(Lots of mansex talk in plain terms. Not suitable for kids or the sexually modest.)
You find that you’ve wandered into a gay porn flick and you’re on the road: in fantasy L.A., on Santa Monica Boulevard or on the Pacific Coast Highway along the beach or somewhere similar; or in fantasy Country & Western territory, maybe outside of Nashville or along Route 66 south of Bakersfield or on the West Texas plains or somehere similar. You’re either driving or hitching.
If you’re driving, there will soon be a hitchhiker by the side of the road, and he will your fantasy man, a William Higgins SoCal twink or a Joe Gage blue-collar hunk. When you pick him up, he’ll give you what you need. You do him, he does you, you trade, whatever. You get whatever you need.
If you’re hitching, there will soon be a driver along the road, and he will be your fantasy man, a SoCal twink in a red convertible or a blue-collar hunk in a dusty pickup. When he picks you up, he’ll give you what you need. Same deal: you do him, he does you, you trade, whatever. You get whatever you need.
One manifestation of the fantasy: grease-monkey boy in board shorts and ballcap. Curly hair, SoCal spread-lip smile. Ready to roll.