Cross Country

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I've never told this to anyone but I figure this is the place to get it off my chest.

In the spring of 1965 I was hitchhiking back east from California. I was three months shy of my nineteenth birthday. I had finished high school the previous year and come out west in search of a job. For a while I found work in construction but that came to an end. I was just about broke and ready to head back. I didn't how I was going to eat on the trip.

My first day on the road I managed to make all of 30 miles and slept that night in a field, but the next day my luck changed. I got picked up by a marine driving a $50 junker. He was headed back east, not too far from where I was going, to see his folks before shipping overseas. He had a whole month's leave ahead of him.

The marine was just a year or two older than me. We hit it off right away. He was glad to have someone to spell him at the wheel. I told him my story and he told me not to worry, he would pay for my meals and I could share his lodgings.

Our first night together we stopped at a fleabag motel and asked for the cheapest room. The woman in the office had a room for $5. The marine asked, did she have anything cheaper. She did have a room for just $3, but it only had one bed. Right away the marine said, 'We'll take it.' The woman gave us a funny look. 'Suit yourself,' she said.

We took showers-I needed one bad after my night in the field-went out for some food and then we got down to our shorts, climbed into bed and turned out the light.

I was starting to doze off when I felt the marine's hand on my shoulder. I lay there without doing or saying anything. I was intensely aroused.

When he felt I wasn't putting up any resistance, his hand moved down my body to my waist and into my shorts. He tucked the waistband under my balls, took hold of my cock, and started stroking me. I grabbed his cock and we jerked each other until we shot our loads all over ourselves. We let go, lay back and drifted off to sleep without cleaning up.

The next morning he said he was sorry, he didn't know what came over him. I didn't say anything and we went on our way as if nothing had happened. I thought about it all day, though. I was ashamed and and guilty and wildly exhilarated all at once.

That night we got a room with separate beds. When we got into our beds I was at a fever pitch of excitement. Once under the sheets, I waited until I thought he was asleep, pulled down my shorts and started stroking myself as noiselessly as I could.

But he wasn't asleep. Are you jerking off over there, he asked. I didn't answer. Before I knew it he was in bed with me and we were going at it like crazy again.

From then on we didn't even bother getting in separate beds at night. There were no more apologies or lame excuses afterwards, either. I didn't feel any more pangs of guilt or remorse. He was good-looking, he had a muscular, athletic physique, he had an open, outgoing personality. I was strongly attracted to him both physically and personally and he was obviously attracted to me. Even though what we were doing went against everything in my background and upbringing, it felt completely right.

He figured he would have enough time to see his folks and get back to the west coast if he left himself two weeks, and I was in no hurry to get home either, so we took almost two weeks to get across country. Along the way we visited national parks, historical sites, battlefields. He was a Civil War buff. When he finally dropped me off and headed on home, we exchanged addresses and vowed to keep in touch.

That was the only time I messed around with a man. But when I look back on my two failed marriages and all the women I've gone to bed with, it seems to me that the two weeks I spent with the marine were the high point of my sex life, and maybe even of my life period, even though we never went beyond groping and masturbating each another.

I live alone now. My sex life is pretty much confined to (solitary) masturbation-and I find myself doing less and less of it now-but the most frequent subject my imagination turns to when I jerk off is those two weeks.

I never saw him again. Once I got a job and managed to scrounge together some extra cash, I stuffed a couple of twenties in an envelop and mailed it off to him to repay him, but it came back undeliverable. Years later, on a visit to D.C., I thought I found his name on The Wall but he had a common name and I could have been mistaken. At any rate, the date would have been about right.



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