The Naed Hitchhier

Curtis drove his battered Nissan pickup down a sparsely populated road to the city. He wasn't looking forward to waiting in line in drab government offices, and hoped he would finish in time to have some fun while he was there--hit up some bars, play some pool, let himself be sweet-talked by a handsome stranger.

He'd planned his trip to be in town for bear night at a bar simply called Mason's. He wasn't very up-to-date on gay slang, but the advertisement on the website had pictured several burly, hairy men, so he thought he wouldn't be so out of place, even with his callused hands and farmer's tan from his landscaping work. Would he fit in? His button-up and slacks were plain, meant for impressing bureaucrats and going to church, back when he was a churchgoing man. His slacks were a little tight around his hips, and his shirt around his chest, but it was his only fancy outfit. He figured he could undo some shirt buttons if he felt he needed to during the night, or take off his tie if it was too formal. He flipped down the mirror and quickly checked to make sure his chest hair wasn't poking out around his collar. It wasn't.

He flipped the sunshade and mirror back up. The houses on the left side of the road were closer together now as he neared the city, though the dense forest continued on the opposite side. This wasn't a drive he wanted to be making at night. Even during the day, something about the untamed forest here gave him the chills. Between the undergrowth and all the vines growing up the trunks, he could barely see two feet into the trees, a hulking mass of leaves and stems rising from the mud like something out of an old horror movie. No, he didn't want to be out here at night.

He slowed down and turned his eyes to the unforested side of the road, with lawns and small single-story houses with gardens in the front. He thought of landscaping: a flagstone path to the mailbox could look nice on this lot, a pergola over the little courtyard on that lot.

He was so caught in his daydreaming that he almost didn't see the man in the road.

Curtis slammed the brakes. His tires squealed as the truck lurched to a halt, his body thrust forward against the locked seatbelt.

The stranger had not flinched. He sauntered to the driver's side window and raised his hand with a thumbs up.

Curtis's heart was still pumping fast. It didn't help that when he looked out the window, he realised something strange about the man he had almost hit: he was completely naked.

The stranger looked like he would be right at home in one of those frat house videos Curtis watched sometimes, except that he appeared to have not a single hair below his shoulders. His skin was extraordinarily smooth and even-toned--flawless, even. Curtis followed the curves of biceps and forearms down to where the stranger was covering his crotch. At least, he appeared to be. Curtis couldn't see everything without opening the door.

He looked up at the man's face. A confident expression. He was young, as suited his remarkably unblemished torso, and had a smile that said at once that he was getting away with something and wanted you to join him in the fun. Short wavy hair, and sparkling green eyes.

Curtis found himself winding down the window. The man could not possibly be an armed highwayman, dressed (or undressed) as he was, though this thought only occurred to him after the window was all the way down. A slight breeze tickled Curtis's beard. "Do you--do you need a ride?" he asked.

The stranger nodded. "Yeah, just into town." His voice carried the same twinkle of mischief as his smile.

A thought intruded into Curtis's mind. His grandmother had always said.... What was it? It had something to do with hitchhikers, maybe, or men, generally. Or was it roads? The wise words floated away like untethered balloons as he got lost in the eyes of the naked hunk before him.

"Hop in," Curtis said, and he unlocked the doors.

"Thanks, mister," the hitchhiker said. He walked around the front of the car to the passenger seat, and Curtis observed that the man was indeed not wearing any pants or underwear. It was warm enough outside, at least.

The stranger slid into the passenger seat and closed the door before folding his legs to sit cross-legged. He still hadn't moved his hand from his crotch. Hands, something about hands. His hands were smooth. A city kid. His nails were clean.

After turning around the idea in his head for a moment, Curtis decided to ask. "So, your friends leave you naked out here by yourself?"

"Something like that," the hitchhiker said. "I'm not supposed to tell."

He displayed an unusual lack of embarrassment, despite the fact that he kept his privates covered. But anyone would keep covered, right? He seemed to be in his right mind. And frat boys could be shameless--at least, that was the stereotype. Maybe he was just following rules for this game that he couldn't tell anyone about.

The hitchhiker didn't move to put on his seatbelt. Curtis watched him, waiting. The hitchhiker's legs were as hairless as the rest of him. Beefy thighs, strong calves. Smooth feet with trimmed toenails. Six on his right foot, Curtis noticed. But he was polite enough not to comment.

"Um," the stranger said. "Could you give me something to cover with?"

"Oh, I don't have an extra set of clothes on me," Curtis said.

"Of course you have an extra set of clothes on you. I'm sure you don't need your shirt. It's long enough to keep me covered, and you're not the only guy driving around out here shirtless. You've done it plenty of times."

Curtis

had

driven shirtless before. And if the hitchhiker had a shirt on, he might not be so adamant about covering himself. Curtis would like that. It was just his shirt, and Curtis was a nice guy. He'd been shirtless in public plenty of times. At work, even. Being shirtless in the car was nothing.

Curtis loosened his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, thinking about how he might unbutton it at Mason's tonight. Two buttons undone showed off a little bit of chest, and a lot of chest hair. Three buttons undone was a little more daring, but not too out of the ordinary at a gay bar. Four buttons undone was daring. Five was sexy. Six was barely on. And seven was simply a breezy open shirt. This one wasn't meant to be worn open, though, so he just looked partially dressed.

He shimmied out of his sleeves, pulled the bottom of the shirt out of his pants where it had been tucked in, and handed it to the hitchhiker. Curtis watched him put it on, put his hands through the sleeves one at a time, always keeping one hand over his privates. The shirt was a little big on him. If it was even possible, the man looked sexier than before, and Curtis wanted to rip the shirt right off.

Curtis shifted in his seat and felt a draft between his back and the cloth of the car seat. He remembered that he wasn't wearing a shirt anymore. But it was no big deal.

"Are you good now?" Curtis asked.

"You said you'd give me something to cover with," the stranger replied. He still held a hand over his crotch even though the shirt was long enough to preserve his modesty--as long as he stayed still.

"Oh, right," Curtis said. The hitchhiker was hardly dressed. One couldn't go out in just a button-up shirt, after all. Curtis undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He was wearing navy woven boxers that day, he remembered. He carefully tugged his pants down to his knees, but struggled to get them off in the driver's seat. And his shoes were in the way.

"It'll be easier if we go outside," the hitchhiker said.

It would. The hitchhiker made so much sense.

Curtis undid his seatbelt and unlocked the doors. It was freeing to be out from underneath the seatbelt. Warm air blew on his shoulders when he opened the door, carrying the scent of leaves and pollen. He hopped out of the car and into the street.

He pulled his pants the rest of the way down his legs into a puddle at his ankles before crouching down and undoing the laces on his fancy shoes. He didn't wear them often. He tugged them off and put his stockinged feet on the warm asphalt. It was so much better than being in the shoes. His feet had sweat during the drive and now they could air out. He finally got his pants off and handed them to the hitchhiker, who had come around the car and stood next to him.

"Thanks, man," he said. "But I wouldn't want to wear your pants with no underwear, you know? That would be rude. They look like nice pants." He stood for a while, thinking, holding the pants in front of him.

Curtis had a solution. "Oh, I know. You can have my boxers."

"Are you really fine with being left with only your tie and socks?" the stranger said.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Whatever you need to get you to town," Curtis said. And before the stranger could respond, Curtis was already stepping out of his underwear and handing them over.

The stranger took the boxers and put them on carefully. Curtis's eyes were fixated on the end of his shirt as he moved, that last stretch without any buttons, ready to part at any moment. But he didn't see anything before the boxers were all the way on. Well, there would always be later at Mason's.

He remembered the pictures he had seen online. Men like him, smiling with beer mugs in hand, shirts unbuttoned, tight pants. Men like the one in front of him too, who was now finishing lacing up his shoes and getting into the car. He could get up to all sorts of things with a man like that.

Curtis moved reflexively to adjust himself in his pants, and found that he was wearing none. His boner wagged around in the open air from his touch.

The car was speeding away.

"Hey!" he called after it. "My car!" He ran for only a few steps, hard cock slapping his belly and balls bouncing around with each motion, before stopping. He couldn't catch up with a car. And certainly not dressed like this.

He looked ridiculous out in the middle of the road with only his necktie and dress socks.

And he had just shouted. It could have drawn attention. He looked around for movement at the houses lining the one side of the road. Nothing.

It dawned on him that in addition to being naked on the road, he was without his wallet, without his car, and without his phone. He needed to get home. He couldn't count on the man who stole his car to come back. His memory of the whole ordeal was a little hazy, but he felt he could at least count on that.

A car was coming down the road from the direction of the city. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up at the sound. He wanted to run into the forest or hide in someone's yard so they wouldn't see him in his ridiculous getup, but knew that wouldn't help him get home.

So he stood by the side of the road in his socks and tie with one hand and forearm obscenely half-covering his boner (was he

throbbing?

) and the other in the air, thumb up, as he waited for the car to approach.

~~~

The car wooshed by, causing Curtis's tie to flutter in the wind. It would've been lucky for the first one to stop for him, but no, he would be here for a while longer nearly naked out next to the road, hoping that each passing car would see him while simultaneously praying that they would ignore him in his undressed state. At least his boner had gone down somewhat. With no car coming, he put down his hand to cover himself better.

He didn't have to wait too long, because before another car came down the road, a man came out from one of the houses, the one with the little pergola-less courtyard.

He was about Curtis's age, dressed in a worn flannel and faded jeans, and with the body of one of those men from the bear night advertisement.

Curtis's face reddened. He had seen cars pass, but this was the first

person

to witness him like this. Aside from the hitchhiker. He stayed rooted to his spot on the forested side of the road.

The man across the street strolled across his front lawn and stopped by the mailbox, where he and Curtis made eye contact for the first time.

"Hey!" the man shouted. He waved to Curtis.

"Hey!" Curtis shouted back. He kept both of his hands in front of his crotch.

"Do you want to come in?" the man asked.

Curtis didn't want to go anywhere, unless that somewhere was home with the rest of his clothes. But he had no better options.

Something from behind gave Curtis a hard poke on his butt, and he yelped and flung his hands up in response, his cock and balls swinging with the sudden movement.

He quickly covered himself and shuffled across the road to prevent any undignified bouncing.

Curtis followed the man in flannel to his front door, appreciating that the man walked ahead and didn't look back to leer or judge. The man held the door open for him.

The house was small, with dated linoleum tile leading from the entryway to a breakfast bar and kitchen decorated with travel posters and tiny wooden sculptures of dogs. A chill of air conditioning prompted a wave of goosebumps on Curtis's arms and thighs. There were no women's shoes at the front door, so Curtis surmised that this man lived alone.

"Do you want some tea? English breakfast? Chamomile? You look like you could use some." The man walked a few paces to the sink and began to fill a kettle with water.

"Chamomile. Thanks," Curtis said.

"Sure. You can have a seat right here," he said, gesturing to a wooden barstool. "Oh, and let's get you something to cover up with. Silly me." The man put down the kettle and grabbed a fuzzy robe from a nearby coat closet before offering it to Curtis.

"Thank you so much, um...."

"Peter."

"Thank you, Peter," Curtis said, taking the robe. He put it on, feeling warmer immediately, and then sat down on the barstool. "I'm Curtis. I don't know what--I'm not sure what happened, if you'll believe it."

"Oh, I believe it," Peter said with a smile. "You're not the first naked guy to be stranded on the road outside of my house. The first guy to still have his tie and socks, though."

Curtis blushed despite the cool of the air conditioning.

"I was in the restroom when I heard your shouting and the car zooming off, which is why I didn't come get you sooner. I hope you didn't have too bad of a time out there by yourself. Though from the looks of it--well, nevermind. I was in your shoes not too long ago, metaphorically speaking. It's what you get when you move in next to a faerie forest. Tricky little things. One minute you're stopping for a strapping young man on the side of the road, the next you're in your underwear or worse, and don't remember how you got there."

Faeries? It made about as much sense as Curtis giving his clothes and his car to a strange naked man in the road, and Peter spoke confidently.

Peter continued. "My Aunt Georgina always said to count the fingers and toes. Teeth if you can see 'em. And you've got ten fingers and normal-looking teeth, if you don't mind my saying so." Peter held out his hands and smiled wide. His hands and teeth looked normal.

That's what Curtis had been thinking of when he saw the toes on the hitchhiker--the faerie sat inside of his car. He wasn't quite real. He remembered the uncannily smooth skin.

"You can stay here for the rest of the afternoon," Peter said. "Even the night if it takes that long. The fae get bored easily. Though I haven't been quite able to get a handle on their sense of time. You might find everything of yours sitting out in the driveway by the time morning comes 'round. And if not"--he shrugged--"I'll think of something."

"Do you have a spare bedroom?" Curtis asked. The house was small, but it wasn't out of the question to have a spare bed somewhere.

"You can take the couch. I promise, it's not as bad as it sounds. It's a good couch. Ah, here's the kettle." Peter turned around to attend to the tea.

Curtis had been too preoccupied to notice while walking in, but Peter's jeans hugged his ass perfectly. Even if he didn't make it to Mason's, he'd had a different kind of adventure. And maybe, if he was right about Peter, he could make a similar kind of friend.

Curtis groaned and stretched his arms to the sides so that the front of the robe opened over his chest. Peter gave a furtive look over his shoulder, caught Curtis looking right back at him, and then returned to making his tea, embarrassed.

It would be a good night.