Never Trust a Stranger

It was dusk and Eric Porterfield was on the highway of the great Columbia, about twenty-five miles outside of Hood River, when he saw the hitchhiker.

The young man was in faded Levi’s. He wore a blue shirt, open at the throat, and his sleeves were rolled up. As he drew closer, Eric could see that the boy’s build was firm and muscular. He moved (rather arrogantly, Eric thought) from the side of the road to the full center. He waved his arms, signaling Eric to put on his brakes.

Eric stopped.

It was not Eric’s habit to pick up hitchhikers. On the road three weeks out of every month in his job as a sales representative for Rathbone, Stark and Seeley {Modern Equipment For The Modern Farmer) Eric had thought the matter out and had made an agreement with himself many months before. He would run no risks and face no dangers. He would give no rides to strangers who tried to flag him down on the highway. He wouldn’t even stop to talk to any of them.

In this case, however, he had no choice. The husky young man had moved to the center of the road. Eric was forced to slam on his brakes or run over him. So he put on the brakes.

The young man walked toward him.

Hastily Eric rolled up the window beside the driver’s seat and made sure that the door was locked. He glanced in the glove compartment. The revolver that he carried with him was in its usual place; it was loaded and quite easily within his grasp.

As the young man drew nearer, Eric assessed him. The boy was about twenty, Eric judged, and a redhead. The muscles in his forearms and at the point where his shirt sleeves were rolled, half-way between his elbows and shoulders, were rock hard. There was an enticing bulge at the crotch of his Levi’s.

Eric felt his mouth go dry. He licked his lips.

The boy was smiling as he came to the window. “Good evening,” he said through the closed glass.

Eric nodded. It occurred to him that, with the young man now beside the car, it would be possible to pull away without hitting him. Yet Eric stayed, hypnotized or paralyzed (in retrospect he was never to be quite sure which) and made no move to start the car again.

“I’m sorry I had to block your way like that. But I was getting desperate. It’s almost dark and nobody wants to pick up a stranger at night. A guy could freeze his balls off, waiting for somebody to give him a lift.”

Eric considered. The boy carried a small suitcase, which suggested that he had a few possessions and was not an utter vagabond. “What are you doing, stranded out here in the middle of nowhere like this?”

“Oh—the last man who gave me a ride had to take a cut-off. He dropped me a mile or two back.” The kid grinned. “I’ve been walking along, using the old thumb, for the last half hour… Say, where are you headed, anyway, mister?”

“Portland. I’m going straight through to Portland.”

“Oh, wow. That’s cool. Portland’s my home. That’s where my family’s at. Could you give me a lift there—please?”

Eric hesitated. Every instinct told him that he should stick to his established policy. He should take no chances. Still, this kid seemed straightforward. There was nothing in his tone which was hostile or carried any threat. Maybe it was foolish to mistrust him. After all, if a man always played it safe, if he never took any chances, it wasn’t likely he’d enjoy much adventure in his life.

Eric had spent a frustrating week. He felt that he was due for some excitement. The companionship of an attractive young man on the last lap of his journey into Portland was a happy prospect. “Well,” he said, still hesitating, “I don’t usually pick up people on the road.”

“Look, if I were going to do anything weird I’d have done it before now. I mean, there are ways to open a car window.” Again the boy flashed his charming smile. He spread his hands in a gesture of childlike innocence. “I’m harmless, believe me. No knives, no guns—not even a sling-shot.”

Eric smiled. “Well, okay. I guess I could do with some company for the last few miles. Come around to the other side of the car and hop in.”

The minute he had acquiesced, Eric experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach. He felt with every bone in his body that he had made a mistake. His sixth sense told him once again that there was something not quite right about all this, that he should have listened and paid attention to his first instincts.

Eric set great store by his sixth sense. It had never failed him. “It’s like a radar system,” he had once said to his friend and roommate, John Shipley, trying to explain it to him. “Electricity. When there’s something not quite right about a situation, little signals go off. Flashes of light. You’ve got it too, John. We’ve all got this sixth sense, gay people more than others, I think. If we’d just pay more attention to this sixth sense we’d have a lot less trouble in our lives.”

In spite of his faith in his own sixth sense, however, Eric Porterfield had (at least on this occasion) completely ignored it. He had broken a long standing rule. He had picked up a stranger on the road—a young man about whom he knew absolutely nothing—and he was trusting him to sit beside him in the car in the deepening twilight on the last lap of his journey into Portland.

“My name is Phil,” the young man said.

“I’m Eric.”

They shook hands.

They had driven only a few yards when Phil said, “I told you a lie back there. When you asked me how come I was stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, I mean.”

“Oh. Yes?” Apprehension gripped Eric and a terrible chill ran through him. Yet outwardly he remained calm.

“I told you the guy dropped me because he had to turn off in another direction. But that’s not really what happened.”

“Well. What did happen?”

Phil smiled. “A lot of freaks travel the highways. You’re right not to pick up too many strangers. But all the freaks aren’t just guys like me who hitch the rides. Some of the weirdos are the men who pick up the hitchhikers.”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“This creep wanted to blow me. He wanted to pull over to the side of the road and suck my dick. And man, if there’s one thing that turns my stomach it’s a nasty old fruit like that—I mean, a really grubby old shit tryin’ to cop my joint. I told him to fuck off. So that’s why he dropped me. He’s lucky I didn’t beat the hell out of him.”

Eric said, “It must have been a very—unpleasant experience.”

“I damned near puked.”

They rode in silence for a while. Dusk had turned to dark now and Eric had switched on the headlights.

“What kind of work do you do, Eric?” Phil asked.

Eric smiled. It was a thin smile, produced only as a facade for his increasing nervousness. “I’m a salesman. I sell farm equipment.”

He wasn’t sure, after he had spoken, if it had been wise of him to be so honest. Perhaps he should have lied; perhaps he should have given this young stranger a false name and a false occupation. He sighed. The incident reminded him once again of his own gullibility, of how difficult it was for him to cope with the complexities of human relationships. He had never been a good actor; he could never pretend to be a person he truly wasn’t, or to feel what he truly didn’t feel.

“Oh. Well. Yeah, I guess that must be interesting work.” The young man took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt. He offered a cigarette to Eric. Eric shook his head. “You’re on the road a lot, huh—visiting all these people out here in the wheat country?”

“Yes.”

Phil lit his cigarette. The glow of the match lit up his face in the deepening shadows. Yes, Eric thought, I’m on the road a lot, and it’s a hell of an existence. Lunches in hamburger stands, empty nights in sleazy hotels in out-of-the-way places {where you’re lucky if you find a TV set), little companionship {except for a dull farmer and his boring wife), and no sex. No sex release at all.

There had been an upsetting experience in one of the small towns where he had recently passed the night—upsetting in that the episode had aroused him, yet left him unsatisfied. He had been alone in his room, reading a paperback novel, when there had been a rap at his door. It was a bellboy, delivering a message which had come for him at the desk. (There were no telephones in the rooms and the management took messages in the office and left notes in the mailboxes or sent a boy to deliver them to the rooms.) Eric thanked the young man, but the boy didn’t leave. He stood in the doorway, grinning at Eric, and Eric couldn’t help himself. He had noticed the kid in the lobby; they had exchanged glances, there had been that shock of recognition, and his sixth sense (yes, that sixth sense on which he relied so much!) told Eric that the boy knew—he knew and was alive and vibrating on the same wave length. As they stood facing each other in the doorway, Eric had been even more sure of this. He couldn’t resist a glance downward at the boy’s crotch where an erection stretched a good distance down the kid’s left leg. With Eric watching him he had put a hand to his pulsing hard-on. “I’m busy right now,” he said, “but I can come back later, if you want me to.” Fascinated, with a constriction in his throat, Eric had nodded his assent. The boy had not returned, however, and Eric had spent a restless night.

He remembered all this with Phil in the seat beside him as the lights of Hood River appeared in front of them. Again he could not resist an impulse. He stole a look at the bulge in Phil’s Levi’s. It was rounded and fully packed.

Eric swallowed hard.

Quickly, he glanced away. He could not be sure in the dark, but it seemed to him that Phil had noticed that look at his basket and that a fleeting smile had appeared on his lips.

Eric recalled, however, Phil’s previous remarks about the man who had wanted to park the car and have sex with him. Phil had not been responsive to the idea; he had, in fact, been antagonistic to the man’s advances. So perhaps he was wise, all right, but just not inclined to swing.

“Do you work, Phil? What have you been doing in eastern Oregon?”

“Oh, I’ve got some friends out there. I’ve been on vacation.”

Eric nodded. “I guess you’re in school, then.”

“Yes. I go to Wagner College.”

Eric was impressed. Wagner College had a fine reputation. It was a private school, financed by endowments, and the enrollment standards were very high. The college accepted only the best students. Eric looked at Phil with new curiosity and respect.

“I’m getting hungry,” Phil announced. “Would it be okay to stop for a bowl of soup or something?”

“Of course. I’m a little hungry, too,” Eric said. He suddenly felt reckless. “Maybe we can find a good restaurant and have dinner.”

“Well,” said Phil, and his tone was dubious, “the thing is, I don’t have much bread. That’s why I’ve been hitching rides. I’ve only got a couple of bucks left in my wallet.”

Eric shrugged. He reached out and patted Phil’s knee. “The dinner will be on me,” he said. “Consider it my treat.”

There was a silence between them. “Look, Eric,” Phil said at last, “you’re giving me a ride and I appreciate it. But you don’t have to buy my dinner. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know. But I’d like to. I’ve been on the road for three weeks, and most of the time I’ve been alone. I’ve had to eat my meals by myself. It would give me pleasure to take you to dinner. I’d like to.”

Phil smiled. “Okay. If you put it that way, man—like I’m doing you a favor—it’s tough to say no, right? Let’s do it up good, then, huh? Like a couple of steaks and a bottle of wine, maybe?”

During the dinner, and intoxicated by the potency of the red burgundy—a full bottle of it available at his elbow—Eric became intrigued with the look of Phil’s hands. He watched them as they moved, strong and confident, performing the rituals with the menu and the silverware and the coffee cup.

They had found a small, moderately priced but pleasant place to enjoy their meal. There were few other customers in the restaurant and, satisfied by well-prepared salad and steaks, they now relaxed over a second cup of coffee.

“How old are you, Eric?”

“Thirty-two.” Eric noticed the copper-colored hair on the back of Phil’s hands as the boy took a sip of coffee from his cup. There were hairs on Phil’s forearms, too; they seemed to enhance his ruggedness and made him appear even more virile. “I suppose thirty-two seems like a very ancient age to you,” Eric said, managing to smile.

“No. It’s a damned good age. Not too young, not too old.” A glint of mischief showed itself in Phil’s eye. “At thirty-two a man can do a lot of things he can’t do at twenty-one. I mean, he can get away with things easier.”

“Is that how old you are, Phil—twenty-one?” Eric wasn’t sure he understood what Phil was getting at, and the mischief in the boy’s eye disconcerted him, but he refused to dwell on these things. He was feeling too mellow, and a surge of excitement was beginning in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah.” Now Phil turned sardonic and there was a touch of asperity in his voice. “Man, you wouldn’t believe what hang-ups middle-aged people have about guys in their teens or early twenties.”

“Well. Never mind. The years pass fast. Pretty soon you’ll be middle-aged yourself, and then you won’t have to worry about it.” Eric smiled. He hoped that Phil had appreciated his attempt at humor.

In the back of his brain he heard the faint tinkling of glass, like the sound the wind makes in an outside mobile or in a hanging set of chimes. It was eerie and far-away. He had the sensation that what was happening to him wasn’t real. Everything was taking on a dream-like quality; it was an experience that was occurring on a different plane, a floating level far removed from the practicalities of his ordinary day-to-day existence. He felt liberated, somehow, and yet at the same time an element of fear and a sense of the danger clutched at his innards.

He looked again at Phil’s hands. He marveled at the power they must contain. With the wine making him a little dizzy, he imagined the feel of those hands on his body—on his neck, and moving across his chest and his stomach to his inner thigh. A chill ran through him and he shivered.

He became conscious that Phil was watching him. “And what hang-ups do you think you younger guys have about older people?”

His voice sounded terribly loud to him. It had a hollow quality. It echoed and reverberated throughout the room.

“Oh—older guys turn me on,” Phil said simply. He smiled. “At least, the good-looking ones.”

There was a crash like a blast of thunder. Eric had formed his question on the defensive, but it had only been casual banter. He had not expected an answer so direct, or so disarming. His heart was like a hammer in his chest. “Well,” he said, “that’s interesting. That’s very, very interesting, indeed.”

Phil smiled. He took another sip of his coffee. He looked at Eric across the table from him. “I don’t have much money with me,” he said. “I’ve already told you that. But if you’re willing to pay for it, we could check into a room someplace.”

The blood rushed to Eric’s cheeks. His mouth felt dry. It was difficult for him to speak. “But I thought you said—back there on the road, when I picked you up, you told me about—“

“Yes. I know. I told you about the creep who wanted to have sex with me and I turned him down.” A grin appeared on Phil’s lips. “Well, it was true. I turned him down. Not because I don’t like sex, though. I turned him down because I didn’t like him.” The young man’s eyes looked directly into those of his companion across the table. “With you it’s a different situation. You’re a groovy-looking guy.”

Eric’s cheeks grew redder. He could feel the blood running through his veins. His whole body seemed suddenly to come alive and a delicious tingling sensation went from the tip of his toes to cause a pulsing throb at the temples of his forehead. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re a pretty groovy-looking guy yourself.”

“So what are we waiting for?” said Phil. “Let’s go.” They registered at a motel on the outskirts of Hood River.

“I think I’ll take a shower before we hit the sack,” said Phil. “If that’s okay with you.”

Eric nodded.

“I feel pretty grimy, being on the road so long.”

Eric sat in a chair, unsure of whether to watch Phil undress or to pretend to occupy himself with a magazine. He decided on the latter. He picked up a copy of Newsweek which was on a table beside the chair and began to thumb through it. The temptation, however, was too great for him; his eyes strayed over the top of the magazine and he felt a quick contraction in his stomach at the sight of the husky young man who was disrobing within a few feet of him.

Phil had removed his shirt. The muscles in his back were firm and hard; they moved in a steady rhythm as he pulled at the belt of his Levi’s and unzipped his fly. The Levi’s fell to his ankles and he bent over to step out of them. His buttocks were like mounds of solid rock. Eric shivered.

The young man turned. He caught Eric’s eye and he smiled. The magazine in Eric’s hand lowered slowly to his lap. He pretended no longer; he gazed in open admiration at the beauty of the male figure which stood almost nude in front of him. There was a tightening in his throat. Beads of perspiration came to his brow. His mouth felt dry and he licked his lips. “God,” he said. “My God, Phil. You’re fantastic.”

The young man didn’t speak. He continued to smile. He held Eric’s eyes in a hypnotic trance. He fingered the elastic at the top of his Jockey shorts. Then gradually, in a gesture so slow that it was maddening to Eric, he began to lower the shorts over his hips.

At last the phallus, the swelling cock, the symbol of all desire, came provocatively into view. It was fat. It was thick. It was a pink rosy color and it hung there, uncut, amidst the copper shrubbery of Phil’s pubic hair—and behind and beneath it swung the heaviest, the largest pair of balls Eric had ever seen on a male animal in all his life. A violent shudder ran through Eric’s trembling frame.

The young man walked to stand directly in front of Eric’s chair. He took Eric’s head between his two strong hands and pulled it toward his groin. “Suck me a little,” he said.

The cock had now risen to its full glory; it stood at an angle, like a giant cannon, poised to shoot its bullets skyward.

Eric felt himself drawn toward it like a magnet. The pressure of Phil’s fingers on the sides of his head wasn’t necessary; he could no more have resisted swallowing that magnificent throbbing organ than he could have stopped breathing. He opened his mouth and let his lips slide the full length of it. It went so far down his throat that it almost gagged him. He put his hands to Phil’s buttocks, pulling the boy closer, and as Eric sucked on the pulsing dick Phil’s hips began to move, matching the rhythm, forward and back, forward and back…

Then abruptly Phil pulled his cock out of Eric’s mouth. He looked down at the older man and smiled. “Not too soon—huh, man? Let’s save it a little.”

He patted Eric on the cheek.

“I’ll take that shower. Get undressed. When I come back I want you to be ready for me.”

Eric watched the view of the strong back and the firm buttocks as they receded from him. He wiped the saliva from his lips and chin.

He felt dizzy. The wine at dinner, coupled with his long continence and the satyr-like appeal of Phil’s body, had produced a heady excitement in him. For a moment he was afraid that he was going to lose consciousness.

His heartbeat gradually quieted, however, and he got up from the chair. He began to undress. His fingers started to shake and it was difficult for him to unbutton his shirt. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. What’s happening to me? he thought. What am I doing here in this motel, with this guy who’s a complete stranger to me? He could try to rob me or beat me up and I’d be powerless to help myself.

It occurred to Eric that he had left his revolver in the glove compartment of the car parked outside. A panic rose in him. With the gun he would have some protection. Without it…

In the bathroom Phil turned on the water taps. Eric could hear the sounds as the young man splashed about in the shower. Would there be time to go outside and get the revolver? Or should he take a chance and hope that Phil was honest, after all, just a horny kid who wanted to get his rocks off and who meant no harm?

Half-way undressed, Eric hesitated. He examined himself in the mirror. What am I, he thought—a coward and a weakling? It wasn’t true. His body was in good condition. He was in the prime of his life. Why did he need a gun to protect himself? He was as strong as Phil; he could do battle with the kid and beat the shit out of him, if he really had to.

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and after a quick look in the mirror (not displeased with his own physique) he lay on the bed.

He heard the water stop running in the bathroom. Phil was probably out of the stall by now, towelling himself.

Eric waited.

The room was very still. A single lamp cast a shadow on the opposite wall. No sounds came from outside the small cottage.

Eric remembered, then, something that had happened to him in a gay bar in Seattle. A neat appearing but very butch young guy had taken a seat on the stool immediately next to him. The guy had started a conversation and had suggested, eventually, that he accompany Eric to his hotel. Eric had been reluctant to agree. That sixth sense (always so reliable!) had told him that he must refuse. The guy had excited him, however, and at last Eric had said yes, he’d like it very much if they went to his hotel room together. While the young butch had been in the bathroom Eric had taken part of his money out of his wallet and had put it in his shoe. A good thing he had done that, too, it turned out; the instant the young guy emerged from the bathroom he had pulled a knife on Eric and demanded his ready cash.

If I had paid attention to my first instincts, Eric thought, I never would have permitted him to come to the room with me.

But at least the young hustler hadn’t stolen everything. Eric had possessed the good sense to put those few dollars in his shoe. The sixth sense, the warning signals in his brain, had not been completely ignored.

He wondered now if he should not have used the same tactics, here in the motel room with Phil. He hadn’t thought of it. His jacket, with his wallet in the inside breast pocket, lay over the arm of the chair where he had placed it. It was too late, with Phil coming out of the bathroom at any minute, to get off the bed and hide his money in his shoe.

Besides, he reminded himself, he wouldn’t permit Phil to rob him so easily as that guy in Seattle had done. He hadn’t resisted the boy in Seattle. It still filled Eric with shame whenever he remembered it. He had been afraid and hadn’t resisted, that time, but he had vowed that if he ever had such an experience again he would fight. He would fight, even if he lost, even if the guy pulled a knife or a gun on him.

“Jeez!” Phil appeared in the doorway. His body was still damp and he was towelling himself. “There’s nothing like a couple minutes in a good shower to make a man feel in shape again.”

“Really?” Eric grinned. “I hadn’t noticed. Was there something wrong with your shape before you went in there?”

Phil laughed. He gave his head and shoulders another brisk rub and then he tossed the towel into a corner. He gazed down at Eric’s nude body on the bed. He whistled. “Wow. There’s nothing wrong with your shape, man. What do you do to keep yourself in condition like that?”

“I work out. I carry some bars and weights with me on the road. When I’m in Portland my roommate and I go to a gym two or three times a week.”

Phil’s eyes roamed the length of Eric’s body, then lingered at his groin. “You’re hung, too. How many inches when you’re hard?”

“Eight or nine.” Eric could feel his cock beginning to stiffen. He reached up to take Phil’s heavy dong in his fist. “How about you?”

“Well. I never measured. But nobody’s ever complained.” Phil ran his tongue over his lips. “Enough of this horseshit. Let’s fuck.”

They left the lights on.

Phil lay on top of Eric and his body covered the full length of him. Eric could feel the moisture on the boy’s skin (still wet from the shower) and smell the pungent odor of the bath soap on his face and neck. He put his arms around Phil’s back. He could see the freckles on Phil’s shoulders as he drew the young man close to him.

They kissed.

It was the first time their lips and mouths had met. They opened to each other and their tongues entwined and their breaths came a little faster and they began to squirm, to rub and press their bodies closer to one another. Their hips ground a rhythm and their cocks, tight and twitching, clashed like rapiers.

Eric’s hands traveled the full area of Phil’s back, to his spine and to his buttocks. He clasped the cheeks of Phil’s ass. The flesh began to quiver to his touch.

Phil ran his tongue over the surface of Eric’s face. He kissed his neck and shoulders. Then, his back arched, he sucked on Eric’s nipples. Eric reached down to grasp Phil’s cock as the boy worked over him. The fluid coming from the giant prong served as a lubricant; it made Eric’s palm smooth and slippery, and it did the same thing to the length of Phil’s dick while Eric jacked him.

Then, suddenly, Phil was down on Eric. He moved his head into the dark forest of Eric’s groin, and he took the tallest timber into his mouth. Eric gasped as the sensation of Phil’s soft lips on his sex muscle engulfed him. A moan of intense pleasure came from deep within his being. “Phil,” he said. “Ah, Phil.”

Phil’s tongue ran swiftly over Eric’s cock, from the bulbous head to its roots. The membranes in the tight flesh reacted violently and Eric felt a twitching in the tissues of his throbbing organ. A tide rose in his abdomen. He felt that, at any minute, a dam would break inside of him and a flood would burst forth, sweeping over the two of them, himself and his passionate young lover. He groaned in ecstasy. At the same time Phil, encouraged by the response of the man who lay writhing beneath him, moved rapidly to Eric’s scrotum, taking first one ball and then the other into his eager mouth.”Ah, lover,” Eric’s eyes were closed. He floated in a fantasy of desire and delight. He put his hands to Phil’s head, running his fingers through the boy’s long hair. “Ah, suck me. Suck me.”

Phil continued. His head bobbed cooperatively over the stiff phallus which the shuddering man thrust up to him. Then, as he sensed a convulsion and an accelerated rhythm in Eric’s movements, a hint of approaching orgasm, he pulled his mouth from the pulsing prick.

“Don’t stop!” Eric gasped. “For God’s sake. Don’t stop!”

“I’m going to fuck you.” Phil lifted Eric’s legs swiftly over his shoulders. He spat onto his hand. He rubbed his spittle onto his dick. Trembling, Eric looked down at him. Then Phil put the blade of his sex lance close to the door of Eric’s ass. With a sharp thrust he pushed it in.

Eric yelled. “Jesus! Slow! Take it easy, for God’s sake!”

But Phil didn’t listen. He was riding the crest of his personal passion. Brutally he began to fuck the man beneath him, riding high and plunging deep, oblivious of all save the needs of his own driving force. He rose and fell, while Eric, in pain and ecstasy, wept tears and sweated blood and met the terrible, yet wonderful, wild energy of the hot young stallion who drove and commanded him.

“Ah, God. God,” Eric cried. “What a fuck. What a beautiful, marvelous fuck!”

When Phil ejaculated it was with violent thrusts and spastic jerks, like a pile-driver pushing deep into the bowels of Mother Earth. The muscles in his buttocks contracted and released, contracted and released. Eric felt the rod of steel invading the farthest chasms of his most secret self. He felt Phil’s hot sperm shooting into the expanded channels of his intestines. He squirmed. He writhed in sublimest ecstasy. At the same time the steaming fluid spurted like a giant wave through the canal of his dick and great gobs of it fell onto his stomach and his chest.

“Phil! Phil!”

Both men lay spent and exhausted, drenched in their sweat.

They struggled for breath.

It was a long time before the blood stopped pounding in their veins, before they became calm again and their breaths grew regular. Then Phil lifted his head and smiled at Eric. He kissed him. “Wow,” he said. “That was terrific.”

“It was.” Eric smiled back. He was drained of energy, but he felt satisfied, more at peace with himself than he had been in months. “You’re a good lover, Phil.”

“You’re not exactly an amateur yourself,” Phil replied. Again he planted an affectionate kiss on Eric’s lips. “Hey—how about another shower, the two of us in there together?”

Eric grinned. “You’re a devil. But why not? It’s a great idea.”

They made love again, with the warm spray from the shower tap falling like gentle rain over their naked bodies. Eric wouldn’t have believed it possible; only a few minutes before he had been shattered by a violent orgasm, the sperm shooting forth from him like an erupting geyser, yet once more—with Phil applying the sweet smelling lemon soap suds to his quivering flesh—he felt himself aroused and excited. In a matter of a few minutes he had climaxed for the second time, and if anything, this ejaculation was more thrilling than the first had been. Phil, too, reached his high point of passion, and they clung together, the water still cascading over them, until finally they stopped trembling and their nerve ends had quieted and there was no more desire in them, only the drowsiness which comes with deep-felt peace and contentment.

They towelled each other and then Eric remained briefly in the bathroom while Phil returned to the bedroom. Eric was surprised, when he joined the younger man, to see that Phil had dressed. He had put on Eric’s jacket and stood admiring himself in front of the mirror.

“Hey, man,” he said, turning to get a view of himself from a side angle, “this is a groovy coat you’ve got here.” He gave Eric a sly grin. “You wouldn’t consider making me a present of it, would you?”

Eric felt an icy grip around his heart. “I’m afraid not,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice calm. He smiled. “I like that coat. It’s one of my favorites.”

Phil shrugged. “Big deal,” he said. “So okay. Who gives a shit?” He took off the coat and tossed it back onto the chair.

“Why are you dressed?” said Eric.

Phil looked surprised. “You don’t really want to stay here all night, do you—in this flea bag? I thought you were in a hurry to get to Portland.”

“Well, it was your idea to check into a motel. I thought—“

“My folks are expecting me,” Phil replied. Then his manner seemed to soften and he was more conciliatory. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be impolite. The scene we did here was wild. I dug it. And you’re right—it was my idea that we check into a room. But it wasn’t my intention for us to stay all night. We did the thing, okay? So let’s cut out.”

Eric nodded. His glow had worn off and the moment with the red-head hitchhiker had lost its magic. It was just as well. Perhaps Phil was right. They had enjoyed each other and it was over. To linger, to try to recapture the mood and the excitement of the previous session together might be a mistake.

Besides, a certain uneasiness had taken possession of Eric since he came back into the room and discovered Phil trying on his coat. His sixth sense was at work again; a subtle change had taken place in the atmosphere which disturbed him and put him on the alert.

“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll get dressed.”

Phil stood at the door, his small suitcase in his hand, waiting for Eric to put on his clothes.

Eric had paid the bill for the motel room in advance. He returned the key to the front office while Phil stood near the car in the parking stall.

“Checking out so soon, Mr. Porterfield?” said the clerk. He raised a discreet eyebrow.

“Yes. My friend and I decided not to stay. We’re continuing on into Portland.”

Why had Phil changed his mind so abruptly? Eric wondered. He walked toward the car, feeling troubled and disappointed. Had the kid been turned off because he had been refused a present? Eric didn’t want to believe that Phil was just a hustler. Their sex together had been too satisfying, too real. Phil couldn’t have staged that bedroom performance simply for the sake of a few dollars or an article of clothing… Yet when he had asked Eric for the coat and Eric had refused him, Phil had grown cold and petulantly thrown the coat back onto the chair. No, Eric argued with himself, his refusal to give Phil a present couldn’t have been the thing which decided him to leave. There had to be another, some more logical reason. Phil had been dressed and ready to go when Eric had emerged from the bathroom—before he had asked for the coat.

It was puzzling.

As he walked toward the car, Eric, in an instinctive gesture, perhaps motivated by some subconscious thought, put his hand to the inside breast pocket of his coat. It was then that he realized, with a stab of alarm, that his wallet was missing.

Phil grinned. “Well, come on,” he said. “Let’s get going. If we hurry, we can make it into town by midnight.”

It was difficult for Eric to believe that this good-looking boy who stood there by the car, his suitcase in his hand (and who had shared such marvelous moments of delight with him only a short time ago) had stolen his money. Eric didn’t want to believe it. Yet the evidence was irrefutable. His wallet had been lodged safely in his breast pocket, where he always kept it, and it was now gone…

What am I going to do? I can’t let him get away with this. He must have ripped off my wallet while I was in the bathroom. I came back and caught him, and that’s why he pretended just to be trying on my coat.

“Would you like me to drive?” Phil said. “If you want to rest, I’ll be glad to take the wheel for a while.”

Eric thought fast. He hadn’t yet decided what he was going to do, but a profound resentment stirred in him, a determination not to let Phil get away with stealing his money. “Yes,” he said. “Sure. That’ll be a help, Phil.”

The younger man took the driver’s seat and Eric sat beside him. Phil started the car and they drove in silence for a few minutes.

The night, it seemed to Eric, was very black. There were no stars in the sky, and the sliver of a moon cast only a thin ray of light on the river beside the highway.

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” Phil said. “About not staying in the motel all night, I mean. The sex part was great. I dug it. But I’m kind of anxious to get back home to Portland.”

“Sure. My roommate is expecting me home tonight, too. I could have called to let him know I’d be delayed—but it’s probably for the best we decided to drive straight through.” Eric’s voice was cheerful, but in the darkness his lips were set in a tight, thin line.

“You didn’t tell me you had a roommate. Is he a lover, or just a friend?”

“Just a friend. We used to trick once in a while—but that part of our relationship is finished and behind us.”

“Good. Then maybe you and I can get together sometime in town. I’ll give you my phone number. Maybe we can talk in a couple of days and do the thing again.” He reached out and put a hand on Eric’s knee. “Okay?”

The little shit, Eric thought. Listen to him. Trying to pretend he wants to see me in town—when all he really wants is the money he’s got out of me. If I were ever fool enough to invite him to the apartment, he’d probably rip me off there, the same way he did back at the motel.

“Forget it, Phil,” Eric said. “We had a ball for a couple of hours. Let’s leave it at that.”

After a pause, Phil said, “Well. Okay. If that’s the way you feel.” He drew his hand away from Eric’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

Eric opened the glove compartment. He took out the revolver. “I think you’d better stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

“Out here in the middle of—?” Phil froze. His jaw dropped as he turned and saw Eric pointing the revolver straight at his chest. “For Christ’s sake, man. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Stop.” Inside himself, Eric was quivering with fear, but he also felt a strange kind of pride and exultation. “Slow down—and then stop.”

The car came to a standstill. “Look, Eric. I don’t know what you’ve got in mind—“

“This is your getting-off place.”

“What? You mean you’re gonna dump my ass out here on the road? Have a heart, man! Hey,” said Phil. He gave a nervous laugh and his tone was conciliatory. “Eric. This is crazy. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense to me. Get your suitcase out of the back seat.”

Phil complied.

“Now open the door and get out.”

“Look, Eric. I don’t know what’s bugging you, but—“

“Get out.”

Eric’s voice was firm. It carried a command which the young man could not disregard. Sullenly, then, Phil opened the door and stepped out onto the highway. Eric followed him.

“Now what?” In the darkness the two men could see only the dim outlines of each other’s figure.

“You’ve got a wallet,” said Eric. “I’d like it.”

“What?”

“No arguments, Phil. I’m not the stupid fool you took me for. Where’s the wallet? You don’t have a jacket. Did you put it in your suitcase?”

“Jesus. Man, you are out of your fucking head. What wallet?”

“Open the suitcase.”

“Now look—“

“Open the suitcase.”

Phil opened the suitcase. “Bastard,” he said. “I should have known—”

“Give it to me.”

“You’re not going to leave me out here at this time of night, are you?”

“You’re lucky you’re getting off so easy. You’re lucky something a lot worse doesn’t happen to you. Give me the wallet.”

Phil held out his hand. Eric took the wallet from him and placed it safely into his breast pocket.

“C’me on, man. Have a heart.”

“Did you have a heart?” Eric said. “Maybe next time you’ll be more careful who you hitch a ride with. Now walk ahead of the car, down the road.”

“What for?”

“Do what I tell you.”

Phil walked a dozen yards and then stopped.

“Hold it—right there,” Eric said. He slipped back into the car behind the wheel. Little shit, he thought. This will teach him not to take advantage of innocent people on the highways. I’ve been too good to him. I should have beat the hell out of him—or turned him over to the police.

As the car passed Phil at the side of the road he gave Eric the finger. He yelled through the window. “Bastard! No-good mother-fucking asshole!”

Eric rode past him in triumph. He felt marvelous, Exhilaration swelled up inside of him. A young hood had tried to rip him off and he had beat the kid at his own game. It was terrific.

His roommate John Shipley was waiting up for him when he arrived at his Portland apartment. They had a drink together and he told John Shipley, with great pride, how he had out-witted the attractive but disreputable young hitchhiker.

“Well, you got the wallet, all right,” said John Shipley, “but did the kid take any money out of it?”

“My God. I never thought of that. I didn’t look.”

John Shipley smiled. “Then I’d suggest, dear Eric—before you start crowing about how brave and clever you’ve been—you’d better take a look in the wallet right now. That stud may have ripped you off for more than you thought he did.”

Alarmed, Eric reached into his breast pocket. He produced the wallet. A look of bewilderment crossed his face. “But my wallet was black.”

“And this one is brown.” John Shipley continued to smile. “I’d suggest you look inside to see whose property it is.”

“It was so dark, there on the road. I really couldn’t see very well—“

“Look in the wallet.”

There was a Social Security card and a couple of pictures and a card with a name and Portland address. “Philip Cartwright,” Eric began to read. His voice halted and he let his hand, with the wallet in it, drop to his lap.

John Shipley raised his glass in a toast to his roommate. “So much,” he said, a satisfied gleam in his eye, “for that sixth sense you’re always bragging about.” Eric Porterfield returned the brown leather wallet to Philip Cartwright in a manilla envelope. He accompanied it with a note of apology.

A day later he received a similar envelope, containing his own black wallet—from the management of the motel outside of Hood River. Our cleaning woman found this wallet in the room you rented from us a few nights ago, the accompanying letter read. We are pleased to return it to you. The cleaning woman said she found the wallet on the floor beside a chair, where apparently someone had dropped it…