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.
