Overview

“I didn’t ask if you were gay. I asked if you were gonna suck me or stare at it.”

The dry desert heat is sweltering, but it pales in comparison to the guy who picks me up after my car breaks down. Jesse looks like a sexed-up Goblin King, with those tight leather pants, defined muscles, and tattoos winding up his arms—everything a straight man like me shouldn’t want.

But one look at that impressive bulge in his pants has me desperate for a taste. It’s just road head, right?

Until Jesse drags me into his lap to teach me what my hole was really made for—him. This morning, I was on my way to Los Angeles, straight, and single. But now that I’ve had a taste, I don’t think there’s any putting this ride in reverse.