I slowed down and came to a stop off the side of the road. It was almost midnight and there was no one else on the road, but I had seen a hitchhiker. I thought about it for a second and figured nothing would go too badly – I had a gun stashed and was a pretty intimidating man overall. ‘Besides,’ I thought to myself, ‘how the hell is that guy gonna get anywhere at this time of night?’ I saw a man walk up along the passenger’s side of the truck and I rolled down the window.

“Hey, where are you headed?” I asked him.

“As far north as I can get,” he said. He gave off a pretty good vibe and I was horny as hell; everyone has heard stories about picking up hitchhikers and then fucking the shit out of them. Well, I decided, that was going to be me.

“I’m heading up that way,” I said, “hop in. You must be hot as hell.” He was, in more ways than one. It was one of those humid, balmy nights that make someone want to climb in a freezer. He was solidly built, with a bulky, muscular frame and a close-cropped haircut. I could see his massive pecs through his wife beater and there were traces of light, brown hair covering his chest. He looked like your stereotypical good ‘ol boy, born and raised in the south.

“Thanks a lot man,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat, “not a lot of people pick up hitchhikers anymore but I’m pretty fucking desperate.”

“What happened? You’re in the middle of nowhere.” We were on State Route 25, which cut through the middle of rural Georgia. That road redefined “nowhere.” I was headed back home to Pennsylvania from a business conference I had been to in Atlanta, and I always liked to take the back roads. Interstate Highway driving wore me down, but taking the back roads was a lot more interesting, and usually there was hardly any traffic.

“It’s a long story,” he replied.

“I’m listening,” I told him, turning down the radio.

“Well, I guess you can tell from looking that this ain’t the most accepting place in America as far as sexuality goes.” He said. He spoke with a slight southern accent, but it wasn’t horrible. He was wearing a tattered pair of jeans and a well-worn pair of work boots along with his somewhat stained wife-beater. He continued, “so, I told my wife I was bi. She didn’t take it too good.” He continued telling me about she had basically flipped her shit and kicked him out of the house.

“So why are you heading north?” I asked.

“I don’t have anyone I know here,” he replied, “at least not now. Everyone in this fucking town is gonna know by tomorrow morning. I just want to get the hell out before I had to deal with all that. I got some family up north.”

“I understand. My family freaked out when I told them I was gay.” I said. ‘Holy shit,’ I thought to myself, ‘this is happening just like it does in those pornos!’ I was pretty excited but I hid it pretty well.

“Damn,” he said, “what a coincidence. I come out as bi and hitchhike with a gay man.”