Stranded
Patrick let out a stream of obscenities as he kicked the tire of his rental car. The damn thing had stopped running in the midst of a rainstorm the likes of which Patrick had never seen before. It was a veritable deluge and Patrick was soaked to the bone as he tried to figure out why the car had just stopped running. He was on his way from Springfield, Missouri to Memphis and he had been cutting across the northern part of Arkansas. He had left the main highway and taken a state highway that looked like a shortcut. But the state highway had narrowed from four lanes to two narrow black-topped lanes. Now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a car that didn't run and a cell phone that couldn't pick up a signal.
The headlights of the pickup truck approaching from behind were a welcome sight. Patrick waved at the truck and, thankfully, it pulled to a stop in back of the rental car. The driver alighted from the truck and slowly approached. He was a big man, probably about six-one or six-two and he towered over Patrick's five-seven frame. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, blue jeans, Cowboy boots and a Cowboy hat. He smiled at Patrick and extended his hand.
"Hi there, Zeke Taylor's my name. You look like you could use some help." The man smiled as Patrick shook his hand.
"Thanks for stopping." Patrick replied. "My rental car just stopped running and I can't seem to get it started again. Maybe you can give me a jump?"
"Let's have a look under the hood first and see what's up." Zeke answered.
Zeke leaned over the engine and fiddled around with some wiring.
"'Fraid a jump ain't gonna do no good. Looks like yer alternator is just fried to a crisp."
"Oh shit!" Patrick exclaimed. "I hate to impose, but could you give me a ride to a garage?"
"In this weather?" Zeke answered. "They got tornado warnings out. The bridge about a mile back is already washed out and I 'spect the bridge about a half-mile up is probably washed out too. I'm headed home to get out of this weather. If you want, you can ride with me and weather the storm at my place. Then we can get you goin' again when the storm breaks."
"I hate to put you out." Patrick said.
"Well, you sure as hell can't stay out here. It just ain't safe!" Zeke responded.
"Alright, that makes sense." Patrick conceded.
"Good. Get all yer personals outa that car and toss them in the bed of the truck." Zeke instructed.
"I can probably just leave them here till we get back." Patrick answered.
"An' if a tornado comes and blows this little car away?" Zeke chuckled.
"I see your point." Patrick responded. He got his suitcase and sample case out of the rental and tossed them into the bed of the truck. Zeke opened the passenger door for him and Patrick thanked him and climbed into the pickup.
"See, nice and dry and toasty in here." Zeke smiled as he started the truck.
They drove in silence for about a quarter of a mile when Zeke turned onto a gravel side road that began to ascend into the hills.
"Where does this lead?" Patrick asked.
"My place is up in the hills." Zeke answered. "Road gets a little bumpy, but it won't take long to get there."
"So, what's a youngster like you doin' stranded in the middle of nowhere?" Zeke asked.
"I'm hardly a 'youngster.'" Patrick said a little defensively. "I'm twenty-four and I'm travelling to Memphis on a sales trip."
"Shit, you could pass for eighteen!" Zeke exclaimed. "What the hell you sell?"
"Industrial supplies." Patrick answered and grabbed onto the overhead strap as they hit a bumpy patch in the road.
"Where's your home base?" Zeke asked.
"Chicago."
"I been to Chicago." Zeke chuckled. "Lotsa queers in Chicago."
"It's a big city. It has all kinds of people in it." Patrick responded, a little defensively.
"I went to a section called 'Old Town.' Zeke said. "They had all these clubs there that only guys went to. Some of the guys looked normal, but some of them boys were prettier than my wife."
"Is your wife at home?" Patrick asked.
"Nah. She died a few years back." Zeke said.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Patrick responded sympathetically.
"No call to be sorry. We had over thirty good years together and she went quick; no pain. Aneurism they said it was. Anyway, guy gets horny after awhile. That's why I went up to the big city. Figured to shoot off some steam and get myself laid."
"Why did you go to a gay bar?" Patrick asked.
"Stumbled into it by accident. Before I could figure out what was goin' on in there, this pretty boy sidled up to me and asked if I wanted to buy him a drink. I figured 'what the hell' and so I did. Before I knew it, we was kissin' and he was rubbin' my cock and lickin' my ear. Got me all hot and bothered and talked me into goin' to his place. I told him I didn't suck no cock or nothin' and he said that was just fine; I could fuck his ass! You ever fucked ass?"
"No. I'm not into that." Patrick answered.
"Shit! It was better than fuckin' pussy. It was a lot tighter. And the pretty boy, he just moaned like a little slut-girl and let me cum inside of him. Shit, I rode him like a buckin' bronco. What a wild fuck! He got me doin' things I never thought I'd do."
"Like what?" Patrick asked.
"He got me playin' with his little prick. He only had maybe four or five inches; skinny little prick. But it was nice and smooth and got real hard and stiff when I stroked it and slathered his pre-cum juice all over it. That was the first time I ever made a boy cum. You ever played with a prick?"
"No. I'm not gay." Patrick said. He was getting concerned about the direction this conversation had taken. "Are we almost to your place?"
"Got awhile yet." Zeke answered. "Anyway, so I used to go up to Chicago every coupla months after that. Found out I liked playin' with the pretty boys a lot. Guess you could say I become a connoisseur of sorts. I tried out all kinds of boys. Decided that I liked girly lookin' boys the best. I really like a boy who's short and skinny and ain't got no hair on his body. You know they got laser things that can take all the hair off just lickety-split? An them girly-boys is mostly real submissive and obedient-like. I fucked one that kept callin' me 'Daddy' all the time. That was really nice; really turned me on. An I like playin' with their little cocks. There ain't nothin' better than holdin' a boy's little pecker in your hand and feelin' it grow hard and stiff and get all moist on the tip."
Patrick was getting really uncomfortable at Zeke's narrative. He didn't have much of a sex life; mostly because he was short and skinny and the girls just didn't seem to go for him. He'd gotten himself laid in college, but hadn't really had a steady girlfriend, ever. He'd never done anything with another man, but he had wondered about gay sex. He'd visited some gay websites and the movies and pictures there had aroused him. He had been especially aroused by the movies of older men dominating those little boys that they called twinks. There was something about the thought of submitting to an older, masculine man that turned him on. But he had quickly avoided going back to them when he realized how unnatural sex between men was supposed to be. And he had never had the courage to pursue anything beyond the internet porn.
But now his cock was actually growing hard listening to the older man's descriptions of sex with those young boys! That fact had not escaped Zeke's notice. He kept glancing over at Patrick while he spun his tale and noticed the young man's cock tenting his pants. That encouraging development caused Zeke's cock to harden and pulse. Maybe, just maybe, he had himself a real candidate here to be his boy. Zeke decided to press his case with Patrick.
"I like boys with small, skinny cocks that still got their foreskin. You got a big cock or a little cock?" Zeke asked the young man.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Patrick said.
"Just makin' conversation. So, is it big or little?" Zeke asked again.
"Normal, I guess."
"How long is it when it gets hard?" Zeke asked.
"I don't know. I don't measure my cock!" Patrick blurted out.
"If you had to guess, how long would you say?" Zeke probed.
"I guess maybe five, five and a half inches." Patrick responded.
"Nice; just the right length. Is it thick or skinny?" Zeke asked.
"It's not very thick." Patrick answered. "Look, can we change the subject. This is making me pretty uncomfortable."
"My truck, my topic." Zeke chuckled. "I'd really like to get me a skinny boy to own."
"What do you mean 'to own'?" Patrick asked.
"You know; to be like my property, my own personal little sex slave." Zeke answered.
"Good thing slavery is illegal in this country." Patrick retorted.
"Shit! In this part of Arkansas, anything goes long as there ain't no one around to find out about it."
"Look, maybe going to your place isn't a good idea." Patrick said fearfully.
"No matter, honey, we just arrived." Patrick smiled. He stopped the truck before a large gate in the road and pressed a button on a remote to open it. Zeke drove through and the gate closed behind them.
"Welcome to Zeke's place, boy." He said as he stopped the truck in front of a large country house.
They had been climbing higher and higher into the hills all the while that Zeke had been driving and talking. Patrick had not seen a house or farm or another human being during the entire drive up the narrow dirt road that led to Zeke's house. The house was nestled in the woods and not really visible from any angle. The road had wound up from the entry gate and the house was not visible from that gate either. Patrick was in the middle of nowhere with a sex-obsessed older man!
Zeke got Patrick's bags out of the truck bed and carried them through the front door. Patrick followed him into a spacious, rustic living-room.
"I'm starvin'. You hungry, boy?" Zeke asked.
