The Drifter

 

Every now and again, when things just weren’t going your way, a brisk hike through the woods always helped to clear your mind. The rustling leaves, chirping of birds, the gravel trail beneath your shoes… it just seemed to help all the troubles and struggles of the day melt away. Today, however, something was off. You parked your car in the North Lot, and being so eager to decompress you left the lights on. Two hours later, you return to a lemon. The battery was dead, and with no one else in the parking lot, your only option was to run to the South Lot where the ranger station was. Thus, you sighed in exhaustion as you turned around and stumbled the long three mile trek to the South Lot.

The park was massive, and only had one main road for cars to pass from the entrance to the two parking lots. The winding gravel road was not particularly well maintained, and you thought to yourself on more than one occasion that the designer of the park must have had some bad Acid when he had routed it. Hard right turns, steep hills and filled with potholes the size of bowling balls. This was hardly the way you’d have preferred to get to the South Lot, but it was the most direct route and had the potential of a passing motorist saving your afternoon. Yet, a mile and a quarter in, not only had no one passed by you, but the sun was beginning to set beyond the canopy above. Surely a park ranger would have seen your car and gone looking before closing the gates?

Regardless of how long you had been walking, in your mind, you’d gone fifty miles. Just as the tree stump tumbled over on the side of the road looked awfully nice to take a quick nap on, a faint red light in the distance caught your eye. Just around the bend, on the other side of the ridge was a black car, and it was running. Relief! What modicums of energy you could expend, you did as you booked it down the gravel road, nearly tripping over your own feet three times enroute. Finally, the sound of a running motor brought such reassurance as you came up on the car. It was an old muscle car, a 1969 Mustang, not that you knew it. All you knew and cared about was the assistance from whomever the driver was. Walking up to the drivers side window, you sigh and prepare to thank the driver…

Empty. The car was running, windows down, The Weeknd blaring on the radio. You looked around the surrounding area for the owner, met only with empty woods at dusk.

“Hello?!” You cried out, now worried that you had stumbled upon a crime scene or a trap. No response. You turned around to glance at the car again, only to see the drivers side door was now ajar. You knew that you hadn’t opened it. You knew that there was no one inside the car, and after a peek under the car you knew there was no one around. It was an old car, perhaps it just didn’t shut properly? Ignoring the implausibility of that thought, you took a seat on the drivers seat, and tried to think of a plan. The sun was setting, you’re sitting in an abandoned car in the middle of the woods, and you’re still miles away from the ranger.

“Get in…” an ethereal voice whispered out of the radio, superimposed over the uninterrupted music. You turned to the old radio, second guessing your senses, not even realizing you had brought your legs inside of the car. The door slowly shut behind you as you examined the radio. The stick shifted into drive, and the car began to lurch forward. Panic set in, it was a trap of some sort. Kidnapping? You were poor no one would pay… Human Trafficking? Maybe, but this was awfully elaborate for that. A prank? A TV prank show was not out of the realm of possibility…

“Relax…” the voice cooed over the radio again, it’s soothing and velvety tone was certainly comforting. The car drove slowly, winding down the road toward the rangers station and the South Lot. Bruno Mars was now serenading on the radio, music that you were rather indifferent to before and yet in that moment it felt as if you knew every word and every verse. You allowed the music to relax you, to let you breathe.

“Smoke…” You looked down at the ashtray, a still smoking blunt sat waiting next to a metal lighter. It felt second nature to you to bring the blunt to your mouth, the dampness of its previous owners lips could still be tasted as you inhaled your first toke. You blew rings of delicate smoke as if you’d been smoking since you were a teenager. The haze of weed washed over you and you sank back into the seat, enjoying the vibes of the music, the smoke, and the drive.

“Let me in… Take the wheel…” You did as instructed. It felt so right to just fall, to just be, to just be driven. Your hands touched the worn leather steering wheel, and a shock ran up through your fingertips all the way to your toes. Your hands grasped the wheel confidently, and shifted gears effortlessly. Surges of energy hit you in waves, each one slowly washing you into a clean slate. Those woes and worries that had brought you into the woods in the first place seemed so far away now. Just the thought of snipping that life away, beginning anew as someone else. No cares, no worries, just the wide world and open road to wander.

“Just drive…” the voice now echoed inside your head, entirely separate from the radio. Zayn now crooned his sultry tones over the speakers, your personal favorite. He reminded you a bit of who you wanted to be: laid back, unbothered, stoic, effortlessly cool… that attitude of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ just gets under your skin and takes control. In fact, you wanted it to. You wanted that attitude, that vibe, that life inside of you. And as it began to flow into you from your hands gripping the wheel, you welcomed the change.

It started with pinpricks, as if your arms had fallen asleep. Yet, as they moved independently of you, grabbing the blunt, taking a toke, shifting into 2nd… it became a different sensation entirely. It was as if water was flowing into you, the swishing and sloshing of liquid within you, flooding from your fingertips downward. Your palms grew sweaty and calloused, doubling in size as they continued driving the car. Little scars and knicks from bygone bar room scuffles adorned your knuckles, drifting free spirits aren’t always welcomed in roadside haunts- so you had learned to handle yourself early on.

Your forearms were growing as well, the viscous sensation flowed upward into your arms, large biceps began to expand your shirtsleeves until your grey shirt had ripped. Poke and stick tattoos sprawled up your tanning skin, an outlet for your creativity and frustrations when you are bored at your Midwest rest stops or refueling at the lonely desert gas stations. Thick tufts of hair sprouted from your pits as the liquid flowed into your broadening shoulders, the remains of your poor shirt falling in shreds around you. A subtle musk started to emanate from your pits, peppery and sharp… one of your favorite scents.

Your chest expanded, two pierced Nipples perked brightly on your glistening, sticky pecs; the droplets of sweat rolled down to your navel, lean abs popping up as they passed by. You feel your posture adjust as your ass rounded out, two firm globes had you spreading your growing legs wide and leaning back into the worn leather seats.

One hand on the wheel, you grab your swelling bulge. The constraints of your pants and underwear was mounting rapidly, and in just moments you’d unzipped your fly, and released your throbbing uncut 10 incher. You groped your balls, cupping them as the grew and dropped like two golf balls in a sac. Just the slightest touch of your coarse, calloused hand on the sensitive tip of your head gave you an involuntary gasp. Pre flowed out like a faucet slipping under your musky foreskin, making every movement and jolt of the car an incredible barrage of ecstasy.

Your thighs ballooned out, and your calves hardened after years of hard work doing short stints in mechanic shops across the country. A couple hours per week, just enough to fix up the car, and keep going to the next place. Your slick, ripe size 13 feet were never going to be tied down to any one place. The world was your playground. You love your freedom, you love your independence, you love yourself, and you’re ready to roam the roads carefree from now until infinity.

Your face was the last to adjust, your eyes turning into a bright minty green, with a healthy scruffy beard sprouting up from your eternally youthful skin. As the liquid flowed up your throat, your Adam’s apple protruded even further, as the pressure kept mounting. By the time it had rushed into your head, luscious blonde locks curled out of your scalp, and earrings popped out as a final cherry on top.

You turned around, grabbing your bag from the backseat, happy to put on your favorite jeans, cleanest tank top, and well worn and loved leather jacket. Your car pulled up to a halt at the ranger station just as you were pulling on your rank harness boots. Musk, weed, and leather smells poured from the open windows as the ranger walked up to the car.

“Hey there’s an abandoned car in the North Lot. Been there for a few hours.” Your velvety baritone voice instantly charmed the man, and combined with the wafting smells from your Mustang he replied,

“Uh… yeah, yeah. Thank you sir… I’ll take a… a… a look…” the ranger stared at the sexy drifter before him, his pants began to tent. You of course took notice, reaching out for a quick grope. He gasped and moaned at your confident grasp. With one single wink, a sticky spot quickly formed in his pants.

“Ay, hurry up and we can go take a drive, whaddya say?”