Roadside Mayhem Part 1

The tires made a loud crunching sound on the gravel shoulder as I pulled off the highway. The entrance to the rest stop was dark but I saw pools of light just ahead, in the strip of parking spaces in front of the building and in the large lot in the back where there were several parked semi trucks. The building was nothing more than a cement-block bunker, with horizontal windows set high into the wall. The metal door was bent and the frame damaged, so it could not close entirely. At the entrance to the building was a sign, pointing men to the right, and ladies to the left. Someone had written QUEERS in bold, black marker over the Ladies sign. As roadside bathrooms go, this was par for the course. The trip from Pennsylvania back to New York seemed longer than I expected, and that last Coke I had before leaving my parents house two hours ago was about to make me burst. I had been pinching it off for the last few miles, looking for a place to pull over and pee. New Jersey may be called the Garden State, but this stretch of I-78 was not exactly paradise. The side of the road was nothing but cement barriers and rocky outcrops of stone and shale. I didn’t think I could pull over without placing myself in danger of being sideswiped. Besides that, it occurred to me that public urinating is illegal and with out-of-state plates I was sure to be ticketed if a cop happened to go by. The sign a mile back for the rest stop was a godsend. I had heard of the hazards in these roadside bathrooms after dark, and I admit to have been stimulated by the stories. Having hot dangerous sex with anonymous truckers in the darkness of a bathroom stall, a sleazy encounter with rough trade. That night, all I wanted to do was pee.
The sun had set but there was still a red streak of light running along the horizon, the last of the daylight caught in a gash of cloud. There were several cars parked in the front, and the trucks behind the building were dark hulks against the golden glow of the pole lights along the perimeter of the lot. One truck was rumbling to life, it’s engine growling and it’s orange and red running lights gleaming like Christmas ornaments in the darkness. I pulled my SUV to the side of the building and left it at the curb, in the yellow lines. I knew it wasn’t a space, but I couldn’t waste a second parking or I would have to drive the rest of the way home in a puddle. The room was surprisingly well lit. The walls were a bluish white and the doors of the stalls were yellow, covered in graffiti and rudely drawn cartoons. The metal dividers were rusted where years of men’s piss had blistered the paint away. I crossed the room to the row of old porcelain urinals and unzipped my pants. What a relief! There is no feeling on earth as satisfying as a good piss, except maybe… well anyway, it felt great.
As I surged against the back of the stained white urinal I heard the creaky door open and footsteps entering the room. I cleared my throat; sort of a warning to whoever it was that there was someone else in here. I wrung out the last of that Coke, and was about to pull my cock back into my pants, when I sensed someone immediately behind me. I felt a hand grab me by the back of the neck and another on my wrist, pulling me into submission. A big barrel chest was pressing me into the urinal, my hips pushed up against the dirty rim. I was helpless, and the more I struggled the firmer my assailant held me to the fixture.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? That your car out there?”

I turned around as far as he would allow, in order to see who was attacking me. I saw a flattop haircut, riding above a grinning face with a dark moustache and a strong, square cleft chin. His five-o-clock shadow gave him a shady appearance that made him appear even more ominous. He wore the uniform of a New Jersey State trooper. His gray shirt was stretched on his wide sloping shoulders, and strained tightly against his expansive pectorals. His short sleeves were rolled up around beefy biceps and I could see the edge of a tattoo just hiding under the fabric. His badge clipped to his shirt pocket, and the bars on his lapels sparked in the fluorescent light. Even in my extreme fear and astonishment, I couldn’t help thinking how handsome he was, like a superhero or perhaps a super villain.

“You goddam think you can park your car anywhere you like? Is that the way they respect laws up in New York? Well it sure as hell ain’t the way we do it down here! Maybe you come here to break a few more laws, huh? I think maybe you’re a fag, lookin’ for a boyfriend in the fuckin’ toilet tonight, is that it?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I don’t experience abuse and sexual humiliation in the world in which I exist. I forgot such ignorant animals still existed outside of New York City. There was no mistaking the threat, the innuendo, the aggression…but there was something in the way he was pressing against me, the bulge in the front of his trouser pushing up against the small of my back, that made me think there was more to this than it seemed. He was still grinning, as he turned me around and stood me in front of the wall. He allowed me to finish getting myself back into my pants, watching me intensely as I shook the last drop from my dick and drew it into my fly. He held me by the shoulders and tugged me closer to him. We faced each other in the cold, smelly restroom. He started to pat me down, I assumed for drugs and paraphernalia. His big hands rubbed across my chest, and found my cigarettes. He ripped open the top and checked the contents of the pack. He continued around my waist, and down to my pants pockets. He patted my bottom, pulled out my wallet and held it in one hand as he continued to rub his hands across my front pockets. He lingered just a little too long there, and I felt him cup my balls in his palm for just a second before moving down my right leg, then up my left. I stared him in the eye, and he looked away. Still holding me securely with one great paw, he flipped open my wallet and searched for my license. After looking at it for a few seconds, he handed it back to me, and I put it back in my pocket. I figured that meant I wasn’t getting arrested, or he would have kept my I.D. to make his report.

I relaxed enough to really check the officer out. He was about six-two, dark hair and moustache, with a really bulked-out muscular frame. He must do weights, spend hours at the gym, or have one of those machines in his basement. His gun belt was slung low on his narrow waist and his bulging thighs strained at the seams of his pants. He had a cowboy stance, just a little bow-legged, that made him swagger when he walked.

“I think you better get in the patrol car, and I don’t want a lot of moaning about it. Let’s make this easy on you, okay? No resisting.”

I didn’t understand what was going on. I thought I was gonna be let go, but now he was taking me into custody! All I did was piss. I really should have just pulled off the road and done my thing in the bushes. I protested for a while, tried to explain, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention to what I was saying, so I soon shut up and went with him. He held me by the elbow, leading me firmly out the door and to his idling car. He opened the front passenger door. Not standard procedure, I thought to myself. I got in. The big cop then went around the back of the car, and got in behind the wheel. He reached into his lap adjusted his dick through the fabric of his trouser. He threw the car in gear and we drove out to the edge of the parking lot. The car was shadowy, the grinning cop sitting in the darkness, his white teeth glowing in the dim green light from the dashboard. He took a cigarette from my pack, and handed it back to me. He lit it, inhaling the smoke deeply into his lungs.

“You tellin’ me you just stopped to take a leak? What the hell were you thinking? you mean you don’t know what goes on here after dark? A good-lookin’ guy like you don’t come in here unless he’s lookin’ for trouble!”