Benny and his buddy Duggan need to hitchhike separately back home to Florida after their California relocation dreams fall apart. On Benny’s first attempt at hitching, he’s harassed on a city street by a handsome stranger named Griffin, who returns in his truck to offer Benny a ride.
Apologetic Griffin eventually convinces Benny to accept the offer, and takes the hitchhiker to his rural home. There he intends to feed his guest, and convince him to have sex with bondage. Benny has something much different in mind. So how will he go about getting his way?
Benny’s feeling relieved -- for now. His ride to the outskirts of town really does lead to the highway. Worried about the choice he’s made, he doesn’t speak. Nor does the driver. The guy was right about the exhaust fumes. They don’t reach into the truck -- at least not while the heap’s rolling. Otherwise, he does smell alcohol, the drinkable kind, whenever the guy belches. He wonders how much the driver’s had, to what degree booze affects his personality and driving skills.
He recalls how drink could change his father from an indifferent parent into a barking tyrant beyond pleasing. Uneasy with the comparison, he’s also attracted by it.
The truck veers to the shoulder of the road. It idles roughly. The highway lies a short way frontward. It glimmers a silvery white in the California sunshine. Reflective light near the horizon seems to dissolve the vehicles. They soon reappear complete, but much smaller.
“Cars look like bugs from far away,” Benny says. “Birds, too.”
No response.
The truck’s atmosphere warms from the sun’s insistent rays, and from the heat of two young men enmeshed in conflicted feelings. The driver removes his red cap. He flips it into the space behind his seat, where it lands on a crushed beer can.
“Thanks for the ride,” Benny says.
The driver doesn’t smile. He stares ahead, not even nodding in recognition. Benny eyes his suitcase. It’s lying in the truck’s dusty payload. Duggan would be pissed. He told Benny to keep the bag between his legs, or in the back seat where he could grab it fast should the need arise.
Repeatedly he tries to open the passenger door. Every time the loose handle fails to connect with the latch mechanism. His two-handed approach has no effect.
“You got to pull up harder,” the driver tells him.
“I’m afraid I’ll break it.”
“Sit back and let me do it.”
The driver reaches past Benny and, with a sharp upward pull on the handle, the door finally creaks open. His large hand drops from the lever, but his muscular arm remains across Benny’s waist, preventing his exit. A crop of fine dark hair grows on the burnished forelimb. Benny would like to run his fingers across their softness.
“I take the last turnoff before the highway,” the driver says. “Come with me first, and I’ll fix us something to eat. Back in San Jose you said you were hungry. I’m guessing you are now -- and then some.”
“I don’t know,” Benny says.
“My place ain’t out in the boondocks. Gilroy’s only a few miles away.”
“Sure be nice to know who’s inviting me,” Benny says. “You never told me, and you know who I am.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” the driver tells him, in a gently mocking tone.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Benny says, letting his annoyance show. “Even a tough guy like you has a name. If you won’t tell me, I’ll give you a hanger myself to remember you by. I’m thinking Percy might suit you. How about Reginald?”
“How about I tell you -- and you quit being a smart ass?”
