By Desert Pioneer
Thursday 9PM, driving north on SH-99 Jack is getting tired. Looking for something to occupy his mind on this crazy lonesome drive Jack fantasizes about maybe pulling into a rest stop. Not a too busy rest stop, a few cars and a few trucks, on a not so major highway. The trucks are silent and cool, like they are there for a while. The men’s room has a single bulb light over the door and no traffic in or out of the door. Stuff that a fantasy is made of.
Jack’s black roadster pulls into the middle of the stop with a full view of the men’s room door. He waits and thinks about what he might run into in the restroom. Cutting his thoughts against reality he considers that this is interior northern California; not a liberal in your face queer community, but likely full of red necks who are hot in fantasy but pretty dull, and sometimes dangerous, in reality.
“What a shitty fantasy” he thinks. It comes from his angle of keeping fantasy close to his reality which, in Jack’s mind, pulls it more toward possibility. Unfortunately, the reality that serves as his base, ain’t all that. He’s had a few encounters that introduced fetishes. Yet google “fetish” and get a list hundreds long. So that’s all Jack; on the low side of fetish experience and a big bucket list containing things (1) that he has done, (2) he has fantasized about, and (3) stuff that he hasn’t even thought of yet. Of course, the big one that all bottom’s have; being used by a man, a stranger, for his calling of that man, regardless of any service to the bottom. Fear of strangers stoked Jack from head to toe.
