.”

“Alabama? Montgomery? Birmingham?”

“No, a place that isn’t on most maps it is so small.”

“I have relatives in Birmingham, but never been there.”

“This is my first time to Memphis.”

“Have you had time to explore?”

“No. I started working on my second day here, so this Sunday will be my first day off.”

“You don’t do anything during the day before clocking in?”

“I sleep late after being here late and by the time I get up, eat lunch, I don’t have a lot of time and without a car…I just hang around my room until time to come here.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Garden Inn, the place four blocks away that does weekly and monthly rents.”

“I know the place. I pass it on the way here.”

“Sam, you’re needed out front,” said Benson, looking around the wall, spatula in one hand.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and headed to the dining room.

Jerry turned back to the dirty dishes, replaying the short conversation with Sam over in his mind. The husky voice, the dark brown eyes that boldly started back at him and the attractiveness of him. He knew he was smitten with Sam, and worried about revealing himself, especially if Sam was simply being nice to him, the new guy, and not what he wished were happening. Some initial checking him out, weighing him up to see if he were willing. He was so willing, it scared him, for if he were wrong it would be disastrous. 

Sunday arrived and Jerry laid in bed until after eleven. Saturday night had been exhausting, made worse by customers refusing to leave at midnight. Some stayed until nearly one, which put Jerry not finishing up until after one thirty and it was two by the time he got back to his room. Then he had lain in bed for over an hour unable to wind down and fall asleep, despite an exhaustion he had never felt before. 

Finally climbing out of bed, he stripped off his briefs, and went into the small bathroom to shower. The water pressure was poor and the temperature not as hot as he would like, but he stood under the spray a long time, feeling it relax him. Once he stepped out of the tub, he dried off hurriedly, water droplets still on his shoulders and chest, brushed his teeth, and went to dress. 

Jerry was halfway across the room when a knock came at his door. He froze, staring at it wondering who it could be. He thought of the worst scenarios. A sheriff come to take him home, or his father come to do it in person. He tightened the towel around his waist and moved cautiously to the door. There was no peephole, so he had not choice but to open the door and see who stood there.

“Sam?” Jerry exclaimed when he had the door open. He stood frozen in place, surprised to see it was him. Sam was in a tank top and jeans. The tank top was cut short and the jeans hung low in his waist, revealing a sliver of skin. Jerry couldn’t stop himself from looking at the exposed flesh. When he looked up, Sam smiled at him.

“Can I come in or is this a bad time?”

“No, no, come on in. I was just about to get dressed and go grab some lunch.”

“Perfect. I came to see if you wanted to join me for lunch, then maybe I could show you around town.”

Jerry stepped aside and let Sam enter his room. It suddenly seemed more run down, every paint peel, every fray in the ugly carpet more noticeable, and for a minute it seemed the walls closed in, making the space even smaller. Sam sat on his bed, near the foot, placing him near the center of the room, no place within it very far away. 

Jerry moved to his backpack for clean clothes, wondering if he could dress in front of him. He knew it was silly, for he had dressed in P.E. all the time, but his gut said this was different. For one thing, Sam was watching him. He saw the dark brown eyes following his every move. 

“There’s an Italian place a few blocks away. You like pasta or maybe a pizza?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Jerry replied as he stood facing the mirror at the small table, taking out a pair of jeans, briefs, and a t-shirt. In the mirror he saw Sam watching him. If Sam were willing, and he desperately wanted to know, now more than ever, he knew there was nothing to do but get dressed in front of him and see how he responded. He pulled the towel away and draped it over the back of the chair, feeling his nudity. An exposure unlike any before. He turned, boldly letting Sam see him from the front, instead of his reflection. He saw the eyes look at his cock, then move upward until looking into his own. Sam smiled as he leaned back, resting on his hands. 

“Get dressed and we’ll go eat, then we’ll go exploring,” said Sam, his tone mischievous. 

“Sure,” Jerry replied, stepping into the briefs, then pulling them into place. It was some concealment, but not near enough as he felt his cock stir. He grabbed up the jeans and put them on, tugging the zipper up and fastening the button. They no longer fit tight, for he had lost a little weight over the last few days. They hung on his hips, slightly gapped around the waist. He slipped the t-shirt over his head and into place, feeling the soft worn fabric against his skin. It hung loose on his lean frame, as if it could slide off any minute. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said as he picked up his room key, wallet, and watch.

They had a large pizza at the restaurant, then spent a couple of hours walking the streets of downtown. Most were deserted, businesses closed for the day, or permanently, but there were some open. Small restaurants, a pawn shop, a hardware store and along one block, a bar was open, the door held open by a brick, letting the sound of the jukebox filter out into the street. As they passed, Jerry looked in to see older men playing pool and the bar in back lined with customers. 

“Come on, let’s go down to the park.”

“Park?”

“It’s at the river,” Sam replied, leading them westward.

They had talked about the restaurant, those that worked there, then Sam told of growing up in Oklahoma City and Memphis being just a stop on his way to New York City. He wanted to live in the largest city in the country, and when asked why, he had merely shrugged and said, ‘why not’. Jerry told Sam of growing up in rural Alabama, struggling to tell of his boredom and not feeling like he fit in while not revealing why. He repeated the lie about his family being very poor and he had set off to try to find a place he could support himself. The lie tasted foul on his tongue as he spoke it, wishing he could be honest, if only this one time.

When they came the riverfront, crossing a bridge to the island park. The muddy river flowed under the bridge and beyond the island, slow, silent, concealing its power. Sam led Jerry south down to the end of the island.

“Mary said you are planning on going to California,” said Sam, a statement, but one meant to be a question.

“Yes. I figured I would work in Memphis for a while, save up a few more dollars, then head out.”

“You’ve got a long way to go,” Sam uttered.

“New York is a long way away too.”

“True, but…it feels closer.”

The sun was high the sky in the west, and it beat down on them. They felt its heat, and soon they were sweating. 

“Damn its hot,” said Sam.

“You want to go back to my room? We can watch TV,” said Jerry.

“I’d thought you’d never ask,” replied Sam, climbing to his feet. “Let’s get out of this heat.”

Jerry unlocked his door and eased into the cool, dark room, feeling Sam right behind him. He was hot, sweat trickling down his sides, the t-shirt soaked at the arms and neck. He pulled it off and instantly felt better when the cool air caressed his sweaty skin. He tossed his shirt on the floor with other dirty clothes and saw Sam’s tank top land on the floor nearby.

“Jesus, it’s hot as fuck,” said Sam strolling past and sitting on the bed.

The chair had the towel draped over its back and some of his belongings on the seat, so that left only the bed for them to sit on. He moved next to Sam and eased down, splitting the difference of the length available. Not too far away, but not too close either. Despite his desire to sit close, he was playing it safe again.

“Anything on TV?” ask Sam.

“I don’t know. You want to flip through the channels and see?”

“Nah…it’s Sunday and it’ll just be football and bullshit.”

A silence fell over the room, one still in darkness, the only illumination the sunlight that filtered through the cheap curtains. Sam leaned back resting on his hands. It stretched out his body and put his head behind Jerry, who felt it was now safe to look over. There was the sweaty chest, one flat and lean, much like his own. He watched a bead of sweat trickle down it between the nipples, down till it hung in the sparse hair around the navel. He looked down the line of hair until his eyes followed the waistband. It gapped around the narrow waist and he wondered what it would be like to slip his fingers down beneath the jeans. To go exploring inside them down to what caused the crotch to bulge. 

“Have you ever felt like an alien? Even among your family and friends?” Sam whispered.

“Yes,” Jerry finally answered after a long silence, not sure he had felt something different from Sam, and it was safe to answer. 

“You ever act on it?” 

Barely a whisper, but the question filled Jerry’s head with images. The graduation party, up in the bedroom. In the rig driving west, then in the sleeper compartment.

“I…” Jerry stammered, afraid to answer.

“Scary isn’t it, not being sure. But I’m sure. I’ve acted on it. It’s why I had to leave Oklahoma City. Mike’s dad…he caught us in their barn.”

Jerry was shocked at the confession and he flinched with a finger touched his hand. But he didn’t pull away. He held still, and let it rub over his fingers, then the back of his hand.

Sam is suddenly next to him, lips touching his neck, the place next to his ear, then the ear itself.

“Is this okay?” Sam whispers.

“Yes,” Jerry replies and feels the lips touch his ear again, then move along his jaw. He turns to Sam and closes his eyes as their lips come together.

Jerry senses nothing but Sam. The room shrinks from his senses. It is nothing. It’s just the bed, Sam and himself. A hand rests on his chest, then it moves, raking over hardening nipples, then down his flat stomach until fingers rub along the waistband. Just as he imagined doing to Sam. And just as he imagined doing, the fingers slip beneath the waistband and down within his jeans. He fells them manipulate the waistband of his briefs, then bare fingers against his bare flesh, as they move through pubic hair downward, until touching his growing cock.

Jerry grew hard as fingers toyed with him. He fell back on the bed and Sam was soon on top, kissing him, touching him, stroking him to full erection. He gasped for breath when lips closed down over a nipple, then teeth bit down. He shuddered and cried out as his cock flexed with his arousal. 

“Fuck; I wanted you from the moment I saw your ass in the restaurant,” Sam uttered.

The hand releases his cock and then he felt the tug at his jeans. The button slipped free, then the zipper tugged down. His cock pushed upward, only the briefs holding it in place and the hand came down on it, squeezing and manipulating it until he couldn’t breathe. Lips moved down his chest, over his heaving stomach, then over the briefs. Hot exhales then the mouthing along its length.

“Sam,” Jerry uttered as lips and tongue toyed with him. He felt fingers seek a hold on the waistband of his jeans, and when they tugged down, he raised his ass to let Sam strip him. 

Sam stood at the side of the bed, pulling jeans free of each leg. Jerry sat up and watched as Sam tossed them carelessly to the side, then remove his own jeans and briefs. His cock angled out hard, the shaft slightly curved up to a flared head. Sam stroked it slowly, then crawled on the bed over Jerry.

Jerry felt the weight of Sam, just enough to press him into the mattress. He felt the heat of him, the undulation of his breathing. Then he felt the hands touch him, the lips kiss him and the soft whispering into his ear. Lurid, sexually pleadings. 

Then Sam was between his legs holding his cock. He lay back, only the sense of touch telling him what Sam was doing. The slow stroking of fingers, a tongue gliding slickly up and down its length, then lips sliding over the head and down until more than half were enveloped in the heat of Sam’s mouth. Jerry moaned while grabbing at the bed. He shivered as the lips moved upward then tongue swirled around the head. He spread his legs further apart when fingers manipulated his sac, then trailed down to his opening. Mouth on his cock and a finger rubbing his opening made him moan and grunt. He cried out when a finger penetrated him. He felt it piston in his hole, the push inward then the pull outward. One finger, then two and finally three stretched him open, made him feel his desires until he couldn’t hold back.

“Fuck me…fuck me Sam, fuck me.”

Sam moved up, kissing his stomach, chest, neck, then lips. Jerry kissed back, open mouth, as cock pressed against his opening. He grabbed Sam by the ass cheeks, urging him to do it; to penetrate him. The cock pushed against his tightness, then stretched him open, slowly sinking into his depths. He shuddered and clung to Sam as he felt the fullness of the penetration. 

Then Sam was fucking Jerry. Driving into his depths with an increasing pace. The bed protested agaisnt their exertions, Jerry on bottom, pushing up to take every inch and Sam on top, undulating in that most primitive of ways. Ass flexing as Sam thrust into the depths of Jerry’s hole. Over and over, sinking inward all the way. The coolness of the room seemed to evaporate as both grew hot, Sam beginning to sweat once again.

Jerry dragged the back of his hand up Sam’s chest, the skin slick with sweat, until he felt the hard nub of one nipple, then the other.

“Pinch them,” Sam uttered breathlessly.

“What?”

“Pinch my nipples.”

Jerry rubbed both nipples as cock bore into his depths. He was nothing but his desires, his wants and needs. He was a receptacle for Sam’s cock, responding to every thrust, and he wanted to return the pleasure. To push Sam to fuck harder. To fuck faster. He rubbed those hard nubs, then took each between thumb and index finger and pinched down. Sam shuddered and drove into his depths harder, jamming abdomen against his upturned ass. He pinched down on them again and Sam cried out, and began to fuck in rough short jabs, abdomen smacking against his ass. He twisted them and felt Sam shudder with the pain of it as he took the jarring pace of Sam’s fuck. 

Then Sam came, jerking with each ejaculation.

Collapsed on top, Sam was breathless from his exertions, and Jerry lay beneath him feeling the fullness of their fuck, Sam’s cock still inside him. He undulated beneath Sam, squirmed and moved in such an aroused manner Sam’s cock stayed hard. 

“What are you doing to me?” Sam uttered as he stirred to life. He rose up on his knees and forced Jerry to roll over. He roughly got him up on his knees, head still on the bed. “You want me to fuck you again?”

“Yes…please.”

Sam still covered in sweat, breathing still labored, but cock hard as rock once again, he moved up behind Jerry and sank into his depths in one rough push. He held the narrow waist and began to fuck. He fucked until his muscles burned and he believed he would burn up. He fucked until Jerry shuddered with release, spraying cum over the bed underneath him. Then he came again.

Sam left just before eight that night, heading back to his own apartment. Jerry wanted him to stay, to sleep with him. He wanted the companionship and the comfort of another in his bed. But they both knew the temporary nature of their relationship, and neither wanted to tempt fate. 

Jerry never planned ahead on how long he would stay in Memphis, but over the next two months, he fell into a routine that let the days pass. Long nights at the restaurant four to six days a week, exploring the city when he had time off and Sam had to work, and when both were off work, spending it at one or the other’s place fucking to exhaustion. But there was an uneasiness between them. As the days passed, they talked less of their plans, instead talking of the staff at the restaurant or about the city around them. They ventured out at night, going to run down bars with local bands playing the blues in crowded back rooms. They blended in, became part of the local scene, until no one took no notice of them. 

Summer was coming to an end, and fall was approaching, despite the heat of summer lingering. They could feel it in the air, some dryness that spoke of its imminent arrival. Jerry always assumed he would be the first to act. The one to leave first, so he was shocked when Sam announced he was not renewing his lease. They had been in bed having sex until both were spent, and now were laying next to each other breathless. 

“I have to go,” Sam had said, and Jerry knew instantly what he meant. “You have to go too, or we’ll never leave this place.”

“I know,” Jerry had replied, knowing the truth of it.

It was late when Sam finally left, after spending the last two hours talking, telling each other it was time, that it was now or never. Sam said he had to get to New York, it was the place he wanted to be. Jerry slowed his breathing, keeping a stoic face, knowing he could never try to change Sam’s plans. They had their goals, and it was time to take the next step in pursuing them.

Sam slipped out of town the following Friday, boarding a bus for its long trip to New York. Jerry worked two more weeks, saving all he could, then turned in his notice, telling Benson he needed to go.

Benson smiled at him for the first time, nodding his head. 

“I know you want to get to California, and I don’t blame you. Everyone should pursue their dreams, no matter the odds. But far too many of us settle for what is convenient.”

It shocked Jerry to hear these encouraging words, and all he could do was nod in agreement. He worked the next week, giving Benson and George time to find someone to replace him. He felt the eyes of the staff on him, and when their eyes met, the soft smiles that spoke encouragingly to his plan to leave. 

Friday night, Jerry’s last night, he was draining the 3-compartment sink of the dirty dishwater and rinsing it out when Benson came in the back door. 

“You almost finished?” Benson asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, get cleaned up and on your way. I’ll lock up.”

“Thanks.”

Jerry finished wiping down the equipment, dried his hands, took off the apron and looked around the kitchen one last time. He scanned the small kitchen until his eyes brought him back to Benson standing by the back door. 

“I think that is it. I guess I should go,” said Jerry.

“Here is your final pay.”

Jerry took the envelope and thumbed through the bills within. It seemed too much, and he looked up at Benson.

“There’s an extra ten in there. A little something to help you on your way.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Are you headed out in the morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re hitchhiking?”

“Yeah,” Jerry replied, smiling at Benson.

Benson shook his head. “Well, you watch your ass out there.”

“I will. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome, now go on. Get out of here.”

Jerry woke on Saturday to a bright, sunny morning. He showered, not knowing when he would get the chance again, packed his backpack, and eased out of his room. The small lobby was empty except for Mr. Harrelson behind the counter watching cartoons. He checked out, leaving the key on the counter, and stepped out on the sidewalk. He looked along the quiet street, turned to the north, where the interstate lay, and began to walk.

To Be Continued