Junction X by Erastes (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

A strong rap on the off-side window made me jump. My head whipped round to find Alex grinning on the other side of the glass. He pulled open the door and slid in. “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t resist. You looked so worried.”

I was disarmed by his smile; he could always do that without the slightest effort. I longed to greet him as I would have a proper lover, to pull him along the seat and kiss him. I could see by the look in his eyes that what he wanted me to do this, too.

“I wish it was dark,” he said.

The heat in my groin intensified at the suggestion. Yes, I thought. Yes. When it’s dark we’ll be able to… I thought back to the night Phil and I had parked in the building site. There was no way I would have that opportunity—you don’t suddenly take a young man driving late at night—but the nights were already drawing in; winter would soon be here, and it would be pitch dark by seven. I’d never longed for the winter so much.

“Me too,” was all I could say. I started the car; he gave a soft sigh, but it caught in his throat, like he was holding something in.

“Are you all right?” Instinctively, I reached and touched his thigh between gear changes.

“I am now,” he said. “I wasn’t sure, you see. If you’d…if you would…”

“If I’d be here?”

“Don’t talk.” He took my hand and pressed it against his crotch. “Just…”

“I have to change gears,” I said, but my fingers flexed and kneaded the hardness under my hand. I couldn’t breathe.

“Let me.”

That’s when we started that game, and it took a little practice. I drove, although how I did, that first evening, I will never know, while he unzipped himself and slid forward, changing gears for me. It was madness, blissful madness, I know. Dangerous for more than just the fear of discovery, but worth every second. I fumbled through the maze of his Y-fronts and found his cock. I remember making the most stupid noise, a sharp intake of breath with a groan of pleasure, but all Alex said was, “Yes.”

I couldn’t do much more than fumble and squeeze. I certainly couldn’t do two things at once, and I soon ran out of road and had to regretfully pull my hand away to negotiate the roundabout. I couldn’t go home, couldn’t force myself to take the third exit, so I came around again and sped up the dual carriageway. There were six miles between The Avenue and the London Road, and there were no pedestrians. I already had a cover story as I straightened the car and set her at a steady thirty-five.

He came closer, like I hoped he would. “Look,” he whispered. “Look what you did.”

 I glanced down, forcing my hands to keep the car straight. His cock was clear of his trousers and liquid was seeping from the tip.

“I’m going to do it the moment I get home,” he said. “And think of you. I wish I had your photo. I’ve wanked and wanked so much since Sunday. I wish I could kiss you. I wish you could kiss this.”

 There was a sensation like pins and needles in my buttocks and I could feel my balls tightening as he talked. He leaned back, brazen, but from the outside he looked like he was just sitting there looking forward at the road ahead. He held his prick lightly in his left hand, giving me a bird’s eye view of what I wanted to see. He wasn’t masturbating but just pulling the foreskin gently up and down.

“Alex…”

“Say my name. Say it.”

“Alex…Alexander. Alexander.”

He gave that sigh again and reached over, unzipping me. I loved his name. I loved the way the L sounded—I almost had to lick my lips to say it the way he wanted me to. It was a double handful of a name, an eroticism all its own. His hands struck my skin and I jolted; the car swerved, making me thankful for the lack of traffic.

“I have to go around over the bridge.”

“That’s all right. Just don’t crash.” He reached into my trousers—less clumsily than I had, since he could look at what he was doing—and wrapped his fingers around my cock. Somehow, I pulled the car over onto the slip-road as my cock exploded in his hand. My legs were shaking as I slammed both feet onto the pedals.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “This was stupid.” I couldn’t imagine what he thought. What if we’d crashed? Unable to face him, I did myself up.

After I’d made myself decent, he took my hand. “You’d better drive,” he said.

He changed gears for me as we pulled back onto the road and over the bridge. All the way back to The Avenue, his hand never left mine except to change gears. His fingers stroked my palm. It was almost as wonderful as the feeling of his hand on my cock. He was talking with his fingers—and I knew that it was all right.

 He jumped out when we got back to the house, opening the garage doors. I drove in, and he flew into my arms for one long perfect minute, his kiss saying everything we’d been unable to. We’d had so little time. Then, always the sensible one, he broke away from me. “The car’s no good. Not for that.”

I nodded.

He looked me straight in the eye. “You want it too?” He looked suddenly unsure. “Tell me.”

I hesitated, still tongue-tied; he looked like I’d hit him. So I said urgently, “I—I do.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I was lost. He seemed to know the script, while I had no idea how this was supposed to go. All I knew that I couldn’t not see him, touch him, kiss him. Everything else took second place—everything. So why couldn’t I tell him that?

“I want you to