A journal of wanton and wildly inappropriate sex.






Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Guess Who Has Jizz On Her Cheek
The Trip West, Pt. VII

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

"Daddy!"

Amazingly, that wasn't me as we walked into the restaurant/nightclub where Paolo would be playing. It was Gina. Like I've said before, she was like a sister to me as I was growing up and, lacking a father of her own, she adopted my father as hers, and he was more than happy to fill that role. He's one of the good guys.

She ran up to him so fast I was afraid she was going to forget that she's not 13 anymore and jump into his arms and wrap her legs around him as she did when she was too young know about any sexual context. But, she remembered herself and nearly knocked daddy over with the impact of an energetic hug.

My father is over six feet tall, nearly a foot taller than me. He's not just tall, he's big. Not as big as he once was, since due to his age he's been forced to pay attention to his doctor. No longer 250 lb., he's now about 200. The skin on his neck is getting a little loose and the skin on his arms is getting dry and loose as well. No liver spots yet, but to me, he's the most beautiful man on earth, and probably always will be.

He grew up in the tough Collinwood area of Cleveland during a period when the primarily Italian and Eastern European lower middle-class neighborhoods it served were grudgingly accepting black immigrants from Cleveland's incredibly dismal black ghettos. Tensions were high, but dad has never had trouble relating to anybody, and he and some of the black musicians he met in school formed several after school rock and blues combos. When a new sort of music called "fusion" came along which merged rock and jazz in a way that's never been terribly comfortable, he drifted into the world of jazz...and never turned back.

He's one of those people with an intuitive understanding of music and musical instruments. He plays several instruments well enough to do studio work: piano, saxophone, guitar, and even drums. He never took a music course and started out playing by ear, but when it became clear that not reading was holding him back, he borrowed some books from the library and in about a month, I'm told, not only could he read music, but was composing pieces with multiple parts.

While in college during the Vietnam war (studying philosophy, not music), he was on his school's student newspaper and actively protested against the War in Vietnam both through the paper and on the streets.

Upon graduation, he worked odd jobs for several years, playing music with friends, be it in someone's garage or living room and even in the occasional local club. He was invited into several local combos and was heard by such luminaries of the time as Jimmy Smith, Tito Puente, Tony Williams, and Jaco Pastorius. It's not clear who, exactly referred him to Columbia Records, but he did his share of studio sessions for them, for Blue Note, Mercury, and several other labels. He also did a few years of touring with musicians whose names are household words. But, of course, I can't drop their names. I maintain my own anonymity by closely guarding any info that could lead back to me.

He loved the music but hated the constant turmoil of traveling (usually in an overcrowded car) all over the country. Often showing up at clubs just in time to play, getting off at 2 or 3 a.m. one day and then having nothing to do the next. He was developing a sleep disorder from having no regular sleep schedule, and was finding himself drinking too much, too. My mom even began to wonder if her husband was an alcoholic.

One day, another musician handed him a needle filled with heroin saying, "Give it a try." He took it, looked at it, and handed it back. The next morning, he quit the band and was on a Greyhound bus for a home with a wife and a newborn daughter waiting for him. (And if you have read my past stories, you'll know what I mean when I say that that newborn was not me.)

He never toured again after that, though he's frequently seen sitting in with musicians visiting Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Detroit, and Cincinnati, among other cities. For a special occasion or a special person, he'll hop on a plane to New York, Los Angeles, or even London, Paris, or Oslo (some cities I recall). But very soon afterward, he's back home with my mom and younger brother.

Every big city has resident master jazz musicians who don't want to tour. Maybe they teach, but they have a reputation and may sit in with a musician who's in town. Or they have a regular local gig and famous musicians who've heard of them will maybe fit an extra day in their tour so they can hear a set or two. In Cleveland, there's always been Bill Gidney filling that role. Bill may be the best known, but he's hardly the only one.

Of course huge cities like New York City, Chicago, and Los Angeles will have more than one such musician, but many lesser towns play host to minor masters as well. (And by "minor master," I certainly mean no disrespect, for their low-profile is by their own choice and in no way reflects on their talent, having traded a life on the road for one with some regularity and normality to it. It may reflect on their importance, though, for it's difficult to be influential when you're a relative unknown and aren't willing to promote yourself. Such is the situation with dad: he'll always be one of those so-called "musician's musicians."

So, I gave my daddy a big hug and kiss. This was followed by a warm hug from Kelsey. I introduced Mike, who went to shake hands, but dad hugged him instead, indicating that a friend of mine is a friend of his.

So, we sat around and chatted until a waitress came to take our orders. The dinner was fantastic.

At around 9:30, Paolo showed up with a couple other guys, probably sidemen. He waved at dad, and walked over to a man (obviously either the owner or manager). Paolo pointed toward our table and said something. The man, a tall middle-aged guy with deeply tanned skin and long, straight greasy hair, came and put his hand on dad's shoulder. He said, looking around the table, "Paolo has told me you are his friends. Your bill will be 'on the house' tonight."

Now, out of respect, neither I nor my father got into the fact that Paolo had had his problems and that this was part of a comeback of sorts. We didn't really have to. Once the combo was on the stage, Paolo walked up to the microphone and recounted, in capsule form, the stages of his life, not dodging the bad parts at all. He went down a list of people he owed thanks to, and the last one on the list was my father, by far the least famous name on the list, and yet Paolo said it with the most love. He blew a kiss our way and what followed was one of the most inspired evenings of jazz I've ever heard. After the first set, dad was invited up on stage and, gee, I wish someone had been there to record what we heard.

Now, I do have to admit that Paolo had aged and that I could no longer feel the attraction I once had. Or maybe not the same sort of attraction. He's a very charismatic guy, but no longer did I feel it in the loins the way I had when I was so young. Now I felt it in my heart.

Between the first and second set, dad asked what we had done this day. Mike's guitar came up and this caused a discussion of John McLaughlin's unique approach to the electric guitar, which interested me but not the other girls, so dad (who picks up on such things) changed the subject to "What did you do for lunch?" We told him about the great lunch we had there and I happened to mention a photo of Ornette Coleman on the wall there. One that had been taken right in the restaurant.

"That sounds like Chez Horace," said dad. "I've eaten there more than once. The owner plays a pretty mean trumpet, and can he sing!"

Of course, there was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation. "What?" he said, looking around. "Dad, it's Chez Bruno now and the owners, well...they are among those who died in Hurricane Katrina. It's now run by their daughter, Tippy, who also cooks, and it's co-owned by her and a distant relative from Africa named Bruno, who helped her with the recipes and waits on tables."

"I never knew," he said. "I'm so sorry to hear that. I haven't heard from him for a long time. I just assumed he was busy, or that if something had happened to them, I'd know it through the grapevine. I'm stunned. And little Tippy...I bet she isn't so little anymore. Funny, you always remember people the last time you saw them. She had to have been, I don't know, fifteen. It's ten years later now, I imagine. She's in her mid-20's. And you say the food is good?" Everybody nodded to indicate it was great. They nodded because just then the band started playing and soon we were listening to the second set.

"You'll be here for the third set, won't you?" I asked. Dad said, "I'll be here as long as Paolo is playing. He's really hot tonight!" I excused myself and went out back where it was quieter. This allowed me to set up a surprise.

When the last set was over, Paolo came by and we all congratulated him and told him to tell his sidemen that they were fabulous as well. I gave him a big hug and he gave me a nice uncle hug back. A lot of musicians are used to violating boundaries and they half-joke about becoming musicians because it makes a guy a "chick magnet," and heaven knows I've wet my pantaloons more than a few times over some mediocre player.

It was so great to see him at the top of his form and free of heroin. I'm afraid I cried bit. He looked at me and knew why I was crying and said, "Never again, Jill. That is a promise." And so far, from what I hear, he's been straight as an arrow when it comes to drugs.

And even though I no longer felt sexual longings for him, someone did, for when he left, he left with a local gal on his arm. And a lovely thirtyish woman she was, too. (I woulda done her!)

So, we stepped outside after thanking the kind owner who'd "comped" us on our food and drinks (we still left good tips, though). It took my dad a little while longer, because he had to spend a little time rapping with the guys in the band.

When he finally emerged to where Kelsey, Gina, Mike, and I were waiting along with my special surprise, Tippy, he recognized her immediately even before she could do a "Remember me?" "Tippy!" he exclaimed, "my golly how you've grown. Last time I saw you, you were knee-high to a..." whereupon she gave him such a big hug that I momentarily feared he'd uppy-chuck down her back.

When the hug was over, he pushed her away and looked at her, saying, "I just heard about your mom and dad. That makes me so sad. With that she gave him another hug. One of those form-fitting hugs where you try to press as much of your body as you can into the other person, as if to borrow their warmth and bathe in their aura. I surmise that, Bruno aside, my dad was the closest she still had to a "dad," and daddy's perfect for that role.

And speaking of Bruno, Tippy was so wrapped up in the little reunion she was having with my father, that she neglected to introduce Bruno, but no worry, Bruno stepped in and started to introduce himself. Tippy then realized her faux pas and finished the introduction. She also began to tell Bruno's story, but I interrupted and suggested she do so on her way to our bus, since I could see that Gina was on the verge of shivers.

And so we strolled back to the bus with Tippy recounting the story of the hurricane and her discovery of her African "uncle," adding a few new details and lots of additional color to the story.

It turned out that Bruno is pretty knowledgeable about jazz and was quite familiar with some of the jazz musicians dad knows (or knew, since many have passed on to that big band in the sky).

Once we got to the bus, Kelsey went about making us all Spanish coffees and the subject turned to a celebrity who'd recently gotten himself in trouble for a remark perceived to be racially insensitive, and when Gina used the term "racist" to describe the guy, my father jumped in with just exactly the story I knew he'd tell.

"You know, that term 'racist' is being used too casually nowadays. Many years ago, in the 1960's, I was touring with a small combo. It was an ensemble, not built around a 'name' or lead performer the way most combos are. And probably because of that, we enjoyed little success. Anyway, it was at a small club in Mississippi and we played just one night before there was a hurricane warning and we were told that the club was being boarded up. We were also told that if we were smart, we'd just stay in our motel away from windows.

"So, four of us were sitting in the bathroom throughout the first hit (often you get hit twice, because hurricanes are shaped like doughnuts with a hole or 'eye' in the middle. When things calmed down, we went out to take a look and out there in the street in front of the motel was a downed power line, which was dancing around in the street almost like a garden hose. There were also two groups of citizens, one white and one black. Not even a hurricane was able to bring people together across the race divide.

"Apart from them and us, but within earshot enough that we could catch the occasional word or phrase were two cops holding things down until a crew could get there. I'm the only white guy in our little combo, and the other three musicians, all black, got more and more infuriated, referring to the cops as cracker asshole racists, to use some of the less vivid terminology. And don't think I didn't join in. I thought the cops were scum, too. We started to call the fatter of the two 'Officer Cracker.'"

"Then something happened which shall forever keep me from using the term 'racist' casually. One of the black women let go of her child's hand while in an animated discussion with another woman and at first the kid just played at her feet, but then this child, perhaps just two or three years old, noticed the power line and headed over to investigate the pretty dancing power line.

"We froze, bug-eyed, but one of those fat old cracker cops did not hesitate. Yelling "Nelly, your baby!" he ran like a shot. Now, the power line was right between him and the kid. Skirting the hazard wasn't an option. He stepped on it, which momentarily restrained its motion. Unfortunately, whether there was enough moisture on the surface to conduct the current or the power was strong enough to arc across the short distance, it got him. There was a loud noise and he stiffened and fell like a felled tree right onto the end of the power line, where he cooked until the power crew came along.

"When he had yelled, the girl's mommy realized the situation and sprinted desperately to catch her baby. But loud noise and the falling of the cop stopped the little girl dead in her tracks and her mother scooped her up, hugging her for dear life. She would never have reached her baby in time otherwise.

"The other guys in the band who'd called the cop a racist and thought of him as white trash were now silent, except for the drummer who said, 'Like...wow, man. Fuckin' wow!' The next evening, on the evening news, we saw that woman and her baby standing with the mayor and chief of police, praising the heroism of Officer Cracker. He left behind a wife and four young children, all of whom were proud but weeping. I've noticed quite a bit less prejudice against white people among those musicians since then."

Turning back to Gina, dad said, "Honey, you don't really know what's in anyone's heart until the chips are down, and when the chips are down words frequently don't matter nearly as much as action. That cop, when the chips were down, risked and lost his white ass to save a little black girl. I bet a lot of us wouldn't do what he did, we who think we're so liberal. Speaking for myself...I froze."

Gina sheepishly said, "Yeah, you're right. We are sometimes a little smug when we don't even know for sure what's really in our own hearts."

Feeling that Gina had been put somewhat on the spot by my father, I said "Hey, let's tell them about that strange experience we had on the ocean liner." Gina, welcoming a change of subject, said, "Yeah!" Looking at her, I said "You tell it."

(Remember, as you read, that Gina thinks of my father almost as if he were her father as well, and she calls him "Dad" or "Daddy" just as I do.)

"Okay," she said. "When we were in our mid-teens, I accompanied Jill and Dad on an ocean liner trip to England. Dad was filling in for a member of the ship's cocktail bar band who had fallen ill at the last minute.

I broke in with, "Dad, who no longer tours, was talked into making an exception because it was a one-time thing that would last less than a month and because the entertainment director, a friend from the old days, was in a jam. He sweetened the deal with cruise tickets. Mom had work obligations and my brother was at that stage in life when he couldn't bear to leave his friends for even a couple weeks, but I volunteered and we asked Gina to join us, which she was happy to do."

Gina continued, "Well, Jill's dad was playing at night so Jill and I were on our own, free to wander the ship. Of course, we were looking for cute boys to hang with" (Dad gives us a look of feigned disapproval at this point.) "Anyway, this one night we were just leaning at the railing of the boat, the water was nearly as smooth as glass. It was a full moon that night and while I was looking at the reflections the moon was making through some clouds on the water, I saw something and said, 'Jill, what's that?' 'Where?' she asked. I pointed and she confirmed my impression when she said excitedly, 'It's a horse!' We were passing a horse swimming in the middle of the ocean. It couldn't have jumped off our ship. It was too far away, right Jill?" I nodded agreement.

"What did you do?" asked Tippy. "We ran and found a ship's officer and told him what we'd seen. I don't know what we expected to happen, but his reaction was a mixture of 'You must have mistaken some flotsam for a horse' to 'What do you expect us to do? Turn this ship with about 500 paying passengers and delay their arrival by a half day? I think not.'

"Well, we knew what we saw. We saw it clearly, but just as clearly we weren't going to get the ship to rescue the horse.

"I remember that," said dad. "I'd almost forgotten about it. I had to console you the next morning. The officer was right, though. Tragic as it was. And any rescue involves risks, too. Getting a horse aboard an ocean liner without a gangplank would be a major undertaking and could very easily have resulted in death or injury to a crewman, and then how would you have felt?"

Life sure involves some tough choices sometimes. Had the ship done what I wanted at the time, it would have been a major inconvenience for many of the passengers and could have actually put crew members in danger. All for a horse?

I still have nightmares about the horse swimming in the middle of the ocean, though. What was it doing there? Dad says if indeed it was a horse (even he has his doubts) it almost had to have fallen or jumped off another ship. But we saw no other ships in the area. If it fell off another ship, it had been swimming a long, long time. Dad said it probably drowned after succumbing to hypothermia or exhaustion, unless it was attacked by a shark.

My beloved daddy got up and came over to me for a big hug, which naturally I gave him. He said, "Honey, it's 3 a.m. and I have a 9 a.m. flight back to Cleveland. I need to catch a few Z's. He gave everyone else but Bruno a hug as well, because Bruno was getting up ,too. Apparently my dad was relying on Bruno to help guide him back to his hotel. I could tell there'd be a lot of talk about jazz, since Bruno had never met anyone who knew so many musicians personally.

Tippy was staying, though, as per our invitation. She had never been in a luxury bus before and was interested in what spending a night in one would be like.

Now, I've fucked a few black guys (as you know if you've read all of my stories) but precious few black girls. I was feeling kind of horny and I could see that Kelsey was feeling a little lusty as well. Gina and Mike took the hint and grabbed bunks while Kelsey and Tippy and I went for the king size bed in the back.

We were all a little tipsy and drunk so getting sleep was the #1 priority.

But in the morning, I was awakened by a hand very much feeling up my ass. I rolled onto my back and the hand that had been on my ass was now very much in my crotch. Fingertips were slowly massaging my clit and labia. Tippy's fleshy lips were on mine and her tongue was in my mouth. I was kissing back.

Kelsey awakened to the fact that some fun was going on land joined in. Tippy stopped kissing for an instant, presumably as she realized that Kelsey's fingers were probing her pussy.

I turned to face Tippy so that I could kiss her boobs. They were just little A-cup boobs like mine, with nipples the size of silver dollars they were just puffy enough to make me hot (I really dig puffy nips).

Now Kelsey, who knows me like a book, hand turned from Tippy to me, and was sticking one of her long fingers, lubricated with spit no doubt, way way up my asshole. If you've been reading my stuff for a while, you know that as far as I'm concerned, my asshole is virtually a second vagina.

I decided to go down on Tippy, and as I did so, Kelsey pulled her finger out and crawled up to Tippy's head for some facesitting. Tippy responded ferociously. From my vantage place between her thighs, I could see her tongue flicking furiously over Kelsey's bulging inner labia. Damn that was making me hot, so I redoubled my efforts on Tippy, and of course that made her more excited which translated to even better flicking and licking and sucking of Kelsey's vagina.

Now, Kelsey was sitting facing my direction, supporting herself by dropping back on both hands. Unlike Tippy and me, Kelsey has absolutely magnificent knockers. Not just "on the large side," but when she's hot, her nipples get stiff as hell and look like little fingers. From her posture, her breasts looked like rockets ready to take off for the sky.

Tippy's taste in my mouth and the very stimulating view I was getting of her breasts and Kelsey's body was making me unspeakably excited. I just knew that pussy juice was running out of my pussy and onto the sheets.

Kelsey came, squirting just a bit onto Tippy's chin and chest.

Tippy got up and rotated around my face into the classic 69 position and I soon found out how she got Kelsey off so quickly. This chick was a pussy licking machine! Wow, she really knows how to give head!

So I did my best to keep up, which was hard because her technique was so distractingly effective. And yet she came first and came hard and loud, but to her credit, it didn't slow her down much and she finished me off.

Before I came, I heard Gina's voice from a bunk down the hall yell: "Jill's a major squirter. Put on your goggles."

Well I did squirt, but Tippy took it right in the mouth...and swallowed! This got me and Kelsey laughing.

Tippy looked at her watch and said she had to take off soon to open up the restaurant for lunch. That was a disappointment, for I really want this little African goddess to stick around, but she had a real life going, whereas our little committee of sex perverts had lives on hold for the time being.

Tippy found Mike in the shower stall, and perhaps because she had to keep things moving along (or perhaps because Mike is truly a seriously cute "hunk") she slipped in with him. And through the misted glass door, did I see her on her knees in front of him?

I was hit with a minor wave of jealousy, but why? I didn't possess her. I didn't possess Mike. I don't want to be possessed. Mentally, I slapped myself and reminded myself that, for the time being, no commitments.

After Tippy dressed, I walked her to the door and made a little funny: I pointed to my cheek with my forefinger and said, "You have a little jizz on your cheek." Gina and Kelsey, who had been out in the forward area drinking coffee while Tippy was in the shower with Mike, and thus lacked context, were silent for a second or two before looking at each other and then bursting out into gales of laughter.

Tippy laughed a bit, too, but had to go. She waved an affectionate good-bye adding, "Give your father my love." I promised I would.

Gina asked, well, shall we stay or move on toward Austin to see how Danielle is doing?

Kelsey and I said in unison, "Austin!" Mike, who didn't really know Danielle yet concurred just to be nice.




I'm Having A Lot Of Fun

I got a new toy. I'm going to try reviewing toys for a while, and I'm going to tell you up front that (a) the toys I'm reviewing are gifts from a company but that (b) they asked me to be honest in my reviews. I have a giant selection of toys and I guess I'd have to be called a heavy toy user, so I'm well-qualified to use a toy and decide what I like or don't like about it. If I do say something negative, don't take it as me panning the toy entirely, because it's been my experience that toys, like boys, are very much a matter of a girl's taste.

My first toy review is of something called the "Dual Ended Pleasure Septer," and while the name leaves me wondering where the "c" in "scepter" went, I must say I have been having a lot of fun with this toy.

As you can see it has a fairly standard "plug" shape on one end, which I have been using in both places where the sun don't shine, and I've been enjoying it very well used that way. This end is 4-1/2" long.

The other end is 5" long and has a spiral blue stripe running down the outside. This can function as a handle when inserting the plug end. But it's long enough to provide pleasure in my pussy, too, and I'm having a hard time deciding which end I like better. Between the two ends is a kind of thick flange that keeps me from using the entire length, which is my only criticism of this toy, and like I said above, that might not be a deterrent to you and it ceraintly hasn't prevented me from having hours of enjoyment playing with it.

Unlike some of the other things here (like the photos and links to sites like SapphicErotica or JustTeenSite), I don't make any money off these reviews, I just get a toy to review and I'm told to review it fairly, which I think I'm doing. That is the full extent of my relationship to the company that sends me the toys, except that I do get to pick out toys to review and, since I'm experienced enough to know what I like, I'm probably going to enjoy whatever toy I get. Anyway, if you want a direct link to where you can find out more about the Pleasure Septer, click here. If you want to see the full PleasureMeNow.com glass dildo line, visit their glass dildo page.


Sunday, October 28, 2007
Bruno Kilimanjaro and The Big Easy
The Trip West, Pt. VI

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

Traveling into The Big Easy (New Orleans), the devastation left in the wake of Hurricane Katrina remained evident. Mud-stained abandoned homes and businesses were interspersed with ones whose occupants had returned and who were in the process of cleaning up, rebuilding, or replacing their properties. Few of the businesses had seemed to be actually prosperous, except for the occasional building supplies or hardware store, which I can imagine would be doing land office business.

My father had mentioned in an e-mail that he might be able to connect with us in New Orleans, which naturally excited me and Gina. As I've mentioned, Gina was practically a sister to me when I was growing up, and my family treated her as such. She had no father present in her life, so my father played the male role model for her, and that served her well as it had me. Kelsey is also fond of my dad, though she's known him a much shorter time.

While my dad doesn't tour anymore, as a musician who did tour with many of the greats, be they stars or "musician's musicians," he has a lot of friends and sometimes meets up with them, which quite often leads to an offer for him to sit in, which he always does, so I know he must miss the clubs which, for so long, were a part of his life.

What he doesn't miss is the insane sleeping schedules, the heavy drinking, and the temptation to drown one's troubles in drugs, which led to various disasters, including prison time and death, for quite a few of his/our musician friends.

This was a special mission for him, for he would be visiting with a musician he had done a lot of touring with. A Hispanic man and a master of the saxophone, playing the full range: baritone, tenor, and soprano. However, it was for his unparalleled tone on the tenor that he was well-known. Talented as he was, tone in an instrument like the sax, is as much inherited as it is a matter of skill. This is because, as I heard Stan Getz point out in a TV interview once, the sax player's nasal cavities are actually part of the resonating system, and so the inner topology of a player's head plays a very significant factor in the sound coming out of the bell.

This isn't to say that Paulo (not his real name) was untalented. My gosh, I could listen to him play for hours, not just due to the richness of his tone, but because of his inventiveness and timing and rhythm. To hear Paulo play is always an adventure.

However, he'd been on a downhill slide into heroin addiction for a few years, and had finally hit rock bottom when, lying in an alley one St. Louis morning, having shot up after a gig in a club that should have been far beneath his dignity, he nearly froze to death in his heroin-induced stupor. The emergency room doctors credit hypothermia with actually saving him from a death by heroin overdose. This led to an intervention by his friends and family which got him into rehab.

While Paulo was in rehab, dad called him just about every day to encourage him, putting me on the line from time to time as well, since he was indeed a family friend who had been in the house often enough, for dinner or to use our spare bedroom, that he had seen me grow up. I'd sat on his knee many times listening to my father play piano. Of course, as I got into my teens, sitting on his knee stopped, but I remember him giving the warmest, friendliest hugs, probably for the children he had always wanted but never had. You see, Paulo is gay. And while, today, gay people have options, back then they did not. In fact, back then it was unusual for a musician to even come out of the closet. Jazz was (and is) one of the last bastions of macho in the world of the professional musician. That he is Hispanic just made matters worse.

Don't think that Paulo was in any way swishy. I remembered him as one of the most masculine men of my youth. In fact, I harbored a secret lust for his body that was crushed when I overheard in a conversation between my parents that he was gay. That was when I was approximately thirteen.

According to my father, Paulo had formed a new combo that put his usual harmonic explorations in a Latin American context, less mainstream and more reflective of his ethnicity. The new band has two drummers: a standard jazz drummer and one specializing in latin percussion. There would also be a bass player so in love with Paulo's playing that Paulo had been able to steal him away from a more successful and better-paying musician, as well as a young woman who played a synthesizer that could produce sounds ranging from a Steinway grand to an electric piano to a Hammond organ or even a full cathedral pipe organ, not to mention a full range of less familiar sounds qualifying more as "effects" than notes.

Anyway, I called dad on his cell only to discover to my delight that he was already in New Orleans and had been for almost a day, visiting with Paulo. With the agreement of my bus buddies, I arranged for us all to meet in this small club on the fringe of the Bourbon Street midway for a mid-evening dinner followed by Paulo's performance. It was a new club, formed in the wake of the hurricane in a club bought from an owner who had thrown in the towel.

In the meantime, after parking the bus on a side street about 10 blocks off the main Bourbon Street drag, we walked up to Bourbon Street looking for a good place to grab some lunch, finding a little hole-in-the-wall named Chez Bruno. Now, Bruno is a strangely un-French name, but the menu in the window was not just convincing, but irresistible.

Now, we live in a cosmopolitan world where-though political borders may be relatively hard—cultural borders are relatively soft, so the fact that the owner and/or chef might be named Bruno, which is, I believe, an Italian name meaning "brown," there is nothing to stop a Bruno from being French, German, Icelandic, or Brazilian for that matter. Still, it was with some surprise that we found Bruno to be a baldheaded, late middle-aged black man with a thick African accent.

He answered our descriptions as best he could, given his limited English. Whenever a correction or qualification of what he said was needed, or whenever he needed help with his pronunciation, a female voice wafted out of the kitchen with the needed information. That voice was far more understandable, despite its thick "Loozianna" accent.

Sometimes the voice would correct one of us, and Kelsey, in particular, has a habit of falling back into the Northerner's pronunciation of "New Orleans" as "New Orleens," whereas the locals pronounce it as "Nawlins." She would say it right once or twice, then fall back to the more familiar (but wrong) pronunciation, and we'd all laugh at her, while she blushed.

We got a variety of local specialties, Gina and I both got bullfrog gumbo, taking the Okra option (he also offered it with Arrowroot as the thickening agent, but I think Okra, while not to everyone's taste because of its sliminess, is the more traditional way to go. Kelsey got a crawfish etouffé and Mike got blackened chicken. This was washed down with Lone Star beer all around.

We were then offered an elaborately layered torte for dessert, which we accepted. This small cake (about 6 inches in diameter and four inches tall) was cut into four equally-sized slices and Bruno gave us a coffee so strong and rich it was almost like drinking straight espresso, even though we watched him make it in a good-sized French press.

As the other customers straggled out, Bruno became more talkative and we became more inquisitive. At the same time, the disembodied kitchen voice became embodied. It turned out to be a young black woman, no older than 19 or 20. She was gorgeous. You think Halle Berry is beautiful? Take Halle and triple her beauty and you have this young charmer.

Nearly as tall as Kelsey's 6 feet, when she took off her hair net, we saw that she had a head full of loose curls in the general shape of an "afro." Nearly as slender as a fashion model, but with shapelier legs, she looked smokin' hot.

And her name was Tippy.

Helping Bruno when he needed it, their story and that of Chez Bruno came out.

The restaurant once operated under the name Chez Horace when it was owned by Tippy's parents. Tippy had grown up coming to the restaurant almost every day to be with her parents and help out in the kitchen. The restaurant did well enough, and Tippy did well enough in school, that between what her parents could do to help her and a scholarship, she had gone off to school in Oxford, England.

And England was where she was when the horror of Katrina unfolded. Of course, she knew a hurricane was coming, but nobody imagined the disaster it would turn out to be. Well, that's not exactly true, because the flooding of New Orleans after the massive failure of its levee system was anticipated. In fact, I remember seeing a science show about major disasters that more or less said it wasn't a matter of if, but rather when New Orleans would experience this catastrophe.

Of course, had she known, Tippy would have been home to help her parents. And if she had, perhaps she, too, would be dead, for her parents both drowned somehow. It took several months for their remains to be found as refuse was being cleared out more than a mile from their home, which was flooded almost to the roof line. She imagines they ended up on the roof, drowning while trying to help someone else. Perhaps one of them grabbed for a person, was pulled off the roof, and the other jumped in to rescue.

How they died, will probably never be known.

Once they were declared dead in the eyes of the law and the process of dealing with their affairs started, Tippy discovered something totally unexpected: they had a will, which was good because they were wealthier than she had ever imagined. An additional surprise was that 1/3 of their $3 million estate went to someone named Bruno Kilimanjaro. What an odd name? Who was this Bruno Kilimanjaro?

Among their records, she discovered that they had paid a sum of money to an investigator whose specialty was helping African-Americans discover their roots. It appeared that she and this Bruno had some DNA in common. Apparently, they hadn't quite gotten around to approaching Mr. Kilimanjaro.

Curious, she arranged to go to Africa to meet this distant relative. She couldn't imagine why they wanted to give him a million dollars, but she wanted to break the news to him in person. He was in Kenya, in an inland town not far from the capital, Nairobi, named Machakos.

After the lengthy flight, she found herself in Nairobi, a city where almost everyone was black and her heart, unexpectedly, opened up to Africa. And she knew that, in some sense, she was at home. The people, poor as they obviously were, seemed honest and happy. To her surprise, there was almost no language problem. While the native language is Swahili, English is regarded, along with Swahili, as an official language, and is spoken by many, especially the educated.

Tippy didn't have a lot to go on, but with the help of a young black man at the Consulate, who used his local contacts, she tracked Bruno Kilimanjaro down to a Catholic mission near Machakos. In order to meet him, she would have to go through some sort of chief nun at this mission.

That turned out to be easy, and in a leisurely meeting with this woman, she learned that Bruno Kilimanjaro was an orphan, raised by the kindly nuns. His name reflected his skin color (in Italian) and of course the massive mountain Kenya shared with Tanzania, the tallest in all of Africa. He was highly regarded, well educated, and worked as an elementary school teacher in one of their schools.

A nun took her to where Bruno was teaching and she sat for an hour outside his class, listening to his kindly voice as he talked in halting English, growing to admire him more by the minute. When the class let out, she snagged him.

She asked him if he'd ever heard of her parents. He hadn't. She told him about the hurricane. Like most people, he was quite aware of it, and he was sad that her parents had perished in it. She dropped the bomb that she was his distant relative and that her parents had left him a large sum. Apparently, for him, a large sum would have been a few thousand dollars, or perhaps a few tens of thousands of dollars. The concept of a million dollars beggared his comprehension.

Beyond her initial comprehension, as well, was his response. He said without hesitation that he would give the money to his school. But looking around at the school and its spare, overcrowded classrooms, and then looking into his kind and sincere face, she knew that there was no arguing with him: this is what he had to do with the money.

However, she did convince him to come back to New Orleans with her, which was easy because he had a yearning to travel. Using her newfound wealth, she rebuilt her parents' restaurant, renaming it after Bruno, who, despite the distance and ambiguity of their actual relationship, she had come to refer to (and think of) as her "uncle."

That they had grown close was evident. Despite the language problem (he understood 90% and could say about 75% of what he wanted to say), with Tippy's help, though, he could say almost anything he needed to say. She knew him well enough by now to read his mind and finish his sentences.

With promises to return someday, we bade Tippy and Bruno a fond good-bye and headed out to visit the local shops, since we still had several hours to kill before meeting with my dad at the club. When we passed a guitar shop, Mike couldn't resist going in. Telling the girls we'd catch up, I went in with him because I was drawn by the beauty of the guitars in the window.

We take guitars for granted. We girls, in particular, tend to look at the musician. But, perhaps because my father is a musician, I pay attention to instruments, and over the decades guitars have become works of art in a way that no other instrument has. Forget the most expensive car you've ever seen, a $500 guitar can have a finish that puts an $800,000 Maserati to shame.

My father once remarked that the Stratocaster guitar was one of the classic designs of the 20th Century. I looked puzzled, so he got on Wikipedia and showed me a car from the early 1950's. A Studebaker. He told me that in its time it was regarded as a futuristic design. Then he brought up the Wikipedia listing for the Stratocaster and told me that the Stratocaster was designed at about the same time. "Do you see what I mean?" he asked.

I said, "Yeah, the Studebaker looks dated, the Stratocaster looks just as cool today as it did back then." "That," he said, is what makes a classic, whether it be an instrument or a song. I think that is when I really understood what the word "classic" meant in terms of something I could relate to in my own life. Before then, I might have cited Shakespeare or Plato as examples of classics, but that would have been based on what someone told me, not so much due to my own experience with Shakespeare's plays or by having been impressed by Plato's Dialogues. Here was something that was part of my teenage life that was a classic.

While I looked around, admiring the many gorgeous guitars, Mike was approached by a punked out salesgirl with pink hair who flirted with him rather outrageously. Actually, she was rather hot with a very nice body, as revealed by her skin-tight black denims. She wore a top made, inconguously, of some kind of stretchy material with a plaid tartan pattern. And of course, in true punker fashion, there were plenty of studs and chains.

When Mike called me to ask what I thought of a guitar he liked, the punker girl finally took notice of me, giving me the once over, and I suddenly wished I'd visited a powder room to spruce up a bit, for I most definitely was feeling the hots for this one.

Her smile was friendly enough, and she shook my hand (something girls don't routinely do with each other) and it was a warm handshake. Was she subtley telling me that whatever might happen, I would be welcome to join?

The guitar was handsome indeed and I could see that Mike was in a buying mood, so it was coming down to whether to get the candy apple red model with dual humbuckers (aka n "HH") or the natural wood finish one with humbuckers at the neck and bridge and a single-coil pickup in between (aka an "HSH"). Both had that dual-horn look pioneered by the Fender Stratocaster, but this was made by one of the many other fine guitar companies which have sprung up along the way.

The girl got both guitars off the wall for him, putting them on little guitar stands. She ran off and came back with a little amp. This little amp had a lot of punch and was louder than I expected. It also put out a distorted guitar sound that emulated a way overdriven larger amp.

When he started playing, it became clear that Mike had developed some pretty good technique. The girl plugged in a big Fender bass guitar that dwarfed her, and they jammed for a good 20 minutes. When Mike slipped from really primitive rock ("Johnny B. Goode") into a fairly jazzy piece with a slippery rhythm scheme, she kept right up with him.

He ended up buying the candy apple red model and a soft case just to protect its finish. While writing up the sale, she said something about getting together to jam sometime, and gave him her card, after writing something on it. Presumably her cell or home phone number.

Mike and I walked back to the bus, because (understandably) he didn't want to be carrying a guitar around with him the rest of the day.

I called the girls and told them we'd meet them at the restaurant. As he was stowing the guitar, I mentioned that the punker chick was hot. He agreed and even mentioned that she'd volunteered her home phone number.

I said, "That's nice. Are you going to look her up sometime?"

He looked at me with a smile, and said, "Maybe...Jealous?"

"Just a bit, perhaps," I admitted.

"No need," he said. "I do lust after you, you know." I was leaning back with my ass cheeks pressed into the edge of the counter. Before I knew it, Mike had moved in on me, his pelvis against my tummy. I put my arms around him at the waist, and waited for the kiss I knew would be coming.

It came.

It was one of those long, lingering kisses that we chicks love, especially when punctuated by by hands that wanted to wander all over my body. I unbuttoned my jeans for Mike, which I thought was a pretty strong hint. A hint which he did not ignore, and soon his hand was in my underpants, where he discovered that my pussy was already sopping wet from anticipation.

While one hand alternately massaged my clit and then sought out my labia to pick up some natural lubricant, the other hand was wandering all around under my shirt. I rarely wear a bra. With my little A-cuppers, there's really no need in terms of support or restraint, and when it comes to modesty...well...I'm not very modest. Because I was braless, his hands were soon on my boobs, sometimes cupping a tit and sometimes rolling and squeezing a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Soon he had two finger in my pussy and was being very forceful. He knew how to find the G-spot, and as he did so, with his fingers deep inside me and curled up behind the pubic bone, he used this position to lift a lot of my weight off my feet. By now, my hands were behind me, supporting me on the counter.

Oh, fuck. He found the spot. Whether it was by feel or because he noticed my eyes go as big as saucers, I don't know. But the shivers went all through me and I got goose-bumpy and tingly and I kissed him ferociously. I realized this was my first time truly alone with him, and quite possibly it might be my last, so I was ready get greedy and get what I wanted.

"I really like being fucked in the ass," I whispered.

He laughed. "You girls really like the backdoor stuff." "Well," I replied, "Kelsey has never been known to favor being buttfucked, so I guess you can count that as a little sexual success story." He laughed some more. I continued: "I, on the other hand, have always liked getting it in the tail. In fact, it gives me my best orgasms."

I pushed him off long enough to shove my jeans and undies down to my ankles. I then turned around and presented him my ass. I heard his belt buckle hit the floor, so I knew he was taking my "hint."

We keep a bottle of Astroglide in every room of the bus, for obvious reasons, and I told him where to find it in a nearby drawer. Soon, he had a finger up my ass, which felt good. Then it was two fingers. Then three. All of which felt good.

Then it was his cock, which felt extra special good. When being fucked in the ass, I'm not looking for the thickest, girthiest cock around. I prefer length, and his dick was fairly long, but girthy enough that I could feel his pumping through the vaginal wall, and so I got some genuine vaginal stimulation as well.

And of course I was masturbating furiously.

"Fuck me hard," I demanded. He redoubled his efforts. Now, while the sun was going down, it was still a little light outside, and every now and then someone, or a couple, or even a family would go by and look in the window and suddenly realize that there's a girl up there takin' it up the poop chute, but I didn't care. I was in my own little dirty girl world.

Now, this is going to sound rough and mean, but I said it in a tone of voice that he knew was play-acting, "Come on, you fucker. Don't be such a pussy. Fuck me!"

You've heard the expression that someone tore someone a new asshole. Well, I almost regretted my exhortation to be fucked harder, because he totally took control then, throwing me down on the floor, pulling my jeans off my ankles roughly, whipping his own off, and rolling me onto my tummy, crossing my arms behind my back, which made me helpless, and then re-entered my ass with his dick.

Now I was getting it good, just the way I want it. Sometimes I want it gentle; sometimes rough, and that day I was all in for some rough sex.

When I knew I was going to be able to cum soon, I managed to indicate, by rolling, that I wanted him off me, and he rolled off, releasing my arms at the same time.

The thought of what I was doing (I guess) excited him to the point that within seconds he shot his wad. This set off a chain reaction, for as soon as I tasted his sperm combining with the taste of his asshole-flavored cock, I had a fiercely intense series of orgasms that sent little fountains pussy juice flying onto the floor.

That's when I heard a female voice say, "You're cleaning that up."

This woke me up from my orgasmic fog. Gina and Kelsey were both sitting down at the table.

"How long were you watching?" I asked.

"Not long," said Kelsey. "But long enough," said Gina with a big Cheshire Cat leer.

Mike, who suddenly felt a pang of modesty, was pulling his pants up with his back to them.

I was going to change into something more suitable for wearing to a nightclub, anyway, so I walked back to the closet where my duds were stowed.

"We decided to change clothes and freshen up, so we came back. We didn't know it was going to be a case of 'If this bus is rockin' please don't comie a-knockin'" which had us all laughing so hard our sides split.

"Anyway," asked Gina as she sidled up next to me at the closet, "how was it?"

"Well," I replied with a giggle, "I don't think I'll want to ride a horse or a bicycle for a few days, but in general, I can't complain." She smacked me on the butt and said, "Well, it sure looked like you were having fun."

Within a half hour, we were all dressed in nightclubbing dresses, all primped and preened as far as hair and makeup goes, and with Mike in tow, we headed off to the nightclub to meet up with my dad.

I was looking forward to seeing Paulo after all these years. I had had major hots for him when I was young.

And, of course, even having been away from Cleveland for just a few days, I was already missing my lovely daddy.




Those JustTeenSite Girls Keep On Coming

JustTeenSite has nudged its way upward until it rivals MET-Art, DOMAI, and Hegre's site for top-notch photos of really gorgeous girls. Each sample photo below is clickable, and will take you to the full gallery, which most likely has much more revealing photos.

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Smokin' Hot JustTeenSite Movies Below:







Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Self-Doubt And Vindication
The Trip West, Pt. V

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

And so we set off for New Orleans under threatening skies with Gina back at the wheel. We drove for a a little while, but then it started to rain hard. After slogging through the downpour for a good half hour, Gina was forced to declare that she was no longer comfortable driving, given the impaired visibility.

Kelsey and I wandered forward and, looking out the vast window, agreed that things looked grim. We told her to find a way off the road, and after a few minutes there was an exit, which we took. It led to a marginal road which Gina crept along until she found, emerging out of the rain-fed haze, what appeared to be an entrance way to a mall.

She pulled in and, lining the bus up along a curb at the edge of what was probably the mall's parking lot, she stopped it and set the auxiliary brake. The rain redoubled and, given our inability to move, Gina started some coffee and I broke out the cards. We agreed on Texas Hold 'Em (with toothpicks as stakes) and played for perhaps an hour. Mike was ahead of us all at first, but gradually Kelsey overtook him and when, all of a sudden, the rain stopped and the sun broke through, we looked around and saw the mall.

It was a typical mall with a Sears at one end and some other department store at the other. Maybe it was a Macy's, I don't know. (We passed so many malls along the way.) Since we needed some things, a visit to a mall seemed called for, so we locked up the bus and crossed the now visible parking lot to the nearest entrance, dodging puddles along the way.

No doubt Mike, like most guys, would rather be kicked in the nuts than wait around while chicks shop and try on clothes. Even so, he stayed with us as we prowled the stores for a good two hours. It was by then early afternoon and we were all hungry, so we looked around and found a table. As we stood there, a couple at one of the counters got into a loud altercation. It seemed like they might soon come to blows, so everyone in the court stopped what they were doing and stared.

It was over as soon as a swarm of security men arrived, and so we started to think about food again. It was then that we realized something was wrong. Gina said, "Where's my purse?" She had brought along a small clutch just big enough for her checkbook, a slim wallet, and her keys. She said she had set it down on the table just as the argument erupted. At some point, it must have been taken.

But the purse wasn't all that was missing...

So was Mike!

At first, we just looked under the table and, talking among ourselves, agreed that indeed Gina had had the purse when we got there, so it hadn't been left in a shop. While Mike's absence might be a mere coincidence, we were all thinking that we really didn't know him that well. Everything pointed to him having seen a chance to take Gina's wallet, and then acting on that opportunity.

What did she have in it? Well, Gina is rich and has lots of money. You or I might have $25 or $100 in our wallet. She thought she had somewhere in the neighborhood of $750 to $1500. She also had two credit cards. Between a VISA and an AmEx card, both of which had limits so high they were effectively bottomless pits of money, she really needed no other cards. She also had a checkbook for her personal account, which was also so vast as to be without practical limit. Ray, her life partner, shared his wealth with her so generously that she was for all intents and purposes as rich as he was. She could buy a yacht if she felt like it.

Still, she called Ray who had all of the accounts closed and arranged to get new accounts set up for her ASAP. He also arranged for one of his planes to meet us at an airport the following day with a large cashier check for the interim, which Gina could turn into traveler's checks at any bank.

Of course, in addition to taking care of Gina's accounts, we lost also several hours making reports first to the security staff and then to the local police.

By this time it was about 6 p.m., fairly dark, and too late to travel. We took the goods we'd bought and headed back toward the bus, where we sat around glumly for quite some time. Finally, Gina decided to cheer us up by announcing that she'd make us filet mignon for dinner.

We all pitched in and made salad and rice pilaf to go along with the steak. Over dinner, we talked about the guys who'd betrayed us in our lives. The ones who cheated on us or took advantage of our naiveté or the natural codependent tendencies of teen girls, who sublimate their burgeoning maternal instincts into a desire to take in the lost and sick puppies of the world, be they canine, feline, or human.

Some females outgrow the need for "fixer uppers"; some don't. I think perhaps we all felt we'd relapsed in the case of Mike. We all thought we were too smart to ever be taken in again, but perhaps we were more vulnerable than we thought.

We all knew the story of Gina's constantly disappointing father, but prior to meeting Ray, she'd had her share of bad experiences, including a guy who was promising marriage, not just to her, but to any other girl he wanted to have sex with, which turned out to be five or six.

Kelsey, in her career as a fashion model, had actually dated a guy for several months, and was totally in love with him. He disappeared one day after having taken all the cash in her purse, her checkbook, and her credit cards, which he used to get cash advances and about $12,000 in goods and services. When she finally had the full details, she found he'd bought two plane tickets to Hawaii. Tickets for two! That just added insult to injury.

My last boyfriend, Erik, had been a model partner, and when we broke up it was simply due to growing apart, not due to anything nefarious or nasty. Other men in my life had been less than chivalrous, though.

While in high school, a certain boy I thought was "The One" took me to a party, got me drunk for the first time in my life, and ended up making me available to several of his friends for sex. In today's legal climate, I could probably have him serving prison time, because he, at 18, was an adult, but I just took it as a life lesson and I've been in control of my drinking ever since. I get drunk, but not so drunk I can't say no.

If you've read any of my thoughts on feminism, you'll know that I object to the kind of feminism that treats us as children, more vulnerable than the boys and more in need of paternal (or maternal) protection. Yes, we're smaller and less physically capable in many ways, but we aren't dunces and I resent any hint that we need to be treated as such. I made a bad choice with that boy and I learned from it. It helped me grow up. If I do anything now, it's because I want to do it.

After-dinner coffee was followed by small glasses of a mint-flavored liqueur while we selected a movie that suited our somber mood. In the end, we decided to rekindle our love of men by watching a sappy love story: A Man And A Woman which holds up well over time and has a wonderful soundtrack that could only belong to a French film.

It's the story of a widow and a widower, both with small children about 3 or 4 years old. Their attraction is palpable from the start, and yet both are so wracked with psychic pain related to their recent losses, that they are caught in a cycle of what a psychologist might call an "approach-avoidance conflict."

The movie makes no attempt to meet the high standards of crisp, sharp hyper-saturated cinematography exemplified in even "B" Hollywood movies. Instead, it opts for an intentionally grainy look, subdued colors, and a hand-held look. The dashing Jean-Luis Trintingnant plays the man, a race car driver, and the sublimely beautiful Anouk Aimée plays the woman, a cinema script person.

The scenes of Trintingnant's character driving Ford GT's on test tracks and in Le Mans are some of the most beautiful scenes of race cars ever done. The final scene where they run toward each other and embrace is such a cliché. But it's such a very effective cliché that it had us all in tears.

This would not be a night for sex, it seemed. We were much too hurt and pensive to consider lust. So it was that at about 11 p.m., we said goodnight and wandered off to where we would spend the night. It was Kelsey's turn to use a bunk, which left the big bed in the bedroom at the rear of the bus to Gina and me. It was one of the few times Gina and I had ever been in bed together without making out.

It took me a while to get to sleep as I thought about this strange thing we call sex. No...not the act. That's not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about sex in terms of the differences between males and females, with the female being the attractant, the honey so to speak, and with the male being the attracted. Sometimes honey attracts bees, sometimes bears.

How could our "radar" have been so wrong? We're all experienced girls who've been around the block a few times. We all thought we were past being naive and overly trusting. And yet, look what had happened! A full-blown disaster had been averted, and yet we felt as if we'd been, in some sense, raped. We had let someone past our guard and that trust had been abused.

We slept in the next morning. Apparently, all of us had had difficulty getting to sleep. So it was about 10:30 a.m. that we found ourselves sitting in the bus's small dining nook munching on muffins and drinking coffee.

All of a sudden Kelsey, who had been moping like the rest of us, perked up. Her attention focused on a corner of the room. Mike had left his backpack behind. It was a rather large soft pack. She looked in a closet, and his duffel was there as well.

She said, "This doesn't make sense." We all knew what she was thinking: He and Gina both had keys to the bus. Why wouldn't he have scooted back to the bus for his stuff before taking off with his loot?

We opened up his pack and duffel and the mystery deepened because we found a lot of personal stuff, including his laptop computer and a small album full of pictures of his dead wife. Even his cell phone was there in the pack, as was his checkbook, which showed that he had a bit more than $50,000 remaining in his checking account!

Mike's actions now seemed very puzzling indeed. We were even torn over what to do with his stuff. Should we leave them with the mall cops or the police? Or should we take them with us to force him to find us if he wanted his valuables back?

We decided to keep them.

Morning clouds parted and I took the wheel and pointed the bus toward what had once been one of America's most magical destinations. New Orleans. Would any magic be left in the tragic wake of Hurricane Katrina? We'd know soon enough.

We did make a quick detour to a small private airport where one of Ray's pilots was waiting for us with the promised cashier's check. In the nearby town, Gina went to a bank and the cashier's check was converted to $100 and $1000 traveler's checks. New credit cards and checks would make it our way somewhere along the way.

The driver has a mirror that gives him/her a view of goings on behind the cockpit, and almost always when I looked back I'd see Gina on one side and Kelsey on the other, staring out the window, hardly a word being spoken. The bus was not the joyful place it had been before our unscheduled detour to the mall.

About an hour into the ride I heard a siren and noticed that a highway patrol car was behind us with its lights on. There was no place to pull the bus over for about a mile so I put the blinker on to acknowledge him. A rest area appeared and I pulled in, wondering what I'd done.

By this time, Kelsey and Gina had become aware that something was happening and I explained that a cop was pulling us over. We all stepped out of the door onto the pavement to see the cop walking toward us with Mike! We were all wondering if perhaps we were to make an identification.

What other reason could there be for him to be approaching us with Mike?

And yet...Mike wasn't cuffed. Strange. Very strange. In fact, they seemed to be exchanging pleasantries.

"Hi, folks," said the cop. "I guess this guy belongs to you. And so does this." With that, he held out Gina's wallet, which she took. The cop said, "This boy's a hero." "Or a fool," added Mike. "Well, son. Sometimes there's no difference." Turning to us, the trooper said, "A lot of guys wouldn't have done what he did."

We looked puzzled. Mike said, "I'll explain." He thanked the trooper who shook his hand, turned around, and was off with a wave of his hand.

We all went back in the bus. Gina confirmed that everything was there, including the cash and the now worthless credit cards and checkbook.

I got behind the wheel and while Gina made a pot of coffee, Mike told this story:

"I had gone to get a drink of water from a drinking fountain. As I walked toward you guys, that argument broke out, and while you watched, I saw a girl at the next table look around and take your wallet. I froze, not knowing whether to yell or confront her or what, but I didn't have time to think about it because she got up and quickly walked out of the food court.

"I followed her out to the parking lot, hoping to see a security man along the way, but I suppose they had all been called to the food court.

"I tried to look blase and appear not to be paying attention to her. She got into a pickup truck, the kind with a camper cover over the bed. The back gate was hanging down, half covering the plate, which was pretty muddy anyway, or I would simply have noted the license number. Instead, I did something which in hindsight was foolish: I climbed into the back as she pulled out of the spot and hid myself in the bed under the rear window of the cab where she couldn't see me.

"My intention was to call '911' and get some help, but when I tried to find my cell phone, I found I'd left it behind.

"She drove for what seemed forever, at least two hours, eventually getting off the highway and onto a side road which turned onto a rough dirt and gravel drive that taking her far out into a bayou.

"She came to a stop and called out to someone. I heard one of the doors open, and while I couldn't hear everything said, I did hear a gruff man's voice say something about getting some stuff and going into town to use the cards while they were still good. They got out of the cab and walked out of earshot. I hazarded a look through the back window of the cab and saw her walking up the steps to a cabin with a very large and muscular man dressed in a denim farmer john over a wife beater.

"The way the pickup was parked, on the diagonal, I could walk up one side of the truck and be pretty much out of their view. So, I got out and sneaked up to the cab. Looking through the side window, I was glad to see that they had left the wallet laying there next to Gina's purse, though some of the credit cards were out and laying on the seat. I slowly opened the door and grabbed the goods, tucking everything into the purse.

"What to do then? Well, looking around the cab I determined that she had probably taken the keys with her. They weren't in the ignition, on the floor, or up with the visor, and I didn't want to spend a lot of time looking, so I snuck off into the woods, reasoning that going down the road would just make me easier to find. As I walked away from the cabin, I did hear the man utter a loud "Oh fuck!" followed by a lot of yelling.

I quickly discovered that the area was a mix of dry land and swamp. In fact, the first time I saw swamp water, I discovered that I was being watched by an alligator, and so, in addition to my desire to get back to civilization was added the desire not to become an item on an alligator's menu for the day. If I could have gone in a straight line, I would have been out of the woods early yesterday evening, but I had to skirt the swamp which, it turned out, had many serpentine arms and led me up a number of paths that turned out to be peninsulas. I could either hazard walking waist-deep in dark brown swamp water or carefully pick my way through the swamp.

"I did pass some ramshackle houses, but I reasoned that they might be friendly with the thieves, so I kept on going, staying far enough a way so as not even to make a dog bark. If those crooks or any of their friends found me out there, I could just disappear and no one would ever know what became of me. So, I ended up having to sleep in the woods. I spent a cold, creepy night, even though I did manage to make a small fire.

"The next morning, I kept going and finally, homing in on a few columns of smoke and steam, came to a small town. The cops there weren't sure about where I'd been and or even if they had jurisdiction, so they called the state police. This nice officer you just met came out, heard my story, and we drove around while I looked for some of the landmarks I'd seen while in the back of the truck. It took a couple hours, but finally we found it. Actually, it was quite easy for me because when that woman left the main road and started up the drive leading to their cabin, I had noted a burned-out barn across the highway with an old blue tractor parked next to it.

"Several other patrolmen arrived within a half hour and we drove up to the cabin. Along the way, I learned that if the man was who they thought he was, he was a fugitive who had escaped from a work gang a few weeks prior. If he was staying with this gal, an old girlfriend of his, she would be charged with harboring, which would get her a neat prison term.

"As the cops rolled up, he tried to make a break for it out the back, but since they had a K-9 unit with them (anticipating that he might run for the woods), he soon had a German Shepherd locked on his arm. Within minutes, he was cuffed in the back of one patrol car, with the woman in the back of another one, and the police were thanking me.

"As they drove me back to their headquarters, I learned that he had been in prison for manslaughter, having killed a man in a bar fight. He was a real desperado, and would certainly have killed me if he felt he had to. He had little to lose, having declared that if he escaped they'd never get him back into prison no matter what it took.

"After giving a deposition, I told them I'd like to catch up with you, because you have all my stuff. You were no longer in the mall parking lot, but they put out an all points bulletin to watch for the bus, and soon we got a fix on you. They put me in a patrol car, turned on the flashing lights and while one patrol car stayed a distance behind you to keep tabs on your position, we gradually caught up with...and you know the rest!

Looking at us, he said, "I'm guessing you thought I took the purse. That's what I would have thought."

Our sheepish looks told him the truth. Looking at Gina and Kelsey and then back at him I spoke for all of us as I said, "We're very sorry. Please forgive us!"

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought the same thing in your shoes."

Gina said, "Well, in our defense when we realized what you have left behind, we started to have our doubts about that possibility." She walked over to him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek and a long lingering hug. "Thanks. You took a bigger risk than you should have. It was only money." "Yeah," I said, "suppose you'd been killed. And all over a purse!" "Yeah," said Kelsey, nodding in agreement.

"I wasn't thinking about that at the time. I just saw someone take something from a friend. I suppose it was a dumb thing to do..."

"Well, you proved your friendship, and now we're all ashamed that we ever doubted you," said Kelsey

Kelsey and I hugged him as well and then I said, "Let's get on to New Orleans!" "Yeah!" was the universal response.

We found a spot very close to New Orleans after crossing patches of Alabama and Mississippi. A sports bar with a gigantic parking lot that was half full out front and empty out back. The owner gladly gave us permission to park there, rightly assuming we'd be buying four meals.

It was Fish Fry Friday night at this bard, and in Louisiana, and in Louisiana "fish fry" means catfish. Now, my mom cooks up great catfish, but I have to say that I've never had catfish to match what was being served in that simple neighborhood bar.

Cooking catfish isn't like cooking trout, sole, or cod. You don't just barely cook it past the raw state, as you do with most other fish. Catfish is best when overcooked and this catfish was well cooked with a very dark brown crust that consisted largely of cornmeal, making it good and crispy, so that consuming it was almost like biting into a shellfish of some sort. In fact, we were even encouraged to eat with our fingers, as if we were having lobster or crab.

This got Mike to talking about the places he'd been where he'd had the best seafood. He had done some work for a hosting company on Koh Samui island, Thailand, and had spent nearly half a year there. The variety and delectability of the seafood there was astounding, he said.

It turned out that he'd also spent a little time in another seafood-oriented city as well. A city that I had had some experience with: Bremen in northern Germany. This brought out some of the stories you'll find back in my series named My European Holiday, which is about the trip Erik and I took to Europe.

Erik and I had several great seafood meals there, including crab and some kind of flat fish (halibut? sole? flounder?), but I've never gotten into raw fish, and so I missed out on some of the seafood specialties Erik particularly liked. I don't know why, but I'll eat a nearly raw steak, no problem. I'll eat a lobster or crab, and what are they but distant cousins of the spider who moved to the sea? And yet, I'm not repulsed. So, I'm not all that picky, but for some reason I draw the line at raw fish.

We were washing all this down with bottles of Beck's Beer from (speak of the devil) Bremen. We stayed there a good two hours after dinner, drinking and talking. Talking and drinking.

We were a little tipsy as we trundled back to the bus. As we walked in, Mike declared he needed a shower. And he did, because he was mighty grimy and scruffy after spending the better part of a day in the woods.

Quite frankly, he was beginning to stink.

He was in the shower stall no more than a minute when we all looked at each other, giggled, and started stripping down. I was first in, and of course he was pleasantly surprised. I was on my knees and sucking cock in a matter of seconds. This is when Kelsey climbed in. She kissed him passionately and between my sucking, Kelsey's kissing, and the presence of her ample boobs on his chest, he got hard very quickly. It's lucky that Gina is so tiny, because she took up just about the last available space in the tight shower stall.

Now, as you may know, Gina is "taken," and would never give her heart to any man other than Ray, and she certainly didn't do that here, but I believe it was her hand I saw in front of my face as I was sucking cock. I do believe she was copping a feel! I made a point of not looking up to find out whose hand it was, but it was a very small hand, and Gina is, as you may know, well...tiny.

I'll never tell. Quite frankly, Mike had risked his neck for her and if she was the one giving himheadb as a reward, I'd never tell, but if grabbing his dick and feeling the roughness of his nut sack gave her a rush, that was fine with me.

If it was her, that was all she did, and soon she was sucking on Kelsey's knockers, which were, to tell you the truth, just about perfectly level with her mouth as she stood there. This put her pussy right by my cheek and from time to time I'd feel the stubble of her recently shaved pussy on my cheek, which excited me quite a bit.

Kelsey took charge at this point and said, "Come on guys, let's fuck!" And so, drying ourselves off along the way, we walked back to the big bed. Kelsey had grown tired of kissing and wanted a nice cock in her mouth, so I took over kissing him while she gave him some of the best head I've ever seen.

Gina was also going down on me by then, and from time to time I had to push her away because she was doing it so well, and wasn't even nearly ready to cum.

Kelsey invited me to join her down by his dick and for a while we took turns sucking and licking his delicious stiffy. The sounds he was making made it all the more exciting for both Kelsey and me. This is when she shocked me by asking him, "Do you like fucking ass?" It shocked me because while she's done it from time to time, Kelsey isn't known as the #1 fan of butt banging. That would be me.

He was taken aback, too, but said, "Well, I've never done it. Is it good?" "I love it," I said. Kelsey said, "We're treating you. Tonight what matters is whether you like it or not. Want to give it a try?"

It didn't take him long to say, "Sure!" (Talk about making a man an offer he can't refuse.)

I went with Kelsey's flow and got the Astroglide out of the bed stand. I showed him how to lube a girl's ass. I stuck my lubed finger up her asshole slowly, showing him that one mustn't get pushy and must wait for the girl's sphincter to give you permission to enter.

He was a good student and did it perfectly, first with his finger, then with his thumb. By switching to his thumb he was able to massage her clit at the same time as he thumb-fucked her asshole. Kelsey seemed to be enjoying the anal attention quite a bit more than I might have expected.

I lubed up his dick as he did this, jacking him off a bit, keeping him hard. Nodding with my head, I encouraged him to get started, and so, with her in a low doggy position, her tits and shoulders on the mattress, her ass well up in the air, he mounted her, straddling her butt and resting his hands on either side of her shoulders.

Kelsey was really enjoying anal this time, and I felt happy for her since I get many of my best orgasms while being fucked in the ass. It wasn't my favorite at first, either. And she really was having fun, I could tell, because there was a slow drip of juice from her clit.

I really wanted to be fucked in the ass, too, but I could tell this would be Kelsey's night, not mine.

Such is life.

Gina, who can pretty much read my mind, had pity on me and started giving me pretty serious analingus, sticking her tongue way, way up my asshole. As she did so, she massaged my thighs. I got pretty excited as she did this, and I'm sure I was dripping as well.

She rolled on her back then and continued to do me, concentrating her efforts this time on my pussy, which made me even more excited.

She started to finger fuck me first with one finger, then two, then three, and finally all four. I could feel myself stretching more each time. Each additional finger caused a little pain or discomfort to start with, but then I adjusted and was ready for more.

Then her fist popped into me and I looked down to see that she was in well past her wrist. She was grinning ear to ear as she started to pump me. She pumped harder and harder until at last I came, letting out a fierce yowl that even stopped Mike and Kelsey momentarily, as they both looked back to see what was going on.

Mike, who it seems had never seen a girl being fisted before, was wide eyed for an instant, but soon got busy again rogering Kelsey's ass.

I took Gina by the hand, and as we left to return to the shower, I saw that Mike and Kelsey were now in the spoon position, still having anal sex, but in a much more loving and relaxed way. Kelsey seemed so contented that I was happy for her.

With them in mind, I got down on my knees in front of my best friend in the world, Gina, as she leaned her shoulders against the wall, her hips thrust forward to give my tongue good access.

Taking one of her ass cheeks in each hand I gave it to her good.

Real good!




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Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Sodom Comes To Panama City
The Trip West, Pt. IV

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a sto

ry like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

We wanted to go to Austin to check up on our new friend, Danielle, but a quick look at our highway map told us it was more than a thousand miles away, which meant it'd be either two fairly long days or three more comfortable days of driving, so we decided not to push ourselves, overnighting at Panama City or thereabouts on our first leg, and then going to New Orleans for a day or two, and thence to Austin.

After a few halting lessons, Mike learned to drive the bus and so we girls had the luxury of being passengers together without one of us having to concentrate on driving. We were traveling through what is not the most prosperous part of the country. An area with little to draw tourists and suffering from the seasonality of all farm and agriculture country. Even along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts, where tourism replaced farming, it was feast about half the year, famine the rest.

While we were having unseasonably good weather, considering it was hurricane season, all the sun did was give us a better view of so many ramshackle homes and people hanging about, obviously unemployed, with very little to do. Certainly, Hurricane Katrina hadn't made things much better for these people.

It's about 350 miles from Orlando to Panama City which, with a lunch stop and a refueling stop, got us to Panama City at dinnertime. We asked a couple locals about restaurants and ended up in a fairly high-toned restaurant that nevertheless had surprisingly "haute cuisine," especially given the pricing, which was like: $11 for seared ahi, $9 for a peppered quail dish, and $13 for their ultra-delicious crab cakes.

Despite all the seafood, Mike ordered a steak, which was quite good (according to him) and equally well-priced.

We went to the restaurant bar for after-dinner drinks, and as usual got lots of drinks bought for us and lots of shallow attention from the guys. Mike took a position apart from us and made a lot of headway with a couple of the local chicks, who were no doubt fascinated to discover this seeming cowboy was also a college-educated computer hardware engineer.

Given his prior sexual reticence, we were happy to see him opening up to random women. So, when he disappeared on us, we were concerned but thought that perhaps it meant something good was happening.

We drank and danced until 2 a.m. and were escorted by a couple of the guys back to our bus where of course we invited them in for some fun, and of course they accepted.

Gus was the tall blond one, in a white business shirt and wrinkle-free brown pants. Bob was shorter and had a full head of wiry hair à la Eraserhead.

We got their pants down to their ankles in no time and were soon sucking their cocks. As is often the case, the smaller guy turns out to be the hung one, and that certainly was the case with Bob, who had a cock as far around as my wrist and a good, I'd say, 8" if not more. But Gus wasn't totally deficient. While he had a very average 6" dick, it was still fairly thick and rock-hard.

Kelsey got Gus and was not displeased with her choice, as I could tell from the devilish look in her eyes. She blew him with long strokes of her head, interspersed with licking and diddling and other attentions of the tongue, all the while gently holding his balls in her hand.

I concentrated on sucking Bob's cock on the glans, alternating between that and licking up and down the shaft, where his veins bulged so prominently that my tongue could actually feel them!

Before long, Gus had Kelsey wearing nothing but her shoes, her knees to her chest, and her beautiful vulva and asshole ready and waiting to be ravaged.

By this time, Gina, who of course is faithful to her boyfriend, was enjoying herself voyeuristically, by watching and masturbating, naked from the waist down.

So, I wasn't unhappy when Bob, who, despite his huge size, apparently didn't have the control of some men, started to cum. I took the first couple squirts in my mouth, painting the rest on my lips and cheeks, letting him fall onto the floor in a steaming heap of afterglow.

After wiping my face off at the sink, I wandered over to Gina who, seeing me coming her way, opened her legs wide. I dropped to my knees and soon was tasting the very familiar taste of her lovely little cunt. She closed her eyes and laid her head back, zoning out into Ooh Ahh Land as my tongue probed the contours and folds of her labia and tasted her delicious vagina.

I could feel wetness creeping down my thighs as I did this, for I hadn't had an orgasm yet and wanted one dearly, knowing in the back of my mind that Gina knew my body so well and had the exquisite talents required to give me The Big One...the best of the best.

So...I was far from unhappy when she volunteered to change places with me. Soon her tiny little munchkin head was on my pussy, doing what Gina knew how to do so well. When had we first fucked each other? Was it in the 6th grade? Were we fifteen? By then, she had been having sex with our neighbor, her abuser, so she was pretty much the teacher.

But I was a good student, and it was a miracle my mom or hers never caught us in the act of 69. Perhaps we never got caught because we kept our Catholic schoolgirl outfits on, not even taking off our panties but just pulling them aside to gain access to those special parts of our bodies that, back then, we gave to each other totally monogamously. I know that more than once, we heard someone approaching the door and had to hurriedly look like we were studying by rolling apart and grabbing a book or writing pad.

I'm not sure our parents would have even cared, figuring that we were in a stage of life involving sexual discovery, and that at least we weren't doing anything that could get us pregnant, thus short-circuiting our education and career goals.

We were monogamous except, of course, for Gina's recently revealed sexual abuse, which I'm sure that she, even more than I, counts as not giving sex but as having it taken.

Her style of lovemaking involves a lot of sweet nothings interspersed with oral attentions, and so it was that she took me to the brink time and again, but knowing me so well, held back just enough to keep me almost there, only to cut back for a while, then take me back, and so on until she knew from the touch of my hand on her head that I wanted to be finished off.

I came long and hard with a prodigious squirt that landed full on her chin and dripped onto the floor. Kelsey had been watching and laughed hard. She squirts only occasionally and is fascinated by my ability to do so nearly every time. Poor Bob wondered momentarily if she was laughing at him, but soon realized what had caused the outburst and got back to plumbing her asshole with his tongue.

Then, I was all over Gina, kissing her on the lips and whispering things I knew would make her hot into her ears. I did this for at least five minutes before going down on her, giving her asshole a nice external thumb massage as I performed cunnilingus as well as I knew how, for she was my best friend and someone I love as I love life itself.

I would take a bullet for Gina, the nicest, kindest, most loyal, and all around best person I've ever known.

I dragged it out as long as I could, until I got her signal that she'd had enough, so I gave it to her good for about two minutes until she came so hard, she planted her feet on the floor and lifted her hips up in the air, to get her pussy away from my mouth. She doesn't squirt the way I do, but a nice flow of liquid out of her pussy told me that I'd done very well.

Somewhere in there, Gus had gotten Kelsey off. (I hadn't been paying much attention.) She was back to sucking him off, so Gina and I watched as she sucked his glans and stroked his shaft vigorously until a fountain of white semen shot up her face, covering one of her eyes and landing on her dark hair.

We told the guys we needed our sleep and sent them on their way, giving them our voicemail-only numbers, since we really didn't feel we needed to see them again.

As we cleaned up, we realized that Mike hadn't returned, but reasoned that he was probably off having a good time, and so we didn't worry much as we went off to bed.

Gina, who's the worry wart in the group, was up early and was preparing us some pancakes and sausage. Mike still wasn't back, which presented us with a problem: His stuff was still with us, so should we continue to wait for him or try to figure out something that would occur to him, like leaving it with the owner of the bar.

Just as breakfast was winding down, all this planning became moot as he knocked on the door which we opened for him.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," said Kelsey. Mike had a Cheshire Cat's smile on his face. Obviously, it had been an eventful night for him.

"Want to tell us about it?" I asked.

He mumbled something about a sorority house and Margaritas, which explained a lot, but, gentleman that he was, we got no details, though I'm sure we would have enjoyed hearing them.

Likewise, he got no details from the night before, though had he been there, he surely would have made a great addition to the fun. We told him to feel free to bring girls back here. "We're into girls," said Kelsey. "Yeah," I said, adding, "Share!"

We had a big belly laugh about that and set about planning the next leg of our trip, which would take us to New Orleans.

Little did we know the nature of the crisis that lay ahead, and the degree to which we would have to examine our judgment.




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Sorry I've been longer than usual updating the blog, but as you may know, I've moved to Portland with my boss Kelsey and we are opening up a branch office, and so we've both been super busy, working 10-14 hour days, so my writing has been slowed down. However, I have added a new installment detailing our trip west, plus here is what can only be described as a "flood" of erotica from the folks who put up SapphicErotica, IFGirls (In Focus Girls), and OnlyCuties. I think 270 galleries will probably keep you busy wanking for days, so don't say I never gave ya nuthin'!

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Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tragedies Come In Threes
The Trip West, Pt. III

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

As we hit the road again, I had driving chores and after a while I started to find myself fighting the drowsiness that plagues almost anyone confronted with a ribbon of highway going off to the horizon.

The girls, both of whom had been reading or looking out the bus's window or answering e-mails, responded to my request for conversation with, "Well, okay, what shall we talk about?" "I don't know," I replied quite honestly.

It was Kelsey who seemed to know that what would work best would be something that interested me. "Are you planning any more short stories?"

(I should mention that while I don't often say it, and maybe I've never said it before, Gina and Kelsey are quite aware that I document our adventures. Gina has even let me put up pictures of her from time to time. Kelsey wants a bit more privacy than that, though she may break down someday when she feels it's unlikely to bite her in the ass. What I write here doesn't count as a "story" in their minds, because they live it with me.)

I said, "I've got an itch to write another story, and I've been tossing a few ideas around in my mind, but so far nothing I really feel an irresistible urge to write."

Gina spoke up: "Remember the story Tanya told about her father and that cryptic suicide note that said something about flowers?"

"She was supposed to take care of the orchids, wasn't it?" said Kelsey.

"That's right," I said. "Where could the story go from there?"

Kelsey offered "Maybe she rearranges the letters in 'orchid' and comes up with a word or name or something."

Gina, went to a Scrabble resource online and plugged orchids in, saying "Well, there's 'choir' if you forget the letter 'd,' but other than that, nothing much."

"Not too promising," I said.

"Maybe she gets a delivery of an orchid or orchids, and there's a note with a clue," said Gina.

"That's got possibilities," I replied, no longer the least bit drowsy.

But then I had an even better idea. "How about this: A guest arrives at her hotel saying he sought her out because she's the daughter of the guy who led him on many dangerous missions and he wants to reminisce. He talks about the various guys in their team and drops the bomb that one of them is nuts about orchids."

"Wow!" said Gina. "That's a good idea. Better than mine because..."

I filled in the rest of the sentence: "...she and this guy could team up to track her father's killer down...or something along that line."

All of a sudden, I was electrified. I drove the entire way tossing ideas around in my head. What a story: A female assassin, trained by a father who was a world-renowned military martial artist. He supposedly commits suicide, which she can't believe for many reasons. His suicide note contains a clue which may not only unravel the mystery of his suicide but may point the way to avenging his death. Now I had a lot more to think about.

In fact, I drove the whole way without needing anyone to spell me because my mind was so active and alert. At last I'm feeling 100% comfortable driving this behemoth. I can go around 90-degree corners without crawling over the curb (most of the time). I can back it up with confidence (and with the assistance of a video camera placed somewhere in the back). My biggest concern has become other drivers.

Frequently, a guy or a car full of guys would pull up and notice me behind the wheel or Kelsey or Gina in a side window, and they'd try to get our attention. One asshole nearly swerved into us when he took his hands off the wheel long enough to make a gesture. So, the next time we got attention from male drivers and Kelsey wanted to raise her top and direct some "nipple rays" (as she calls them) in his direction, I forbade her, which was uncharacteristic of me, as I'm sure you know, but our lives were at stake. A fatal accident starting with a dumb flashing stunt is not the way I want my life to end.

Pulling in at a rest stop for a snack, I asked Gina a question I'd been wondering about.

"Does your mother know?" I didn't even have to broach the topic by name. We all knew I was talking about the sexual abuse.

"No. She still doesn't know."

"Why not?"

She looked out the window an uncomfortably long time before saying, "She'd just blame herself. And then I'd have to relive it all and it'd just change the way she relates to me. If I had told her about it, she would have put a stop to it, but he had me buffaloed. Most of all, though, it's because of the questions I'd have to be answering."

"So..." I was going to ask her if she didn't want to talk about it with us.

"Oh, I'm ready to talk about it finally or I wouldn't have brought it up. But not with her. Not ever. Being a single parent she did her best and I always knew I was loved and cherished, despite all the trouble I gave her as a teen. But I'll never tell her. Never ever. There's no way it'd turn out well. It'd destroy her to think that was going on all the time she was working so hard to provide for me and protect me."

Kelsey and I were silent for a while, not quite knowing what to say next. We waited for Gina.

She continued. "You probably want to know what we did. Mostly, I sucked his cock. You may find this hard to believe, but at the time, before I realized what we were doing was wrong, it was a game I played where I was rewarded with hugs and kisses when I got him to cum. I actually looked forward to being abused for a while, because of the attention and compliments it got me. I was hungry for the love of my missing father, I guess."

Gina's father had abandoned his pregnant wife for parts unknown. For all she or her mom knew, he was dead. He was from what is now The Czech Republic. Her mom had even kept his name off the birth certificate, which was too bad, in a way, for being a dual national would have made visiting and working in The Czech Republic much easier. Teaching English overseas is certainly something I've thought about doing, but being a citizen of a country opens up all kinds of other possibilities, though I think I'd go for The Slovak Republic or Portugal before I'd go to The Czech Republic, which has very much been discovered by the tourists. And if I worked in Portugal I could learn Portuguese through immersion, which would open up another country I'd like to spend some time in: Brazil.

"So, you never fucked?" asked Kelsey. I wanted to smack her for being so blunt, but Gina was ready for what my dad's generation would have called "a full hang out" (from the expression "letting it all hang out").

"No, my little pussy was too tight. He dried it a couple times, and I wanted to help him but between my small size and the fact that I hadn't reached full puberty yet, and simply couldn't lubricate the way I can now, it just never happened."

"That was before Astroglide," I mused. And not only did Kelsey laugh at this, but so did Gina, which I took as a very good sign.

The subject changed a little bit to whether Mr. Tomczak and his sister were lovers, and Gina said she saw signs they were. They were too affectionate to be anything but lovers. Now, my own relationship with my younger brother is very close and very special, and I love him to death, but fuck him? Never!

We got to talking about the role of fathers (or the absence thereof) in our lives. One of my many beefs with the traditional feminists is their determination to devalue the traditional family and to pretend that other arrangements are just as good. The facts don't bear them out. Kids with heterosexual parents in an intact family fare better by just about any measure. I'm not anti-gay. I'm certainly not a Christian and very certainly not a Christian fundamentalist. So don't stereotype me.

I'll never forget the woman I met in a bar one night who turned out to be a social worker working with troubled girls. She said that the girls who came from homes with single fathers tended to be much less likely to get into serious trouble than the girls who came from families with just a mother. She opined that kids need their mother most before puberty but then their need switches to their father to teach them the ropes outside the home. Of course, it may be that a father has to be especially good to even get custody, but much as I love my mom, my father gradually became the bigger influence in my own life.

Kelsey came from a broken home, but she spent as much time with her father as with her mother, so her upbringing was more "normal" than Gina's.

And of course I'm not saying that a bad father is better than none. An abusive or unloving father can scar a girl or boy in a way that mere absence cannot. Luckily Kelsey and I have had the advantage of having good fathers. Girls like Gina may be on a quest for their missing father their entire adult lives. Gina's partner, Ray, was a little bit older than most people would have thought appropriate, but in fact he was almost exactly the same age as her real father would have been, who was 18 when her mother, also 18, became pregnant.

I do feel sorry, though, for all those kids being raised by people who are willing to bet a child's life and future that their "alternative" family style works just as well as a good old "Ozzie and Harriet" family. Chances are they don't.

Kids are ruthless teasers, and I'm sure glad I didn't have to defend being raised by two lesbians or two gay fathers, no matter how loving and good and well-intentioned they may be. "The road to perdition is paved with good intentions" as my dad said many many times.

I told her she was brave to be talking about it finally. Kelsey agreed. Gina said, "Well, I've been getting some counseling for a while now" (which was news to me!) "and she told me it sounded like it might be time for me to start talking about it with people I trust."

Looking at Gina, I wondered how anyone could contemplate polluting such sweetness? I swear, if Mr. Tomczak were alive, I'd kill him myself. I know my dad would would have kicked his ass around the block before calling the cops on him. My dad may be a musician, but he went to the tough Collinwood High School in Cleveland and, at 6'2" and about 240 lb., isn't the kind of guy most men would want to mess with. Having worked in many a club and bar, he'd unavoidably been in more than one scrape and generally came out on top, though more than once he was temporarily out of work due to having broken his hand while punching some drunk out. And yeah, he'd spent a night or two in jail after a bar fight.

"I began to feel really bad about it once he started insisting that what we were doing was our little 'thing,' and that nobody else could know about it, not even my mom. This is when I started to say to myself 'Hey, wait a minute. Maybe this is bad. Maybe this is something my mom would be mad about.' And of course she would. She be white hot angry, but not at me. She probably would have grabbed a big kitchen knife and stabbed him in the heart. But, as a kid, I projected the guilt onto myself and was afraid she'd be pissed at me."

I said, "Most parents have problems talking to their kids about sex. On the one hand, they want to protect them. At the same time, they don't want to tell them more than they're ready to know." Kelsey nodded, saying "Yeah, you don't want to take your innocent little girl away from her dolls and tea set and drop the sex bomb on her."

I added, "I remember the first time I heard about cocksucking. As far as I knew (and it wasn't very much), sex was strictly for making babies. I thought one parent said to the other, 'Let's make a baby!' and then they'd go up to the bedroom and have sex (something I didn't really even have a mental picture of yet) and then automatically 9 months later a baby would be born. Blow jobs, muff diving, fisting, ass fucking, etc., were things I knew nothing about until junior high school. Then, when that stuff started to be revealed to me, well, it was like slipping across some invisible barrier into a whole new dimension."

That's when I saw the boy, "Hey, check out the cowboy!" Gina and Kelsey looked out the right side window as we passed a hitchhiker. Gina said what we all were thinking: "Hey, he looks kind of like Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louis!" It was true, at least that was the impression he left. We couldn't the top half of his face, though, because it was hidden in shadow under the brim of his hat.

"Want me to stop and pick him up?" I asked. Gina and Kelsey looked at each other and Kelsey said "Nahhh," and Gina nodded in agreement. It was an afternoon for female bonding. Gina's revelations had bound us all together in a little cabal of intimacy and while we'd all been close, we had grown even closer.

We drove until early evening, making a couple stops along the way, and found a nice parking spot just outside Orlando. It was a bar and steakhouse, and not a chain restaurant. We prefer the independent restaurants because they tend to offer the most unique experiences. The owner was quite happy to let us park our bus in a little-used area out behind the establishment.

The food was delicious, the atmosphere was great, and when the country and western band started playing, I decided to teach the girls line dancing, which I had learned in my teens up at my aunt's place in the rural Washington Cascades.

Line dancing gave away to square dancing for a while, and we ended up hanging out at the bar, trying to talk over the music and fending off the guys who wanted to bone us. There simply wasn't anyone we felt like hooking up with, though. Not until a young guy in plaid shirt and jeans sidled up next to Gina. He didn't really pay her any mind at first, but when his "Martini" ended up arriving in an Old Fashioned glass and not the standard Martini glass, she made some sort of observation about his drink being "stirred, not shaken," and that she thought a Martini a weird drink for someone dressed as a cowboy or farmhand to be ordering.

He laughed and they talked animatedly for a while.

Naturally, Kelsey and I were interested in this guy, who was young and very good looking because, in addition to that, he seemed quite intelligent in a way that wasn't consonant with his Western attire. At last, Kelsey hinted to Gina that maybe we should all retire to the bus with him, where it was quieter.

He said he had to grab his stuff, which was in the cloak room. When he met us at the back door, he was wearing a cowboy hat, and Kelsey said, "You're the guy we passed on the highway this afternoon." As we stepped out, he saw the bus and said, "Oh, I know who you are now. I couldn't see very well who was in the bus, so I guess it's easier for you to recognize me than vice versa." "Well," said Gina, "we didn't recognize you without that hat." We all had a laugh about inviting the guy we passed on the road into the sanctity of our bus.

Gina broke out some beers and snacks and we got to know him a bit better. His name was Mike. It turns out that, despite Mike's rustic appearance, he was a computer hardware engineer. He had decided to hit the road after a series of tragedies, which, as people say, always seem to happen in threes.

The first tragedy happened the night he graduated with his Masters in Engineering. He was driving to a party, sober as a judge, only a few blocks from his house, on a residential street, packed with parked cars, a little boy ran out at just the wrong instant and was hit. He was dead at the scene, and while the father, who had been present at the time of the accident, blamed him, the police, based on eyewitnesses, didn't charge him. While certain in his mind that there was nothing he could do, the idea that he had killed someone, even inadvertently, haunted him. He would never, he said, get the image of the maimed boy out of his mind.

He married his high school sweetheart about a year after that. He showed us her picture. Looking both studious and like a Hooters girl at the same time, healthy as could be. She had a big smile, and you could see in her eyes the love she had for him. They were a match made in Heaven. Unfortunately, by the time she felt bad enough to have it checked out, her colon cancer was metastasizing throughout her body. He was with her when she died, holding her hand.

Finally, after a few months, his sister, who had been worried about his depressed state, invited him along on a Rocky Mountain camping trip. He loved his sister, but for some reason her boyfriend never took to him, perhaps jealous of the love the siblings had for each other.

On the first night of the trip, after hiking into the mountain forest, they had to pick a place to camp. His sister and the boyfriend, wanted to camp on a picturesque patch of beach in a narrow canyon. It had been a hot day, and the canyon was cool. Mike insisted that it'd be better to walk another half hour or so out to where things widened and they could trek up into a forested area rather than camping by the stream. The boyfriend asked why, and Mike pointed out that the location they had chosen would be a terrible place to be in case of a flash flood, and that while neophyte campers like parking themselves next to rivers, bears do a lot of their feeding along rivers. Camping there was very inadvisable for that reason alone.

As most girls would, she cleaved to her boyfriend and apologetically told Mike to go on ahead, if he wished, and they'd find him in the morning. And so he did, relieved to be away from his sister's lover, but disappointed that he'd been unable to talk sense into them.

He camped up in the woods in an area much less likely to get bear attention than streamside. After a relaxing night of sleep, he packed up and walked down to the river where, to his horror, he discovered that there had indeed been a flash flood. He ran back to their selected campsite, trudging through mud, wet sand, and newly exposed rock along the way, only to find that their campsite had disappeared. There wasn't one single thing indicating they'd ever camped there.

Running downstream, about 2 miles past the general area where he had camped, he found the tent and in it his sister and her boyfriend, in the dark, they hadn't even been able to figure out how to get out of their tent as it. After hiking back to report the tragedy, he stayed with his parents long enough to see them through the funeral. After that, he quit his job and decided to spend a while wandering the earth until he felt right with the world again.

"Since then, I've many of the usual menial jobs. Washing dishes, serving tables in diners, landscape labor, helping out on fruit farms. Doing engineering again hasn't even crossed my mind."

"How long?" asked Gina. "Nearly two years now." "Feeling better?" I asked. "Getting there," he replied.

We all wanted to see a movie to lighten things up, and we let Mike pick one out. It turned out to be that wonderful, quirky French movie, Delicatessen. He had already seen it and wanted to see it again. I had already seen it, too. It has an oddball love story that girls invariably find cute and appealing. That he liked it too was very nice indeed. By the time the movie was over, we all wanted to fuck him.

"Let's all go back and listen to some music" said Kelsey. (In the back is the bedroom which has its own stereo system built into the wall, with a control center next to the bed and speakers on either side of the door facing the bed.)

We all got on the bed and he stood at the end. "Well, what are you waiting for?" I asked. He shrugged and crawled up between Kelsey and me. Gina had positioned herself too close to me to tempt him to crawl there, for, as always, she would be faithful to her boyfriend and life partner, Ray. She could have sex with me or Kelsey, but not with the male.

I put my hand on his thigh, a little too close to his cock for it to be haphazard or innocent. Kelsey kissed him on the neck. The look in his eye was almost terror. I guessed that he hadn't had sex in a while and the prospect of having to perform for three was a bit daunting (for at that time he was unaware that he wouldn't be mixing it up with Gina).

Kelsey had the right instinct and removed her top and bra revealing her spectacular breasts. She gently pulled him to her and slowly reclined, taking him with her like a mother might take an infant for nursing. I rubbed his cock through his tight, and it seemed he was in no hurry to get hard.

She kissed him on the forehead a few times, then the cheek, and then tentatively on the lips. At last, his mouth opened and their tongues did the dance that tongues do when two minds are thinking about sex.

After a while, he relaxed and his cock started to getting hard. I opened his jeans, which fit him so well he didn't even need a belt. His half-erect pecker emerged, and it was a fairly big circumcised one. Or, really, more long than anything else. I kind of like 'em thick, but this one would do. And when you like a guy, it hardly matters. Anyway, he was long enough that I could test how well my gag reflex was under control!

We all liked this guy, so Kelsey and I gave him a lot of lovin' while Gina made sure to give us extras. He still didn't know what the story was with Gina, so when I saw his hand drifting across the bedspread toward her ass, I grabbed it and shook my head to indicate "No!" He looked a bit puzzled, but stopped.

Apparently, Kelsey liked the look of Mike's cock, too, because she kissed her way down his chest and tummy until her head was next to mine. She gave me a look that emphatically said, "Hey, gimme some!" so I handed his cock over to her to let her blow him off for a while.

Not wanting my best friend to be left out, I went down on Gina, whose pussy was sopping wet. Yeah...she wanted some fun, too, and I was ready to give it to her, slowly working my thumb up her asshole while I tongued her pussy.

Gina is so easy to love, because aside from being so nice and generous in every way, she's as beautiful as a child. See what I mean?:

I think you can understand why Ray fell for her, despite the fact that he could have had a 6' tall fashion model type if all he wanted was arm candy.

If Gina were a house, it would feel like home. I know her every sexual fetish and foible. I know her body almost like it was my own. I can get her off almost by just thinking about it. And she's the same with me. We're so comfortable with each other it's almost incestuous. In many ways, she's the sister I never had, and I'm the sibling she never had.

I've seen Kelsey suck dick more than a few times, but she was going to town on Mike, whose dick had swollen even more, seemed to have grown an inch longer (as if it wasn't long enough!), and looked hard enough to impale yourself on, which is exactly what Kelsey had in mind, I'm sure.

But I didn't care: Gina and I had gone into a sixty-nine-on-the-side position and were licking and sucking each other's twats like there was no tomorrow. She brought me nearly to orgasm a good three or four times, read the signals and held back. She was driving me crazy in just the way I like it.

I wanted to give it to her good, but I found her hand coming between me and her pussy, which meant she wanted me to just lay back let her do her thing, which certainly was okay with me. I rolled onto my back from the side position, pulled my knees up to my chest, and she was all over my twat like a little honey bear on a bee hive.

Like most girls, I'm very susceptible to auditory stimulation during sex. Some girls like it rough and abusive ("You fucking cunt: I'm going to bang your fucking brains out..." kind of stuff). Me? I like that sometimes myself, but from tiny little Gina that'd be absurd.

Instead, she was saying something she frequently said, which was stuff like "My baby, my baby...I love you...I want to make you feel so good." When I look at the words without her face between my legs, I almost want to laugh, but when she's busy on me and I'm burning with desire for her, it's anything but funny. It's more like throwing gasoline on a raging fire.

And so, without doing anything most people would count as special (no anal penetration or fisting or anything like that), I had a monstrous series of orgasmic quakes go through me that tossed me all around the bed and sprayed female ejaculate all over Gina.

When I finally became aware of my surroundings again, I could see that Kelsey, who by now was on her knees in the reverse cowgirl position, taking the long and forceful thrusts of his cock, was laughing at me. She said, "Gina, you should know by now that Jill squirts. Now we're going to have to get the bedspread dry cleaned."

Oh well, it was Gina's bus anyway and Gina didn't care.

Gina slept in my bunk with me that night, and you can bet that before we got serious about sleeping, I got her off as well. She wrapped both of her legs around one of my thighs, and I held her and kissed her until she came. And then I held her until she fell asleep.

I was the first to wake up the next morning, and so I took responsibility for getting breakfast started and then waking up the rest of the crew.

Kelsey wandered in while I was setting the table. She sat down with the biggest grin on her face, then looking back to make sure he wasn't within earshot said, "That Mike is the best fuck." I smiled and said, "Really?" and she said with an expression of feigned amazement, "Yeah. Do you know that after he fucked me silly nhe sucked his cum out of my pussy?!!!" I laughed explosively and said, "More than I needed to know!"

At this point, Mike wandered into the kitchen area, yawning. When he was done, he said, "What's so funny?" "Oh, nothing," I said, which anyone would know meant, "Not for your ears."

At last, Gina arrived and we had breakfast. As we did so, we discussed our plan for the say, which was simple: to spend a day in Disneyland. Gina did tell us one thing a little unexpected: despite the fact that she no doubt could arrange for it, we'd be receiving no special VIP treatment. We'd be waiting in lines like anyone else. The only special arrangement had been for the transportation to and from the park. The bus would remain parked where it was. One of Ray's limos would shuttles us to and from the airport.

It was the off-season, so we got in fairly easily, but off-season or not, we found ourselves waiting in lines 30 or 45 minutes at a time for the better rides. We got on maybe seven or eight rides before heading back to the bus. Where, after a few drinks and snacks, we all went to bed, tired from all the waiting in lines and from getting too much sun.

So, I'm sorry, but there will be no tales of blowing Mickey or being fucked in the butt by Goofy, nor of fisting Minnie's twat. We had a lot of fun and met some interesting people, but it was an exhausing day and we still had much traveling before us. Thus, there was no sex that night, which tells you how tired we were, because we're a pretty horny bunch.

At breakfast the next morning, we decided to do Epcot Center some other time and instead keep moving along. We invited Mike to ride with us if he so wished, and he said he would, at least for a while.

I thought it'd be great to pick a route that took us to Austin, where we could check up on Danielle, and the girls agreed. Mike, who didn't know who Danielle was, agreed after we told him Danielle's hard luck story (leaving out the part about the blow job in the alley).

I think all three of us girls had the same thing in the back of our minds.

Can you guess what it was?




Check Out These JustTeenSite Beauties

People wonder why, if I have a site with stories for women (because supposedly women like stories and men like photos), why do I have so many photo and video features of chicks? Well, guess what? If you read the comments, you'll see that most of them are from guys, so I'd guess my readership is at least 75% male. Secondly, it's a myth that chicks only like stories and don't like photos. In fact, we have a strong visual sense, too (who wears the fancy clothes and color coordinates their living quarters, after all?) I know for a fact that women are starting to appreciate visual erotica, too. And as often as not, we get off on looking at pretty girls. Why? Females are typically somewhat to extremely bisexual anyway. Rare is the girl who hasn't at least tried making out with another chick. How many guys can say that? Not many.

Anyway, JustTeenSite has some of the prettiest girls around, but as I've said before, I'm not very convinced they're all (legal) teenagers. They sometimes look more like early-20's to me. What do you think? Well, I haven't featured JustTeenSite girls for a while now, so I looked around and found some great photo and video galleries for you. Click on each image to see a full photo gallery of the girl (and quite likely with more explicit images). Below the sample pics, you'll find links to some video clips.

More JustTeenSite Movies Below:




Tuesday, August 7, 2007
A Stunning Revelation
The Trip West, Pt. II

NOTE: New posts go at the top, as in most blogs, but that means that in a story like this, spread over more than one post, you really need to find the first post in the series and read them in order. So, that's what I suggest you do here.

After seeing Danielle off, we decided to visit DisneyWorld and Epcot Center in Orlando, Florida. With Kelsey at the helm, we set off right after breakfast.

After an hour or so, Kelsey asked us to keep her engaged in conversation, since she was fighting "asleep at the wheel" syndrome. We had been reading quietly, but neither Gina nor I wanted to find out what it's like when a bus rolls over end or hits some concrete bridge structure with great force, so we put down our books and asked her if there was anything she would find interesting.

She said she wanted to know more about Gina's life up until the time they met through our mutual friendship. It was then that I realized that Kelsey had only heard a few yarns about our childhood together, and really knew little else other than that they liked each other and got along with each other as well as I got along with each of them.

Gina truly is a childhood friend. We grew up on the same street and played at each other's houses regularly. Our moms used each other as free babysitters whenever possible, and neither mom minded because they knew and trusted each other and felt we'd get better care and attention than if we were left with a 16 year old who'd probably try to put us to bed so she could fuck her boyfriend on the family room couch.

I handed it over to Gina.

"Well, my first memories are just of my mom and grandmother. But granny died when I was about 4 or 5, so I really don't even have many firm memories of her.

"Dad left mom during her pregnancy. Just as well, because every contact I've ever had with him left has been a disappointment. He's very selfish and unkind and every contact I or my mother have had with him has left a bad taste in my mouth. Thankfully, he does have one virtue, and that is that he tries to keep contact with us to only those which are necessary.

"Mom has always had to work to put food on the table. But since she tended to work days and Jill's mom taught in the evenings for the most part, their schedules meshed pretty well, and Jill & I rarely found ourselves to be latchkey kids, though it happened a few times.

Those early years were wonderful. We spent so much time together that we were practically sisters. We played together with out dolls and toy furniture, having tea parties for our dolls and teddy bears. Then, puberty hit and those toys were less interesting than boys. We weren't quite sure why boys were interesting..."

Kelsey interrupted (which was good: showed she was paying attention): "Well, for me it was just dawning on me the physical differences. The behavioral differences were evident very early on, of course. The boys were very aggressive and much more likely to scuffle than the girls. They were also very big on teasing."

"Yeah," said Gina. "We were noticing sexual differences, but the idea of sex itself—the act, I mean—was not really anything we understood or even thought much about in those years."

I interjected, "Yeah, a typical conversation about a boy then would probably be about what a dummy he was or how mean he was or how messy he was, not about what he was packing in his pants or what kissing him would be like."

Gina laughed, "But we did kiss boys back then. Remember?"

I thought... "Oh, you're talking about that kissing game Marie started at Billy's birthday party that one time."

Gina continued, "Marie is another friend we played with occasionally. She lived on the corner of the street, farther than our moms would let us go on our own. However, we did know from school and did go to her house, or she'd come to one of ours, maybe two or three times a month, whereas hardly a day went by that Jill and I were apart.

Anyway, a school friend named Billy, who lived maybe a half mile away, invited us to his 10th or 11th birthday party. Not totally sure about the age, but I'm sure he was prepubescent."

"And," asked Kelsey, amid a gale of laughter, "exactly how did you know he was prepubescent?! Did you stick your hand in his drawers?"

Gina blushed, slightly. "Umm...no. Just based on his age and his lack of sexual acumen at the time. We took turns going into a closet with him and kissing him in the dark. He didn't even really want to kiss. He said, 'You don't have to kiss me if you don't want to,' but I told him we were expected to do something in there so we kissed."

I interjected, "But we really didn't even know how to kiss then. I mean, we kissed with our mouths closed. Our moms had made such an impression on us about hygiene and being sanitary that, wow, we would never have wanted a boy's germs, especially since boys were so much messier and dirtier than girls."

"Or so it seemed at the time," I said. "Boys played rougher and while we might be skipping rope, they might be wrestling in the sandbox or rolling in the grass. It's funny how kids develop, isn't it? At that age, girls are much more coordinated than boys. Boys at that age couldn't skip rope for very long if their little lives depended on it, but it's a skill almost any girl of that age has almost instinctively. Later on, it seems boys surpass girls in coordination skills, at about the same time their strength leaps ahead of the girls."

"Funny the trade-offs between the sexes. Males become physically stronger at the same time that females become more physically beautiful."

"There are beautiful men," Gina exclaimed.

Almost in unison Kelsey and I exclaimed, "but they're gay!"

"...or they're metrosexuals," said Gina.

"Gay!" said Kelsey and I. (I've never really believed a man who spends a lot of time thinking about his hair or about fashion can be very masculine, and I like my men to be masculine. Masculine men, no matter how smart, have a practicality and primal nature that excludes such trivia). I like making it with both girls and men, and I revere the differences and distinctions between the sexes, both physical and otherwise. I'm a feminist of a certain type, but my type of feminist doesn't want to pretend that men and women are the same or should be more similar. Camille Paglia is my idea of a feminist, not those old school NOW and Ms. magazine feminists. They just piss me off for making women look like whiners.

I got us back on track, "Our first sexual experiences were masturbatory."

Gina continued, "Yeah. I guess I was the first one to discover my pleasure button. It's hard to remember exactly how it began, but I suspect it started with the realization that a wad of blanket or a pillow between my legs felt kind of good, then probably by just moving around I discovered that part of my anatomy was responding a little more to the friction of moving around than the rest of me was. That was when I realized that, hey, I have a clitoris. I didn't even have a name for it then, but I knew it got a bit firmer if I played with it and that it felt kind of nice to play with it.

"I mentioned it to my mom, who gave it a name and told me it was okay to play with it, but not in public. She told me I'd find other uses for it later on in life."

"And boy have you!" I said.

"Don't you mean we?" she said with a loud guffaw.

I continued, "It was Gina who introduced me to masturbation." (This has been discussed in another story, but I'll repeat it a bit here. If it seems all too familiar, feel free to jump ahead.)

Gina continued, "So, here we are probably 12 or 13 years old. We'd come home after school and study together. We're starting to really key in on boys, talking about them constantly. About which ones were nice and which ones were not, and which ones looked sexy (whatever that meant at the time) and which ones didn't. We had such a vague concept of masculinity at the time, the vagueness reinforced by the fact that the boys were as confused about their sexuality as we were.

"I'm sure I'd been masturbating a few months when I thought I'd share the secret with Jill. We shared a lot of secrets with each other. Things just she and I knew about. So, one day I told her how it felt good to hold a pillow between my legs, and she tried it and agreed it was nice. We did that while we studied together for a weeks, and then one day I couldn't hold onto the next secret any longer and I started humping my pillow during a quiet moment."

I laughed, "Yeah, I had no idea what you were doing. You looked so weird with your little bottom going up and down like that. I was totally clueless at that time."

Kelsey chimed in, "Well, obviously you've done plenty of catching up." This got a huge laugh out of Gina and me, for it was true for all of us. We'd all come very far along as sexual beings.

I said, "I caught on real quick and soon masturbating together was part of studying together. In fact, it became part of just about everything we did together."

Gina smiled and said, "Remember that time we went to Cedar Point?" (Cedar Point is an Ohio amusement park and is renowned for having more roller coasters in one park than any other park anywhere in the world...17 at last count.)

I explained, "Our moms were in the front seat, Gina's mom driving and my mom riding shotgun. Gina and I were in the back with our hands between our legs. We must have orgasmed covertly a dozen times at least before we got there. I know our moms thought we were mysteriously low on energy.

"We continued to masturbate on the coasters and other rides, too. If you've never orgasmed just as a coaster goes over the tallest hill, you haven't lived, let me tell you!"

Kelsey glanced back and Gina said, "Not only were we exhausted, but my pussy was sore for days." "Mine, too," I agreed.

"I wonder if our moms knew?" I asked. Gina replied, "They were girls, too. Kids always think their parents are dopes. When you grow up, you realize they had more on the ball than you thought.

"High school separated us more than we had ever been before, but that was good in a way."

"It helped us individuate," I added. Kelsey laughed, "Jill the sociologist."

"Gina had sex a couple years before me," I explained. "She was more sexually precocious than I was."

Gina became somber. "Well, I was introduced to sex at an early age. Inappropriately."

I was stunned. It sounded like she was saying she had been molested. What else could it possibly mean? Not only had I never heard her even imply anything like that, it had never even occurred to me as a possibility.

She continued: "We had neighbors, the Tomczyk's" I remembered them well. It was a middle aged brother and sister who lived together. Very strange. Rumors abounded that they were incestuous lovers. Whether or not that was true, it now seemed something was terribly wrong in that house.

"They ingratiated themselves to my mom, and we would visit them and they would visit us. Before long, they babysat me from time to time. I say 'babysat,' but I was no baby at the time. I was 13 or 14, but mom felt better if I wasn't alone."

I moved over to her and put my arm around best and oldest friend, petting her head and hugging her close. She didn't cry, but tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. I could see a concerned Kelsey looking back at us in the one mirror that was arranged to allow the driver to look at goings on behind the driver's area. My face told her that all was under control and to keep her eyes on the road and her ears open.

"When Miss Tomczyk got a job that took her away a good deal of the time, Mr. Tomczyk watched me. And he was okay for a while, but then the games started. At first, he wanted me to be a model and pose for him. For a while, this meant just mugging for the camera fully clothed, but he charmed and cajoled and got me to take some of my clothes off. Then he got me a two-piece bathing soon. Skimpier than mom would have chosen, and soon I was posing in that.

"What you need to understand about abusing a child is how insidious it is. The skillful abuser doesn't drag the child kicking and screaming into the bushes. Instead, he befriends you and exploits your psychological needs and weaknesses. In my case, my life lacked a father figure. I'm sure my mother thought that he might fill that role in some way.

"So, while I'd like to say that I resisted his advances, the opposite is actually the case. I was hungry for male attention and he played daddy very well. But he was no father to me. A father protects his child. He exploited me. It's funny how a child who's looking for love and attention will not question what it takes to get that feeling of being loved and attended to."

Now she was crying and clutching me as tightly as she ever had.

I was crying, too, as I said, "It's not your fault. I understand."

"Jill, I could see what a lovely relationship you have always had with your dad. If he had been my father, he would have murdered Mr. Tomczyk." I agreed, "You didn't even need to be his daughter, Gina. He would have protected you if he'd only known."

Kelsey, her face showing concern in the mirror, asked, "Did you ever do anything or tell anyone?"

Gina wiped the tears off her cheek with the back of her hand and said, "Not explicitly. After a while, I started to feel bad about what he and I were doing together, and especially about the way he swore me to secrecy. Keeping secrets from my mom told me it was wrong. There were even veiled threats. In the end, I simply told my mother I didn't want to go there anymore. I've never talked about it..."

"Until today?" I asked, astonished. She nodded a yes. (Holy shit!)

"What about him?" asked Kelsey.

I answered, "He's been dead for years. Heart attack while he was mowing his lawn."

Looking down at Gina, I realized what that meant: No opportunity for redress or revenge. He had escaped unscathed. I kissed her, for suddenly she was a child again and I was a protective adult, even though we were almost exactly the same age.

I felt so much anger at that man now, knowing what he had done. Tiny little Gina had had no defense against him, had only wanted love and attention. I did feel good that I had given her love and attention, that in fact my entire family had. She was so deserving. Knowing that her lover, Ray, was good and caring, I knew she was safe at last. That did raise a question, though.

"Does Ray know?" I asked. She nodded a no. "Tell him," I advised. "He'll love you even more."

She shrugged. "When you're ready," I said. "You'll know when the time is right." She managed a smile.

I was glad we were going to Disneyworld. We all needed to lighten things up a bit.

After Kelsey's shift was up, I drove. We sang along some good traveling music that Gina rustled up for us. Yes, the bus had a good sound system, too. And tens of thousands of MP3's. Almost anything you might want to hear.

We found that ABBA tunes were easy to sing along with, with the added benefit that we all knew the lyrics. In the inside mirror, I would look back and I could see that 6' tall Kelsey had invited 5'2" Gina to dance with her. My heart swelled to see that my two best friends were best friends, too.

I found us a good spot to spend the night just a few miles outside Orlando.

We decided it was a good night to stay inside, rather than looking for a place to dine out. We were enjoying each other more than ever.

While we all watched the evening news, I whipped up a simple dinner. I made an appetizer by defrosting some frozen shrimp and whipping up a cocktail sauce my dad had taught me to make with ketchup, lemon juice, horseradish, Worcestershire Sauce, and Tabasco Sauce. Dinner itself took Gina and me back to high school: boxed macaroni and cheese with frozen peas and sliced hot dogs.

I then introduced the girls to my variation, which is to sprinkle Tabasco Sauce (or any hot sauce, really) on the macaroni. Gina loved it. Kelsey, not so much. She tried it with the hot sauce, but decided to do without. Of course, she also shoved the peas to the side. I don't love peas myself...except in macaroni and cheese.

It was clear that Gina had had enough of being the center of attention, so Kelsey and I, having already expressed ample empathy, got back to just being ourselves.

I don't know if it was perfect under the circumstances or a big mistake, but we decided to watch Ponette, a story about a two year old girl dealing with loss and abandonment after her mother dies in a traffic accident and her father must leave her with an aunt's family for a period of time.

She is confused by the platitudes, religious and otherwise, of adults, and the confused ideas about death and the afterlife held by other children.

It all leads up to a denouement which I can't tell you about because it'd be a huge spoiler, but even the normally unflappable Kelsey was bawling like a baby at the end of the story.

The little actress, Victoire Thivisol, who plays Ponette carries an entire movie on her tiny shoulders. She was so good, in fact, that she won "Best Actress" at the Vienna Film Festival in 1996. If you've seen that movie, Chocolat with Juliette Binoche, Victoire plays her daughter.

To lighten things up, we put Uncle Buck on. This movie is also very sentimental, but the sentiment is interspersed with lots of funny moments. Along with Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, it's my favorite John Candy movie. This cheered us up a bit.

During the second movie, Gina broke out a big jug of Gallo Hearty Burgundy, so we were all pretty well stewed by the time we all jumped into the big bed. Tiny Gina was in the middle for just a moment since I crept down between her legs, pulled her panties off and kissed her pussy in a way that showed all the love I had for her. Kelsey was kissing her on the lips. I looked up to see that Gina's little hands were in Kelsey's long dark brown hair. Her eyes were closed and her mind was obviously somewhere very nice.

I looked up and caught Kelsey's gaze momentarily. She blew me a kiss and I had a new appreciation for her as well. A girl couldn't have better friends than these.

Gina orgasmed several times and rolled off to one side, curling up into a tight foetal ball.

This is when Kelsey, who's long and slender, crept over me and enveloped me in the pleasant prison of her arms, licking my lips and enjoying the taste of Gina's pussy she found there. Then she kissed me deeply for a while before slowly licking intricate paisley patterns first on my breastbone, then my breasts, tummy, and upper inner thighs. She was staying away from my pussy just to tease me, because she knew I'd be wanting that.

Then the tip of her tongue found my clit and did a leisurely gyre on it, combined with occasional flickers. Wetting her thumb, she worked it full up into my asshole and got back to work on my clit and vulva with a much increased intensity.

When I came, I squirted, and since Kelsey knows I squirt, she was ready and took it all into her mouth, giving me a devilish smile as she swallowed with an audible gulp.

I put her on her back and nibbled on her largish boobs, teasing the nipples with a stiffened tongue and biting them hard enough to make her scrunch her shoulders and whimper a bit.

As I did this, I let my hand, which had been caressing her tummy and thighs, find its way to her crotch, which she opened wide for me. She was nice and wet and her pussy was very loose. I had no trouble finger fucking her with three fingers bunched together.

I alternated between finger fucking and then pulling my wet fingers out to give her an external hand job. In the end, she came with my hands rubbing her sopping wet vulva rapidly while our tongues wrestled in her mouth.

As I was brushing my teeth, I looked back to see Kelsey covering Gina with a blanket. My two best friends both have such great hearts, I thought. I jumped into a bunk and didn't awaken until the loud mechanical clack of the toaster announced that breakfast was ready. The jolt of an aroma that was a blend of bacon, eggs, and coffee would have done the job even if the toaster hadn't.

It was a new day and we were all looking forward to Disneyworld. The weather (not dependable in Florida this time of year) was even cooperating. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.




Cum & Get 'em: Smokin Hot Chicks!

Those pervs at SapphicErotica have sent out some more movies and photos for us to enjoy. I don't know where they find all of these incredible cuties, but I strongly suspect it's The Czech Republic, The Slovak Republic, Hungary, or Russia. What the heck: everything else is being outsourced nowadays. Why not porn?

SapphicErotica Vids
InFocus Girls Vids
Only Cuties Vids
SapphicErotica Photos
InFocus Girls Photos
Only Cuties Photos






Complete List Of Stories
In The Order They Were Written
I have been realizing that the blog has developed, shall we say, a navigation issue as it has grown. In order to make it easier to get around, I've created a chart listing the stories by name and in the order they were written. The day may come in the future when every story name here will directly link to that story, but for now, there are links which will take you to that page. When you go to each page, bear in mind that they are blog pages with the oldest story at the bottom and the newest one at the top. In other words, the reverse of the order they are listed here. For example, "The Story Of The Sad Girl" on Page 2 is the second story from the bottom of the page, not the second from the top. To go directly to a particular page click on the link on the story list page.

Click HERE for a complete story list
 ...
Jill Hill

JillHill@Nympho-Girl.com

I like sex. I like it in the pussy, in the mouth, and in the ass. If my ear canals were wide enough, I'd like it in the ear. Read here my adventures as a young woman of today with a sex drive of epic proportions and an exhibitionistic streak a mile wide.

I'm a young woman about 5'5" and 120 lbs. I'm a natural redhead and a certified nymphomaniac. I'll do it with a man, a woman, or a group. As a teen I worked in a stable of horses two summers. You can imagine how much fun that was!

I grew up near Cleveland, Ohio, but I now live in Portland, Oregon, in a downtown apartment near the Willamette River (and as the locals insist, it's not given the French pronunciation, but rather is pronounced to rhyme with "damnit").

I moved here with my friend and boss and frequent sex partner, Kelsey, to open up a branch office for the business services company we work for. I have a Bachelor in Business Administration, but I'm not all business: I love to read and write and this blog is one of my outlets.


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For a complete
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the pages where they
may be found, click here.







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