Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1748540-Southern-Hospitality
Rated: 18+ · Other · LGBTQ+ · #1748540
A good 'ol boy gives Ivan a ride after his truck breaks down.
"Piece of shit!" Ivan fumed. Something in the engine of his brand new truck had snapped and now the black monster was rolling to a stop in the middle of some highway that robotic sounding bitch told him to go down. With no street lights in sight, his visibility was limited to a few meters in front of his truck. Forest surrounded the highway on both sides of the two lane Georgian highway, which wound between the shallow mountains.

His grip tightened around the wheel as he began to realize that the vehicle was not going anywhere anytime soon. He had been in Atlanta for another one of those useless company retreats that his bitch of a boss insisted upon having every quarter. While the company's headquarters were located in Atlanta, he was the Midwest regional manager--based in St. Louis. The quad-annual retreat's travel expenses had been taken care of; however, Ivan had always had an irrational fear of flying and would only drive. This time he had even been somewhat looking forward to it, just so he could see what his new truck could do on the open road. He cursed again as he remembered how much he had paid for it.

He grabbed his cell phone and mashed the number one on his speed dial. "Hello?" He waited a second. "Hello!?" he yelled. He pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the screen--no bars. "Fuck me!" He stumbled out of the giant truck; too busy staring at the screen to do it properly. He began walking away from his vehicle's shining head lights--still staring at his phone screen--hoping to see a bar appear.

After fifteen minutes of marching up and down the highway in an attempt to resurrect his phone, lights appeared in the distance. Someone was coming. "Thank god," he mumbled.

Ivan stepped out into the middle of the highway and began waving his hands over his head. As the rusty red old pick-up truck pulled up, its brakes squeaked in protest. The man in the truck began cranking down his window. It slid down slowly despite the apparent effort that was being put into it. "Truck die on ya'?" he asked, once the window was down.

Ivan took a step toward the ancient truck, the engine was loud, and he had barely made out what the young man in the baseball cap had said. "Yeah," he shouted. His eyes wandered back to his flashy ride. The irony annoyed him. "My cell isn't working..." he began.

"The coverage 'round here is spotty," the young man interrupted. "I got a land line back at my trailer, I'll let you call somebody who can come pick ya' up."

Ivan rubbed his neck and looked to his side. This felt like a scene out of some poorly written horror movie. "I don't want to put you out. Is there a hotel..." he began again.

"No trouble buddy; the nearest hotel is further than my place. Get in, I aint gonna’ try nothing. You look like you could take me anyway." The young man spat out the window. The action was so fast that Ivan almost missed it.

He turned his giant lemon's lights off with the click of a button and circled around the loud shaking truck. The heavy metal door stuck as he attempted to pull it open. The young man had to lean over and shove it open. "Thanks," Ivan breathed. As he settled into the truck, he noticed a disturbing amount of wrappers and garbage.

"The name's Jake," the young man said. He stuck out his hand and rattled Ivan's. "Sorry about the mess. This is the only place my wife doesn't go." He laughed at his own words.

As Jake began driving down the highway, he began explaining (in a thick southern drawl) that he had been out night fishing, that the big fish were always biting at night, and that he had indeed caught four large fish. Ivan had trouble paying attention. He was distracted by worries of his truck being vandalized or stolen. Also, Jake's messy truck smelled of burning oil, which gave him a headache quickly.

"...and then it turns out that her mom's probably not going to make it much longer. So I told her, take the baby and go see her one last time. To tell you the truth, it's nice to have them gone for the weekend. She's pissed that I didn't go too, but she'll get over it, ya' know?"

"Yeah," Ivan nodded awkwardly.

"You married?" he asked.

"No," he paused, "I'm gay." He looked from, the window to Jake to see his reaction.

Jake fidgeted before glancing at Ivan. "Oh...wow...really?" There was a long pause. "I mean...I don't care. Some folks 'round here might, but some folks are stupid. I get satellite; I'd seen gays on tv for awhile. I know it's just a choice you make, and it don't make you no different than any other guy. Ya' know, 'cept for the..."

Ivan interrupted this time. "It's not a choice, but thanks for being so tolerant," he said.

The rest of the ride was spent in relative silence. The loud engine helped to ease the awkwardness as they drove into the night. The trailer park turned out to be only about ten minutes away, but it felt longer. When they finally arrived at Jake's gigantic off-white trailer, Ivan was relieved to have an end to this night in sight. He planned to call a cab, and head to the nearest hotel; perhaps even tip Jake for the ride.

"Watch your step comin' in," Jake warned while entering his trailer.

Ivan followed. "This is pretty big...I mean for a trailer." He cursed at himself, under his breath. "Sorry, I..."

Jake turned around to face him. "Nah it's a shit hole, I know." He smiled.

In the dimly lit truck, Ivan hadn't gotten a good luck at his rescuer. Now that he could see him better, he was taken aback by how attractive he was. This realization shifted his perspective of Jake, putting him in a better light.

"Phone's over here," Jake directed.

"Oh, right," Ivan mumbled. "Hey, do you have the number for a cab service?"

"A cab?"

"So I can get to the hotel. I'm from out of town, I don't have anyone..."

Jake opened a mini fridge near a small Formica table. "Shut up guy," he interrupted. He grabbed two brown bottles of beer. "You're stayin' here." He handed Ivan the beer.

Two hours later Ivan rested on the thin mattress of Jake's bed. Jake was on the small couch snoring loudly, having drank four beers. In the dimly lit trailer he could barely make out the silhouette of the nearly nude young man who had stripped to his boxers without a second thought. He was in fairly good shape and had an attractive build. It took a little while, but eventually he drifted off to sleep.

Ivan awoke sometime later to the pleasurable feeling of a hand on him. "What the..." he began sleepily. The hand rubbed him to firmness.

"Shh," Jake giggled. He was in the skinny bed next to him. His invasive hands moved to Ivan's hip, and he pushed him on his side. "I love this," he slurred.

"You're...” he began

"Shut up, shut up," he whispered. He pulled Ivan closer. Greased, he pushed into him. "I know you want it. All ya’ll want it."

He buried his head in the pillow. God yes, he did want it. He pushed back.

The smell of cheap beer wafted from the gaping mouth of the hard young man as he pumped into him. The performance was nothing spectacular, except for maybe the end. Warmth filled him in an instant, and Jake let out a loud groan. He continued to pump for a few seconds, before pulling out.

After, Jake went back to the small couch and passed out again. No words were spoken. The next day he acted as if nothing had happened. There were no pauses, no hints; it was as if it had been a dream. Had Ivan not been sore, he might have thought it had been.

Word Count: 1,374
© Copyright 2011 davidvanhorne (davidvanhorne at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1748540-Southern-Hospitality