Out of Gas

Goddamn old pickup guzzles gas and the fuel gauge hasn’t worked in months and so here I am at the side of this godforsaken desert road just after noon and to make it worse, I’m hungry as hell. I’m pacin’ back and forth with my black boots clompin’ the asphalt. Every now and then I stop to kick the tire of my beat-up Chevy pickup, effecting little but a cloud of dust.

“Fuckin’ worthless hunk of shit!” I yell and the flat desert countryside and the distant dry mountains don’t argue. Just a long blue line in either direction, an empty sea of cactus and sagebrush and the next gas station at least twenty, thirty miles away. Might be here a while.

I scratch at the crotch of my jeans, mostly ‘cause I got an itch, but a little because, hell if I got nothin’ better to do, might as well see what the ol’ cock is up for. My cock definitely likes the friction. I rub on my cock a bit through my jeans, leanin’ against the side of my Chevy. I feel the hard movin’ down the shaft and my cockhead starts to engorge.

Hey, if you never jacked off on the side of the road, don’t knock it. Makes you cum as hard as Kerouac on a thirsty day.

“Mmff,” I grunt.

Look up and down the road. Nothin’.

I unbutton and unzip my jeans. No undies today. I’m wearin’ my black braided leather suspenders, so my jeans stay up and I can just pull my cock and balls out the opening and lay ‘em on top of my jeans. My balls are big and full and the sac is covered in unruly fur and I scratch on ‘em for a moment, feelin’ the sun on my balls and face. But my cock wants attention and so my fist wraps nice and tight around the shaft and I start slow pumpin’.

“Aw,” I growl.

Almost makes runnin’ out of gas a good thing.

I pinch one tit as I’m slow jackin’ and christ it feels good. My jackin’ picks up speed as the precum begins beading out the tip of my uncut dick. My breath is comin’ up hard and fast and I feel the great urge in my cock that says it’s good.

I guess I’m pretty into it, my fist smashing down to the root of my cock and squeezin’ hard before sliding back to the tip, spillin’ foreskin and precum over my fingers, all gooey, sticky and warm.

This would explain why I hear first, rather than see, the motorcycle comin’ my way.

“Shit!” I say.

As good as this feels, gettin’ a steak and a can of gas is more important than losing a potential ride, so I stuff my junk back into my pants. The motorcycle roars with each down throttle of its gears and I am just buttoning up when the biker pulls up beside me.

The biker? He’s some beefy, long mustached, barell-chested fuck with leather chaps and black leather fringed coat. He’s got dark sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes and a big red bandana on his head, though a long dark ponytail hangs out the back of it. Can’t help it, being in my just-jackin’ condition, to steal a glance at his crotch which is sufficiently full and bulges from his biker chaps like Mount fuckin’ Rushmore.

He puts one boot out to steady his bike on the stand-still so we can jaw. He’s riding a massive black hunk of metal and noise, a raging hard-on of a bike called a Beull XB12R and if you know anything about bikes you’ll know this one’s all butch and business and won’t mind ridin’ over your dead body should you get in its way. Fuckin’ makes my balls jump feelin’ that kind of aggressive power.

The biker stares silently at me.

“I’m out of gas,” I say, more sheepishly than I want, but hell the guy is kind of intimidating and can you blame me much? “I need a ride to the nearest town.”

The biker stares at me another moment, but because of the dark sunglasses I can’t make out nothin’ about what he’s thinking. My boner’s got to be really tenting my jeans out and it’s no use hidin’ it. He’s got to know I’m horny from the bulge in my pants or just from the way I keep glancin’ down at his Mount Rushmore bulge.

So what the fuck, you only live once, right?

I hitch my thumb in my pants pocket and cup my crotch a little. “Got no gas and got no grass,” I say and I squeeze my crotch a little.

I think I see the slightest upturn at the edge of the guy’s mouth.

“Get on,” he growls.

“Thanks,” I say.

I swing my leg over the bike’s butt and as I do, I notice the big precum stain on my jeans. Guess I was busted before I did my little cup and squeeze. The biker revs up the motor, almost splitting my eardrums with the nasty growl of the bike. The guy glances behind him to see I’m on okay, then kicks it in. Next thing I know we’re toolin’ down the road with the warm desert wind in my face and my ass bouncing on the back of the Buell. The biker’s shoulders are wide and his waist is thin and I want so bad to reach around and grab him, but I won’t do that without an invitation.

Anyone who knows a Buell XB12 will know that although there’s a decent place to sit behind the rider, it’s not the Taj Majal and the bitch (which in this case would be me) rides a little higher than the rider, so my crotch is kind of pressed up against the biker’s lower back and my legs are pressed in close to his waist.

He’s got to feel my boner throbbing against him here. And the way a Buell shakes and groans, my boner will only get harder and more pressed against his upper ass cheeks, so I can’t be hidin’ much.

We hit a small bump and his back presses into my belly. And he stays there, pressed against me. He is solid muscle and the leather against my belly is firm but supple and I press back into him gently. The biker takes one hand off the bar and reaches back, rubbin’ the inside of my thigh. Fuck the electricity that runs up my leg through my crotch to my chest is unbelievable and I reach my arm around his chest and hold him tight to me.

The engine roars and we are flying and the feeling of this solid man’s fucky chest on my fingertips and his hand rubbin’ my thigh and tryin’ like hell to get further toward my crotch... it’s incredible and my hand around his chest slips into his shirt between the buttons and I feel solid smooth muscle and bone. My cock is throbbin’ in my jeans and startin’ to kind of pinch and I push it harder into the biker’s lower back. My hand finds his nipple which is as hard as the Devil’s Tower and I’m rubbin’ it and I feel a shiver run up the guy’s back. I feel him breathing beneath my hand and for some reason that really turns me on.

The bike roars and we move on. The guy puts his hand back on the bar and my thigh aches where he touched me there. I take my hand out of his shirt and move it down to cup his crotch. God, he’s so hard. I can feel the steely outline of his nice cock and the soft globes of his balls through the denim there. My fingertips begin running firm and hard up and down the form of his cock and the biker shudders again.

When the bike wobbles a time or two, I feel his body shift and the throttle begins shifting down, the bike slowing down. Ahead, just on the edge of vision is the desert blur of a small town. We stop at the side of the road and he puts his foot out to steady the bike. Suddenly the engine cuts and the silence is almost louder than the bike.

We sit a second there in the silence. I’m still rubbin’ his cock.

“Get off,” the biker growls.

What the fuck? He started it, rubbin’ on my thigh like that.

I sigh a big sigh and swing my leg off and stand at the side of the road. God, now I’m horny and hungry. The guy stands up and swings his leg off the bike, kicks out the kickstand and loads the bike upright. Walks around the back of the bike toward me. His crotch is huge from my rubbin’ it, but he still has on those sunglasses so I can’t tell what his eyes are tryin’ to say.

“The fuck, dude?” I say, tryin’ to sound as grumpy and menacing as I can. But the guy is a bit taller than me and if you know me at all you’ll know that’s pretty tall, since I’m 6’ 4”. The guy saunters right up to me, practically nose to nose. He’s breathin’ hard through his nose like a pissed off bull.

His hand cups my crotch and he leans in and his mouth meets mine, his mustache fuckin’ my beard. And he tastes like coffee and and man and hot desert wind and his tongue is moving down my throat and I’m groanin’ with the pure lust of it.

His hands are on my shoulders and I feel my leather suspenders pulled down off my shoulders. I don’t stop kissin’ him because this horny bastard’s pretty good at it and who’d want to stop? I feel his hands unbuttoning my pants and my boner’s startin’ to slide out all high and mighty like it owns the world and soon my pants are at my boot tops and I’m naked from the waistdown, my cock beating up against the guy’s crotch.

I pull back to catch my breath and to watch the guy unbutton and unzip his pants. Like I said, he’s wearing chaps so I only get the crotch glimpse of what’s goin’ on and when he finally gets his pants open, the sweetest hardest curved-to-the-right cock and tight crumply ballsac I ever did see has come out to join me. His cock ain’t huge, but it is quite sufficient and the bend in it looks like it could do some nice damage.

My hands are all on that cock in no time and his leather-gloved hands are on mine and we are givin’ each other some hot mutual jackin’. The leather-gloved hand on my cock sends waves of fuck lust through me instantly and I’m groanin’ with the guy’s tongue down my throat and it’s hard to concentrate on his handjob with how good my own cock’s feelin’. Throws my rhythm off.

In a moment, I feel the fuck lust rising and it’s far too late to stop it and I gasp and say, “Fuck, I’m cummin’, man,” and the biker takes a step back and whacks my cock harder and fuck there it is! Wave after wave of hot cum flies up and out my cock in loopy swirls fallin’ through the desert air.

“Aww, fuuuck,” I groan. The image of my face in full orgasm reflected in his dark sunglasses makes me cum even harder.

When the last of my cum’s dribbled out and the guy’s licked the excess off his leather glove, he grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me against the bike face down

Now, anyone who knows me knows I don’t get fucked much. I mean I ain’t cherry or nothin’ but I usually am the fucker, not the fuckee. But hell this guy’s been good to me and after all I have no grass or gas, so...

I feel his cockhead nuzzlin’ against my ass.

“Wait,” I say, reachin’ into my pocket, pulling out a condom and a packet of lube. While I’m bent over getting these out of my pocket, his fingers are rubbin’ up and down my ass crack and as tempting as it all is, I don’t ride without protection.

“Put it on, stud,” I say, “or this tight hot hole ain’t for you to ride.”

I hear him rippin’ into it and I lay back down on my belly on the bike seat. Look up and down the road to make sure, but no one’s in sight. After a moment, I feel his lubed up, sheathed fat curvy cock pressin’ against my tight hole.

Fuck. It’s been a while.

I breathe deep and rub my hands over the smooth metal body of the Buell to distract the pain in my asshole. I relax and push to pull his cock in. Breathe in and feel that hard tube slippin’ in slow and steady. The biker is groaning.

“Tight,” he grunts. “Tight.”

His hand is flat on the middle of my back and his other hand is on my hip, pullin’ me deeper onto his cock. I feel his cock move into me and I’m breathin’ deep to take it all and it burns, but fuck it feels good too and there’s something about the metal of the Buell and the hard of his biker cock and his hand pressin’ down on my back that makes my cock stir with renewed life.

Soon I feel his balls against my ass cheeks, high and tight and full, and he begins fuckin’ my ass with quick shallow strokes, like he’s already close and could cum easily and it feels so fucking good and I’m startin’ to really groan now. His cock jabs in and out of my tight ass and I feel like screaming with the good of it.

“Aw, shit,” I hear myself say, “fuck my tight man pussy, fucker.” Because I swear butch top that I usually am, at this moment, I’m this hot biker’s bitch and I’m going to let him know how good it is too.

The biker grunts and keeps fuckin’ my ass and my prostate is gettin’ rubbed real nice and I’m getting hard and into it, thrusting my hips back to every thrust of his. We’re fuckin’ like two jackrabbits in heat and he’s shouting little shouts as he thrusts and it’s so hot I feel like I could cum again.

“Here you go,” he says in my ear. “Aww!”

And I feel his cock jerk and jerk as his cum fills the sheath and I’m in fuck heaven feelin’ this guy unloading his lust deep up my ass.

“Aww, Christ,” he says, “so good.”

He collapses against my back and for a moment I’m a Buell and Biker sandwich. We’re both breathing hard and my cock is throbbing against the metal of the machine.

After a moment of stillness, he slowly pulls out his cock and tosses the rubber into a sagebrush. The feeling of his curved cock leavin’ my ass is a little like love and a little like heartbreak, but I take even that like a man and bend down to pull up my pants and suspenders. The slick sensation between my ass cheeks from the lube and the sex is hot.

“Well, fucker,” the biker growls in that low sexy voice. “Got my ass. Now it’s time to get you gas.”

He hops onto his Buell and revs up the motor. I slide in behind him, leaning my hard crotch against his gnarly biker ass. But, damn, I’m still hungry as a bear.

I WELCOME YOUR BACKTALK, BOY!

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MUTANTBEARMAN: Musings of a Queer Bear/Man

An insightful, bold and humorous blog mostly about bears and bearness, about being queer and queer sex, and about the strange world of being a 21st century man. I don't write often anymore, but occasionally I drop by for a post or two. Still, for a masculine, adult perspective on living the queer life, check out MUTANTBEARMAN: Musings of a Queer Bear/Man by clicking HERE.

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Portland, OR, United States
Glenn Williams (aka, Mutantbearman) is a freelance writer who has published erotica, erotic poetry & queer journalism for decades. He is also a business and technical writer as well as a theatre director and actor. He has written blogs, screenplays, fiction, journalism, poetry, and non-fiction. He lives with his sexy boyfriend and Nala the cat in Portland, Oregon.