It was a cool autumn evening. I'd stayed late at work to update some important files so they'd be ready for Monday's audit. I'd driven Central Avenue a thousand times but usually I didn't go home that way. It was all surface streets and too many lights but when I came up Kennilworth Avenue to turn onto Route 50 for the quick drive home, the cars were backed up for as far as I could see. It was six miles to the Beltway and the most direct route home, but that was also the source of most monumental backups. The alternative was an easy decision that I made by reflex before it was too late.

I'm not a big believer in fate or predestination but as I made my turn onto Ardmore Road, that's where Keith stood. His hand was thrust out into the road, thumb upturned, his face looking far more hopeful than his posture. He was clean and he had dark blonde hair and an ordinary face. Those were some of the things that I noticed about men. There was no expectation of perfection any longer and ordinary was just fine on the lonely days.

Of course there were certain standards that had to be met before I stopped for anyone. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I stopped for a hitchhiker. The world had grown dangerous and I had grown cautious but he looked harmless enough and seemed neat and clean.

When he hopped in he smiled, and I added that point in his favor. He paid me little mind past that and he helped me watch the road out in front of us. He seemed to be looking for nothing besides a ride, which I was happy to give him. My days were long and arduous but my nights were empty and I spent them reading or staring into the television.

"I'll be getting off on Central Avenue. I'm going out toward Kettering," he said when we stop at the light in Fairmont Heights.

"I'm going out to 495 on Central. I can take you that far if you like," I said in a noncommittal way in case he wanted to get out for reasons I couldn't determine.

"Cool," he said, taking a second longer look at me.

We went back to watching the road. He was silent for a long time. He must have been thinking about what I had said, and he looked at me carefully before speaking the second time.

"It would have been faster if you'd gone to 50 and out to 495. This takes another fifteen minutes. You new in town?"

"No, the traffic was backed up going toward 50. I was coming up Kennilworth and had time to get off before I hit the backup. I used to come this way with my ... friend, so I knew how to avoid the tie up."

He looked at me when I said friend after hesitating. Ben and I were lovers for years and one of our pass times was driving. When we lived in Bladensburg, we drove the back roads around the county. I'd worked near by and knew all the surface streets. Ben and I had gone our separate ways and now I worked a lot, went out on weekends from time to time, but mostly showered and got dressed up and then I ended up just sitting down in front of the television and not going anywhere. I watched a lot of television. I hadn't been able to jump back into another relationship in the months since Ben left me.

There wasn't a lot of heart in anything I did these days. I'd never had a live-in lover before Ben and it turned out to be the best thing I'd ever done. Ben and I had the same tastes, enjoyed the same things, and I was always comfortable being around him. Once he was gone I wasn't even comfortable around myself. Everything was suddenly all wrong but I had no desire to make it right. I knew exactly what was missing from my life but I wasn't willing to expend the energy it would take to find it again. It took such an overwhelming investment to get involved with another human being that I no longer thought I was up to the challenge. Love had passed me by.

"Most guys won't pick up hitchhikers any more ... unless they want something. I was lucky." He glanced my way when he paused. "I was only out there for five minutes. Lucky for me you came."

There was a subtle change in his voice and I could hear a slight drawl, which gave me a clue that his family was from southern Maryland or maybe just across the bridge in Virginia. His hair was fairly short but not short enough for the military and I wasn't sure how old he was. He seemed at ease with himself but it was hard to tell so quickly. There was nothing about him that made me uncomfortable, but he kept looking at me as though he saw something he recognized.

"Yeah, you were lucky. I would have been almost home by now if 50 hadn't been blocked. I don't usually pick up strangers, but you look neat and clean. You looked safe. I've been out there enough times to know what it's like needing to get a ride."

"You too," he said, looking at me each time he spoke. "I check before I get in. If a guy looks too weird I wave him on."

"Unless they want what?"

He was making conversation and I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't ask. My curiosity was troubling me because I was sure I knew what he meant when he had said it, but why had he said it? He wasn't cold and remote like most hitchhikers and mine was an honest response to something he had said.

Of course he was probably going to see his girlfriend and that was just a warning that he knew what guys wanted when they picked him up. It was Friday night and so he would be dressed for that purpose and be freshly scrubbed just in case he was successful.

He looked at me a couple more times as we road along but I kept my eyes on the road. He waited before he answered. I don't know if he was thinking about his answer or was just wondering why I wanted him to talk about the obvious. We both knew what I was getting to and there was no getting around it. It's funny how so few words can tell you a really big story.

"To party of course."

His directness surprised me. I knew what he meant. He said it so I had to know. His eyes moved off me after he spoke the words. There were other words to better describe what he meant, but his words spoke of hope and they were filled with a proposition if I was so inclined. He relaxed and leaned his shoulder against the door and turned to rest one leg up on the seat so he was partially turned toward me, although he continued looking out the window.

It was a posture of trust or at least one that gave me access to him in a way that was suggestive. The bent knee was only a few inches from my leg and his crotch was now an easy reach for my hand. He glanced at my right hand and then my face, looking out the window as we drove.

"A guy my age can't buy beer, you know. Guys your age can. If a guy your age picks me up and says party, he gets my attention right off. I can be very friendly if there's beer involved. Some guys like that and I'm easy."

"You aren't twenty-one?"

"A mite short ah twenty, but I like beer and that's a curse for the likes of me. Of course it's a crime to furnish me booze, so it helps to have a place where we can go so I can get wasted and recover without the risk of arrest for either of us."

"You're going to meet your friends?"

"I don't know. I haven't got there yet. Not if I can find someone to buy me beer first," he said, looking directly at me before looking away to finish the rest of it. "Then I just need to find someone to give me a place to drink it. Life is so complicated for the young."

"You are over eighteen?" I asked to make certain.

"I'm legal if that's what you're asking."

"So you aren't all cleaned up for a date?"

"I wish. I haven't been working and my babe checked out until I can afford her again. Can't blame her much for that but I haven't had none in weeks. Coming up short after getting it every day keeps my pecker pulling in my pants, you know. Always looking for a reason to get out of there. Fucker's got a mind all its own."

"I bet," I said, enjoying the imagery of what was in his pants and what it might be doing just then. He rested his hand there to draw my eyes to the spot. He had all the moves and he had read me like a book.

I chuckled as I glanced to see if there was any sign of his pecker. He pushed down on the leg of his pants with the heel of his hand, moving it out in the direction of his knee. I became flustered when I realized I was looking at the impression of his erection through the khaki material. He moved his hand out of my way once he had it where it was easy to see.

"You party?" He asked and smiled once he caught my eyes on it.

"Not as much as I once did. I've been alone lately after a few years with someone I was close to. Mostly I work too much and sleep too much."

"We have something in common. We're both going without after having plenty."

"Isn't that the truth. It's nice having someone to talk to," I said in a weak moment, revealing more to him than he needed to know.

"Really! We need to team up for some heavy drinking. We can cry in our beer about lost love. You got a place where we can go? But you're all suited up and you're probably going out with some nice fancy lady tonight. Maybe your phone number and I'll call you tomorrow."

"No, no ladies. I'm not dating," I said abruptly.

He smiled and acted cheerful. He seemed serious but I wasn't sure what a twenty-year-old would get out of hanging out with a thirty-year-old. The lines of division were strictly drawn as long as I could remember. Two years of me either way was fine, three was a stretch, and more than that was a lifetime of differences.

When I looked at Keith all I felt was the flush he had brought to my face. I hadn't felt that flush in a long time. I'd forgotten there was such a thing. In the time it took to get to Central Avenue, he'd reminded me that I hadn't really died after all. I had only been resting up.

"So these guys that pick you up to party. I don't understand what they get out of it," I said, still working over the earlier conversation and wanting more detail to set my mind at ease. I had no desire to get in over my head.

"Well," he said, "I met this one dude a couple years ago and we got a case of beer. I'm happy as a clam with a six pack understand, but he got me this here case and he says he wants to take my picture, you know what I'm saying. Really take my picture! He says we can go to his place and hang out. He'll give me twenty bucks if he can take these certain pictures he likes. Hell, what was I doing? Not a damn thing. I said yes."

"You weren't eighteen yet?" I asked, ever aware of the law.

"Hardly. Sixteen-seventeen."

"You knew what he was after?"

"It excited me if you want the truth. My dick got hard and wouldn't go down once I knew what we were going to do."

"He was a photographer?"

"I guess you could say that. He liked photographing me and then my friends. We'd have weekend parties and then I stayed up there with him."

"You stayed with him?"

"He used to pick me up all the time after that. Nice guy. He loved red heads. My hair is mostly red by winter. It turns more blond cause I spend so much time in the sun. Anyway, he moved a year ago and I been on my own for beer since then."

"You mean he was gay?"

"Guys don't usually want to take pictures of naked boys if they aren't. I never asked and he never said. He sucked dick like a gay guy though."

"Oh!" I said. "I get the picture."

I chuckled at my word selection.

"He took pictures of me over two years. He photographed most all of my friends."

"Didn't any of your friends wonder about him being gay?"

"Not as long as he came up with some bucks and some beer. He had some pretty good porn tapes some of the guys loved. They were more interested in watching movies than making them, but they went along with the deal. Some stayed up there for weeks at a time."

"They made movies for him?"

"Every week end he taped us."

"Together?"

"There was always a party. He was always filming. Guys our age are usually looking for sex. After the first few times we all knew what he wanted, and he just filmed everything."

"Sounds like he had quite an operation."

"We'd stay over his place for days and weeks at a time. He had a pool in his back yard. The fridge was always full. You have a camera?"

"Yeah," I said, contemplating the meaning of that.

"You ever photograph people?"

"Sure. Friends. Vacations. Weekends away."

"You got any porn tapes?"

"Nothing a guy like you would enjoy," I said, thinking about Ben and I picking out tapes on our trips into town.

"You'd be surprised what I like. We going to do this tonight or what? My dicks been hard for quite a while. Might make for some nice pictures."

"I can get some beer," I offered, wanting to give him what he wanted.

"Cool," he said, putting both feet back on the floor and looking back out the front window like we had closed a deal that satisfied him. "That's great. I didn't want to wander around looking for beer all night. I just get my ass into trouble when I do that."

"What do you like?" I asked, and he cast a wary glance at me. "Beer? What do you like as in type of beer?"

"Oh, anything but Old Milwaukee or Rolling Rock. That shit's panther piss. You don't drink that, do you?"

He seemed concerned that he might have insulted my taste in beer. I preferred Port Wine or Sherry in small amounts. I'd never cultivated a taste for beer but I could drink a bottle or two if I was with friends or with pizza. I hadn't been with friends since Ben left me because all our friends reminded me of him. I didn't want to be reminded if I could help it.

"No, if I have my druthers, I drink Samuel Adams or Molson Golden."

"Is that like a choice?"

"Yeah! That's like a choice."

"I'm not familiar with those brands but I'm an adventurer at heart. I'll try whatever you buy, but no Old Milwaukee. Adventure has to stop somewhere."

He threw me a smile and seemed anxious to conclude this portion of the negotiation. He wanted a beer and his legs swung opened and closed as he talked casually about photographs and movies. He now couldn't wait until he had his hand on a cold brew. He was an odd combination of things. I pulled up in front of the liquor store and turned off the engine and took my keys, leaving him alone in the front seat.

I was tempted by the wine which was placed close to the door, but I grabbed two six packs of Samuel Adams and thought he'd be gone by the time he got through eight or ten of them. I didn't like sloppy drunks but I'd take what I could get now that the proposition was struck. His eyes were on me and the brown paper bag as soon as I came out of the store. I set it in the back seat.

"What do you all do? For a living I mean? You're all trussed up like it's office work."

"Personnel. I place people in jobs and get them financial aid until they're settled."

"Neat! I'm in the market for a job. Maybe you can help me. I'm Keith Christopher. You can call me Keith. Some people call me Chris. I like Chris but Keith's okay."

I turned my right hand off the steering wheel to shake his hand. I glanced his way as an acknowledgement. His knee was back up on the seat and his back was more against the door as he faced me. He seemed more familiar to me than our short acquaintance might account for.

"Donnie Wood."

"Don? Donnie? The Don," he tried out the possibilities, smiling at the last. "Wood! That's got some endless possibilities. The wood man."

"Donald," I said.

"You never answered on that job."

"Mostly I handle professionals. Accountants, office managers, like that. I don't have much call for laborers or outdoor work."

"How do you know what I'd be looking for?"

Keith's eyes stayed on me as he waited for an answer. The look was a little less friendly.

"Your face is tan and so are your arms. The kind of tan that builds up in time outdoors. You either work outdoors or spend a lot of time outdoors. When you shook my hand I felt the calluses and I assumed it comes from honest labor. Since you are so young, it could only come from employment as a laborer or something equally as physical. You are a bundle of energy, can't sit still, and that says you don't like being inside too long. No classes once you could get out of it and no inside jobs if you can help it."

"You can tell a lot about a guy in a short time."

"It's what I do every day. It involves a judgement of whether an employer and a prospective employee would match up well. I try to know as much as I can about both before I make any recommendations."

"My last job was roofing. I've done carpentry, some plumbing, and I've done a few kitchens and bathrooms, tile work mostly, flooring some, fixtures, that kind of thing. I don't guess I'm an expert at much of it but it takes a long time and most houses are only getting built for a few months at most. I'm usually last hired first fired. It's been so wet this year that there isn't any work for the likes of me, and winters coming and it's always slowest in the winter."

"I'll keep my eyes open if you like. I'll think about it."

"Don't be yanking me around. If you don't have anything for me just say it out loud. If you don't want to help me just tell me. That I can handle."

Keith seemed displeased with my selection of words. He liked directness. He was direct so why wouldn't he like direct? I had to think things over and measure them up, and I had nothing I could put my finger on that would fit his needs.

"I don't tell people things I don't mean, Keith. I'm in the business of finding people work. It's not just the ones I handle that I hear about or from. There are often inside construction jobs where they need someone to do touch up work for the contractors who are doing office remodeling. All I need to do is put out a feeler, tell my contacts what you're looking for. We trade favors all the time. It's how it's done. I don't usually handle manual labor but I will look into it as a favor for you."

"Why would you do me a favor? You don't know me," he said with more directness. "You don't know what I'm like yet. You could be disappointed."

"I doubt that. I have a feeling doing favors for you can be rewarding. I find you curiously interesting. I want more than to get you drunk, get what I can, and get you out of my hair. You're a little young from what I'm used to but I like what I see. I don't do quickie's and I don't tell people things that aren't true."

"Cool!" He said, getting happy again. "A lot a guys your age shine guys my age on. Tell you what you want to hear until they get what they want off you. I don't appreciate that. I'd rather know I can trust what you say even when you don't say what I want to hear."

"You finish high school?"

I could tell by the look he gave me he didn't appreciate someone prying into his educational credentials.

"It's the kind of thing I need to know if I'm going to help you. It doesn't matter to me what the answer is."

"I only got a GED," he said, seeming to run out of air as his head turned to look out the windshield. "Like you said. Couldn't sit still after sixteen. Quit. I did go back for the GED."

"Do you know what equivalency means?"

"I don't know. It means like or something like that. It's like a diploma only it's not a diploma. I told you I only got a GED. I'm not smart. I can deal with it. I ain't aiming to be no rocket scientist."

"You're right. In this case it means equal to. Equal means equivalent. When you get a GED, you take a test that says you have the same knowledge, or your knowledge is equivalent to that of a high school graduate. General Equivalency Diploma! You only went about getting it in a different way. Lots of people go about it in a different way. Some are very smart people who simply can't sit still in a classroom for long enough to finish school. Many go to college and do fine."

"Cool! Equal too," he said as though he was trying it on for size. "No one ever told me that before. I figured it was the morons answer to a real diploma. I wasn't exactly an honor student."

"You ever heard of Albert Einstein or Winston Churchill?"

"Yeah, Sure! I ain't stupid. Churchill was the English dude that kicked Hitler's butt, and Einstein was the smart dude that made the bomb. He had big veins in his brain."

"He had what?" I asked.

"He gave his brain to science. They got it down at the Smithsonian Institution, over in DC. When they studied his brain, the only difference they found was he had big blood vessels in his brain."

"I've never heard that."

"Yeah, we went to the Smithsonian on a class trip. I could have dug school if we did that shit all the time."

"Well both Einstein and Churchill did poorly in school. Churchill was a real lost cause. He never really came into his own until he got older. Then he wrote books and led Britain a couple of different times."

"Really? How about that. Maybe I'm not a lost cause, huh?"

"You're only young and you'll get over that faster than you want," I said, giving him one of his smiles back.

"And you are the old guy, right? You ain't that much older than me. Mid-twenties right? Twenty-six. Maybe twenty-seven? I'll be twenty soon."

"Twenty-nine. I'll be thirty soon. Yes, I'm the old guy. I've felt real old lately."

"Wow! You look younger but thirty ain't old. Gary was forty or maybe more an at. The guy that photographed us."

"Why did you let him take pictures of you? I mean I'm just curious. Good looking guy like you; you could be out with the ladies. Lots of them will stick with you in the rough times."

Our eyes met as I listened with interest.

"He treated me nice. Told me I had a big dick. Said I was made for love. That made me feel good. I was down on myself back then. He got me to go for my GED. Said I wasn't stupid, you know. Like you just said. It wasn't about the pictures for me. That's what he liked. He made me feel good. I made him feel good. Like that."

"You're saying you like doing it with guys?" I said, trying to read meaning into the words.

For the first time Keith didn't have an immediate answer. He thought about something first. He looked at me for awhile and then he seemed to find the words he wanted to use.

"I liked it. He said nice things about me, my body. I didn't think I was all that. I told you, the guy loved redheads. He loved my ass. I'd been blown and done shit before that. Mostly guys picked me up. I mean guys been hittin' on me since forever, but Gary made me feel good about it. Most just got what they wanted and dropped me off."

"So you'd go out with him at the same time you were going out with girls?"

"Some times. Why? You don't like girls?"

"No reason. My friend ... my lover was married before he met me. I know some guys go both ways. I only go one way. I just wanted to know more about what you like."

He looked at me again but not for as long. He kept wondering about my questions. I could see the curiosity on his face.

"Most guys could care less what I like. Gay guys are cool. They know how to treat you. Some anyway. Like Gary. There are the dirty old men that just want to slobber on your dick and dump you off as quick as you get off, but there are times that's all I want. I like sex. I got enough for both chicks and dudes."

"Yeah, but mostly gay guys go out with other gay guys, hoping to connect with someone they hope they can love," I said in my most idealistic mode of thought. "I'm just curious about a guy that goes with men and women."

"Don't fool yourself about gay guys, dude. They want it plenty and most don't care where they get it. The ones I met anyway. If they're looking for someone they hope they can love, like you say, they need to be getting up off their knees long enough to see who's dick their sucking. No offense but I been picked up enough to figure that one out.

"I don't understand. If that's the way you feel what is it that makes you go out with men? It seems like it would be a lot easier just dating girls."

"I love women. No matter how many chicks you get with, none of them know how to blow. I mean, why should they? They ain't got no pecker. It's like a chick can do another chick, you know, and she knows exactly what that chick is feeling, wanting, how to get her hotter. A guy's like that when he sucks your dick. He knows how to get you there. Why settle for second best? What can I say? I like getting blown."

"I see."

"Don't get me wrong. I like screwing as much as anything, maybe more than anything, but getting blown is awesome. Gary treated me good and when I needed that, I went there rather than getting out in traffic. Then he moved. He knew how to treat me. He really liked me, not just my dick. That's why."

"I see," I said, hearing two different messages from his explanations.

"Why did you tell me about those two dudes?" He asked softly.

"Einstein and Churchill? I wanted you to know that some of the most intelligent people who ever lived had difficulty in school. They had different ways of learning, and I guess I wanted you to feel good about yourself."

"You telling me that there could be a smart guy hiding in here with the goofball? Nice try dude," he said, turning his head to look out the windshield so I couldn't see the broadness of his smile.

"Something like that. If I make you feel good about yourself maybe you'll hang around a while."

"Thanks! Chicks always treat you like you got the world by the balls, you know. Dudes know it ain't never easy. I like that. I like beer too."

He seemed pleased with himself or me or maybe it was just the ride. His shoulders had sunk down against the bottom of the window frame and his legs moved against mine as he smiled at me with a satisfied look on his face. There was something quite nice about his directness and the needs he described to me. I might have spent weeks trying to figure out what he wanted and what he liked, except he told me right out. I had never had anyone tell me what he wanted from me before we got down to it.

"Can I get me one of those beers? I'm awfully thirsty and those beers are just sitting back there all alone, getting warm. I haven't had one in a week."

He moved his leg against mine to remind me of what I wanted. I put my right hand on his thigh and he didn't make any attempt to move it.

"Let's wait until we get to the house. I don't want the cops eyeballing us. It might ruin the weekend."

"Cool. How long is that?"

"Ten minutes at most."

"You in the mood for porn tapes?"

"I've only got gay tapes, Keith. My friend... my lover and I never had a need for straight sex tapes."

"I told you I don't mind. Whatever flips your trigger will flip mine if we work it right. It's mostly the same principle, using what's available to get you over the hump. Right? Flexibility is key to satisfaction."

Was it right or was it wrong? Was loneliness and emptiness better than close but impersonal? Was a boy in the hand worth a man in the heart? I was conflicted but not enough to get me to take him to some alternative location and dump him off before he knew where I lived. We hadn't been together yet but I already knew I wanted him to come back.

I was both curious and drawn to the boy I had picked up on the side of the road. Yes, before he got in, it did occur to me that in a perfect world he'd be looking for a blowjob and thinking I'd supply one. It just never occurred to me how perfect the world could get after my longest drought since I was fourteen.