I saw him from a good distance away, walking down the highway in the direction I was driving shortly after a big cloverleaf marking the intersection of two major highways. With his deep tan, ponytailed black hair, and tanned torso, he looked Native American and fit in perfectly with the highway that was descending in the western sun between red-rock buttes on either side. He hardly looked like an experienced hitchhiker, but that was exactly what he seemed to be doing. Not only was he hitchhiking illegal on a highway like this, but I also couldn't remember the last time I'd seen a hitchhiker on the roads at all. And I especially couldn't remember seeing one as ill equipped for hitchhiking as this one was. I couldn't tell how old he was, but he certainly looked young--barely out of high school, certainly, his body lean and willowy. He seemed almost to be floating--dancing--down the road.
Maybe he wasn't hitchhiking, I thought. Maybe his car had broken down. But he was walking just beyond where he could have gotten off and found places that would have helped with an automobile breakdown and I didn't remember seeing a car on the side of the highway in the last several miles.
He didn't look to be more than nineteen. He had the usual backpack, which was hanging from one of his hands, but he was shirtless, a white T-shirt hanging over his shoulder, and was wearing low-slung jeans. And a cowboy hat and tooled leather boots. This hardly was gear for hiking or walking the asphalt highways. He was of medium height, and lean, hard-bodied. He looked like he worked out regularly. In classic hitcher style, he was pointed at me, walking backwards down the road, with his thumb out.
I didn't see a stranded car back there, but I'd just passed a rest area. Maye he had come out of a rest area, where he had been left off by his previous ride. And as he saw my car coming down the road, he turned and leaned against a white light pole and looked up at the treetops. It was almost as if he was posing for me.
As I got closer to him, I was thinking that he must not have been without a ride for long. He didn't look wrung out by the summer heat. So, it was pretty evident he'd come out of the rest area. He must have been backing and thumbing for only a couple of minutes, because I don't think anyone can back down a highway for long like that and make any decent progress. Maybe he thought he could be picked up quickly like this--by being so sexy looking. And maybe he was right about that. He certainly had gotten my attention.
As I passed him, we made eye contact, and I found myself pulling over just past him. I have no idea why I did that; I'd never picked up a hitchhiker before in my life.
He opened the back door and tossed his bag in and then opened the front door, stuck his head in, and asked, "Can I get a lift down the road a ways? You're not exiting for the next couple of exits or anything, I hope?"
"Sure, hop in," I answered. "I've got a good long ways to go down this road." He already had his bag in my backseat, so I guess we both knew the request was only a formality. He draped his T-shirt over the seat back before he got in, which was nice of him. I like to keep my car clean, and, again, picking someone up like this was a new experience for me. He wasn't too sweaty, though. He hadn't been hitching for long since the last ride.
"Thanks again," he said, as he got in and buckled up and I nosed back onto the highway.
"Nice wheels," he said, "A new Lexus?"
"Yes, thanks. I like it."
"These SUVs have a whole lot of room. You could really have a party in the backseat there. Bet it lays down to provide a good bed for more than one."
I didn't quite know a good answer to that one, so I didn't say anything.
"So, what's your name?" He asked.
"Chad," I answered. "I'm on my way to the coast. I've been to the mountains for the weekend." It was lame, but I wasn't all that good with small talk.
"Sounds great. Tim. That's my name, Tim. I'm just drifting down the road myself. Seeing where it leads. Seeing how far I can get on my wits and a promise."
"Exploring your world between high school and getting bogged down in college, I suppose."
"Ummm; something like that." Maybe he wasn't going to tell me how old he was. Maybe I'd calculated that too high. But I had no idea at the time why I asked that. Later, I decided that I unconsciously knew what was afoot and was trying to protect myself, trying to play safe. He didn't know it would be someone like me who picked him up. But then I'd just speculated about how presenting himself a certain way might help him get picked up.
We went silent then for several miles. He lifted his arms and did a few twists back and forth in the seat and then massaged his biceps and ran his hand over his chest and down his abs.
I couldn't help but notice him. "Tough hitching, I guess," I said.
"Huh?"
"I said, it must be tough hitchhiking like that. Your backpack must be heavy; must have knotted your muscles up."
"Yeah, I guess so," he said. And then he laughed a little nervous laugh. "Okay, so it's getting close to supper time. What can I do in exchange for a meal and a ride for four or five exits beyond that? Maybe a blow job for the meal and then you can do me for the mileage?"
"Excuse me?" I asked in shock and almost ran off the side of the road.
"Huh, sorry, man," the young man said, "My mistake. I just assumed--from why I'm usually picked up. You can pull over there, and I'll just get out. Sorry, man. I misunderstood."
I had gotten the car back under control. "Hey, I'll give you a ride. And I'll even feed you dinner, but how did you come to the wild conclusion that I wanted anything for it, let alone that?"
"It's just the rule of the road, man. I advertise my availability--what'd you think I was doing with my shirt off back there--and a single guy stops for me, and I get down the road a ways and maybe a meal with about the only thing I have to give in exchange. I'm sorry to just come on to you like that. I didn't know. You stopped when I put out the bait. And you're a good looker. You look like someone who might be interested. You obviously take good care of your body. A good reason to care for it is so you can use it. It's why I make the effort. But, sorry. I don't mean to..." He stopped there, like he knew he'd gone too far.
He was right, though. I had stopped. And I had no idea why I'd stopped. Was it because he had been shirtless? Would I have stopped otherwise? I felt myself blushing. Was there something inside me that knew more than I consciously was willing to admit? Maybe I did know why I stopped--and maybe he was right about that; that it had something to do with his looks and how he presented himself.
"So, if you'll just let me out, I won't dirty up your car anymore."
"Hey, it's not like that. I don't care what you do to pay for your travels. I just didn't stop because of that. I don't know why I stopped. Probably because you aren't supposed to be hitchhiking on an expressway and I didn't want a young kid like you to get into trouble."
"I'm not a young kid. I'm nineteen. I'm of age." He let that register before continuing. "I don't ever have to stand beside the road with my thumb out very long," he added, with sort of a pout.
"You mean there are a lot of guys who stop for you... for that reason?"
"Yeah, there are." He left some dead space so that I could contemplate that. "So, you didn't stop because you were attracted to me?" he continued. "I don't look good to you?"
"No. I mean, you look just fine. But, no, I didn't stop and pick you up with anything like that in mind. Certainly not in the front of my mind." Shit. Now I was doing it--saying too much.
