The Highwayman

Chapter 3: MJ Fields

Chapter 3: MJ Fields

7:59 P.M.

Fields of freshly growing corn rolled by on either side as the kid drove just slightly above the speed limit. The sun was beautiful on the horizon and looked sleepy, elegant, and demure.

I couldn’t recall the last time I sat down. Maybe it was somewhere near Pittsburgh. My legs hurt and their muscles were tight. I wanted to slip off my boots and get a good foot rub out of the kid, but maybe he wasn’t into that fetish. Cars and two eighteen-wheelers zoomed past the Frontier. The kid asked, “What’s your name?”

“Copper Sloane.”

“I’m MJ.” No last name was given, not that I needed one. “You hitchhike a lot?”

“Whenever I can.”

“What do you do for a living?” he asked, looking at me across the seat, smiling for some strange reason.

“Carpentry. Like Jesus.”

“You a Christian, Copper?”

“Not lately, but maybe I should be.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to know you’re attracted to me.”

“And how old is that?”

“Twenty-eight. How old are you?”

“Old enough to blow you, but only if you want me to.”

I chuckled, playing with him. Who knew he would be attracted to my good looks, into me? The kid was horny, I assumed, and I just happened to have the body for his needs.

I waited a good mile or two before confessing to him that I wanted to shove my d**k down the back of his throat. He was a man, even if his age proved otherwise. And I knew what to do with a man, right? Hadn’t I slept with all of my pick-ups, or at lease most of them? Didn’t they all want a part of me—sexually, mentally, or emotionally?

“Tell me about yourself, MJ.”

I listened to him ramble about himself: born and raised in Corsica; worked on tractors for a living; graduated from high school the year before; didn’t plan on attending Clarion College, which was sixteen miles away; wasn’t very good with math; loved his mother more than his abusive father.

“You were abused?” I asked, intrigued with his confession. “Tell me about that.”

“My father beat me and my mother. I think he used to drug her, but I’m not really sure. She’s dead and he’s in jail for first degree murder. He’ll never get out of prison. He’ll die there.”

“You told me you don’t have any siblings. Does this mean that you live alone?”

He nodded. “My parents’ house is a few miles from here.”

“Mind if I see the place?” Why not be pushy? I found through much experience that if you didn’t ask for certain things, you weren’t going to get them. Why bother sitting there in his passenger-seat just waiting to get dumped off in Clarion County, worrying where I would spend the night. But honestly, I really wasn’t the worrying kind, and maybe some of the men I f****d around with knew that about me, but MJ wasn’t one of them.

“Thought you were going to Ohio,” he said.

“I am. But I need a place to stay the night and was hoping you would give me that blowjob. You look kind of hungry for some c**k. What do you say?”

He didn’t even have to think about it, turned off Interstate 80 at the Clarion exit, and welcomed me a little more into his private world.