Hitching

by Cris Kane

Tate never stops for hitchhikers, but this guy seems pretty harmless.

Tate was speeding along his favorite back-route to Las Vegas, a desolate stretch of pavement where he could push his red Porsche Boxter to the max without worrying about a lot of traffic or cops.

With the top down, leather driving gloves and Skrillex blasting through his sound system, Tate looked like a consummate spoiled California rich kid with his mirrored sunglasses and his long blond hair blown straight back by the wind. In this case, appearances were not deceiving. He WAS a spoiled California rich kid. He was even driving shirtless in hopes of catching a few more rays to deepen his tan before he hit poolside in Vegas, and was foregoing a seat belt for fear that the shoulder belt would give him a tan line.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the edge of the roadway: a pathetic-looking man with a raised thumb and a desperately hopeful smile. Tate slammed on his brakes, his tires screeching as they burnt smoking-rubber curlicues onto the pavement. What the fuck was anyone doing hitchhiking on this godforsaken stretch of asphalt in Death Valley?

Tate was terrified that he had hit the guy, when he heard the faint trot of approaching footsteps over the fine-tuned hum of his idling engine. Tate lowered his shades and took a look at the hitcher. No wonder Tate hadn’t noticed him, as he was dressed in shades of brown and beige that thoroughly camouflaged him against the barren desert landscape. The guy must be burning up out here in a heavy jacket and corduroys. His floppy tan hat must have offered him a little shade, but in combination with his sappy face, it did give the unfortunate impression that he was auditioning for the lead in “Gilligan’s Desert”.

“Thanks for stopping for me!” the man said with a grin. Technically, Tate hadn’t stopped for the dude, but was just stopping to make sure he hadn’t killed anyone. Still, he saw no reason to be a prick and peel away now, leaving the sap in the dust. He had never picked up a hitchhiker in his life, but this guy looked totally harmless. The guy climbed in and was in the process of closing his door when he yelled, “I almost forgot my bag!”

The guy climbed out and jogged over to a gully where he had hidden a black backpack. He returned to the car, tucking the backpack between his legs on the floor. He took off his canvas hat and waved it to create a breeze across his face. Tate noticed the guy’s big bald spot and figured he must be in his thirties if not older.

Tate asked his new passenger, “So where are you heading?”

“I’ll get out wherever you stop. I’m just trying to get back to civilization.”

“I’m heading to Vegas, if you count that as civilization. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Somebody stole my car and abandoned me.”

“For serious? Shit, man, that’s fucked up.”

“I know. If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted.”

Tate felt much better about rescuing this guy. He extended a hand. “I’m Tate.”

“Neil,” said the passenger, latching his seat belt. He looked admiringly at the car. “This is a beautiful car. How much did it cost?”

“I dunno. Seventy grand or something. Got it from my dad when I graduated college.”

“Wow, cool. So what do you do now?”

Tate flashed a wide grin and said, “Drive my Porsche to Vegas.” Neil braced his hands against the dash as Tate peeled out and roared Vegas-ward. Neil’s floppy hat blew off and he turned to watch it floating in the air.

“Sorry, man, do you want me to turn around and get it?” Tate yelled over the engine and the stereo.

“Nah,” said Neil, “I think it’s served its purpose.”

As the car flew down the little-traveled road, from time to time Tate caught Neil glancing over at his ripped torso and toned arms with more than passing curiosity. Tate knew he looked good and he worked hard to keep in shape, so he usually had no problem when dudes checked him out. On the few occasions when guys had tried to go beyond looking, Tate was more than strong enough to, let’s say, persuade them to stop. He certainly wouldn’t need to do much to neutralize any advances from someone as doughy as Neil. Mainly Tate was surprised that Neil would be gay, since he just looked like some average wimpy dad. Guess you can’t judge people by their appearances, Tate thought.

Tate did notice Neil smiling broadly as his eyes lingered on Tate’s cut-off jeans. Tate had to admit that they were pretty damn short, with the bottom of the pockets hanging out the bottom. He could see how they might be giving off gay signals, but Tate just wore them for tanning purposes, so the sun would reach high up his thighs. Nothing worse than trying to hit on a honey at the pool when you’re flashing fishbelly white skin.

They drove in silence, if you can call whipping winds and loud EDM “silence”, until Neil noticed a small filling station ahead.

“Do you mind if we stop? I need to use the rest room!” Neil shouted.

Tate slowed the car and pulled into the dusty two-pump station. The windows were grimy, the pumps didn’t work, and the rusted metal price signs hadn’t been changed since gas prices were under two bucks a gallon. The lone bathroom was located on the outside of the station, its flaking-painted wooden door swingng open and closed in the breeze.

Neil opened his door and rushed eagerly toward the bathroom before stopping halfway to the station and doubling back to the car to grab his backpack. He carried it inside the bathroom and closed the door tightly.

Tate got out to stretch his legs and wandered around the property. He squinted at his reflection in the windows of the gas station and swept a gloved hand through his thick golden hair. The harsh shadows of the setting sun made the etched contours of his pecs and abs even more impressive than usual.

He momentarily toyed with the idea of driving away and leaving Neil behind, but realized how uncool that would be. If nothing else, it was unwise to generate bad karma on your way to Vegas. Screw it, he thought. So what if the guy gets his jollies from checking you out? Take it as a compliment. You’ll be in Vegas in less than an hour and you’ll never see the dude again. Imagine if you heard on the news in a week that they found some bloated corpse lying in the desert wearing nothing but corduroys. Not that Tate actually followed the news, but still.

Tate leaned against his car as he watched the red sun sink below the horizon. Damn, Neil seemed to be taking a long damn time in the can. He walked toward the building and called through the door, “Neil?” No answer. He knocked. “Hey, mister, you okay in there?” Still silence. Shit, maybe being lost in the desert had dehydrated the guy. He pushed on the door, which swung open easily.

In the fading twilight, Tate could see Neil standing in the restroom totally naked. “Sorry about this,” Neil said as he reached out and clasped his hands around the sides of Tate’s head and placed his lips on Tate’s. Tate flinched, struggling to get away, but his mind soon became foggy, as if a powerful sedative were entering his body and robbing him of his senses in quick succession. It almost felt like his very essence was shrinking, retreating to a small corner of his brain while something – or someone – else assumed control of his bodily functions. With his fading vision, he noticed Neil passing out and falling to the floor, just seconds before Tate himself lost consciousness.

As soon as he had seen the driver of the Porsche, he knew he was going to love being Tate.

He had been so many other people by now that he had long ago lost count. He knew he had been “hitching” like this for over a decade, hopping from one body into the next, and he probably stayed in each one an average of a week. So figure that’s about fifty a year times ten years. Wow, he’d been five hundred different people? No wonder it seemed so hard to remember when he had a real identity of his own.

He’d discovered this technique back when he was just a miserable closeted gay teenager named Danny. He was so unhappy that he found himself prowling the little-visited corners of the internet late at night where people discussed concepts like soul theft and body-swapping. The notion of being anyone besides himself was very appealing to Danny, even if the execution seemed impossible. Still, he had become intrigued by one technique he read about, in which you train your mind to focus until your soul becomes something entirely separate from your physical body. Once you have achieved this pure state of being, you can take control over anyone you wish simply by kissing them on the lips, allowing your spirit to travel from your body to theirs.

Danny decided he would test the technique on Randy, the only out gay guy in his class. He was even wussier than Danny, weighing under 100 pounds even if you counted his eye makeup, hairspray and bracelets, but he was the only guy Danny figured he had a chance of kissing. He practiced the technique for weeks at home in his bedroom before approaching Randy after school one day and asking to make out with him for five bucks. Nobody else at school was asking Randy to make out, let alone offering cash for the privilege, so he led Danny to a secluded spot in the nearby woods where no one would see them. When they reached a clearing, the two boys began to kiss. Danny was so distracted by the thrill of getting his first kiss that he almost forgot why he was really there, but he quickly closed his eyes and focused his mind.

Soon, a tingling spread through his body, as if he were losing control of his extremities. That numbness grew until Danny felt like he had become an entity completely separate from his body, condensed into something ethereal yet still somehow tangible. He could feel that spirit migrating from his body into Randy’s. Once there, his essence began to expand, its tendrils extending through Randy’s blood vessels, his nerves, his skeleton. Danny’s consciousness began to reemerge, blossoming within Randy’s brain and taking complete control of Randy’s body before it collapsed to the ground.

Danny had no idea how long he had been unconscious as he tried to get used to the eerie sensation of being contained within another human being. Watching as he manipulated Randy’s pale bony hands, Danny was immediately aware of how fragile Randy’s body was, and how winded he had become from their brief struggle. Danny was no prize, but going from his body into Randy’s was definitely a trade down. Still, Danny didn’t mind. He had discovered that the technique worked.

He looked over at his former body, lying still and peaceful on the ground. Very still and peaceful. Danny nudged at it with one of Randy’s hot-pink sneakers, but got no reaction. He scrambled over and grabbed his ex-wrist but felt no pulse. He rolled his old body onto its back and tried pounding its chest, but there was no one inside to react, no soul to reanimate the body.

The instructions on the website hadn’t been particularly easy to decipher, but Danny had definitely assumed that he and Randy would merely swap bodies. Now Danny was becoming aware that, when he had taken over Randy’s body, Randy hadn’t left. Even though Danny was fully in control of the body, he could still feel the tangible presence of Randy lurking in the back of his mind. He couldn’t communicate with Randy or detect Randy’s thoughts, but he was definitely aware that Randy was back there, like a sharp pebble trapped in a shoe, a constant irritant that Danny could feel nagging at him, reminding him, “This is not your body.”

Panicked by these unexpected repercussions, Danny pressed Randy’s lips to those on his old body and kissed, desperately hoping he could focus his soul and breathe it back into his old body and undo this procedure. But the life had well and truly been sucked out of his old shell. There would be no returning to his body.

Danny had just killed himself.

Ever since, Danny had been a man without a body, a transient moving from one temporary home to another, a hitchhiker using other people’s bodies to get him from one place to the next, a human hermit crab. After Randy, he spent a particularly pleasant month as Caleb, the football captain and prom king. Caleb had certainly been surprised when “that fag Randy” kissed him on the lips in full view of everyone in the lunchroom, but it was a much bigger surprised when Caleb, under Danny’s control, came out of the closet and began to date Randy, even to the point of getting matching tattoos. But as much fun as that had been, he soon realized he had gone too far. He had no right to disrupt Caleb’s life so drastically. He was a guest in this body, as he was constantly reminded by that persistent remnant of Caleb at the back of his mind, jabbing at his conscience. It was time to give Caleb his life back, so Danny drove Caleb’s Corvette to another city and waited outside a gay bar until he saw someone new he’d like to “try on” for a while. A buff, heavily-tattooed bodybuilder exited the club, and was startled when a fit young high-school guy walked over confidently and Frenched him. Two bodies hit the sidewalk and, when they arose, Danny had hitched a ride with someone new and Caleb was left clutching his head, feeling like he’d just slept through the past month and wondering what the hell he was doing fifty miles from home outside a gay bar.

That’s how Danny’s life had unfolded for the past ten years, as he roamed the country, switching to a new body whenever the old one lost its novelty or his conscience began to weigh on him that he had stolen enough of the person’s life. This technique had given him the chance to see life from hundreds of different perspectives, becoming everything from a male stripper to a female governor, but he knew he would never again have a body that was truly his own. He knew he possessed a core personality that he still thought of as “Danny”, but after spending each day of the past ten years behaving as someone else, he felt less and less connected to that essential Danny-ness.

Once he took control, Danny had full access to each person’s memories and abilities, so he was usually able to function perfectly as that person without anyone realizing that something was off. Since he also had access to the people’s PIN codes, Danny started to use their money to fund his activities. He felt it was perfectly justified, as he couldn’t very well starve them and leave their bodies ruined by the time he left. Besides, he usually had to keep going to their jobs while he was in their bodies, so he figured he had earned the money legitimately. But as time went on, his rationalizations grew more elaborate and the ethical lines became fuzzier. By the time Danny had transferred himself into Neil’s sad middle-aged body at a rest stop back in New Mexico, Danny thought nothing of spending several days AWOL from Neil’s job before selling Neil’s car for cash and stuffing the proceeds into his backpack to pay for future adventures.

Danny was starting to wish he had kept the car when he discovered how few people took this back road to Vegas, so he almost thought it was a mirage when Tate’s Porsche appeared in the distance, barreling toward him. He couldn’t believe his luck when the car skidded to a halt and he couldn’t believe his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the blond dreamboat behind the wheel. Being in an average body like Neil’s was helpful now and then as a way to go unnoticed for a while, but he preferred hitching in a hotter model whenever possible. He couldn’t wait to take Tate’s body for a spin, if he could figure out how to kiss Tate and make the transfer. He formed his plan as soon as he saw the old gas station up ahead. He was taking a risk that Nate wouldn’t drive off and abandon him, but the very fact that Tate had stopped to help a doofus like Neil in the first place gave him faith that Tate had a good soul.

Danny closed the bathroom door and undressed, stuffing Neil’s clothes into his backpack. The blackout period following the transfer was usually enough to allow Danny to make a quick getaway in his new body before the body he had previously occupied woke up, but as an extra precaution, he found it prudent to leave the previous body stark naked. The natural inclination not to run around naked in public tended to slow down their response time if they did try to pursue him.

“Neil?” Danny heard a knock on the door. “Hey, mister, you okay in there?” Danny kept silent and focused, waiting for Tate to swing open the door. When Tate finally swung open the door, the element of surprise worked in Danny’s favor, as Tate’s mouth hung agape at the sight of Neil’s flabby naked body. Danny said, “Sorry about this,” knowing it was the last time he would speak in Neil’s dreary monotone. He locked lips with Tate and felt himself passing into the young stud.

Danny awoke on the dirty floor of the abandoned bathroom and enjoyed his first moments in Tate’s body. He couldn’t resist stroking his hand along the well-defined chest and abs and feeling the hardening bulge squeezed into his tiny shorts. He looked across the room and saw Neil’s naked body curled on the floor. The poor guy was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he got back to New Mexico and started to hear stories of the adventures he’d had during his blackout. Danny felt bad that Neil would never remember anything about the craziest week his body ever had. He also was having second thoughts about selling Neil’s car. The guy didn’t deserve to be punished when his only “crime” was being nice enough to pick up a desperate hitchhiker. Danny pulled the money from the sale of the car out of his backpack and stuffed it into Neil’s fingers.

As Neil begin to moan, Danny tiptoed outside, feeling the evening chill on Tate’s bare skin. He popped open the trunk of the Porsche and slipped on a sweatshirt to keep him warm the rest of the way to Vegas. He got behind the wheel, tossing the black backpack into the passenger seat, so it would be immediately accessible in case he needed to abandon the Porsche suddenly. He hadn’t driven a stick in a while, but fortunately Tate’s sense-memory was readily accessible. Danny turned the key and the engine purred. Tate’s music resumed blasting from the speakers. Something in his brain told Danny that it was by somebody called deadmau5. And that this was now his favorite music. Tate kicked the Porsche into gear and squealed his tires on the blacktop with the fading sunset in his rear-view.

The Porsche pulled into the valet parking at the Wynn casino and Danny strode in like a prince. He checked into the massive suite Tate had booked for the weekend, overtipped the bellboy and checked out his amazing view. “Thank you, Tate,” Danny said, grinning at the beautiful man’s reflection in the windows. He took a hot shower which helped him get more intimately acquainted with his new body. It had been a long time since he’d been in someone this fine. Naked and dripping, he inspected the contents of Tate’s Gucci suitcases. A burgundy suit over a black silk shirt might look nice tonight, although with any luck he wouldn’t be wearing them for long.

Crossing the casino floor, he could see heads turning to take in his magnificence. He walked as if on auto-pilot toward the high-stakes poker room where all the staff seemed to know Tate by name. He got $50,000 in chips to start. Danny was amazed when the request for that much money tumbled out of his mouth, but the staff didn’t bat an eye. Danny counted on Tate’s cunning and expertise to carry him despite Danny’s lack of experience playing poker. Sure enough, by the end of the evening, he was up thirty grand. Danny planned to cash that in and slip into his backpack. He figured he had earned it.

Danny saw no reason to push his luck further at the gambling tables and headed to a dance club where a sexy young guy named Jamie quickly caught his eye. Jamie had a powerfully compact body, curly brown hair and two sets of dimples that punctuated his cheeks like semicolons. Within ten minutes of saying “hello”, they were back in Tate’s room where Danny was burying Tate’s cock deep into Jamie’s tight ass. They barely left the room for two days, ordering room service, watching porn, and eventually making some of their own on Tate’s iPhone.

With much regret, Jamie had to leave on Sunday to return to his Marine base, so Danny drove him to McCarran Airport in the Porsche. Danny passionately kissed Jamie goodbye, careful not to become so passionate that he allowed his spirit to transfer. Danny had no desire to accidentally enlist like that. As he waved to Jamie, Danny realized Vegas wouldn’t be nearly as fun without him. Danny went back to the hotel, grabbed his backpack and changed into Tate’s extra-short shorts. He headed back to the lobby and was about to get the Porsche out of valet parking when he changed his mind. He wasn’t ready to give up this body, not by a long shot, but he had come to prefer the adventure of hitchhiking. And he certainly shouldn’t have any trouble getting rides looking like this.

Danny slid the valet ticket into the pocket of his cut-offs where Tate would find it when Danny finally decided to cede control of this body back to Tate. Tate would simply wake up one day in another city with a black hole where the memories of his days in Vegas had vanished. Wouldn’t he surprised when he found that video on his phone of he and Jamie fucking? Danny smiled wistfully, sad that he wouldn’t be around to see Tate’s reaction to that.

Danny hiked to the fringe of the city before sticking out Tate’s thumb. Even after all these years, he still got a thrill wondering who his next ride would be.

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