Saturday Night at the Rest Stop

The freeway was so dark on my return home from Ann Arbor Saturday night that I almost missed the turnoff to the rest stop. Only the blaze of its bright florescent lamps through the Plexiglass enclosure, greenish-yellow against the indigo midnight sky, tipped me to my destination.

My ass was still sore, quite frankly, after its poking by the steam room bear. In my post-coital moments in his hotel bathroom, I thought I’d wiped all the remnants of his attempts to fuck me from my ass. My hole, however, had been leaking lube during the return trip home. The long, solitary minutes and the prospect of more sex had flagged my curiosity once more.

Several cars were parked slantwise in the rest stop’s lot, when I pulled in. A head that was shrouded in the deep shadows of a suburban minivan turned to follow my path, as I stepped from my car and walked in the direction of the little shelter set back from the road. Most of the other cars were empty, which signaled to me that their occupants were probably within.

A trucker smoking a cigarette lounged against the outside door, his hand thrust deep into the pockets of his grimy, ragged denim jeans. Though his head was angled away from me, his eyes danced over my length, checking me out. I pretended not to notice, and pushed through.

A boy stood at the urinals just within the men’s room doorway, his skin the color and sheen of obsidian. His arms extended in long straight lines; his hands cupped around his genitals, which he’d pushed close to the porcelain of the waist-to-floor urinals. A latin man stood a urinal away from him. He had to have been around forty. His clothing was covered with dust, though in good shape. At my entry, he zipped up his grey jeans, stepped away from the urinal, and pulled his hoodie over his shaved head.

The men’s room has three stalls. The one closest to the door was occupied by a tall guy who was unbuckling his pants. He must’ve been at least six-six or six-seven, because for a guy to register as tall in my eyes, he has to be at least a good three inches over my own. He was bearded and white, the kind of guy I see at student concerts and swim meets, cheering on the spawn. He stared at me in the mirror as I traveled to the stall next to him.

No one was in the far stall to my left, when I sat down. The suburban dad’s foot immediately tapped at me when I dropped my pants. I tapped back. For a few moments we continued the ritual of tapping and bringing our feet closer. I sensed a shift in the shadows he was casting beneath the partition, and caught glimpse of ass from where I leaned over. When I moved my hand beneath the partition, he angled his body so that his backside connected with my fingers. I moved my hand further along the crack, between his legs, and found myself grasping his hard dick. The pre-cum oozing from its tip was cool and sticky against my skin.

He wanted to feel my dick. I obliged by letting him stroke it beneath the partition. We were interrupted fairly quickly, though, so I had to return to my seat on the toilet. Soon, though, when I didn’t hear anyone else in the restroom change position, I stood up to see who’d come in.

In the mirrors I could see the trucker I’d passed coming in was now standing next to the young black boy at the urinals. They were side by side looking both over their shoulders at the reflections of me and the married daddy in the stall next to mine, and at each other’s hard dicks. A third guy in a patterned woolen coat stood near them, stroking his meat through the fly of his baggy jeans. The latin guy had walked over to the sinks across from my stall. He unzipped the fly of his gray jeans and exposed his hard cock. The latin was only five-four or so, and his eight and a half inches looked obscenely monstrous on him. He had a circumcision scar a good three and a half inches behind his crown, which had to be the furthest back I’d ever seen, especially on a brown dick like his.

He nodded at me, as I watched him stroke. “Let me see yours,” he whispered.

The three men at the urinals had begun to stroke openly for each other. Next to me, I could see shadows of the tall dad’s hand flying back and forth over his meat. He was standing up and staring at the latin man, though his stall door remained closed. I felt bold enough to open my door and show off my dick to the latin. He immediately dived for it, taking it in his mouth and struggling to take it to the base. His hand went between my legs. One of his fingertips snaked its way into my still-sensitive asshole. “Fuck, papi,” he said, standing up and squeezing his dick so hard it should have popped. “You got load in there?” I didn’t answer. Instead I sat down on the toilet and took his meat in my mouth. It smelled slightly of a day’s piss, but I wanted to see how much of that monster I could take.

Before I got too far, though, we heard the sounds of the door opening outside. The latin leaped back and yanked up his pants. I closed my stall door and settle back onto the toilet. I heard the men at the urinals adjust themselves. Then, when once again no one made any quick exits, I stood up after a moment.

Two more guys had joined the already-busy men’s room. The latin had his pants unzipped again and was displaying his big dick to a kid with floppy hair pretending to wash his hands. A fourth man, tall and husky, had joined the guys at the urinals. Eight men, all hard and exposed, all jacking for each other.

I watched for a moment or two, and then made a decision. Hot as it was in there, it was simply too busy at that point. When it comes to public sex, there’s a thin line between a hot group scene and a juicy headline news bust. I pulled up my pants and, ass still feeling like it was sloshing, exited the restroom and headed back to my car.

I wasn’t too surprised when the latin followed me back. He stood at the trash can and watched me get into my car, which I left unlocked. After a couple of moments, he walked over, opened the back door, and got inside. He got his pants open so quickly that I might’ve sworn they were fastened with velcro. His dick stuck straight up in the air, just as hard and insistent as it had been in the restroom. I turned around and angled my body between the front seats, so I could see and hold it.

“I wanna fuck you,” he whispered. When I shook my head, he added, “You all lubed up and ready, papi, I want that ass.”

“Not here,” I said. “Let me suck you.”

He thought about it a moment, then relinquished his hold on his dick. I craned my body into the back seat and went down on him, slurping on that amazing dick. From the corner of my eye I watched as he turned his head from side to side, keeping a careful eye on the comings and goings around us. I’d parked in the most distant reaches of the lot, though, so not much could have happened without warning.

It didn’t take him long until he was pumping out amazing quantities of pre-cum that lubricated my mouth. A salty patch of the stuff dribbled down the back of my throat. The man seized the back of my head and held it still as he thrust upward. His breath left a sheen of fog on the inside of my window, where he breathed. With a mighty grunt, he shot. His load wasn’t huge, but it was unusually sweet. Hands still clamped on the back of my neck, he waited until I swallowed and cleaned him off. Then, when I sat up, he nodded, zipped and fastened, and existed the car.

I watched as he walked back in the direction of the restroom, either to clean up or to play some more. Either way, I was done for the evening. I’d fucked, I’d been fucked a little, I’d played with strange dicks at a rest stop, I’d sucked dick in my car. That was enough for one Saturday evening, and so I drove off into the night, leaving the little oasis a receding spot of light in my rear-view mirror.