White Trash Romance.
The short erotic story you’re about to read is based on true events. Only the names have been changed for legal purposes.
Part one: The rescue.
I needed to get out. It didn’t matter where. All that mattered was that I needed to get moving, and as fast as possible. As scared as I was to go out into the world with no safety net, I didn’t have a choice. I was fairly young when I moved out of the house. How young, I’m not ready to say. Let’s just say old enough… as far as I was concerned. Looking back, it was all my damn fault. I made the mistake of feeling safe and private in a home that wasn’t really my own. I was young, I was stupid, and it would be one of the last times I made that mistake.
It was 1999 and I wasn’t out yet. I didn’t have much of anyone to talk to. The internet wasn’t what it is today. It was practically a miracle to find someone near me like myself to date or hook up with. Let alone be friends with. Looking back, I used the last bit of my nascent luck to find Aziz. He was from Egypt and when you’re a teenager, the more of an adventure a relationship is, the more it feels like true love. And with Aziz, it was all so intense and complicated. He was a bit older than me, and he was only in the States for school. Aziz barely spoke English and he was engaged to be married to a woman who lived somewhere outside of Cairo. It was arranged for him years before our paths could cross.
We knew it would never work. So, we enjoyed it for what it was. We only had the summer, and there was no point in crying over how fleeting it all seemed. We’d see each other after classes. I’d make up lies as to where I spent my nights or outright skip school. It’s not like I hadn’t done that many times before. All the while, except for a handful of randos’ I’d occasionally talk to in chat rooms, I only ever wrote about our relationship in my journal. When summer ended, we said our goodbyes at O’Hare airport, and I wrote about it on the train ride home. It was that damn journal. It was one of many journals I had kept, and I thought I was careful enough to keep them well hidden. But that last journal somehow found its way into my mother’s grubby hands and one night when I got home from school, I was ambushed by my very religious family. They spent hours interrogating me about everything in it, from the first few entries to the last time I saw Aziz. They treated my tear-stained goodbyes to a man I loved like it was a confession to a crime.
The yelling lasted for days. The only time I got a break was when they were giving the freak of the family the cold shoulder. I didn’t see what I did wrong. Still don’t! This only seemed like it was going to keep escalating, especially when they brought someone home who wanted to talk to me about going to a conversion therapy center. I knew after that, I had to go. I spent the next few days in Yahoo chat rooms talking to other guys about what I was going through, and I eventually found the user: “Blonde Double-wide”. We chatted for a few hours, and somehow, we decided that Friday he’d come out to Chicago from Western New York and pick me up. He’d let me stay in his trailer with him until I got on my feet. I knew I was taking a risk. “Don’t meet people on the internet”. “Don’t get in cars with strangers”. This was beaten into our heads back then. But given the choice between being brutally slaughtered or living with my family any longer, being a nameless corpse in a morgue seemed more appealing.
I hadn’t even seen his photo. All I knew about him was that he went by Tommy, he was 3 years older than I was, and he worked at a gas station in a town with around 2,000 people living there. But the ongoing shitstorm at home kept me from thinking about details. All I focused on was secretly getting my stuff together from home and school. That Friday, I snuck my bags out of the house, said my last goodbyes to those that mattered, left a goodbye note for my family, and made my way to the Chicago loop where we agreed to meet. I was terrified the whole time waiting for him to show up. I didn’t know whether or not to be more afraid that he might flake out on me, or that he’d actually make good on his promise. By mid-morning, he finally arrived.
He picked me up on West Madison ave, just across from the Chase building in his 1992 Nissan Sentra. It was a rusted-out, beaten-up, old heap. But it was a white horse in my mind, and Tommy my gallant knight. He nervously stepped out of the car and looked at me. He called out my name as I nervously sat on the sidewalk telling myself it was now or never. I made my decision when I noticed the cops driving slowly by us and looking at me. I put on my ballcap, making sure I covered my face, walked over to the car, and thanked him for picking me up. Tommy was exactly as he described himself in our chats. Clad in his work uniform and glasses, he stood 5'10, had shaggy blonde hair, and a stocky bear build, which he wrapped around my stringy frame when he hugged me. He opened the trunk, I threw my stuff in and jumped into the car as quickly as possible.
I took one last look at Chi-town as we drove away. It’s not like I lived there for a long time. But its rough charms grew on me. I was awkward and nervous as we drove out of Chicago. I did my best to hide the breakdown I was having. We didn’t know each other yet and I felt it was on me to do my best to make a good first impression. But he could tell something was wrong and, he gave me some time to get myself settled. I was able to start collecting myself once we were out of Illinois. Much of our drive through Indiana was as much about keeping me distracted, as it was about us getting to know each other. After all, we had to make sure the other one wasn’t an axe murderer or something. Once we got past Indiana, we started bonding and feeling at ease with each other.
Something came over me as we got past Mansfield Ohio. Maybe it was a sense of freedom. Maybe I wanted to show him how grateful I was that he picked me up. I started getting impatient, and I wanted him ASAP. The urge was strong, and it became my single driving desire. I couldn’t wait until we got to his place. Pulling over at a truck stop wasn’t going to work either. It was late afternoon, and the truck stops were busy, and probably crawling with cops. I can’t quite remember the song, but I do remember the singer was Vince Gill. Something he said made me want to take a chance. So, while Tommy was driving, I undid my seat belt, laid facedown across my seat and the center console, then unzipped his pants to his surprise.
He never had a blowie while driving. Besides doing it in the woods, once. Having sex in his school bathroom, once. He only ever had sex in bedrooms. So, he was terrified and tried to talk me into waiting until we got somewhere a bit more convenient. But I needed him right then and there. I ignored his protests, pulled out his member, and went to work on him. Looking back, considering that he was doing 63mph, probably not the best idea. I made it hard for him to pay attention to the road. But at some point, he stopped being afraid and got into it. He pulled his pants down so I could get as much of him in my mouth as possible.
As I consumed him, I could hear horns blowing. From what he told me later, truck drivers passing by had looked down and seen me going to town on him. Some even gave him a thumbs-up. I undid part of his shirt so I can run my fingers around his barrel chest, and I caressed his nuts while I sucked him off. I edged him for quite a while. When I would feel his balls tighten up like he was ready to go, I’d pull back a bit and lick his shaft, and lightly nibble around his head. But at some point, the fun had to end, and as much as I wanted to keep going, my jaw was starting to lock up. I didn’t want us to get to the next toll booth without polishing him off. After a few minutes of teasing him, it was down to business.
I took as much of him in my mouth as I moved my hand from his sack to his asshole. As I did, the car jerked out of the lane for a moment. Once I got my middle and index fingers inside of him, I slowly twisted my head as I moved back up to the top of his Johnson. Once there, I swirled my tongue around his head, flicked my tongue around his slit, and worked my way down his pole. All the while, I gently stirred his behind as he lightly hovered above his seat. I could feel the car going faster, and as I was in the way of the shifter, he couldn’t gear down. All he could do was try to keep the car in the lane while I devoured him, while I massaged him from the inside out, and while I ran my fingers through his blonde chest hair and played with his nipples.
All this became too much for him. He grabbed the hair from the back of my head as his hips started to buck and thrust. He went from moaning to outright yelling, and as I pulled him into me from his ass, he pushed my head down onto him as he erupted right down my throat. I loved the warm feel of his essence as it rushed out of him and into me. A little bit of his seed dribbled out from his shaft, and it was there that I finally got to taste him. Memory is a funny thing. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning. But twenty years later, I still remember what his cum tasted like. Tommy was very sweet, like a hot syrupy confection. How I’d imagine honey fresh from the hive would taste on a hot summer day. Even when he was spent, I gently kept ravenously sucking until I was sure there was nothing left.
When I finally sat up, he was breathing so hard that you’d have thought he had pushed the car down the highway. All the glass was covered in steam and both our hearts were pumping at light speed. He slowed the car down from nearly 80 before he even thought of pulling his pants back up. All he kept saying was Jesus Christ before he managed to remember my name and say thank you. He offered to give me a hand job, but I turned him down. I told him he can make it up to me when we got back to his trailer. We would have to find our way back to our route for Western NY 1'st. We missed a few exits and made a few wrong turns while I was cleaning his pipe. For the rest of the ride home, we hardly said a word to each other. I just laid with my head in his lap looking up at him while he played with my hair. His eyes were fixed on the road, and a satisfied smile was plastered on his adorkable face.
It was pretty late by the time we got to Ashville. Not that it mattered. The town was as quiet during the day as it was at night. It wasn’t my first time living in a small town. But still, I was taken aback by how quiet it was. We took a short drive around the culdesac and as we did, he gave me a 10-cent tour of the trailer park. After we finally pulled into his driveway, I took a moment to look up at the night sky, full of stars. I was free, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I was walking through landmines. I felt like I was in control. I took Tommy’s hand, we sat on the trunk of his car, and we just looked up at the sky as I thanked him for rescuing me. We didn’t quite have a name for what we were. I was just grateful I met him.
