I hate conferences. I know they are an unavoidable part of being a college professor, but they are a big hassle for me. The one I went to in Atlanta a few years ago was a case in point. I had to drive up there from Gainesville (where I teach history at a major university) because I had been chosen to represent our faculty at one of the smaller schools in Atlanta. The conference was in winter, it rained all the way up, and the temperature was at or near freezing the whole time. I fumbled through my presentation, and by the time the conference ended, I was frozen to death and only too happy to get back to sunny Florida.
The drive back was long and dull, and the price of gas was through the roof (the school does not reimburse us for gas) so when I saw the sign for a truck stop with cheap gas, I hurriedly pulled off and waited in a long line of cars to get to the pump. Although I saved a few cents on the price of gas, it was nevertheless an annoying experience because all the cheap gas places tend to remove the little lever on the pump that lets you automatically fill up while you do something else (like clean your windshield). By the time I had finished taking a quick leak, I was ready to get back on the road, and so I was completely unprepared for the young man I found standing next to my car door.
"Hi, Professor," he says. "Could you give me a lift to Gainesville?" I stood there for a minute examining the young man. He appeared to be around 20 years old with longish, dirty-blond hair, about 5 ft. 10 in. tall, medium build and carrying a dingy green backpack. When I had recovered from my astonishment, I asked him "Do I know you?" He laughed at that, and said no, of course not.
"So how do you know who I am and where I'm going?" I asked.
"A couple of things, but mostly the faculty sticker on your windshield."
Of course, I thought. I looked over at the orange and blue parking decal affixed to my windshield and realized that this would broadcast to everyone where I worked. If nothing else, he was clever, I had to give him that.
"So, how about it? Can I catch a ride to Gainesville?"
I figured "why not?" I was as bored could be, and perhaps having a passenger in the car would make the miles go easier, so I told him to hop in. He slipped into my 4-door Toyota sedan, stowing his backpack on the rear seat as he got in. I watched as he took a quarter from his pocket and set it on the dash. I asked him what that was about, and he dismissed it, mumbling something about "good luck." A few minutes later we were back on the interstate heading south towards Florida.
I soon discovered that my passenger was surprisingly intelligent for a hitchhiker that hangs around gas stations. We were soon engaged in an intense discussion about the sociological and cultural effects on American society resulting from the conflagration of World War II, which was vastly more insightful than many of the ones I had been engaged in at the Atlanta conference. I began to relax and feel comfortable with my new passenger, and as time passed, we eventually turned to other topics of a more personal nature, like sex.
I don't know exactly how, but for some reason we found ourselves relating to each other stories about getting blowjobs in a car. I am a happily married man, and of course my wife and I have experimented with various erotic sex activities while we have been on long trips. My passenger related a hilarious tale of a blowjob at 70 miles per hour that ended with the windshield being covered with hot jizz and partially obscuring the driver's view. We both had a good laugh at our crazy experiences, and then he asked me if I had ever had a guy give me a blowjob.
For a while, I did not know how to answer. The truthful answer was "No," I have never had a blowjob from another guy, but I was worried that this was not a politically correct response, and that he would think I was, you know, like, a Republican or something. I was deathly afraid that word would get back to the faculty that I was not as politically correct as the rest of them, and thus cause me problems at work. His question forced me to weigh the priorities of two important values -- the truth, and political correctness. In the end, I did what all good Americans do: I tossed the truth under the bus and went with political correctness.
"Sure," I said, "of course I have had guys give me blowjobs. Lots of times, in fact." I was hoping that this would be the end of it, and I could steer the conversation onto safer shoals, but he would have none of it. I was not so surprised, then, when I felt his hand reach over and start rubbing the crotch of my jeans. I guess I deserved it for telling him a lie, but what choice did I have? To tell you the truth, having his hand working my cock felt pretty good. The more he rubbed me, the better it felt, until I was soon hard as a rock inside my jeans. That's when he unzipped me and pulled my now rock-hard cock out and started stroking me.
At that point I stopped being a professor and reverted back to being just another horny guy. I wanted nothing more than to get my rocks off. As he kept rubbing and stroking me, I couldn't help moaning as the feeling of sensual pleasure washed over me. He told me to make sure to lock my arms straight out on the steering wheel when I was getting ready to come. He said that would help me steer. Then he did something curious, he reached up and picked up the quarter laying on the dash. Holding it by the edges, he suddenly pressed the freezing cold metal against the head of my cock! Whoa, that was cold! I cried out from the shock of it, and then just as soon as he touched the coin to my cock, he took it away again. He immediately bent over and took my cock deep into his mouth, licking the head as he worked his way down the shaft. The combination of the cold coin and his warm mouth was such a turn on, I nearly shot my load right then, but perhaps anticipating that, he slowed down on his sucking action, and went back to stroking me with his hand.
Just as I was getting used to that, I felt the quarter pressed up against the front of my dick near the tip, and nearly cried out again, but managed to contain it better this time. I cringed and my leg muscles tightened up, but was soon moaning at the feeling of his warm mouth wrapped around my dick. He continued like that for 10 or 20 miles, alternating between pressing the cold coin against my cock, and then plunging my rod deep into his mouth. I had never had a blowjob like that before, and the thrill of it turned me on so much, that I soon felt myself getting ready to cum.
"Lock your arms," he said, and I centered the car on the road and then felt him speed up sucking my shaft. Just then the fireworks hit, and I shot a big load of hot cum into his mouth. He sucked it all down and cleaned me up, and then sat back in his seat with a sigh.
