I wish I’d been around when gas stations were full-service.

I’ve heard the old-timers’ stories about how you’d pull into a gas station and a guy wearing a white uniform would rush out, pump your gas, clean your windshield, check the oil, air up the tires, and do just about everything short of giving you a blowjob. That must have been nice.

A blowjob would’ve been nice, too.

But not as nice as getting out of your car to stretch your legs, taking a piss in a clean bathroom, and browsing the aisles for snacks, sodas and lottery tickets. That’s one of the benefits of living in the 21st century. Cars are a lot more reliable, and gas stations have evolved into convenience stores, where you can buy things other than just fan belts or oil filters. Oh, and if there’s a cute guy at cash register, that’s an added bonus. If there are TWO cute guys behind the counter? You can skip the lottery ticket because you just hit the jackpot.

Something like that happened not long ago. One Saturday I decided to check out a festival in a town about an hour down the road ... except everyone else had ALSO decided to check out the festival. Traffic was at a standstill. After two hours of being trapped in that claustrophobic snarl, I looked downroad to see an unmoving line of cars baking in the sun. My butt was numb, my gas pedal foot was sore and I was tired of the kid in the back seat of the car next to me making weird faces every time they pulled abreast. When I got the chance I veered into a lane cut-out, turned around and headed back. Instead of taking the same route home, which I knew would be choked with traffic, I decided to drive a little-used two-lane road that wound through the country. It led to a town about 15 miles north of my place. I could take the highway south and be home in time for dinner and a couple of beers.

It was a pleasant drive. Traffic was moving and it was nice to see a bit of nature, something I missed living in the suburbs. I drove through a couple of rain showers and used the wipers to clear the drops and scrub the bug carcasses off the windshield.

As I entered town before taking the highway south, I stopped at a gas station and convenience store. My bladder had been nagging me the past 15 minutes and it wouldn’t take no for an answer. I don’t like using convenience store bathrooms without buying something, so when I finished (the damn hand dryer didn’t work and there were no paper towels), I picked up a soft drink from the cooler and headed for the counter.

As I approached the counter from behind I spotted two asses – distinctly male asses. One was attached to a slender young man wearing khakis. The other was also a young man, a little stockier and meatier, the shorter of the two. Both would have made my list of fuckable guys and my eyes went into full lecherous middle-aged man mode.

When I came around front I saw that the stockier boy was talking to a drab woman closer to my age. One glance told me she was cougaring the young hottie, and he didn’t mind the attention. She seemed flustered and unwilling to leave, despite having wrapped up whatever story she’d been telling him. HE was a guy in his early to middle 20s, about 5-9, with close-cropped blonde hair, a pleasantly round, Englishy face, and an average build – the kind of guy you see every day and never pay a bit of attention to, unless you’re a connoisseur of men. Like me.

The other attendant jumped out at me at once. He was tall and thin, at least 6 feet but weighing not more than 145, with a trimmed helmet of brown hair, a thin, thin waist (probably not more than 28 inches), and a hint of a bulge showing in his baggy pants. Guys like him looked unremarkable until they dropped their drawers to reveal a monstrous cock. He looked like he could be packing such a weapon. But what drew me to him was his boyish, friendly expression, which was extremely ... er ... welcoming. I wanted to reach over the counter, pull his face into mine and give him a long, soul-full kiss, right there in front of God, his hot-looking coworker and the pudgy female admirer.

I put my Diet Pepsi down on the counter and reached for my wallet. “Hi, how’s it going?” the tall drink of water said. I could see he was not a kid. Maybe younger than the other fellow, but his teen years lay somewhere in the past. His nametag said “Austin.”

“I’m doing great, now,” I said, peeling two bucks out of my wallet and handing them to him. I managed to prolong the moment when my fingers touched the palm of his hand, as if a message, Da Vinci like, might flicker from my libido to his in a subtle bolt of desire. If he noticed, I couldn’t tell. Meanwhile, the woman to my left exhausted her trove of excuses for delaying and finally headed for the door, probably to go home, throw herself on the bed, lube up the dildo and pretend it was the guy behind the counter probing her sloppy depths. I know that’s what I planned to do if nothing came of my visit other than an empty bladder and a stomach full of Diet Pepsi.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Austin. He was just dreamy looking, and his body fit my idea of perfection. I love those tall, skinny boys. I love plundering their long, thin bodies and their oh-so-tight assholes. It’s more than sensual to watch a guy writhe under your touch, his body twisting and shaking in ecstasy as he submits to the will of another male and surrenders his steamy holes.

He noticed my stare and said, “What?” in a half jocular, half puzzled tone of voice. “What are you looking at? Do I need a nose check?”

In my old age I’ve discovered luck favors the bold. In my youth I would never have been so forward, but now that I was 39 and running out of time in the gay world (which worships youthful skin, good looks and muscle tone), I had learned it was better to be up front and direct in your advances. Most of time they didn’t pan out, but sometimes they did. What’s the old expression? Venture nothing and nothing is gained? That’s my personal credo.

So I said, “I was staring at you because you’re just so damn good-looking,” at which point Austin blushed so hard and so deeply I thought his body would turn wrong-side out. He grinned and looked down at the counter as I continued, “If were closer to your age I’d be asking for your phone number.”

“Whoaaaaa,” the other boy said in a loud Spicoli voice, almost laughing. “Austin, you’ve got a fan! A big fucking fan!”

Austin closed his eyes and pointed his face at the ceiling, as if seeking divine intervention. “Dammit! If only you were hot 19-year-old blonde cheerleader,” he whispered with a laugh.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” the other guy quickly volunteered, drawing a look of surprise from Austin and me, and instantly boosting my level of interest. “You never, EVER turn down a free blowjob. NEVER.”

Austin glared at him. “Are you crazy? This dude’s a DUDE.”

The other guy held up his hands in surrender. “Your dick doesn’t care who the mouth is attached to, man. And personally, it’s been my experience that gay guys give better head than chicks.”

Austin curled his lip and his co-worker interjected, “Just saying – they do. They know what feels good to a guy – because they’re guys. Of course, if you’re gonna be picky...”

I gave him another looking over. He was a hot boy in his own way and I would have been checking him out more intently were it not for Austin’s fine distraction. I told him, “Same goes for you, dude. Either one of you want to give me your number I’ll happily take it. But be prepared because I WILL call you.”

“I don’t know,” the other boy said. His nametag said “Nick.” “You’re a lot older than the guys I’ve let polish my knob.”

“I didn’t know you were gay! Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this before?” Austin interrupted, his tone one of incredulity. “It’s not like we haven’t been working together the last six months!”

“I’m not gay, dumbass. I like blowjobs. Never, ever turn down a chance at a free blowjob.”

“Jesus. You think you know somebody...” Austin grumbled. He wasn’t really angry. A subtle smile had crept into his expression. He might have been a little surprised his coworker had hidden this little detail from him, but if so, it didn’t seem like he was THAT bothered.

I turned back to Nick. “Yeah, I’m almost twice your age,” I said. “But that means I’ve got twice the experience. You’d be surprised what I can do with my tongue.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth began to curl into something that resembled a smile except there was a second meaning to it, an unmistakable expression that proved he had sampled the wares of man-on-man sex in the past, and liked what he had done. He glanced around the store, as if looking to see if anyone had overheard our conversation. The place was empty. Then he looked at me slyly.

“How about a little taste?”

“Oh, God,” Austin moaned. “Are you two gonna go at it right here in the store? You do realize there are cameras watching every corner of the place!”

Nick gave him a wicked smile. “There aren’t any cameras in the men’s room.”

I gave him a jerk of my head, inviting him to come along with me as I made my way back to the piss hole. He quickly stepped away from the counter and followed. As we headed to the rear of the story I heard Austin mutter, “Degenerates. I can’t believe the shit I have to put up with.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Nick snickered as we went into the bathroom. He closed the door and locked it. “He’s a drama queen, all bark and no bite. And I think he’s a closet bi. I’ll bet you in five minutes he’s back here knocking on the door.”

The thought of Austin’s skinny flanks within my grip, and that horse dick I suspected was hanging between his legs, got me instantly hard. I made my intentions known to Nick by dropping to my knees and reaching up to undo the button on his pants. Then I unzipped them and pulled them down, the fabric whispering over his bare flesh. He was wearing striped blue cotton tighties, which featured a prominent bulge up front. I leaned in close and inhaled deeply; his scent was meaty and a little stale, as if it had been awhile since he’d taken them off. I wondered if he wore his undies more than one day.

“We’re gonna have to make this fast,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. I could see the bulge in his underwear was growing and pulling at the flap, so I grabbed the waist of his shorts on both sides and yanked them down.

Out sprang a decent-sized dick and a wonderfully hairy set of balls. His cock was still growing but I estimated at full mast it would hit somewhere between 5½ and 6 inches. It didn’t taper to the tip; rather, the diameter was uniform all the way to the champagne cork of a cap, which was significantly wider. Already a pearlescent drop of pre-cum had gathered at the pisshole. I reached up and with my index finger, wiped it up and then stuck my finger in my mouth, running my tongue over the tip. It had a slight taste of something, some essential essence, and it coated my tongue with a gluey layer of goodness. I smacked my lips as Nick stared down at me, smiling, his cock now rock hard.

“Go ahead,” Nick said in a husky whisper. “Put it your mouth.”

I did what I was told.

His cock slid to the back of my mouth and I wrapped my lips around the shaft. I tried not to touch it with my teeth, but to be honest, when guys – especially the ones who have read too many online porn stories – talk about keeping their teeth off the dick, I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. I mean, unless you suck your lips into your mouth and wrap them over the tops of your teeth, it’s damn near impossible to keep from touching the guy with your teeth. What I TRY to do is not bite, and that’s how I handled Nick – swallowing that corn cob of a dick and letting it go down toward my throat, the little bit that did, while massaging the underside of the shaft with my tongue.

His flesh was warm and supple. When I pulled off his dick momentarily, tasting his flesh as if I had been slurping on a cock-flavored Popsicle, I detected salt and a little bit of sweat and the funk of a younger man whose glands are in an uproar. I hurriedly stuffed it back into my mouth and began working on it with a purpose, running my tongue all over the shaft, pulling back to poke at the pisshole, swallowing it back down, sucking hungrily. I reached up with my left hand and cupped his balls, which were held in that now-tight furry sack; with my other hand I reached around his butt cheek and found his ass crack. My fingers slid up and down that crevice, seeking the nexus of heat and funk I knew to be hiding there.