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What a place to be stuck! Under a sign that says Coors Road and practically dying of thirst. I was now two-thirds of the way across the United States but perhaps the most difficult portion of my cross-country hitchhiking adventure lay ahead. It is all deserts from there on the outskirts of Albuquerque to the Pacific coast, my ultimate destination. I had left from Maine four days earlier and was starting to tire of the road. My most recent ride had been with a guy who picked me up in Denver. A hand made ?CAL? sign had served me well to this point but by now the sign was so beat up that I no longer could use it. I had been stuck there since about 7:30 that morning and it was now well past noon. For hours it had been just me and?All of the graffiti from hitchers before had been read and reread. ?Been here for two days, will probably die here? was one of many etchings on that metallic highway sign post, scratched by a guy with a knife who knew how many torrid summers back. The hot July sun was slowly baking me and I had actually begun to keep an eye to the sky for buzzards that might be circling overhead. At about 12:45 a car finally stopped. Specifically it was an El Camino wagon looking like something that had been lowered but it turned out be just loaded to the hilt. Inside were a driver with longish black hair and a three day beard and a woman with bleached blonde hair and crooked teeth. The vehicle had Illinois plates. They had one seat up in the back while the other was down flat and covered with boxes. There was no way they could have used the rearview mirror. ?Where are you going?? The guy said once the woman rolled down her window. ?California?, I shouted so as to be heard over the roar of a passing semi-truck. ?You?re in luck we?re going to LA.? My eyes lit up but I waited for the formal invitation. ?Go ahead, get in.? The guy totally looked like an eastern city dude and the woman to his right had nice hair and full, young-looking breasts but an old face housing gentle hazel eyes. Frank Serpico comes to mind. I told him I was actually going to Santa Barbara: ?Well, I can take you as far as highway 101 then you?ll have another 100 miles or so to go.? I thanked him, expressed my gratitude and relief at his stopping, and tried to settle in. He saw me look longingly at a half-buried ice chest. ?Help yourself to a cold drink. We got cokes,? he paused thinking for a second, ?and if you?re old enough to drink it, some beer.? I could see him smile in the rearview mirror. I was actually 22 but looked about 18. My face was somewhere between tanned and burned and I was just covered with dust. No telling how old I looked at that point. I would have loved a beer but wasn?t sure that it was good hitchhiking etiquette to drink a guy?s beer until at least we got to know each other. It required some rearranging of stuff to get to the cooler. His cargo appeared to mainly shoe boxes and some flatter, thinner boxes of the shape and size you?d walk out with from Victoria?s Secrets. On closer inspection I saw the words New Exotica on the red box covers. I made like I didn?t notice, opened the cooler, and pulled out a bottle of Coca-Cola. ?Do you folks want anything while I?m in here?? I asked. He turned to his companion ?You ready for a beer, babe?? Since she appeared to be reading a magazine she sort of mumbled in the affirmative. ?How about grabbing her a beer. There?s ?a church key stuck Çukurambar escort to the side of the cooler.? This was the 1970s before twist off caps were extant. Pop went the bottle cap and I handed the cold, wet brew forward. She didn?t just say thanks; she turned around locked on my eyes and sweetly cooed , ? thank you,? lifting her right eye brow as she said thank. She asked me my name and asked me where I was coming from and they both seemed to take great interest in my tale. I finally got around to asking them where they were from and what was taking them to California. ?We?re from Chicago and we?re on our way to a trade show.? The guy replied. I went on to ask what business he was in wondering if he realized that I had noticed the name on the shoebox. ?I own a store on the north side.? He paused then added. ?On Halsted Street.? Halsted Street? Halsted Street has now become one of the most famous gay ways in the world, although in those days it was just eclectic. I had walked Halsted Street the summer before when I visited Chicago soon after my 21 st birthday and there was a definite weirdness to the neighborhood. Halsted Street and the brand New Exotic sounded like something I might want to learn more about. I was thinking it was interesting that he would mention the street. Something about my visage must have signaled recognition because he then said: ?You been to Chicago?? I related the fact that I had spent the summer of my 21 st year there and that I loved Chi-town. I went on and on about how much fun I had there. I talked about Rush Street, New Town, and Old Town. I said my friend had lived on North Wells Street near Lincoln Park ?Oh, then you know Halsted.? He looked over at the woman and she said something softly that I wasn?t able to understand. From there until well into Arizona we talked about Chicago. I didn?t tell him that I had had some fun at a couple of sex houses a few blocks south on Wells. Or that I had an encounter with a transvestite not far from there, or that I had spent a very hot night in the Chicago YMCA. As we passed through Winslow, Arizona he announced that they were going to stop in Flagstaff and call it a day. He asked if I had enough money to pay for a hotel room. I said that I did (and in fact I did) and it would be really nice to be able to take a shower and sleep in a bed instead of a car seat like I had two of the three nights I?d been out there. But then as we drove on into the sun it occurred to me that maybe if I had said no I might have been able to share the room with them?or they might dump me at the exit. They were an interesting pair. His hair was more salt and pepper and his style of dress would best be described as disco chic. He had on the style of shorts that Richard Simmons used to wear on his exercise TV shows and a black muscle shirt. From the legs on down I couldn?t tell. She was wearing denim cut-offs with the frayed threads creating a fringe that showcased her shapely thigh and a tie dyed shirt, more in keeping with the 60s than the 70s but I thought they were stoners, so it was cool. As I handed her the beer I got close enough to pick up the sweet traces of Ciara perfume, one of the great fragrances of the 60s and 70s. They said their names were Sal and Louise?he called her Weezie with an ersatz urban accent that was actually Southside Chicago. And he treated her sort of demetevler escort bayan like George Jefferson treated his Weezie. By the time the lofty San Francisco Peaks outside Flagstaff, AZ came into sight we were all in accord that it was time to stop. Sal spotted a Holiday Inn that looked decent. He asked me to walk in with him so I could register and pay for my own room. He asked for adjoining rooms. If I recall it was about $10 for the night. As we were driving around to the back of the property Sal said: ?These rooms are probably pretty small so some of the stuff will have to go in your room.? Again this trip pre-dated car alarms so smart travelers always tried to stay on the first floor and empty their cars each night. ?Oh sure, whatever works,? I said anxious to get into a motel room and peel off those dirty dusty jeans. Weezie went straight into their room while he and I went around to open the gate on the El Camino. He handed me an armful of boxes that I took to his room. They were pretty light and as I walked in the room I asked Weezie what all this was. ?It?s very sexy lingerie, hon.? She said that while standing at the mirror tweaking her blonde tresses. ?You?re kidding,? I said setting the pile of boxes down where she pointed. I looked up incredulously. ?Oh no, open up the box on top.? She had turned to me breasts out, hands on hip. Her legs were long and shapely despite wearing white flat-soled sandals. ?No, that?s OK Louise it?s none of my business.? I turned and walked out the door. Sal was still organizing things in the back of the car. I just blurted it out to him: ?What kind of shoes are New Exotica?? ?Our best customers are exotic dancers, strippers, and transvestites. The name of our store is New Exotica Emporium and this is our private label. But we ship worldwide under several different brands.? He closed the trunk and then asked me if I had a girlfriend. I said I had a couple. ?Make sure I give you a catalog when we get to LA.? This was starting to get strange and I was beginning to like it. By the time we had completely emptied the wagon half the load was in their room and the other half ended up in mine. ?Grab the cooler and come on in to our room,? he said with a big smile. Those things were metal back in those days and much of the ice inside had turned to water. It made the thing heavy and unwieldy. It was still hot outside and I had actually broken into a sweat just carrying the thing 20 feet. The air conditioning in the room felt good as I pulled up the chair. ?Now I?ll have a beer? he said lying back on the bed. He offered me one again and this time I accepted, taking took two out handing him one. He reached over to the bag beside him and pulled out a container that contained marijuana cigarettes. He lit one up and passed it to me. This was after all the 1970s and smoking marijuana was in vogue. The wild weed was also a form of social and (sexual) currency, in much the same way cocaine was. ?Oh wow, Sal, it?s so great of you to share your weed.? I took a long deep toke and let the smoke tickle the bronchi and ciliae in my lungs before slowly exhaling. The rush I felt told me this was quality shit. After a couple more hits I leaned back in the chair, now well under the influence. ?Sal, man, it seems like you really know how to live.? He looked at me as if to say what would a kid like you really Escort dikmen know about living? Then he kind of laughed and yelled to Weezie who was still in the bathroom. ?Are you gonna want to smoke before we go out?? He lit up another number and now there were three stops that doobie had to make. That was a good thing for me because I was pretty wrecked just from sharing the first joint. They had made plans to go to this famous steakhouse in Flagstaff. ?We go there every year on our way to the convention. They only have waiters and they?re all cowboys.? She was beginning to beam as she described the place. ?They?re wearing tight jeans and boots, why some are even wearing chaps.? ?If she had her way they?d be wearing spurs, too.? Sal added with a deep stoned laugh. She punched him playfully. I was thinking a place like that in Flagstaff? I wondered if it was like that place in Denver Joe had described. I could see they had a big night planned so I decided to take my leave. ?Thanks, guys, for the buzz and the beers. I?m going to take a shower myself and then go across the street and grab a burger.? He offered me another beer to take with and I retired to my room. Then the munchies had a hold on me at that point so I chose to eat first. They had a Blake?s Whattaburger across the street and it was calling my name. Once back in the room that shower was first in the order of priority. I had been toying with the idea of taking a short walk up the street to a bar at the end of the next block. I could hear its jukebox as I crossed the street to Blake?s. There were pickup trucks parked diagonally in front of that old brick saloon and in my stoned state they actually turned into horses; tied to a hitching post 100 years ago. Too stoned, I better not I thought shaking my head. Back in the room the warm water cascading over my body was a welcomed sensation. So welcome I almost felt like a flower that had closed against the cold of an April night opening to drink in warm morning rain. Though the food had taken the edge of my condition I was still in a severely altered state. Sometimes when I got stoned I would allow a little femininity into my life. My body was hair-free except for the blonde patch at the base of my belly. Since I wasn?t muscle bound there was tone and firmness. My physique had a shape and definition but my flesh was supple. My shoulders were broad and my legs were well-formed and strong from skiing and climbing hills as a kid. Now that I had washed away the road filth I was going to let the tub refill and take a bath as well. In those days Holiday Inns gave you a selection of toiletries in the bathroom and there was small bottle of bubble bath in the basket. Soon after I slid into the bubbles and had enveloped myself with warm scented water the sensuality of it all turned my THC influenced mind to thoughts of sex. Soon my shapely penis was standing and sticking out of the water like a periscope. I found myself arching my back and sort of fucking the water. I grabbed it with my left hand delighting in how it filled my hand its proud helmet crowning my fist. Sometimes in such a stoned state I would have masturbated to climax but on this particular evening I wanted to be ready for anything. It wasn?t easy freeing myself from such a sybaritic indulgence, but I managed to towel off and to treat my dry skin to the body lotion they had. I applied the stuff liberally, trying not to miss anywhere. The masturbation session in the bathtub had released a few hormones adding fuel to the fire that always seemed to be smoldering in my loins, stoned or sober. I was still hard and my scrotom was drawn up. When I got really stoned I always got horny. And when I got horny I sometimes got reckless.