Road Trip - Jim Mellon's Erotic Journey Across AmericaChapter 11: Ohio free porn video

My squad – ten of us – were going door to door looking for munitions in what appeared to be an abandoned Iraqi village. The company we were attached to had the pleasure of mortar rounds dropping around us from near this location about two hours earlier. I was the squad leader.

There couldn't have been more than thirty or forty homes in the unnamed place. Most homes were one-room hovels with a pit in a corner that smelled like shit and urine, and that bred a million flies a minute. Five of us were doing the north side of the street, and five the south. The term street overstated the pathway between huts. We had our weapons on ready, and expected booby-traps in every unit.

We went door by door, except the doors were pieces of cardboard or tattered cloth. We probed, entered, poked with our bayonets, and then left. The last man out of each home put a squirt of red paint by the door to show the unit had been searched. There were no animals nearby. The fire pits in each home were cold. The place had been unoccupied for at least three days. The place smelled of danger and death.

Alan found a man's body behind one of the huts; his throat had been cut and his head nearly severed. The blood had dried. He smelled of death, his body well into decomposition. He had bled out right where he'd fallen, his body immediately attracting the flies and then the maggots and worms. This was the work of the Taliban.

This place was one more hellhole we'd been assigned. I wanted to go home.

I was just leaving one hut when I heard the explosion. I jammed past others to get outdoors. The debris still rained down around the body of one of my men, but the smoke from the explosion hung close so I couldn't identify him. Ignoring the possible threat of other IEDs, I raced to the unconscious man. My God, it was George Ellis.

His legs were a mess of blood and gore. George's left foot was gone, and blood gushed from the open wound the explosion had created when it ripped him apart. George groaned and tried to move; the poor man must be in excruciating pain. I yanked a lanyard from around my neck and fashioned a tourniquet above his knee, tightening the thick cord until the blood stopped spurting George's life away from the ragged wounds the explosive left behind.

'MEDIC. MEDIC. MEDIC." I yelled at the top of my lungs, as tears filled my eyes. I hugged George to me and kept telling him I loved him. He was my brother – my brother in arms and all but my brother in life. We'd been all but inseparable for the past twelve years – high school, college, and Army Special Forces. Why hadn't I told him I loved him before? Guys didn't do that. I wanted to will him back to instant health and wholeness. I couldn't. Oh, my God, blood everywhere – his blood. Blood seeped from shrapnel wounds all over his body.

Two men came at a run and slid beside me to minister to George. One started tending to George's other leg and wounds after cutting away some his shredded field uniform. The other was on the radio, calling in a Medevac helicopter.

I cried. The tears streamed down my face as I helped the squad's medic. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. I sobbed. I wanted to go home. I'd had enough!

I'd been thinking about the past ten days – really the past two months and the past year – especially, since I rode away from Crystal in Indianapolis and headed to Greenville. There are times in your life that you surprise yourself, and the past weeks qualified like only a few others in my life. The fates must be playing with me, zinging me from one catastrophic situation to another – throwing me from grief to joy and love, from staid and certain to daring and uncertain, from knowing what the next day would hold to uncertainty about what the next hour would bring.

I'd been a man of simple tastes and simple habits living a simple life. Got up, went to work, tinkered with software, came home, ate and talked to Karen, went to bed, and did it all again the next day. Karen was gone. I'd quit my job never wanting to return to that profession. Now, my life was a jumble of complexity and confusion – of conflicts and rapidly changing values and boundaries. Would this ever stop? Could I ever get back to that old life? Did I even want to?

Other things also gnawed at my mind. In the midst of making love to Crystal, Ellen, and Lauren, the latter told me of yet another sexual 'perversion' my late wife used to have: picking up strange men in bars and fucking them senseless – sometimes in plain view of others. Lauren blew the whole thing off, but I couldn't just let it go that easily. I'd lived with Karen for eight years, and not once had she ever revealed that side of herself to me. I'd been Mr. Plain Vanilla, and she signed right on for the role of my like-minded mate – yet now I'd discovered this other side to her – a wild side, a wanton and sexual side focused on sex, unbridled yearning, and unrestrained lust for men ... and women.

The secrecy my wife had maintained made me feel uncertain about our entire relationship. Was there something else? I'd loved and shared everything with Karen, but then I was a boring software jock and didn't really have anything interesting to share that compared to the life she'd apparently lived before we got serious about each other. Did she do any of that shit after we got married? Lauren had said no, but I had to wonder.

Was Lauren right; she'd teased me the previous evening about being a 'man slut' because of all the sex I'd had so far on my road trip? So what? Hadn't Karen done just that? I had a growing list of women across the country for whom I felt loving feelings. Some were unattached and had obviously loved me back: Lauren, Betty Sue, Pat, and now Crystal and Ellen, whom I'd hated to leave more than the others. Some were attached but loved me anyway: Kim and June at the top of the list; Kim was the most special.

The sex and the other women helped me ease my grief about losing Karen – not forget, but to push my grief about her death behind me for a little while until it surged forward again and overtook my every thought and brought me to my knees with grief. I felt guilty about the past week – my time with Crystal and Ellen, and playing the role of country singer and celebrity. Between long workdays making recordings – great country music – and the sex I shared with Crystal and later her sister, there were times I'd barely thought about Karen. I patted my pocket where I held a small envelope destined to be left in some significant place along my route in Ohio. I knew I needed to meditate on all these issues when I next had a night alone.

I had promised Crystal and Ellen that I'd see them again sometime – a vague sometime eventually, but I wanted it to be soon. I had an open invitation to be with either – or both, as well as encouragement from my new agent and PR man to join with Crystal for more recordings and concerts around the country. I couldn't let that opportunity languish indefinitely. Now, only a few hours after I'd left them, I missed them badly. I missed Lauren and Anna too.

I loved Anna, and knew she'd support me despite what path I chose. Having sex with two sisters – Crystal and Ellen – had transported me from a lull in our lovemaking to thinking about making love with Anna. I chalked it up to a fantasy, but then maybe she had the fantasy too. If the opportunity presented itself again, would we surrender to our passion for each other? How would that change our lifetime relationship?

Would my sudden celebrity status change me so much it would ruin my relationships with Lauren and Anna? I'd seen it happen to other Hollywood stars. Crystal seemed to be handling her sudden fame well.

I'd called my high school and college friend, and Army buddy George Ellis to tell him I'd be later than I planned. I pulled up in front of his home about seven-thirty. We spent a few minutes on his front lawn back slapping and reconnecting our friendship in person after the six years since I'd last seen him at my wedding. We'd been on email periodically, and more recently he'd coaxed me into using Skype occasionally to keep in touch. George helped me grab a few things from my bike and took me inside to meet his wife Summer. We'd been introduced over Skype, but it wasn't the same as seeing her in person.

Right away I could tell there was some unspoken agenda between the three of us. Summer was friendly and welcoming, even giving me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and hug – a strong hug. I'd talked to her a few times, usually small talk around asking for George on the phone. She seemed to be evaluating me beyond the normal 'this is an old friend of my husband' review. George, too, seemed to study me more deeply than I expected. I wrote off their critique as resulting from my sudden fame on the Nashville music scene.

George and I had joined the Army together, and both been accepted into Special Ops– the Green Berets. My nickname had been Wolf; his Eagle. We had been lean mean fighting machines and had the battle scars and wounds to prove it. George had stepped on a mine in the first Iraqi war, lost a foot, and left the service on a permanent disability. Less flamboyantly, I'd blown my knee out in a basketball game on base, and mustered out of the military just before I was due to start a third enlistment. George now ran a NAPA auto parts store. I learned that Summer worked part time at the public library and helped out at the store on occasion.

I'd seen a snapshot that included Summer in a Christmas card a five years earlier after they'd gotten married: his first, and her second marriage. She looked pretty in the photo and on the webcam behind George, but to see her in person made my eyes bulge out of their sockets. Summer was beautiful: early thirties, ash blonde, trim figure, congenial, and a sharp dresser. From the tidy and well-decorated nature of their house, she appeared to be the perfect wife.

The two of them had held dinner for my arrival. We got drinks and sat in the kitchen while Summer served us a pot roast with all the trimmings. I explained that her meal was significantly better than a cup of boiled water poured into a freeze-dried beef stroganoff camping dinner that might have been my plight. She looked horrified that I'd even consider eating something like that. George and I started to tell her about some of the meals and deprivations we'd endured in the Army.

Both of them expressed their shock and sorrow over Karen's passing months earlier, and I gracefully accepted their condolences. Our evening conversation moved on to more pleasant topics, including the revival of my six-pack abs, my road trip, and my new celebrity status. Both were enthralled as I told them about meeting and hooking up with Crystal Lee, and inadvertently breaking into the country music business. They were both big Crystal fans, and now they had become Jim Mellon fans too – although they hadn't heard me sing yet. I did a little yodel for them at the dinner table that provoked gales of laughter. I also promised a copy of my more serious efforts when they were released.

We drank too much, laughed never enough, cleaned up dinner, and enjoyed each other's company until after ten. George helped me bring in the rest of my gear from the motorcycle, and provided me a dry place to put the bike overnight since a weather front with a lot of rain was expected.

George stayed up a little longer. Summer disappeared to go to bed after saying goodnight. He and I planned the following day around their schedule. He had to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning, so would be leaving early. Summer would be sure I got a decent breakfast, and then she had to fill in for part of the day at the town library because of vacation schedules of some other workers there. I planned to do some routine maintenance on my motorcycle and do some writing of emails and my journal.

Again, as we talked, I felt George wanted to say or ask me something, but couldn't find the words.

After George and Summer had left for work, I felt well enough to go on a fast-paced walk around the downtown area, although a light rain fell; I wore my parka. Their home was on a side street in Greenville, less than a mile from the town center, so I prowled the downtown, stopping for a second cup of coffee at a Dunkin' Doughnuts. When I returned to the house, I did some exercises that didn't stress my mid-section too much. After examining my wounds, I decided they were healing nicely and I could dispense with the oversize bandaids and dressing I'd been using. I worked on the motorcycle: cleaning the carburetor, changing the oil, adjusting the timing, and cleaning the bike to the high sparkle I enjoyed. I pulled my computer and wrote emails to Lauren, thanking her for coming to Indiana and playing with us, and to Crystal and Ellen as well, along with some of the explicit details they sought. My email to Anna updated her on my travels but left out a lot about what was happened in Kentucky and Indiana, except for the concerts.

Summer appeared with a car full of groceries about four-thirty. I helped her bring everything in and put it away. We made small talk for an hour as she started dinner, but soon she led the conversation to how I felt about relationships now that I was single again, whether I'd ever love again, my ideas about the ideal family, and a few other potentially sensitive subjects. I didn't duck any of her questions and answered each as best I could. I turned the tables on her too, deflecting some of the questions back to her.

Summer seemed warmer to me than the day before. A few times, when she walked by my chair, she ran her fingers across my back or neck in an intimate but playful and flirty way. She got us some wine, and when she passed me my glass, she allowed our fingers to touch a fraction of a second longer than necessary. I caught her looking deep into my eyes with an enigmatic smile more than once. Each time we made eye contact I felt as though she wanted to peer into my soul – she even used that expression, 'the eyes are the gateway to the soul' at one point in our conversation. She changed into casual clothes from her work clothes, and the result verged on sexy, plus I could instantly tell that she wasn't wearing a bra. Later, I realized she was flirting with me and testing me in some way.

George appeared a little after six and shared his day with us; we had more cocktails, dinner, more good conversation, and then on the early side Summer bid us goodnight and headed upstairs. Some unspoken communication took place between George and Summer through eye contact, a brief kiss, and smiles as she left.

George started a conversation about the motorcycle, which I happily engaged in, describing what I'd done to it earlier in the day. I couldn't see having a complex piece of machinery like the Harley unless I knew how to service every part of the bike.

George suddenly stopped and redirected the conversation. He hemmed and hawed around what he really wanted to say for a moment or two. I didn't interrupt his thoughts. George spoke in half sentences that sometimes didn't make sense: "Jim, when we were in school and the unit together ... I mean we could always count on each other for anything, right? ... Well, sometimes ... I hope that commitment to each other exists today ... there's no one near here in Greenville that I can count on the way I used to count on you ... We were close and knew everything about ... I have a delicate situation ... I hope you'll help me?"

His silence after posing the last question, I took as an invitation to answer. "George, I'm here because I still feel close to you. I've lost contact with some of the guys, and I hope to see a few of the others. We shared a lot – some hard stuff together, and I don't think that should end because we've left the military or live far apart. Remember, I'm the guy who helped save your ass after you found that mine. Yes, I'll help you as best I can." I let it go at that. He'd piqued my curiosity about what he wanted.

George said, "Good. I knew I could count on you, and I was so glad when you said you were coming – before you became famous too. I don't want that to change what's between us. Anyway, ... I don't know how to broach this with you ... I'll just blurt out what I need ... what we need ... and I hope you'll still help us."

Now, I thought for sure he would ask me for money – maybe a loan of some kind. The way I interpreted all his half statements and the tone of his voice pointed in that direction. I could loan him some money right away; heck, I'd write him a check for everything I had. I knew George wouldn't ask for anything unless he really needed it.

George rolled his eyes at the ceiling. He took several deep breaths, so many I worried he'd hyperventilate.

"Jim, we – Summer and I – would like you to ... make her pregnant."

He looked at me with an obvious sense of relief and anticipation. He'd said the words that had so vexed him, at least since my arrival.

A long silence ensued. I studied George to test his sincerity, and realized he'd made a serious proposition. I found myself speechless at his proposal, not knowing what I could say that wouldn't jeopardize our long-time friendship, but then again, he'd just done that in some way – at least he took a risk about how I'd respond. Maybe he was just jerking me around. I remained silent and waited for him to say more or to start laughing.

George finally felt compelled to offer more of an explanation: "I know it's a weird request ... far off the social norms, but we need your help. I hate to admit it, but I'm impotent – very few little swimmers to find an egg, and a near zero likelihood of becoming a daddy. My doc thinks my infertility has something to do with the land mine that took my foot – maybe damage from a piece of shrapnel or something related. Anyhow, I'm basically shooting blanks. Summer and I want a family, and ... well, we decided we wanted you as our donor."

I asked in a tone hopeful that I'd accurately read his intent, "You mean you want me to go to a clinic and donate some sperm, and she'd get implanted with it?"

George shook his head, "No, we can't afford that, and in this state if we do it that way, there are a million legal implications we want to protect you from by not recording the event – like future liability and being subject to state laws and taxes. Any legal documents you want us to do, we will, but we don't want the government involved. We were hoping that you'd sleep with her frequently over the next couple of days while you're here ... before you leave." He leaned forward awaiting my agreement.

Now, I was the one that sputtered. "But ... you two ... I'd have to ... there are other options ... uhmmm ... how about ... adoption? Yes, how about adoption? If it's cost, I can lend you the money – I'll give you the money." I grabbed onto the concept like a life raft in a stormy sea.

George said, "We considered that, and talked to every agency in the area. I'll spare you the details, but adoption is out. And, we don't want artificial insemination by someone we don't know. We want you ... and not your money."

I said, "And you've checked out all the medical options?"

"Everyone of them," he replied firmly. "Fortunately the VA pays for that kind of thing, just not for insemination of your spouse if we even wanted to go that route."

I found another life raft: "Ah, why me? I'm not the best specimen of manhood around. I'm hardly a genius ... I am relatively healthy ... a bit past my prime. I can be moody..."

George interrupted, "We've given it a lot of thought. You and I have the same physique, blood group, hair color, eye color, and disposition. I knew your parents and Anna, and their background and health mirrored that of my own folks, and we are all healthy. I also know your family didn't have errant genes that cause bad diseases or birth defects."

Again, I tried to deflect the conversation, "What about Summer? Has she been tested? Maybe the problem is with her."

"She's been tested up the ying yang. She's not the problem. In fact, our doctor described her as 'unbelievably ripe and ready.' She's at her optimum in terms of fertility, cycle, and sexuality – tonight is even her peak. When I told him what we wanted to do with you, he said, and I quote, 'Strike now, while the iron is hot.' Summer is hot ... and she thinks you're pretty hot too."

I blanched that George had shared his idea with someone other than his wife. I took another avenue to deflect George's request, "Say she has a baby ... what about when the child is growing up or becomes an adult? What will you tell the child? Might he or she want to declare me as their parent? And what about how I'd feel, or worse, how you'd feel? Wouldn't I feel a long-term obligation to the kid? I might not mind that, but the kid might."

George said, "We've talked about that at length. If you request anonymity, we will honor that request and never tell the child their lineage. Second, even if we had a child by ... normal means ... we'd hope you'd accept the role of godfather for the child, and we offer it here as well. As for your third point, I can't control how you'd feel, but we're not doing this to put a burden on you. We think we have a way so that you wouldn't worry quite so much."

"What's that?" I asked.

"I'd have sex with Summer after you did. Even the doctor said there's a remote chance I could pull it off – like a million to one shot. Lord knows, we've been trying. The odds are really low, but maybe they're not quite zero. If anything happened then none of us could be one hundred percent sure that it came from you. Neither of us would ever know, and I think that might reduce your stress about it."

I said, "But you could do a DNA or paternity test and tell right away."

George said emphatically, "We don't plan on doing that – ever, unless, for some reason, you want us to."

I sat speechless at that point, unable to think of any other points to raise. After a long silence again, I asked in a tone of resignation, "And Summer wants me to come upstairs, bonk her, and then just go to bed and forget it? Doesn't sound like the best way to me."

George said, "I agree, and that's not what we want. She wants you to woo her, to be romantic with her, to create an atmosphere of love and tenderness. You could make it artificial, but I hope you won't. I love her and want her to feel comfortable – and loved by you, not just this week but also forever more. She knows I love her. She believes the baby needs to come from a loving relationship, even if it's not me ... and so do I. I would prefer that the two of you find a loving and spiritual place for each other in each of your hearts. I'm trusting that she'll stay with me, but this is so important to us, we choose to take the risk that something else might happen beyond that. Please do this for us. Please."

We sat in the living room – me leaning back and thinking in the plush sofa, and George leaning forward sitting on the edge of the chair. We looked at each other, each sizing up the other. I rolled the idea around in my head.

I had a flashback to a time less than a year earlier. The air had a bite to it and autumn foliage was near its peak in New England. Karen and I took a long walk from our condo, along the Charles River in Boston. I can even remember right where we were when we stopped: somewhere opposite the MIT campus. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were long as the sun's last slanted rays came down the river. We found a park bench and sat, looking across the river at the Boston skyline. As the sunset, lights were starting to come on in the tall buildings and cars were driving with their lights on.

Karen eased into the subject with not much subtlety; "Jim, I want us to start a family. I can hear my biological clock ticking louder and louder each day. I think now is the time."

I answered my wife, "It's a big decision. We still have a couple more years before you're over the hill." In hindsight, I don't know why I tried to push away her idea.

She explained firmly, "Now's the time. Think about the other end of having a kid – I mean even now you'll be in your mid-fifties when they're coming out of high school, almost sixty when they finish college, and probably near seventy when you start to have grandkids. Any older, and you won't want to participate in their lives as the vital and active person you are now."

I remember thinking about her proposition. We'd had the discussion before, but never with the seriousness and urgency that the idea had that afternoon. Previously, it had been an abstract concept: 'We'll have kids someday.' We'd agreed that two were the right number, but hadn't yet committed to when we'd start that process. Now, Karen was saying 'Let's start!'

I put my arm around Karen, and we sat in silence for a long time – maybe a half hour as we both thought of the implications of her request. Karen knew I was mulling the whole idea over in my mind. That's what I did. She knew how my head worked out a solution to a problem – a commitment to an idea.

Finally, I told her, "You're right. Now is the time. Should we hail a cab so we don't waste a moment getting this thing underway?" I grinned at her.

Karen punched me in the shoulder, as she often did when I tweaked her ideas with a touch of humor. She responded in kind: "Actually, I was hoping we could start right here on this park bench. It's dark enough now. We can see what we're doing, the cars will mostly ignore us, and the few joggers going by on the path might actually find our performance interesting."

We both laughed. I reached under her blouse and felt her breasts, rolling one nipple around between my fingers. Karen moaned, and we kissed with great abandon.

We did not make love on the park bench. That night we made love twice, a rare event only duplicated on our honeymoon.

Karen stopped taking the birth control pills and started to plot her basal body temperature, and monitor her periods. We made it to January with no results, and then she started to feel weaker and weaker as each day passed. She never got pregnant.

I took her to the doctor, and he ordered up a battery of tests that never seemed to end. Eventually, he told us Karen's body had started to reject itself – what is called an autoimmune reaction. No one knew what caused it, and no one could cure it.

Karen died a month later.

I slept on George's request. The mechanics of trying to impregnate Summer were easy: she was beautiful and ripe; easy on the eyes; the kind of girl you'd like to sleep with if there were no other complications. Mental attitude and acceptance by all concerned formed the hub of my thinking.

George and Summer both stayed around so we could have breakfast together. No one said anything about the gorilla in the room, a point I later found humorous. As George left to go to the store, he said to me, "Talk to Summer about what we talked about last night. She'll be home from work early today." He paused and thought about his next comment, but blurted it out anyway, "If you two decide to do something together, please ... please go ahead. You have my permission and blessing and my hope you'll do it."

I just nodded. Summer stood with her back to us at the sink listening. George left.

I said to Summer, "I would like to talk to you later, if that's acceptable."

She nodded. A few minutes later she left for her job at the library, but not before looking at me and then kissing my cheek in a most tender way. The kiss had a dramatic effect on me, as did her look of hope and caring.

I took another walk, did some modest exercises, meditated, attended to email and my journal, and called Lauren. Lauren listened carefully to the situation and asked some of the same questions I'd raised with George. She didn't seem as put off about the idea as I initially had been. In the end, she encouraged me to help the couple. Of course, she emphasized that she wanted to hear the 'stroke-by-stroke' details of what took place. We would have had phone sex; however, she was at work and didn't think masturbating at her workstation would be an appropriate activity.

Summer got home about two o'clock. We were both nervous, so I suggested we take a walk instead of stay in the house. I think we walked about four miles. I asked, "You want this to happen – really – with a relative stranger?"

Summer put her arm around me, and I did likewise with her. She said in a low measured voice, "Yes, and you're not a stranger. I've come to know you through my husband. He's shared a lot about you – your moods, talents, humor, persistence, and ... well, everything. I felt close to you before you arrived; I feel even closer after these two days and the way you're considering our proposal. You care about us, and it shows. I like that."

I started to rehash the ground I'd talked to George. Summer interrupted. In a comforting tone she said, "George and I share everything. He told me the entire discussion you two had. I don't know what I can say or do to put you at ease; I am at ease with this - fully. He is too. I've had more time to think of the idea – we started talking about this months ago when we ran out of tests to run and alternatives to pursue."