The Hitchhiker

A Fantasy by Mr. Creamjeans

It had been years since I had seen someone hitchhiking on a California street. The rash of media reports about crimes associated with hitchhiking back in the 80ís had effectively killed this form of transportation. So imagine my surprise when there, standing just feet from my stopped car, was not just a hitchhiker, but an adorable teenaged blond skateboarder type with his thumb extended.

A flash of apprehension crossed my mind. I didnít need to be in any kind of compromising situation with a teenager. These thoughts were overcome by the sheer cuteness of this boy: His hair was sun-drenched dirty blond, he had a cute nose and very kissable lips, his clothing was clean and new-looking (a white T-shirt, jeans and sneakers). I couldnít resist. I pressed the button that rolled down the passenger side window.

"Where you headed?" I asked as he approached.

"Huntington," he replied.

It was on my way. "Get in," I said as I saw the light was about to change. He quickly got into the car and we were off.

"Man, I thought Iíd never get out of there," the kid said. He had been standing in a well-to-do neighborhood, so this was no surprise.

"Rich people donít like giving rides. Theyíre afraid youíre going to rip them off," I said. "I got nothin to take, so I ainít worried." He laughed.

"What were you doing there, anyway?" I asked.

"Aw, I was at my girlfriendís house all night. My buddies dropped me off there after a party last night, but they never came for me this morning."

"Girlfriendís, huh?" I prodded.

"Yeah, it was pretty cool. Her folks were out of town."

"So díyou get lucky?" I asked, grinning.

"Kinda," he replied somewhat evasively.

"Kinda, huh?"

"I gotta get home and change out of these clothes...if you know what I mean," he said somewhat tentatively.

I suspected what he meant, but I was dying to hear him say it. "Uh, not really."

"Fuck, Jennie... thatís my girlfriend... she made me... uh... cream my jeans," he admitted.

"Cool," I said, as calmly as I could. My cock was swelling with every heartbeat.

"You ever do that?" the boy asked, seemingly taken aback by my reaction.

"Oh yeah," I said reassuringly. "Lotsa times."

This seemed to set the kid off. "Awright! Man, I thought I was the only one. Iím always shooting off in my shorts, dude. I mean, itís like, you know, my dick gets hard a lot, and it doesnít take much, and then all of a sudden it just pops off. My shorts got so many stains on them..." His speech trailed off as he suddenly became self conscious about the extent of his confession to a stranger.

My cock was now fully hard in my khakis and boxers. If he had bothered to look, he would have seen the head poking violently up into a fold of the fabric. I tried to reassure him, all the while hoping to draw out more of his story. "Donít worry about it. If I had a nickel for every time I creamed my boxers, I wouldnít be driving this old clunker." He laughed again.

"You wear boxers, too?" he asked eagerly.

"Itís the only way to go," I replied. "Gotta have room for the family jewels to move around."

"I know what you mean. Itís like, well, I really like wearing boxers, but sometimes I wonder if theyíre, like, making me shoot off or something. Like maybe I should be wearing something tighter."

"What kind do you wear?" I asked, hoping heíd do just what he did next.

He pulled up his T-shirt to show me the waistband of his blue plaid flannel boxers.

"Those the shorts you got off in?" I asked.

"Yeah," he admitted.

My cock lurched and I felt a drop of pre-cum ooze from the tip as I took another look at the underwear he creamed last night. "Man, flannelís not the thing to wear if youíre tryiní to hold back your cum. Feels too good, you know?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I know. Truth is, I wear Ďem on purpose," he said, blushing.

I feigned surprise. "You mean you want to get off in your shorts?"

"Man, do you know what itís like to make out with a chick all night and go home with blue balls?" he asked. "When Iím wearing these, I can get my nut even if she never touches me."

"Did she touch you last night?"

"Naw, Jennie doesnít do much. She lets me feel her tits through her shirt, but thatís about it," he explained.

I pumped him for details as more pre-cum was pumping into my shorts. "So howíd you get off?" I was sure a spot was showing through my khakis by now.

"Just sliding against my boxers, man. These feel so good."

"You just wear those on dates?"

He grinned again. "I wear em any time I want to get off. I got, like, seven pairs like this, so I can squirt off every day of the week if I want," he bragged.

"You mean like at school and shit?" I asked.

"Oh man, all the time!" he said enthusiastically. All reticence had left him Ė he seemed to be talking about his favorite subject now. "íSpecially in first period. Man, sometimes I wake up with this wicked boner that wonít go down. You ever get that?" I nodded. "And itís like, I donít want to do just a regular jack off or nothiní, so I put on these boxers under my jeans and when I get to class, I just move my hips a few times and BAM, I just pop off in my pants, right in front of the teacher and everything. Feels awesome, man."

My cock was throbbing steadily now. I stealthily glanced at my crotch. The wet stain was the size of a quarter. I took a look at his crotch and was rewarded with an obvious tent next to his fly. Even though the T-shirt partly covered it, I could tell he had a pretty much average sized cock. I prayed for the strength not to do something Iíd regret.

"Well, Iíd say you should stick with boxers," I said.

He laughed. "I guess youíre right. I just didnít think it was too cool me sperming off in my pants all the time."

"Hey, Iíd say, go for it! I mean old guys buy Viagra just to pop a rod. You can get your nut any time you want," I said, encouraging his habit.

"Totally," he said, seeming more comfortable with the idea. "Youíre pretty cool for an old guy. Whatís your name?"

I withered slightly at the left-handed compliment. "Uh, Dave. Yours?"

"Scott." It fit him perfectly.

"So what happens when you wear just regular boxers?" I asked, wanting to turn the conversation back to our now mutual favorite subject.

"Some of Ďem I can get off in. Just depends." he shrugged.

"Depends on what?"

"Well, like, during the summer and stuff, if I donít wear a shirt, my boxers show over my jeans, and sometimes if Iím wearing a really cool pattern, and I see someone looking at it, Iíll pop a rod. Usually I just go ahead and sperm off then."

"Yeah, but regular boxers show more of a wet spot."

Scott got this big grin on his face. "You really do cum in your shorts, donít you?" I turned to him with a blank look. "Only a guy whoís cummed in his pants in flannel and the regular boxers would know that!" He seemed very pleased with himself for having deduced this.

Now it was my turn to grin. "Busted," I said. He laughed uproariously, but at the same time, he pressed his forearm into his tented cock bulge.

"Excellent! So how do you do it?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. Come home from a hot day at the beach, check out my bulge in the mirror, rub it a little..." I started.

"Aw, mirrors are cool!" he interrupted. "I take my shirt off and stand in front of the mirror in just my jeans and boxers. And then I, like, make my dick pump and watch the bulge jump. Fuck! One time, you know, I was doing that, and I was, like, really fuckiní horny, and man, thatís all it took. I totally cummed without touching it or nothiní. Usually, though, I like rubbing the head through my jeans."

Iím sure my face was beet red. My heart was racing, my cock was jumping wildly in my pants. I desperately wanted to reach down and give it a healthy squeeze. That was probably all it would take to make me cream my khakis.

"Last night was pretty awesome, too. We were, like, makiní out on her couch. I still had a boner from when we were makiní out at the party, so I was totally ready. Weíre frenchiní, frenchiní. And so I put my hand on her tit, and she gave this moan, you know? Aw fuck! I was like twisted around and my cock was really trapped in my shorts. That moan just did it, man. I felt this juice coming up. And it was like, I really wanted it to last, and I didnít want her to know I was cumming. So I was trying not to pump it, just let it out slow, like, you know? Aw man, so much fuckiní jizz came out. My boxers were getting totally wet. And it just kept coming out! It was almost, like, weird. But I guess cuz I didnít cream or nothiní the day before, I had a lot saved up. But when I was done, man! I donít think I ever let out that much cum."

I was having trouble controlling my breathing. "I... ahem... uh... I think you cum a lot when youíre hard for a long time and youíre really turned on. It was probably cuz of what you did at the party." We were approaching the outskirts of Huntington Beach. In a way I was relieved; I had more than enough fantasy material for a month of jack-offs, and it was getting really hard for me to maintain my composure, much less refrain from reaching over and grabbing this kidís tent, which by now was showing a small wet spot itself. It occurred to me that he must have leaked a lot of pre-cum to have it soaking through those flannel boxers.

My voice must have given me away, though. He was staring at my face and then let his gaze slide down to my pants. "Woah!" he exclaimed, then began laughing. "Youíre totally boned, dude!"

"And thatís a banana in your pants?" I asked sarcastically.

He laughed again. "I guess weíre both horny, huh?"

"I guess," I replied.

Scott looked out the windshield. "Iím getting off at Main Street." That was another 5 minutes away.

"You ever have a problem walking around with a wet spot?" I asked, eyeing his growing pre-cum spot, hoping it would become more.

"All the time, man," his enthusiastic tone returned. It was like heíd never had anyone else to talk with about this important part of his sexuality. "At school... fuck! I got all these long T-shirts, but sometimes they donít totally cover it. I donít think anyoneís seen it yet. I think Jennie saw my spot last night, but she didnít say anything." He looked down at his own jeans. He must've seen his pre-cum spot, but he made no effort to hide it. In fact, he was almost calling attention to it. "You could still see where I came last night," he said, lifting his T-shirt away from his crotch.

I was able to take my eyes off the road for a few moments, and I examined his jeans closely. Sure enough, a faint outline of dried cum surrounded the new wet spot. "Lucky youíre not wearing khakis," I said. That caused him to return his gaze to my swollen wet bulge. My pre-cum was just flowing through my shorts. The wet spot was about an inch and a half across and really shiny wet.

"Oh man, thatíd be so rad!" he exclaimed, never taking his eyes off my pants. "Iíve, like, creamed my khakis in front of the mirror at home, but Iíve never done it in public. Fuck! Everybody would totally know! I got these light cargo pants and I creamed Ďem once. The spot went totally down to my knee! And when they dried, it was still really fuckin' obvious."

Then there was silence. Scott was just staring at my pants. His gaze was so intense, I thought heíd burn a hole right through the fabric. He licked his lips nervously.

Never taking his eyes from my cock bulge, he quietly said, "Hey dude, thanks for the ride. You really helped me out. Youíre a cool dude." And with that he slowly, tentatively began reaching into my lap. "It looks like you could use some help, too," he said, just above a whisper.

His left hand inched ever closer to my bucking hard-on. I was trying desperately to concentrate on guiding the car through traffic without hitting anything. I could hear his heavy breathing even over my own and the road sounds echoing through the car.

I glanced down just in time to see his hand encircle my cock through the smooth material of my khaki pants. I glanced into his crotch and saw his cock bulge had grown some, as had the wet spot at the end. When he finally closed his grip fully around my cock, it was like a bolt of electricity ran through both of us simultaneously.

"Holy shit!" he whispered hoarsely. "Youíre fuckiní huge!" My cock throbbed powerfully in his hand. Just a moment later, he began sighing rhythmically, "Oh, oh, oh." Without touching his cock, he was creaming his second load into his starchy flannel boxers! Hot liquid bubbled through the denim of his pants as he released whatever sperm heíd managed to build up overnight. Being a horny teenager, the amount was considerable.

I wanted to encourage him to totally let go Ė there was no point in trying to conceal his orgasm from me. "Shoot it, dude," I whispered. "Cream your boxers."

Scott closed his eyes and wrapped his right hand around his own cock, never releasing his grasp on mine. "Awh!!" he gasped, as his body lurched. More cum soaked through his jeans as he began pumping his spurting boner.

That was all I could take. "Iím losiní it, dude," I gasped. "Aw fuck!" Through my steel-rigid shaft, through Scottís clamped fist, through the slit in my cock head, and through the fabric of my boxers and khakis, I came. A huge blob of sperm soaked immediately through the already saturated material and spilled over Scottís hand.

Scott opened his eyes and watched as I spermed my pants in front of him. This intensified his own orgasm and he began pumping both our cocks vigorously. Under his breath, I heard Scott intoning, "Oh fuck! Dude! Youíre doing it right in front of me. Youíre creaminí your pants. Youíre fuckiní doing it. Just like me. Fuck!"

Itís a wonder I didnít pile up the car as shot after shot of sperm spilled out inside my pants and boxers. The cute blond teen beside me jacked my cock relentlessly, making squishy wet noises as my sperm coated everything down there. I could also hear sloshing noises coming from inside his jizz-soaked flannel boxers.

Two blocks from Main Street, I reluctantly reached down and stopped him from rubbing my now spent and ultra-sensitive cock. He leaned back in his seat, still staring at my messy tan khakis, and gave himself a few final strokes. His own jeans were drenched Ė no T-shirt was going to cover that mess. The car reeked of boy and man cum.

As I pulled over to the curb, a huge smile broke out on the boyís face. "That was the best cum I ever had, dude," he said happily. "Thanks."

Before I could say, "Youíre welcome," he was out of the car. Before closing the door, he leaned in and said, ever so casually, "Thanks for the ride, man." I got one last look at the dark wet patch on the front of his jeans.

As the door closed, I heard another boyís voice call out, "Hey, Scott!" Pulling away from the curb, I wondered how he was going to explain the wet mess on his crotch. Hmmm. Jennie did it. Yeah, thatís it: Jennie did it. (Well, she did!)

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