He thought about putting the radio back on, but shot that idea down. He wasn’t really interested in hearing b-list celebrities wax asinine about their wishes for peace and goodwill. Instead he pulled out his smartphone and started to watch a stand-up comedy special; a few minutes in he found himself antsy and distracted, so he shut it off. He flicked through numerous movies and television episodes before changing a setting, inputting a code and opening up his secret cache of porn.
He ruminated on how much times had changed since he was a kid scrounging for illicit images on a fledgling Internet. He put on the first video he found and watched a square-jawed model-type lift a rugby shirt over his head and shake out his curly brown mop of hair. The scene moved briskly and before long the model was kicking off his designer denim and luxuriating naked on the white couch beneath him. The model gave the camera a look that was both vulnerable and inviting before reaching down to stroke his meat. Hugh unbuckled his seat belt, unzipped his pants, and shifted in the driver’s seat to allow more room for his increasingly urgent erection. The model was tentative and careful with his cock as he began. He looked up frequently at the camera as if for confirmation of a job well done. Hugh found himself nodding along, urging this honest-faced masturbator to continue. By now Hugh had freed his own dick and heavy balls from the confines of his pants.
The model continued stroking himself for a while, his eyes hazy and his mouth framed in a half grin that seemed to shift delicately from ecstasy to amusement and then back again. The scene changed abruptly and found the model climbing onto his knees on the couch and reversing his pose so that he was now straddling the couch backward. The camera watched from its static position as he sandwiched his cock between his body and the couch and began humping it. The muscles in his perfect bubble butt clenched and unclenched as he ground his cock into the couch. He moaned softly and cursed gently while Hugh watched, completely transfixed and thoroughly aroused by what he was seeing.
Hugh fell back on an old standard to jerk himself off. He inverted his grip and stroked his shaft, squeezing out precum and alternating between watching the model’s ass flex and watching himself masturbate. Only a lack of lube threatened to cast a shadow on the near perfect feelings emanating from his dick and sending pleasure signals barrelling through his brain.
The model shifted again on the screen and this time was softly rolling a nipple between his fingers while jerking quickly. Hugh found himself unconsciously matching the model’s speed, trying to keep up even though he was starting to feel a tickle in his balls warning him to slow down.
If only his balls could issue another kind of proximity warning…
Someone knocked on his driver side window and Hugh threw his phone down by his feet, then realizing his rigid hard-on was still exposed, pulled his shirt down over it. Thoroughly abashed, he rolled down the window and addressed the tow-truck driver.
“Hi, umm…sorry, for…that,” Hugh apologized. He knew his face must be beet red.
The tow-truck driver was a handsome, grinning blond wearing a houndstooth hat with ear flaps. “No need to stop on my account, I was just enjoying the show.”
Hugh just stared at him. The tow-truck driver tapped his watch. “It’s 11:58. If you want to blow your last load of the year, you’d better hurry up, buddy.”
The driver gestured down at his own cock hanging out of his khakis and his fist wrapped tight around it. He was standing next to Hugh’s car jerking in earnest, smiling broadly. Hugh slowly edged his shirt up and revealed his own aching cock once again. It didn’t take much more encouragement for him to start back up again.
Hugh watched the clock on his dashboard flicker over to 11:59 and he quickened his pace. His breathing started shallowing and he looked over to the tow-truck driver who had stepped close enough that Hugh could almost reach out and touch his leaking…
“Fuck,” Hugh managed, barely, before he started cumming. The driver wasn’t long after.
As Hugh emptied his balls over himself and his leather seats and steering wheel, the driver shot his messy white load all over the black car door except for a few errant shots that managed to arc through the rolled down window and splatter on Hugh’s arm. Afterward they both looked at each other, suddenly sheepish in the afterglow.
“Happy New Year, man,” the driver said eventually. “So, yeah. Let’s get you out of this ditch. Shall we?”
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