The motorway stretched out darkly before my headlights. A quick view of the fuel meter told me it was time to pull over at the next services area before I ended up walking the rest of the way to Scotland.
I was in the rental car I had picked several hours before at Heathrow and was headed up to a little rendezvous in Scotland. Business mixed with pleasure. I had stopped a few times earlier for some munchies and petrol, but I guess time had just slipped away from me on the drive. It had gotten darker and the sky was just entering those last longing moments of daylight called the gloaming.
The landscape was beautiful - if not a little deserted.
Fortunately after another twenty minutes I happened upon a little hole in the wall petrol station. The motorway was completely deserted, but the lights of the station were bright and welcoming.
I got out and after fiddling with the damn pump for a moment finally got the juice flowing.
It was then that a car roared to a stop at the pumps opposite to mine. Now I can act as straight as the next jock, but I don't know jack shit about cars. Just never that interested I guess. I did know enough to realize it was a 'muscle car' and that it sure wasn't typical for these parts.
The driver got out. My heart skipped a beat.
He was one long tall drink of water. His back was to me as he stepped out of the car. I watched the black leather of his jacket and it bunched and stretched over his broad shoulders. As he turned to look over the pumps I saw his face in profile. His strong firm jaw, slopping softly enough to avoid appearing too hard, complemented his handsome face. His thick delicate lips, far to luscious to belong on a man were far more suited for a woman. They were actually pretty.
His dark hair was styled just right, but with enough strands out of place to make it look really cool, and just enough curl to make my pulse faster. I couldn't see his eyes for the dark shades he wore (as late as it was) to complement the bomber jacket.
He bent in to select his nozzle and leaned forward enough for me to see his tight jeans painted on the curve of his finely shaped ass.
I think my mouth may have actually been watering at that point.
He turned around and put his nozzle into tank and it was only then that he seemed to notice me standing at my own vehicle. He appeared to be looking right at me, but I wasn't sure with the shades on.
I thought to myself, 'Man, you have got to pull yourself together.'
The clanking noise of my pump stopping brought me shockingly back into reality. As straight acting as I could possibly be, I swaggered over to the door to pay the attendant. I gave him the stranger a nod as I passed, which he smoothly returned.
Trying to put him out of my mind, I paid the cashier the money I owed him. I was momentarily put off by the price of petrol and the rude behavior of the attendant. The guy was pretty young, in his early twenties presumably, and handsome in a cold sort of way. If I could have gotten past his unpleasant demeanor I would have liked his red hair. He probably had some Irish in him somewhere.
On the other side of the counter I absent-mindedly adjusted my package and realized I was starting to pack a water woody from all that I'd drunk earlier in the car. I looked around for the john and found it on the far side of the station.
As I walked to the bathroom door I noticed the guy was walking in towards the main door. I tried to steal a casual glance without making it look like I was watching him.
The john in this place, like most public bathrooms in petrol stations, had seen better days. On the wall near the door was a machine offering a choice of extra safe condoms or ribbed condoms for extra pleasure each for a pound. Well my pocket was jingling with pound coins, but alas there wasn't an eligible lass or lad waiting for me. There were two rusty urinals that looked more like holes in the wall than the ones I was used to in the States. At the far end was a stall with the toilet.
I chose the urinal closest to the door, and with great relief took out my pecker for a nice long piss. It wasn't five seconds from the time that my hot stream had hit the porcelain, than the guy gave the bathroom door a mighty swing and swaggered over to the other urinal. I heard him unzip and in a second his stream began to flow as well.
"Nice night for it," he said jokingly, in this sultry low voice and with an accent I couldn't quite place - somewhere in England I guessed.
"Yeah," I managed to mumble back to him.
I wanted desperately to look over at his outstretched equipment, but I had no clue what might happen if I did. I wasn't really looking for any kind of fight tonight.
