Bored and confined in the gray-green slog of a Midwestern highway, Paul decided to think about dicks. He’d given up on his podcast when the rain started flinging itself at his windshield with a pattering, thunderous scream. There was no actual thunder or lightning. It was just a good hard afternoon rainstorm, the kind that looped between a drizzle and a downpour for hours, dumping down raindrops the size of dimes like the sky couldn’t piss them out fast enough.
The rain cut the heat but not the humidity, so Paul’s AC was cranked up. Between the fan and the rain, his podcast was unintelligible. He turned down the volume of his phone without looking away from the road.
Paul was three hours into the five-and-a-half hour slog across the whole of Michigan. And Russell had better be grateful, grumped the little voice in his head. He told it to be quiet. Thinking of Russell made his palms shiver on the wheel. He wished he’d never offered to meet him.
It wasn’t often that he had a good long stretch of time to just indulge himself, flicker through the fantasies stored in his brain like an old photo album. It was easy with Russell already on his mind. They’d met in college. He was the first guy Paul had spent the night with.
Even back then, Paul had been bigger than him. His dad had passed down his respectable height and broad build. He had played football in high school. Russell, meanwhile, was easygoing, kinda funny, scrawny. Back then, at least. According to the glimpses on his Facebook page, he’d bulked up over the last twenty-five years, filled out his beard, lost his sense of humor.
He’d found Russell cute in a way that definitely wasn’t queer, until it was. He’d had a cute dick. Uncut with a patch of ginger hair.
He wondered for a moment if his ex would have ever done something like jerk him off while driving down the highway, but unfortunately Paul was too wise to enjoy the thought of something that could get him killed in a wreck of hot metal. The imagery shivered and died before his eyes.
In the back of his mind Paul knew he was dozing off. The road blurred before him, one infinite line. The back-forth of the windshield wipers unfocused and overwhelmed him but he couldn’t look away. There was nothing to look at anyway, besides the line of the road and the gray-green endless rainstorm. Goddamn, he couldn’t get out of Michigan fast enough.
He jolted. He’d just felt something touch his lap. No – he was hard. Paul winced and readjusted his grip on the wheel. He’d found another disadvantage to thinking about dicks on the road.
He found himself a little uneasy, a little ashamed, in a way he hadn’t felt about a boner since the boys’ locker room in middle school, which was stupid since he was the sole occupant of a car driving down a freeway that had to be empty for miles around.
Paul made a mental note to throw his jeans out once he got home (after he went to bed with his German shepherd and a hot mug of coffee, god, what bliss). Too tight. Jeans weren’t supposed to grip dicks like that, even hard ones.
Paul took a shaky breath. It echoed, breathed back, right in his ear.
He shuddered. The grip tightened.
Something was in his lap, and although he couldn’t see it he could feel it – a heaviness on his thighs and a possessive tightness on his groin. The road was fuzzy now, and squinting only amplified the shadow between him and the road, something that was frail and barely there but contained layers and layers that got harder to see through the more he tried to ignore it.
It was almost humanoid. It reached to the hood of his car and curled downwards, around him.
It was faint enough that Paul wanted to convince himself it wasn’t real. He looked out the window, seeking help, but the sky had come down to the road. It was outside the car too.
With a shaking hand Paul reached for his phone and turned the volume back up, blasting it, but all he could hear from the speakers was the sound of the rain.
He drove on. What else could he do? He drove like he was possessed. The speedometer said 110, but the gray fog outside was so thick and still that he might as well have been frozen, aside from the faint whistling of the wind pitching ever higher.
It felt like a finger, now, something tracing the bulge in his pants with a frightening consciousness. A finger or a tendril. Paul spared a glance away from the road, but there was nothing there. But he felt it. It was right there, playing with the zipper on his jeans and either too spectral or too clumsy to accomplish anything.
Sweat was dripping down Paul’s back. He placed one hand in his lap, but instantly that heavy, staticky sensation surrounded his hand and tried to manipulate his fingers. He moved it away.
“Is someone there?” he said out loud, surprised by how difficult it was to get the words out, like they were eaten the moment they left his mouth.
The air quivered. The static crept upward along his chest and neck.
At this point it was shocking how aroused he was. As if it had all turned from a game to an undeniable need to come. He ached. Almost against his will he shakily unzipped his jeans and exposed his underwear.
The hand was on him right away, dragging itself along his length, teasing him. He muffled a groan and forced himself to stay upright.
It was like a mirage because the less he paid attention to the thing in his lap, the clearer it became. In the corner of his eye he could almost see it, roiling with gray-black static, tightening its grip on him. Even though his heart was pounding in his chest, Paul was crumbling.
At the touch of something against his mouth, he parted his lips. Something slid inside, thick and tasting like hot metal. He made a faint noise and swallowed reflexively. His throat starting tingling, and his stomach—
His underwear was pushed aside, leaving his flesh unprotected. The sensation intensified. Like pins and needles, on the edge of being unbearable, but it was too good. He craved more. His cock was dripping precome and he was drooling, his head was tipped back. Between ragged breaths he heard his phone fritz, the sound of the rain changing to reedy, harsh, unfamiliar pants for just seconds at a time.
Paul’s cock twitched, his thighs tensed up, he knew he was close. He curled in on himself and squeezed the wheel tightly as the first splintered cry of rapture left his mouth.
A horn. Then headlights. For milliseconds, twin beams of light glared straight into the windshield.
He was on the wrong side of the road. Instinct preserved him and he heaved the wheel to the right. The car screamed; he heard and felt the rattle as a semi truck blew by, missing by inches. He overshot the lane and screeched into a ditch. The car tipped at an angle just a little too steep, tossing around the empty cardboard boxes in the trunk.
Finally the car evened out and shuddered to a stop, and the rain lightened around him to reveal a sky awash with pale gray light.
Come oozed on the hem of his shirt. His orgasm had been ruined. He was still hard, but his skin was quivering and sensitive under the eager invisible touch.
“Jesus Christ, stop,” he gasped. The static hurt. Overloaded his nerves like fire. It didn’t seem to care.
Paul buckled around himself, but the creature swarmed every inch of skin it could reach, wringing another orgasm out of him in seconds. It was insatiable. It didn’t even seem to recognize that humans had limits.
After long agonizing minutes, respite came, but only for a second. Through eyes squeezed shut he could see the creature balancing itself over his lap on spindly limbs. A tendril crept down, gingerly lining up his cock. It sank down slowly and the phone speakers nearly burst with an eldritch hiss of ecstasy.
Paul covered his mouth with his fist and bit down hard, drawing blood just as the polite knock came on the car door.
He’d thrown his coat over his lap. The intangible creature continued as if the coat wasn’t there.
“Can I see your license?” the officer asked. Paul passed it over wordlessly.
The officer checked it front and back before handing it back through the window. “Just checking in on you,” he said. “You know you’re in a ditch?”
“Yes,” Paul said. “Sorry, Officer.”
“Are you in possession of any alcoholic substances?”
“No sir,” he said. “I’m a trucker. I wouldn’t risk losing my job.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Up north,” he hissed. He gritted his teeth and tried again. “I’m meeting an old friend in Alpena.”
“Uh-huh,” the officer said.
“Truthfully,” Paul rasped, “I was falling asleep, and I wanted to make sure I was fit to drive.”
“That’s very wise of you,” the officer said. He took his time finding his words. Paul squeezed his license, the corner biting into the wound on his hand.
“I’ll let you go,” the officer said finally. He peered into the car to see Paul’s face. He frowned, unconsciously brushing under his eye in sympathy. “Take some deep breaths before you get back on the road.”
“Thanks, sir,” Paul said, quietly, with great humility.
As the police officer trekked back to his car, Paul leaned his head against the headrest, letting tears finish tracking down his cheeks.
The second the police car was back on the road, Paul slammed his fist against the passenger seat. “You fucking asshole,” he snarled to the thing that was still bouncing on his cock, “what the fuck are you?”
He got no answer, but he dug both fingers into the thing’s torso and it howled, clutching his shoulders and he fucked it as brutally as someone could fuck thin air. The tendrils squeezed in around him, growing more tangible with each thrust along with the body of the thing in his lap, and after some impossible length of time it started convulsing.
It didn’t come like a human did, but he recognized the rhythm of it: a spasm followed by absolute stillness, followed by a crushing change in the static around him that sucked the air from his lungs. The pressure released; there was a noise like the fabric of the air tearing around him as the creature’s staticky body coalesced into a dot and vanished.
Paul was left gasping too hard to miss the weight on his thighs. He’d just come again, and it hurt like a motherfucker but it might have been the hardest he’d come since Russell.
When he snapped back into reality, the sun had started to set. It was glaring and brilliant, orange sweeping across the sky, reflecting across the drops that stubbornly continued to patter across his windshield.
Paul wobbled his way out of the car to stretch his legs and that was when he realized he wasn’t even on the side of the highway anymore. He was in a rest area, God knew where—he tried to check his phone out of habit but found it drained of battery and hot to the touch.
Cars whizzed by on the highway, unheeded by the rain. Paul craned his neck at the nearest sign. If he was being optimistic, it kind of looked like it said Alpena.
There was nothing else to do for it, so he climbed back into the car and drove on.