Saturday morning I stopped at the gas station. I pulled up to the pumps on the side away from the road. Got out, hit the button to open the gas tank flap, got out, left the driver's side car door open. Swiped my credit card, took off the gas cap, and started pumping gas.
I have a big car, a retired Police Interceptor. It uses a lot of gas. It's my one big profligate polluting luxury. It has a 20 gallon tank, which takes a while to fill. For some reason, the vapor recovery boot on this gas pump is especially sensitive, so I can't just latch the pump handle on full, I have to carefully nurse it along.
This is boring, but some entertainment presents itself: A young man, late teens or early twenties, approaches. "Excuse me, sir. I hate to ask this, but I need sixty cents for bus fare, can you help me out?" I look around, and see someone who must be a friend of his peeking from behind the dumpster about fifty feet away. I'm only a couple of gallons into my 20 gallon fill up, and I wonder who would be brazen enough to approach a cop car to panhandle. And I know that bus fare is more than sixty cents, but maybe he and his friend really are counting pennies. How they came to be away from home on a Saturday morning without even enough bus fare to get home isn't my problem, but it presents an opportunity for a diversion.
The kid who lives across the street is about the same age, maybe even younger. After graduating from high school, he got into a trade school for HVAC installation and maintenance (in the top 10% of applicants), completed the nine-month course, and is now employed, driving a company provided truck. A full-blown adult before he can even buy a beer. He certainly doesn't find himself without a way to get home on a Saturday morning, having to resort to panhandling at the 7-11 for bus fare. I think about that for a moment before deciding on how to amuse myself with this kid.
"Come closer. Stand between my car and the gas pumps. I'll give you two dollars on one condition." He steps forward.
"You're kinda good looking. Whip it out and leave it out the whole time I'm pumping my gas, and I'll give you two bucks. If you get a hard-on, I'll give you three." He looks around nervously.
"Um…"
"Nobody can see. You're standing between the car and the store, between the pumps and the road, nobody in front of us can see anything because my car door is open, nobody behind you can see anything at all, and nobody's paying attention anyway." He looks over his shoulder at his friend, who ducks back behind the dumpster.
"I dunnow."
"Three bucks for five minutes, that's a hundred twenty an hour." I take three dollars out of my wallet and leave them sticking out of my shirt pocket. He sees the cash and wants it. Three bucks!
"You look that way and I'll look this way, we're far enough from everything that you can put it back long before anybody can even come close." He unzips his jeans (no underwear) and pulls out his penis.
"All your junk." He teases out his scrotum.
"Good. Let's see if you can get a hard-on." He begins to masturbate.
"DON'T DO THAT! People can still see your arm moving." He stops immediately.
"Just act normal."
It's a breezy day, but warm for late summer. After a couple of minutes he develops an erection, hands-free. Exposing himself for a private audience is possibly the most sexually exciting thing he's ever done in public, outdoors or not.
I forgot that the pumps have closed-circuit cameras. Neither of us are looking at the store, and someone approaches wearing a 7-11 shirt. He asks me: "Do you know this man?" The kid frantically tries to zip himself back up, a bit more hastily than safety would dictate, and runs off following his friend who has already gone around the corner. I tuck the dollar bills down in my shirt pocket and say "I've never seen him before in my life, but I just wanted to get my gas and get out of here, so I didn't make any fuss."
The 7-11 manager apologized, I finished pumping my gas and went on my way.