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Ahead of His Time by Rick Beck Part Two - Welcome to the Jungle Chapter Thirteen "Going to Los Angeles" Back to Chapter Twelve "Coming Clean" On to Chapter Fourteen "Biltmore Boy" Chapter Index Rick Beck Home Page  Click on the picture for a larger view Teen & Young Adult This Chapter Rated Explicit Adventure Proudly presented by The Tarheel Writer - On the Web since 24 February 2003. Celebrating 21 Years on the Internet! Tarheel Home Page |
I didn't know what was ahead of me or where my next ride might take me.
I stood on the end of the ramp, my thumb out, and I reached for Andy's card. I picked his cell phone number and I read it over and over again, until I memorized it. I put the card back in my pocket, reciting the number over and over again. I was sure I'd never forget it.
I was so intent on remembering Andy's phone number, I didn't hear the car stop. I was involved with reconsidering my decision to let Andy leave me behind.
"Hey, Son," a deep masculine voice brought me out of the fog I was in.
When I looked up, I saw a highway patrol car right beside me on the ramp, it's powerful engine boiled under its hood.
"Yes, Sir," I said, leaning to speak in through the open window.
"Let's see some I.D., Son."
I took out my wallet and handed it through the window.
"Take it out of the wallet and hand me the I.D."
"Joshua, I see you are from Oregon. The California law states that pedestrians aren't allowed on the Interstate system. Since you're not from here, I won't write you up this time. You need to stand well off the highway to hitchhike."
"I'm hitchhiking to Los Angeles. What do I do?" I asked for clarification.
"Get in," the cop said, indicating the front seat.
I hesitated but when a cop told you to do something, it was best to do it. I got into the highway patrol car and in a flash the speedometer said we were doing 85 miles an hour. The engine roared loudly and his radio droned messages that made no sense to me. The cop seemed to ignore the chatter.
Was he arresting me? What did I do?
It took maybe forty minutes before we were climbing a big ass hill. The needle never went below 85. As we reached the top of the steep grade, I could see forever. I was sure Los Angeles couldn't be far. Andy said it was about one hundred and fifty miles from where he dropped me off.
"We're twenty miles south of Santa Barbara. It's the end of my territory. You're on your own now, son. Stay back off the highway, and you're an hour from Los Angeles from here. Good luck, and be careful. A number of hitchhikers have been murdered along this stretch. None have been found this far south, but I can't guarantee the killer won't change his MO and come this way."
I opened the car door and got out on the bottom of a ramp much like the one where he picked me up.
The highway Patrol car sped across the four lanes and spun his car to go back the other way. He could have gone all day without telling me there was a killer on the loose around here. Well, maybe my luck would hold for a little longer.
I wondered what that was all about. I didn't know cops could do that. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, my mind went back to my lovely memory of Andy and his beautiful big truck.
I smiled. It was a good memory to have.
Cars were flying past me. Everyone seemed to be doing eighty. After what seemed like a long time, I got as far out on the ramp as I dared to go, but it didn't slow anyone down.
I stood there for an hour before I started walking. I walked for an hour, maybe a half hour, hoping that cop didn't come back to see if I was walking on his highway. I was walking backward and hitchhiking. If I kept waiting there, it would get dark and the last thing the cop told me was, oh by the way, there's a killer stalking the freeways around here. I wasn't sure it wasn't his way of discouraging hitchhiking, but it didn't matter. I had to get to Los Angeles before it got dark.
As I slowly backed up, I heard a honk. I looked over my shoulder to see a black van, windows too dark to see into, sitting there, engine running, and me about to back into it. There's a killer loose and here's this black van waiting for me to get into it. I suddenly didn't want a ride all that bad.
I never heard it and there it was, appearing out of nowhere. I got a chill. Do I really want to get into a van with the windows blacked out?
Didn't the cop say, 'Good luck. You're going to need it?'
I moved up along side of the van, still walking backward, and not making any effort to reach for the door handle. I tried to see inside but all I saw was my suspicious eyes looking back at me. I couldn't see inside and I kept moving.
How bad did I need this ride? I could walk to Los Angeles. I'd rather walk.
"Hey, you want to ride or what. I know this van is scary. It's my old man's van. I'm just driving it running errands," a kid said after rolling the window down.
He had blond hair and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and shorts. He looked eleven, and he was as threatening as a basket full of kittens.
I let out the breath I'd been holding and reached for the door handle.
"I'm Tooly Gingham. Get in. I'm going to Santa Monica. You?"
"Los Angeles?" I asked.
"Yeah, west of LA near the ocean. My old man runs a surf shop. I'm usually surfing, but he needed me to run errands."
"Tooly?" I asked, never hearing the name before.
"Biggest one in school," he said, holding the side of his leg like that's where his dick was. "Tool sounded a bit pretentious, so they went for Tooly. I had like eight inches when I was ten and we played I'll show you mind if you show me yours. I got so many hand jobs from my buds that my dick was always sore."
I started to laugh as he went eighty down 101 heading for Santa Monica. I was worried that this was the guy killing hitchhikers. There probably was no guy. That cop was just trying to put a scare into me. He'd done it."
I told Tooly where I was from and that I was going to Los Angeles to see the hotel where Eddie Murphy sent room service to Rosewood and Taggart in the movie Beverly Hills Cop.
"Great movie. Eddie Murphy is like totally cool. He makes me laugh. Want to see it?"
"See what?" I asked.
"Most people want to see my tool once I tell them it's big. A lot of guys don't know they grew this big. They all touch it to see if it's real. I don't mind. I kind of like showing off. I'm proud of what I got."
Before I could say, I pass, he flipped it out of his shorts. It lay on the seat and it stretched out with the head falling down in front of the seat.
"That's big," I said. "Is it hard?"
"Not even. Takes a little work to get it hard. You can feel it if you want. I like guys to feel it. Prove it's real. Some guys don't believe it's real. Go ahead."
I reached between his legs and felt the flaccid meat. I couldn't get my hand around it if I tried, and I did try. I could feel life coming into the flaccid cock as I felt down to the tip that was covered by skin. I worked the skin on and off the head that was as big as a ripe apple.
How odd was this? I'd been gone for a few days. I got a ride with an old couple and the husband couldn't take is eyes off me. I got the ride with Andy, and we couldn't keep our hands off each other, and now a boy in a van suited to Jack the Ripper, wanted me to play with him. Life was quite strange.
The world was full of people who craved sex and physical contact. I'd never been out in the world, since I was old enough to see the world in any conclusive way, I lived in Eagle Point. He actually swelled a bit and he got rock hard, but it wasn't much bigger hard than it was soft, but soft it was huge. I felt sorry for The Tool, what he said the girls called him. He'd go through life asking people to play with his big dick, because no serious lover would take that on, unless they knew things I didn't know, and that wouldn't be hard. I didn't know about what was out there.
"My buds like to do what you're doing," he told me.
"Your buds are gay?" I asked for clarification.
"Don't think so. Curious? They're curious about what it's like being hung like a horse. They like feeling on it until it gets hard."
"Girls?" I asked.
"They want to see it. My girlfriend told me that I'd never get it close to her hot spots. She's seen it. Won't even try to sit on it. Girls are squeamish about it. A few touch it. Most want me to show it to them."
It was another brick in the wall of information that I was building once I left home. I had no idea what I'd find out in the world, but so far it had gone better than I expected it might go. It was early and I couldn't be sure what was ahead, but so far, with people I didn't know, it was far more sexual than I expected it to be. I wasn't sure I'd find anyone I liked as much as I liked Kerry and his brothers. Opportunities for sexual experiences with other boys seemed more plentiful than I could have imagined.
"I know a place off the highway. Want to go and I'll return the favor," Tooly offered.
He was a curious young man who didn't wait for an answer. We pulled off of 101 and he drove a mile to where a grove of trees were off to our right. He pulled on to a dirt road and parked under the trees. I wasn't sure what he wanted, but I was curious. I did remember the nature of the vehicle I was in. Tooly wasn't scary.
As soon as we were stopped, he was unzipping my jeans and I got hard while he was working me out of my pants. He took me into his mouth with little difficulty. His mouth was warm and wonderful. I remembered Andy and Kerry, and the idea of what I was doing seemed outrageous. When he got me off, he was working his own dick, and he didn't come off me when I began to soften after shooting my cum in is throat.
I felt his hairless low hanging balls as he stroked, and sucked, sucked, and stroked, until he was cumming in his hand. He didn't cum a lot, which meant I didn't need to clean my jeans, but the effect of watching him work on himself had me cumming again, and my second orgasm shook me and reached deeper inside of me from the first. I wasn't that turned on by Tooly. He was a good cock sucker.
I didn't have much to say. Tooly liked to talk and I learned a little bit about him, which mostly was about how big his dick was and how many people liked to play with him. It was a little sad, but Tooly seemed like a happy go lucky sort. He was young enough that his dick might be the only interesting thing about him at this point, but one day he'd see the life in terms that didn't involve his big dick.
When Tooly dropped me off, he pointed at the big highway to my right and said, "Follow that road and it will take you into LA."
I watched him drive away and I felt a bit drained. It was getting late in the day, and I was close to where I wanted to go, but where would I sleep. Fast food was ubiquitous. There'd be no trouble finding a place to eat.
I began to walk. I'd get a block out of way before hitchhiking. The street was well traveled and I didn't figure it would take long for someone to stop. As I walked toward Los Angeles a Mercedes pulled over to the curb in front of me. I thought he was parking, but I heard the window come down as I passed.
"Would you like to ride?" a blond girl asked.
"My word," I said. "You stopped for me. I thought you were parking. Yes, I'd love to ride."
She was in her twenties and not hard on the eyes. She had a pleasant smile and she shifted the car into gear and we were off.
"Where you going?" she asked me.
"I was told that the hotel that was in the movie Beverly Hills Cop was up this way," I said.
"The Biltmore. Yes, it's up this way. That's where you are going. Can you afford the Biltmore? You don't look that prosperous."
"No, I can't afford to stay there, but I want to see where Rosewood and Taggart parked in front of that hotel. It's the Baltimore?" I asked.
"No, too many letters. Biltmore. It was the hotel in its day. It's still a popular place with people who have money, but it has a lot of competition for one of the best hotels around these days. It is nice and it's been kept that way. The Biltmore was built back in the 1920s."
As we moved down a block she turned on to a few minutes later, she stopped the car in the middle of the block.
"This where you're going?" I asked, when she didn't say anything.
"No, this is where you're going. That is the Biltmore," she said, pointing past me to the huge building beside the street.
"Oh, my, that is the hotel, isn't it. Eddie Murphy was here?"
"The Blue Dahlia was here as well," the girl told me.
"Who is the Blue Dahlia?" I asked.
"Movie. 1946. Starred Alan Ladd. It filmed here."
I grabbed my gym bag and thanked the lovely lady for the ride.
"Good luck," she said, and she drove away.
There were people coming and going as I checked the street to see if Rosewood and Taggart might still be parked here. They weren't. I walked up the stairs admiring the big structure. It had a distinctive classic design I'd seen in pictures.
I stood near the front doors and watched people coming and going. I wasn't dressed for the Biltmore, but that wasn't keeping me outside.
I imagined Eddie Murphy coming and going. I imagined Rosewood asking my name, 'And who are you?"
I smiled. I wish. I thought Rosewood was very sexy.
Once I gathered up my courage, I stepped inside the lobby of the Biltmore Hotel. The luxurious style was apparent. The lobby was far more impressive than the outside of the building. People moved around me as I stared up at the delicately designed ceiling twenty feet over my head.
I was turning in a tight circle, looking up, when I heard someone who seemed to be talking to me.
"Boy! Boy! Come here," a man in a suit with a carnation in his lapel ordered.
"Oh, shit. I'm in trouble all ready. I really hadn't done anything but no one was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt and carrying a gym bag.
"You here for the job. You're late. I said three. It's nearly four. That won't do at the Biltmore. If you intend to work for me, you must be on time. Is your uniform in there? Did you bring a uniform?" the nervous man asked me.
"No, I ..."
"Why do they send me people who aren't prepared to work," he lamented,
"Andrew. Andrew," the small man said softly to himself as he was obviously looking for someone in particular.
Should I tell him I'm not here for the job? He was already upset, and what was wrong with a job, even if I didn't know what that job was? Here I was. Here he was, and he needed someone. I never said I was here for the job. He made that up in a befuddled mind. He needed a boy and I was a boy the last time I looked. I was here for the job.
"Andrew, there you are. Andrew come, come," the man said focusing on a tall twenty something fellow just entering the lobby.
"This is the new boy, Andrew. He doesn't have a uniform and he needs a bath before you take him into the kitchen. He was supposed to be here an hour ago and Jonathan is waiting for him to do prep."
"Who are you?" Andrew asked as he pulled me along toward a hallway to the right of the lobby.
"Look, Andrew is it? I wasn't sent. I just got into town."
"Do you need a job? What is your name?"
"I'm Joshua Butler from Eagle Point, Oregon," I confessed.
"We need someone to do prep. Can you do prep?"
"Sure. I used to watch Apollo at his restaurant. I can do prep."
"Do you need a job?"
"Yeah, I never thought of working here, but yes, I need a job."
"Look, I need someone like you. We'll just pretend you're the guy that was supposed to be here an hour ago. I'll clear things with Jonathan while you shower and get presentable. I'll get you a uniform, and you'll be all set."
"Kewl," I said, liking the sound of it.
We went in through a door at the end of the hallway. There were lockers, showers, and benches to sit on. Andrew went to a locker, held up a uniform, looked at me, looked at it, and he brought over to me.
"Here. This should fit. You get busy taking a shower. There are soap and shampoo dispensers in the shower stalls. Get clean and I'll be back to introduce you to the head chef."
It was a whirlwind of a way to get employment. Next was needing to find a place to stay, but this was a hotel, maybe they had rooms for the help. If not, I'd need to find a room. I knew nothing about Los Angeles, but maybe Andrew would give me a tip.
The shower felt glorious and as I was drying my hair, Andrew arrived back on the scene.
"My word!" Andrew said, stopping in his tracks. "You are well put together. I don't think you'll last long in the kitchen."
"I'm a good worker. I can easily manage in your kitchen," I assured him.
"You aren't reading me. You'll start in the kitchen, while you're at the Biltmore, you won't stay in the kitchen. You are just what I've been looking for. We'll leave it at that for the time being. Don't get too comfortable with Jonathan. He's a pussy cat but anyone can do prep. Not everyone can cater to the wishes of our more important guests."
"I'm new. I've got nowhere to stay. Is there a place nearby, so I can get to work on time. I don't know what I can afford to pay."
"I have the room next door. I look after the help, and some of our guests. You'll stay in my room tonight. I'll be sure you will have a place in the hotel. You won't be late to work that way."
I was going to live at the Biltmore. How cool was that? The road had proved to be more friendly than I had a right to expect. I took a pair of clean underwear out of my gym bag and put them on before I dressed in the white uniform.
Andrew put his hand on my shoulder as he guided me around the lobby and into the biggest kitchen I'd ever seen. There were six people moving about as Andrew stopped me just inside the door.
"Jonathan," Andrew called.
"This is him?" a young heavy set man said, walking toward us.
"Joshua, Jonathan. Joshua won't be with you long. I'm going to make him a Biltmore boy," Andrew explained.
"Yes, you are. I approve wholeheartedly. He'll make a fine Biltmore boy. He'll be popular with our guests."
"Keep him busy for now. I need to clear a room for him. Todd left with Mr Wallace last weekend and I doubt he's coming back. Mr Wallace certainly was smitten with our Todd."
"I can imagine that. Todd was refined in a way few boys are. Well, time to get to work. I'm already behind. Joshua, you've done prep, I take it."
"Yes," I lied, and I was handed a knife and moved to a table with onions, peppers, carrots, potatoes, celery, and different seasonings.
"If you'll chop these to a modest size, I'll put the ingredients to use," the head chef said.
I had a blister on my thumb and index finger by the time I'd gone through several times the vegetables that were on the table at the start. The last veggies were still there when Jonathan said I was done. I had no idea what time it was. My back ached and my hands felt like I'd put them in a meat grinder.
"Hungry?" Jonathan asked.
"I'm starved. What time is it?"
"It's almost eleven. You are a hustler. Most preps cry uncle long before I stop them on the first day. I'll put you in my office. There's a table out of the way in there. It's where I eat. How would you like duck a l'orange and spaghetti ala Jonathan. It's delightful without being heavy. I bet you like garlic bread. Our bread is baked fresh."
"I'm hungry enough to eat my shoes," I said.
Jonathan laughed.
It was one of the guys working in the kitchen who brought my dinner. He pushed a cart into the office in front of him.
"I'm Tully. You're the new prep guy?"
"Yes. I'm Josh. Is that for me?"
"Oh, yes. Jonathan dished it up. Duck and spaghetti. It ain't what he calls it, but that what it is. Not half bad and it's hot."
Tully lifted the covers off the food and took them with him when he left. The food smelled wonderful. I hadn't eaten since I left Andy that morning.
"Andy," I said, thinking about the handsome truck driver.
The food smelled delicious. I was ready to eat. A second guy brought me a big glass of ice cold milk and put it down beside me.
"Jonathan sent this to go with your meal," he said and left.
I used my fingers on the duck. It was as tender as could be. The flavor was amazing. The spaghetti had chunks of carrots, onion, celery, and green pepper I thought I recognized. The sauce was good. I'd never had better. It was a meal fit for a king and I devoured it.
Jonathan came in to watch me eat a few minutes later. He sorted through some papers and made notations.
"Don't worry about me. I'm wrapping up my day by writing down what I will need for tomorrow. It's called in before I get up and most things I order will be waiting when I come in tomorrow morning."
"You work until almost midnight and you come in tomorrow morning?" I asked. "Glad I don't have your job."
Jonathan took a good look at me and he smiled.
"I say morning. It's about noon, and I really need to get in here to supervise the entrees for tomorrow evening. We do something different each day. It's not hard work. You'll come in at three, and then you'll do what Andrew instructs you to do. Is the food okay?"
"I haven't eaten since breakfast. It is glorious. I've never tasted a better spaghetti sauce. It's not like anything I've had."
"You should have said something. I'd have fixed you a sandwich."
"Oh, I was okay. You kept me busy. I didn't think about eating."
"You've been around restaurants. You work fast. Nice to have you on the team, Josh, but Andrew has bigger plans for you."
I'd heard Andrew mention different work for me, but I wasn't sure what he meant.
"No rest for the wicked. I'll want to lock up my office when you're done, and I'll be on my way home. Glad you enjoyed it. Andrew will take care of you. Go back to the locker room and shower, and he'll come to get you there."
I found the hall that led to the locker room, and I took off my uniform and threw it in a pile of uniforms, putting my underwear to one side when I went to shower. I'd get Andrew to give me a clean uniform for the next day in the kitchen.
Send Rick an email at [email protected]
On to Chapter Fourteen
"Biltmore Boy"
Back to Chapter Twelve
"Coming Clean"
Chapter Index
Rick Beck Home Page
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