Le Journal de Thomas
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Ron’s Journal 03A free porn video
Author’s note: My uncle Ron died recently. While sifting through his files, I found journal folders marked MY STORY, writings about his life. I have edited these accounts and will post them when I can. These stories include bisexuality, incest, interracial and mature and group sex, etc. All sexual activity depicted here involves persons at least 18 years old.
This is pretty much a standalone story, but I highly recommend that you read all previous chapters anyway.
******************** 5A: On The Road — Colorado to almost fucking Canada, 1968
Fuzzy blonde Lucinda curled into my right side, her sleek thigh moving over mine. I stroked her butt.
‘Damn Ron, you sure feel good here. I’ve been getting used to you.’
Fluffy brunette Sally curled tightly into my left side, in similar but mirrored position and action.
‘Lucinda girl, you sure you want to let this guy go? He’s pretty good.’
I rubbed their sides, from butts to shoulders, but I especially concentrated on those fine butts.
‘You know what’ll happen if I stay. I’ll have to get a job. Yikes.’
They both slapped me, but not too hard. Ah, I knew their ticklish spots. Payback was sweet, very sweet.
My stay with Lucinda and her friend and neighbor Sally in that small eastern Colorado ranch town was splendid and sexy but quite short-term. I was a tall kid, free and legal, on the road, with no plans other than to see the world, and no destination except that written on my hitchhiking sign: FURTHUR.
My possessions were simple: A guitar in a vinyl sack. A rucksack for all the other necessities. Basic camp gear: mess kit, canteen, wool blanket, nylon sleeping bag and string hammock, ropes and tarp for shelter. Clothes: jeans, cutoffs, tees, briefs, size 16 socks and sneakers, flannel shirt, sweater, jacket, rain poncho. Tools and toys: repair and sewing kits, soap, compass, harmonicas, notebook, pocket radio, books, flashlight. Cheap dried foods. And all the maps I could handle.
The guitar made me a ‘wandering minstrel’. I sang for rides, sang for my meals and drinks, and sang my way into a few beds. The harmonicas helped too, I could make music while scrunched into tiny spaces.
Some of those tiny spaces were pretty hard on my thin 6’5′ body. Imagine sharing the back seat of a VW bug with another person, both with packs or rucksacks in our laps, and my bagged guitar shoved in there too. Tortures of the damned, I tell ya! Made me wanna blow a mean lowdown wail on my blues harp, the Squashed-In-A-Bug Blues.
From Lucinda and Sally’s town, I thumbed northward along ‘blue highways,’ through flat ranchlands and eroded badlands. Most of the rides were short, with truckers and ranchers and workers, and some lonely wives and curious young women.
—
A farmer gave me a ride in the back of his pickup and dropped me at the outskirts of a high-prairie town late one day. I went into a nearby Mexican eatery and ordered a couple tacos and a cup of water. Marcella the cute waitress asked about my guitar and my travels. Pablo the owner asked if I could play for a while.
I sat on a high stool by the counter, and played, and sang. Customers stayed, listened, and consumed. Every half-hour, a fresh beer appeared by my elbow. I sipped and sang and played until night deepened.
‘Pablo, Marcella, it’s been great, and thanks for the beer, but I should go now. It’s pretty dark out. I need to find someplace to camp for the night.’
‘Camp out? Oh no, hijo, you’re not gonna camp out, no way. We have a cot in the back room. You can sleep here. Just stay put and sing some more, ?si? Marcella, bring this boy another beer.’
I played until closing time. Pablo’s chubby wife Frida shut down the kitchen. Frida’s cousin Marcella brought me a full dinner and a pitcher of beer and a kiss on the cheek. She sat next to me, and munched an enchilada, and chatted about life and fate, while Pablo and Frida’s teenage son Jaime swept and cleaned, and their little daughter Katrina harvested the tables of salt, pepper and sugar shakers for refilling.
Marcella bussed my dinner remains. Katrina solemnly squeaked that I should follow her. I hoisted my guitar and rucksack to a small room with a single bed, table, and chair. She pointed out a shower stall and told me to help myself, then scampered away. I shaved, all except my wide moustache, and fell into the shower.
I pissed on my feet (to prevent athelete’s foot, right?) and shampooed my long slick black hair. I felt a breeze, then a hand on my shoulder. My eyes were full of suds. I felt, not saw, Marcella slide against me, her fine strong tan twenty-five-year-old stretched-hourglass body fitting just into my arms. I rinsed my hair and eyes and saw her quite clearly, her sharp dark eyes, high cheekbones, perfect nose, full lips. Her lips traced a path along my collarbone.
‘Ron, you are a nice guy and a good guitarist and a funny singer. You look pretty damn good too. Are you lonely tonight?’
‘Not any more, my beautiful Marcella,’ I said, leaning my mouth into hers.
I worked shampoo into her thick black hair and erotically massaged her scalp. She soaped my arms and chest and butt, and I did the same for her. I got her tasty chest very clean. We washed each other’s crotches thoroughly, and then moved down to legs and feet and back up again to groins. Our tongues traded slobber.
Drying each other took some time, what with all the slurping and sucking and fondling. Getting to sleep took quite a while too, what with all the slurping and sucking and fondling and fucking and crushing each other. Eventually, we snored. The best cure for snoring is a tongue stuffed into the offending mouth. Yum.
Some hideous demon clanged a hellacious loud bell right outside the door some time before dawn.
‘Ron, I have to go now, to help set up for breakfast. You can sleep as long as you need to, no problem.’
We sucked face for a few minutes. Marcella finally slipped out of bed, slipped on a red robe, and slipped through the door. I slipped back into slumberland. I escaped the realm of dreams a couple hours later.
I emerged in fresh clothes, toting my guitar and rucksack and the FURTHUR sign. Marcella shoved me into a chair and brought me a full breakfast with about a quart of the strongest sweetest coffee+cocoa mocha I have ever tasted. I started to protest the largesse. Pablo interrupted me.
‘Hijo, you were good for business last night. I sold lotsa beer and anojitos (snacks). Think of the food as a sales commission. And you made us all feel good.’ Pablo glanced at Marcella with smiling eyes. ‘You ever come this way again, you be sure to stop in. Mi casa es su casa, no shit, boy.’
Everyone hugged me adios except Jaime, who studiously concentrated on chopping vegetables. Frida came from the kitchen wiping her hands. She grabbed my cheeks and smooched me on the nose. Katrina hugged my knees from behind, bit my butt, and ran off laughing. Pablo gave me a manly abrazo. Marcella held my shoulders and kissed my cheek. Our eyes locked, and glistened. No tears! I grabbed my gear and left.
—
A dusty Studebaker sedan stopped for me. The driver was an older man in a threadbare black suit. I did not even have to see the bibles and tracts in the back seat — his whole aura screamed out, PREACHER!
He asked me if I was saved. I did not really feel up to a religious debate. I told him about my experience a couple years before, when my grandmother sent me to Oral Roberts University for a summer session.
‘Oral Roberts!’ It was almost a curse, coming from his frothy lips. ‘That charlatan! That spawn of Satan!’
He ranted about Oral’s sinful nature for the rest of the ride. Whew, I slipped by that one!
Please save me from the saved, OK?
Another late-late afternoon, a friendly (but not kissable) ranch wife in a pickup dropped me at a roadside rest somewhere beyond the N
orth Platte River, historically ‘a mile wide and an inch deep’ but now somewhat tamed. The truck radio predicted thunderstorms with heavy rain all night.
The rest stop was a little way off the highway. It had a restroom and running water, and picnic tables and a small BBQ grill sheltered under a wide steel roof. A nearby mostly-dry stream was lined with sparse shrubs and mesquite. I collected a pile of dry branches and kindling.
Dark clouds swept overhead. The sky turned almost black, two hours till sunset. A wind rose, much cooler than the hot still air of daytime. I saw a rainsquall sweep in from the north. Lightning crashed nearby. I was damn fucking glad I was under shelter, not standing out on a barren roadside hoping for a ride.
I changed from my cutoffs into jeans and a long-sleeve flannel shirt. I built a fire in the grill to boil water for cocoa. Rain and hail pounded down on the steel roof. Fuck, that’s loud! I almost didn’t hear the two motorbikes roar into the rest area until they rolled under the steel shelter.
Two lightly clad girls climbed off one bike, and one girl hopped off the other. All three girls wore shorts and light sweatshirts with school logos. All three were soaked and shivering. None wore helmets.
(Remember, this is 1968, back before there were laws for wimpy safety items like mandatory helmets. At least the drivers wore minimal gloves, and goggles to keep their eyes from filling with bugs.)
The passenger of the two-girl bike took control. She was tall and lithe, with shoulder-length brown hair.
‘We’ve gotta get out of these wet clothes or we’ll get hypothermia,’ she said. ‘C’mon, put on dry stuff.’
She unstrapped two duffels from that bike’s sissy bar and pointed at the duffel on the other bike.
‘C’mon Cindy, get your sweats.’ The shorter ponytailed blonde unstrapped her duffel and opened it on a picnic table. She dug inside and pulled out a heavier sweat suit. She stripped off her dripping outer clothes, revealing not-too-large black panties and bra exposing nicely-curved breasts and hips.
Cindy quickly pulled on her heavy sweats. She looked at me and grinned as the other girls also changed.
‘Enjoy the show, mister? Let us get warm around your fire and there’ll be no charge.’
I stuffed more dry branches into the burning grill.
‘Come and get it!’ I offered. ‘But I’ll expect an encore.’
The tall passenger’s underthings were red and showed a slimmer figure. Her driver, slightly shorter and with long black hair also in a ponytail, wore navy-blue skivvies on her voluptuous (not fat) body. These two grinned at me also.
‘We only give encores after a standing ovation,’ the voluptuous Venus teased. ‘I don’t see anything standing yet,’ she laughed, staring at my groin. Well, the audience *was* rising a bit.
‘So far, I’ve only seen a dress rehearsal,’ I responded. ‘When does the main show start?’
‘Sometime soon, but it only ends when the fat lady sings,’ Cindy cut in.
‘La la la,’ Venus chanted flatly. ‘Oops, that’s just another rehearsal.’
The flames rose higher. All three girls clustered around, holding their hands out to absorb heat.
‘You girls have cups? I’m boiling water for hot chocolate. By the way, my name’s Ron.’
‘Oooh, cocoa, I love it,’ the blonde said. ‘I’m Cindy, that tall girl is JoAnn, and chubby over here is Vanessa. Hey Van, would you grab the cups from our bags? And get the Everclear from mine.’
[AUTHOR’S NOTE: Everclear is ethanol anhydrous, 95.5% alcohol, 191 proof, the highest percentage possible in atmosphere. It is *potent* stuff and cannot be legally sold in many jurisdictions.]
Cups were fetched, cocoa mix was spooned into each, and hot water was poured. Cindy topped-off each with a good splash from her bottle. We all sat at the end of a table clutching our cups to warm our hands. Cindy and JoAnn sat together on the other side while Vanessa was next to me and bumped her leg against mine.
‘What’re you doing out here, Ron?’ asked JoAnn, cradling her hot cup.
‘Just thumbing cross-country,’ I said, taking another sip of potentiated cocoa.
‘Where from and where to, if you don’t mind my asking,’ said Vanessa, bumping knees again.
‘From San Francisco, to New York or wherever, but I’m in no hurry. How about yourselves?’
‘San Francisco? I don’t see any flowers in your hair,’ Cindy teased.
‘Yeah, well, I smoked them all,’ I deadpanned. ‘Whatta rush!’
JoAnn laughed. ‘We’re going from Boulder to Missoula, and we’re also in no hurry, none at all.’
I crossed my hands and wiggle-pointed my index fingers at various angles.
‘Ummm, I didn’t look real close at the map, but isn’t Missoula, like, in the opposite direction or something? I think you maybe took a wrong turn at Cheyenne.’
Vanessa giggled and jiggled, her long black ponytail and large tits bouncing oppositely. ”No hurry’ means we’re taking a scenic route, or at least a route with different scenery than we’ve seen before. We’ll cruise by the Black Hills and the Missouri Breaks and Glacier Park. We have all the time in the world.’
‘Yeah, this is a sight-seeing trip as well as a homeward journey,’ Cindy added. ‘We’re off to see the lizard, the wonderful lizard of ooze,’ she sang, over-emoting like a Broadway blonde.
‘That’s cool,’ I said, ‘I like ooze.’ I had to yell, actually, as another heavy burst of one-inch hail pounded the steel roof. Nearby shrubs were being shredded by the onslaught.
‘Holy shit, this is outrageous,’ Vanessa wailed, clutching my shoulders.
‘I don’t think we’re going anywhere anytime soon,’ Cindy shouted. ‘Anybody hungry?’
‘Yeah, I’ll get our mess kits and some freeze-dried whatever, that OK with everybody?’ JoAnn asked.
We all nodded. I added more water to the pot while JoAnn fetched the goodies. But first I reloaded the cocoa cups and Cindy splashed-in more Everclear. Our attitudes were definitely adjusting.
The north wind blew stronger and colder.
‘Damn, this is a bit much,’ I said. ‘I have an idea. Somebody give me a hand, OK?’
I pulled my tarp and some ropes out of my rucksack. I ran rope through the tarp grommets and strung it up in-between support poles on the shelter’s north side. With each of us working one corner of the tarp, we managed to get it lashed pretty tightly between the poles, providing a good windbreak.
‘Hey Ron, you’re pretty smart. This is, like, about five thousand percent better,’ Vanessa said. She gave me a hug. ‘Fire, and cocoa, and now protection — you’re our hero, Ron!’ She kissed my cheek. I smiled.
The pot of water bubbled and steamed. We reconstituted our freeze-dried glop and chowed-down. For dessert, Cindy handed out fat peanut-butter cookies. We washed them down with more cocoa and Everclear. Yes, our attitudes were quite happily adjusted by now.
‘Slide over, kids,’ JoAnn said, and skootched in next to me. She and Vanessa wrapped arms around me from either side. Each leaned over to kiss my cheeks, then leaned further and kissed each other right in front of my nose, with just a little tongue action.
‘Mmmm, this is pretty cozy,’ Vanessa said, and licked my ear.
‘I agree,’ JoAnn said, and tagged my epiglottis with her tongue.
Cindy was still on the other side of the picnic table. She looked left out. ‘Hey there, I’m feeling kinda left out,’ she said. She crawled under the table, pushed my knees apart, and nestled her head in my lap, her cheek rubbing against my fat but constrained erection. ‘Oh yeah, much better.’ She kissed my zipper.
‘Ron, this guy feels pretty attentive. Mind if I check him out?’ Cindy asked.
Before I could answer, Cindy had unzipped me. She goosed my butt, which I raised reactively, and she slid my jeans and briefs down a bit. My freed cock sprang to attention like a good soldier.
‘Oh yeah, a standing ovation. This deserves a re
ward.’ Cindy wrapped her mouth around me and slurped. She licked down and up my shaft, under my little head, swallowed my cock, then my balls, then my cock again.
Mmmm, a nice development. Vanessa and I felt under each other’s shirts while JoAnn assaulted my tonsils and Cindy vacuumed my manhood. My reaction was not slow in cumming. I exuberantly filled Cindy’s busy mouth with joy juice. She drained me. I would have fallen over without my two female fleshy supports holding me up. I gasped a bit. Getting old already?
‘Hey gals, this is great fun, but maybe we should work out our overnight arrangements before we pass out,’ I panted. ‘I suppose y’all have sleeping bags. I have mine, and a blanket. Let’s make a nest here.’
‘Yeah, good idea,’ Cindy said. ‘We have a couple blankets too. A nest sounds just about right.’
We slowly disengaged and dragged out the bedding. We soon assembled our nest between the windbreak tarp and the last picnic table. We poured more cocoa and Everclear and settled in.
‘Now where were we?’ JoAnn asked. ‘Oh yeah, we were right about here.’ She pulled off her sweats and skivvies, pushed me back, and sat on my face. I looked up from between her thighs at her bouncing boobs, and filled my hands, and worked my tongue in her tunnel and around her nub. She groaned and ground down.
‘Mmmm, I would sure like a good cigar,’ Vanessa said. She rid herself of sweatshirt and bra, pulled my jeans and briefs off, straddled my left calf, and started licking my dick.
‘More dessert for me,’ Cindy said, moving to my right side. She slurped my testicles. My guided muscle was immediately ready for full deployment. Could I get any harder? Nope.
‘You can have more cock later, babe,’ Vanessa told Cindy. ‘Right now, this pud’s for me.’ She slipped out of her sweat pants and panties, positioned her cunt over my straining member, aimed carefully, and oh so smoothly lowered herself. I slid in, deep. Vanessa groaned, ‘Oh fuck, he feels so fucking good, oh wow…’
Cindy peeled off her clothes and moved around in front of JoAnn, squatting just behind my head. She moved my hands from JoAnn’s breasts, replacing them with her own as she frenched JoAnn. I reached for Cindy’s vulva. I felt Cindy’s thighs, her bush, her slit. I tenderly pinched her clit while slurping JoAnn’s.
We kept at this for some minutes. Vanessa rose and fell on my cock faster, and came, ‘oh fuck oh fuck OH FUCK OH FUCK OHHH…’ JoAnn swirled around my torturing tongue, and came hard, moaning unintelligible syllables. JoAnn leaned forward to suck Cindy’s nipple and joined her fingers with mine at Cindy’s cunt. Cindy wailed, and soaked, and came, her cunt muscles tightly clenching our drowning inserted fuckfingers.
JoAnn fell off my face, fell onto Cindy, locked her into an embrace, kissed her deeply, wrapping their long lithe legs together. Their gluteal muscles clenched spasmodically. They groaned together.
I could not help myself. I stroked the sides of the intertwined facesucking girlfriends and said, ‘Wait, stay on your sides holding each other, and lift your legs.’
I straddled their lower legs and lifted their upper legs onto my shoulders. I slid into JoAnn’s juicy joy box with ease, pushed all the way in, drew back out — long slow strokes, a dozen or more. I slid out, aimed at Cindy’s tipsy twat, sheathed myself, and played another baker’s-dozen slow count. I alternated, faster and furiouser, while JoAnn and Cindy kissed and tweaked nipples and moaned.
JoAnn broke contact with Cindy’s mouth and groaned, ‘oh oh oooh oh Oh OH OHHH…’ and wailed and shook. I pistoned faster into Cindy as she bit JoAnn’s neck and shoulder. Cindy gave a muffled cry and JoAnn cried in pain, but moved her had down to strum her own clit. Cindy cried again, mixed pain and pleasure.
I expected Cindy would have a hell of a hickey to show in the daylight.
Vanessa wrapped her hand around my still-stiff love-stick. ‘I’m going to finish you now, Ron,’ my black-haired Venus whispered. She turned around, straddled my head, dropped her cunt onto my mouth, and sucked my dick into oblivion. I returned that favor to her clit. I pinched her nips. She squealed, I yelled, I shot life down her throat, a new generation of hot doomed sperm.
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