Road Trip - Jim Mellon's Erotic Journey Across AmericaChapter 15: Missouri free porn video

Crystal and I stayed three extra days with the Binfords so we could have some more sexual playtime with our new friends. We each enjoyed the role of 'instructor.' Fortunately, they had no other guests at the inn while we were there, so our 'lessons' were conducted freely in all parts of the inn. When we left, they were different people for the better – more aware of each other, more knowledgeable about pleasuring each other sexually, and more in love. We promised to keep in touch.

During our rest periods at the inn and later while traveling, I practiced with the small travel guitar I'd bought in Wisconsin. The rich tones it produced surprised me for its size. Crystal played much better that I did, and became my tutor. We sang together and were both pleased that we still had the magic we'd found in singing together in Tennessee and at the concerts. We practiced some of the songs we'd done in concert, and then a few new ones Crystal knew.

Crystal bravely consented to camp with me as we headed southwest from Central Illinois into Missouri. The weather was kind. We spent two nights in campgrounds along the way. I picked places with showers and less rustic bathroom facilities so she got a slow introduction to my kind of camping. Along the way, I crossed the Mississippi for the third time on my road trip.

Before we stopped for our first night, Crystal called Terry Ross, our agent. I had to get used to having an agent – someone who would front for me in the music industry, get me gigs, and hook me up with the right people to make recordings and music videos. Crystal told him about where we were and the direction we were headed, and he got all excited. The net result of the call was that we now had a destination: Branson, Missouri – a town adopted by many country musicians. We also had a place to stay at a large house on Table Rock Lake just outside Branson; the home belonged to friends of Terry who were out of the country.

In the evenings during our trip, we'd build a campfire to distract the insects and sing for a while. My guitar playing was advancing nicely, but the fingertips on my left hand where I had to finger the strings were constantly sore.

Crystal joined me for my morning runs. I kept them short and slow, lest I lose my beautiful running companion; I wanted Crystal's company more than a long, fast run. Running behind Crystal was almost a religious experience because of her shapely butt and where it took my thinking. After the runs, I also coached her through some of my morning exercises. She expressed concern over how my gunshot wounds were healing, but I assured her that nothing was amiss. I'd always have the scars along with those that I had from my Army days.

At her request, I also taught Crystal how I meditated; specifically, releasing myself to the Universe and opening myself to all the messages it might have for me. Maybe it was the company I was keeping, but everyday I felt messages about loving everyone openly and completely. Crystal seemed warmer and more relaxed after her meditative sessions. One morning, I watched her meditate: nude in the morning sunshine, in the lotus position, hands carefully placed on her knees with palms up, thumb and forefingers together, head erect, breasts high, body alert yet relaxed. She looked angelic, and my heart flip-flopped all over the place in my feelings of love for her.

Each of our campsites was lakeside, the weather warm, so we swam often. In the morning, we were sticky from our lovemaking the night before and our run, so complete body immersion seemed like the best answer for cleanliness. We laughed and frolicked as we skinny-dipped in the lake water. At one site in Missouri, Crystal watched while I released some of my late wife's ashes to drift on the morning wind into the lake we'd just been in. I missed Karen, and I always would. Crystal knew that and always expressed compassion about her passing; I thought that the two women would have been friends or even lovers if Karen had survived her thirty-second year of life.

Like Crystal, I'd found out that Karen had sapphic tendencies from her sister Lauren. Maybe because I'd gotten used to the idea of Karen's bisexuality, I could accept Crystal's similar inclination. The two of us surely 'clicked' sexually and in many other ways.

Crystal and I came into Branson on Route 76, the main drag that is lined with hundreds of tourist sites, motels, and theaters built by various music stars – particularly country music stars. Second to Nashville, there wasn't as large a concentration in any other town. With the help of the GPS on my iPhone, we found the large home we were to stay at a few miles away on Table Rock Lake. The home was gorgeous: about eight thousand square feet on multiple levels with a large flat roof; the house nestled in a cluster of tall pines two-hundred feet from the lake's edge. The shrubbery was so dense along the sides of the property one couldn't even see the neighbors. From the street, one saw a small carport, and the front door – no windows; the place looked deceivingly small.

Our motorcycle rumbled to a stop in the driveway outside the house at five o'clock. We dismounted, and almost immediately, the front door flew open and Ellen came bounding out like a beautiful gazelle. She threw herself into my arms and lavished me with kisses, and then repeated the process on her sister. Crystal enjoyed the welcome. Behind Ellen, Terry came out with a handshake for me, and hugs and kisses for Crystal. I could tell by body language that Terry and Ellen were a couple, at least for this trip. They both wore bathing suits and had been swimming.

Everyone talked at once for a few minutes as we unloaded the bike and wheeled it into the carport attached to the garage. I glanced up the driveway at the street just in time to see a blue Ford sedan going slowly by the house; I didn't pay it any attention at the time, but later I'd have reason to remember the car.

Inside, Terry poured us all some wine. We sat out on the back deck looking downhill through the trees to the large lake. A large powerboat bobbed beside a dock at the shore's edge. Looking pleased, Terry produced an envelope and handed it to me with a smile.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Open it and find out," Terry said with a grin.

Inside were two checks: one for $106,000 and one for $87,500. They were each made out to James Mellon. I looked up at Terry with a questioning glance.

Terry told me, "The smaller check is your earnings for the concerts in Louisville and Indianapolis. The larger check is an advance on your first royalties for the first two weeks that 'Texas Dawn' has been on the record and music video charts. That's after-tax money, by the way. There'll be more. If you didn't already know, 'Texas Dawn' is now the number one song in the country, and there are still a huge number of downloads taking place every minute. It's even a hit in Europe." He grinned, obviously pleased that he was the bearer of such good news.

I sputtered around a bit. Crystal got up, came to my chair, sat in my lap, and kissed my ear. She said, "You deserve every bit of it. You are so talented – and it just comes naturally to you."

I looked at Terry and asked, "Where's Crystal's share?"

Terry said, "Hers got deposited directly to her account. You can set that up with the music company too. Give me a voided check, and I'll make it happen for you when I get back to Nashville. Instead of asking you about direct deposit ahead of time, I thought it'd be fun to see your expression when you got your first proceeds from your work in this industry – goodly sums, I might add. You're in demand. Many musicians don't make that much in five or ten years." He thought for moment and added, "Oh, expect monthly checks for a year and more for the 'Texas Dawn' single and starting in another week for the 'Texas Dawn' album." He glanced at Crystal to be sure she was listening too. "After this initial surge, you'll probably get around $60,000 for each week the single and album are in the top twenty on the music charts."

Crystal asked politely, "What about Jim's royalties from radio and TV?"

Terry said, "Those take longer to tote up and the algorithm to compute the amounts is really complicated and arguable, so there'll be a three to six months lag in those payments; eventually they'll come quarterly. I'll be watching those carefully, and arguing on your behalf if I think they treated you unfairly in the calculations. That said, if history is any indication, you could get a similar check for each month just from media outlets across the country."

I sat there speechless at the amounts of money being talked about. I felt as though I'd won the lottery.

Ellen jumped in, "There's other good news too; some woman named Pam Saunders contacted us. She's a big wheel with some advertising and media company in Chicago, and said she knew you, Jim. She's signed on to use 'Texas Dawn' as the background music for commercials for the country's largest jewelry chain. They're doing a western motif in the seasonal advertising; she liked the melody, the instrumentals, and some of lyrics and wanted them playing to emphasize the 'love' part of the song. I don't know all the details, but that'll be another income stream for the two of you. She said she'd been 'really close to you' at one point."

I mumbled something about having met Pam in northern Michigan a couple of weeks earlier; Crystal grinned at me; she knew the full story about Pam's massages. In the back of my head, I recalled Pam's buxom body nude on the massage table, shiny with luxurious oil as I energetically pumped my cock into her body with a real desire to please. Pam had returned the next day for another longer 'massage' too, so I guess I'd adequately risen to the occasion the first time we were together.

An older couple came out to the deck where we sat. The man smiled at us and announced with a smile, "Dinner is ready." The pair quickly set the table on the deck for dinner, and seated us all. A beautiful dinner materialized from their trays. Terry introduced us to them and explained that the couple worked in the home during the day to make life easier for the owners or visiting guests by cleaning, doing meals, and maintaining the house. After cleaning up from dinner, the pair left until late the following morning. I heard the woman talking to Ellen about things she'd left to use for our breakfasts.

The four of us had a lively dinner conversation. I mostly asked Terry more questions about the music industry that I now found myself deeply immersed in. Crystal and Ellen enjoyed my naïveté and often responded. Crystal reached over to touch my hand or arm as we ate; a gesture I could tell came from her doting affection.

Night descended on Branson as we ate. There was dim lighting on the deck, as well as on a path down to lakeside and on the boat dock. As we finished after-dinner coffee, Ellen suggested a night swim. We went inside and got our swimsuits, and soon the four of us strolled down the path to the lake with towels in hand.

At lakeside, Ellen announced that we all had to skinny dip; "No suits allowed in the lake!" She peeled off the bikini she'd been wearing, again revealing to me her beautiful body. I could feel my erection surge in my nylon shorts as she shed her bikini.

Crystal also shed her bikini. Terry threw his suit aside; he too sported a growing hard-on. I followed everyone else's lead. Ellen came up to me and pressed her naked body against mine; we kissed – a deep soul kiss with tongues raging in each other's mouths reflecting deeper passions we'd thought about since I'd arrived. As we came up for air, I saw Terry and Crystal similarly engaged. I guessed we were going to swap back and forth while we were in Branson. Having had fun doing that in Illinois with Paul and Tori, I liked the idea.

We all dove into the black water of the lake. We splashed and teased each other as we floated around in our nakedness. Crystal came up and hugged me, pressing her full body against mine. She asked, "Are you all right if the four of us swap around tonight? Ellen really wants to be with you, and I'd like to be with Terry."

I kissed her and told her I was fine with it. I commented that I didn't know she had a relationship with Terry. She said, "I don't. This'll be our first together. We've teased around and flirted, but never actually ... hooked up. I think we both wanted to, but there's been the professional thing. I guess we're throwing caution to the wind this week. I'm glad."

We talked a little longer, and then Ellen swam up to us and kissed the two of us. I found it erotic that the sisters had developed a sapphic relationship with each other. In the dim light from the shore, the women looked so beautiful kissing and loving each other. Their kissing gave me a brief flash of what Karen and Lauren kissing would have been like; that mental image made me harden to the consistency of tungsten steel.

Ellen stayed with me as Crystal swam over to Terry. I hardened just watching the pair kiss, knowing that under water, her hand had probably found his cock. Ellen had already found mine. Her hand stroked and caressed my erect cock, making me only want to do one thing with her.

After we made out for a while, Ellen said, "Let's get into the boat and mess around. I want some ... penetration. I've waited too long to have you again."

We swam over to the dock and ladder, and climbed out. Ellen led me onto the boat tied beside the dock and into the open aft seating area. A bench seat extended across the back of the boat. I sat down, and before I could plan any activity Ellen knelt in front of me and inhaled my cock. She gave expert blowjobs, and tonight made me recall her fabulous skill. After a few minutes of working on me to the point my dick felt like a steel flagpole, she came over me, sinking her pussy down on my shaft without the need for any further foreplay.

I asked her, "No foreplay? I could eat you for a while."

"No, not now; I've missed you too much. I need to reconnect this way now; we can do more later. I would have jumped you when you arrived, but the couple that tends the house was still around. Now, it's just the four of us."

"And Crystal's all right with you and me ... doing this?" I asked, suddenly thinking of the other side of our pairing off.

"Better than that," Ellen assured me. "She wants us to have some time together, plus she wanted to get closer to Terry. They're at a point in their relationship where some intimacy might actually help them understand each other more intuitively. I hope you're OK with her doing that; she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her relationship with you. You're the most important thing in her life right now. She loves you, and I do too."

I had to close my eyes. Ellen's tight pussy was doing wonders around my cock. I wondered if I'd be able to last more than a couple of minutes.

Almost reading my mind, Ellen said, "Don't try to extend this to a half hour or more as I know you can. I just want us to fuck and cum. I'm almost there – I've been almost there since we kissed hello. Spunk me whenever you're ready; I'll fire off too."

Crystal lay down beside us, her head against her sister's leg while Ellen and I fucked. I watched as Crystal held Terry's engorged cock and directed it to her cunt. He slowly pushed into her beautiful body, and then the slow oscillation of his hips started as the pair kissed. I reached over and stroked one of Crystal's breasts, pinching the nipple and bringing it to rigid attention. Terry and I smiled at each other. Crystal and I blew a kiss to each other.

I came only a few minutes later. Watching Crystal and Terry fuck right next to me proved to be an irresistible aphrodisiac that pushed me right up to the edge ... and then over into an orgasm. Just before we came, Ellen whispered some of her remembrances from our foursome with her, Crystal, and Lauren. I came in torrents, shooting my juice up into Ellen's love cavity. She came too, her Kegel muscles flexing uncontrollably around my shaft.

Ellen and I panted our way back to earth from our orgasmic highs after a few moments. As I rubbed and sucked on her erect breasts, the two of us watched Terry and Crystal fucking right beside us. Crystal and I had been in similar situations only days before with the Binfords, but somehow, knowing Terry and Ellen, and having deepening feelings for Crystal, this time was hyper erotic. I fondled Crystal's breasts with one hand as she came.

Just as Terry came in Crystal's cunt, my eyes caught a reflection of light from the house from something a couple of hundred feet away in the trees. From my memory of what the land was like in the daytime, there should have been nothing there to reflect light. I tried not to look obvious that I'd seen something, but I continued to focus on the area as I forced my head to move as though I was looking at Crystal or Terry. I have exceptional night and peripheral vision.

I caught the reflection a few more times; enough to be sure that what I was seeing was a camera lens. Under my breath, I cursed. Ellen picked up that something was wrong. As she started to turn, I grabbed her and kissed her hard, diverting her turn to where my eyes had been riveted.

"Don't turn and don't look. Just kiss me," I whispered to her so the others could hear.

Crystal looked up at me from her prone position; "What's wrong?" She and Terry were floating down from their own climaxes.

I said loud enough for all to hear, "First, do NOT look up to the house or to the right. Just keep looking at me or at each other. I think someone's in the trees taking pictures as we played around. I want to find out."

"What do you want us to do?" Terry whispered with a worried tone.

"I want us all to go swimming again. I'm going to swim underwater parallel to the shore for a distance and circle back around to see what's going on. You three stay in the water until I come and get you, or give the 'all clear' with a shout. Act and talk as though I'm still around the boat with you. Whoever it is will think I'm just hidden behind the boat. Don't over act the part."

The three of them nodded at my suggestion. We all uncoiled from our sex partners. Ellen held my hand as she led me off the fantail of the boat. The two of us jumped into the water. When I surfaced I furtively grabbed my bathing suit off the edge of the dock and slipped into it, and then moved behind the boat, took a huge breath, and started to swim underwater parallel to the shore just as Crystal and Terry jumped into the water a few feet away.

My swimming skills had not diminished much from my days as a Green Beret. My ability to hold my breath for a long time had. I surfaced after a couple of hundred feet, slowly and quietly gasping for air. At least the shadows hid me. When I'd replenished my air, I sank under again, swimming for another hundred feet.

When I surfaced the second time, I figured I was far enough away from the boat, nearby lights, and the others to get out of the lake and start my reconnaissance. I paddled to some ground cover along the shore, and crawled from the lake, staying on my belly.

My nickname in the Green Berets was Wolf. One of the reasons is that my night vision is excellent. As my eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, I saw a man with a large camera slung over his shoulder starting to move up the hill away from the dock and boat I'd just been on. He wore black. The camera had a long telephoto lens that meant he'd gotten some really salacious pictures of the four of us. I had no doubt that the paparazzi had found us. I silently cursed again.

Barefoot, I tried to keep up with the man, moving parallel to his track up the hill. I didn't have a clear idea what I'd do when I got to him, but I knew it involved the camera. My going was slow because my feet were tender, and I had to be careful where I placed them on the uneven ground.

I finally reached the lawn of the house next door to the one we were staying at. I sprinted around that house to their driveway and then ran into street. Unfortunately, I was too late. Just as I got to the road, a car door slammed, and an engine started. The taillights of the car came on; it was the blue Ford I'd seen earlier when Crystal and I arrived and the four of us stood in the driveway greeting one another. As the car pulled away from me, I read the license plate: Missouri SBD-566.

I walked back down to the dock and boat, and told the others what I'd seen. I'd also hatched a plan of action, although it could be risky.

Because it was late, I guessed that Mr. Paparazzi would be staying overnight somewhere in the Branson area before he did anything with his prize photographs. I organized each of us to track down the car and the driver within the next couple of hours. I speculated that he'd be at one of the many hotels or motels around Branson.

Terry and I split up the concentrations of motels, planning to drive through each parking lot looking for the car and plate number. Crystal and Ellen would start telephoning the car rental agencies trying to see whether the car was theirs and if they knew where the driver might be staying and whom he was, ostensibly to return some article he'd left at a restaurant. Our cell phones would keep us in touch.

Terry and I agreed we'd start on Route 76, the main drag through the Branson that held the most obvious choices for motels. After a quick change of clothes, Terry and I headed out: Terry in his rental car, and me on the motorcycle. We started northwest of town and headed east, Terry doing the motels on the north side of the road, while I did those on the south.

About half-an-hour after we started, I felt the vibrator on my cell phone go off. I stopped and caught the call from Crystal just before it went into voicemail. "I think I found the guy. He's got a Budget rental. That plate checks to a Bart Kenesis who told the rental agency he planned to stay at the Travelodge – that motel is at 12,627 Main or Route 76."

I thanked her and headed off to that address. I asked that she call Terry and let him know I planned to jump ahead on the highway to check out her lead.

Ten minutes later and as quietly as I could get the Harley to sound, I cruised through the half-full parking lot at the Travelodge Motel. Parked to the rear opposite four possible doors was the blue Ford sedan with license SBD-566 clearly showing. Stickers on the car's windows indicated it was an airport rental.

I pulled into the parking lot of a closed fast food restaurant a couple of hundred feet to the east and called Terry. A few minutes later, he pulled in next to me with his lights off. Putting my phone on speaker, we called Crystal and planned our next move.

Exactly five minutes later Terry and I, separated by about fifty feet, walked very slowly past the four rooms that could house our suspect paparazzi, and then turned and walked back the other way. Crystal was to call the motel and ask for the room of Bart Kenesis. We assumed when the call came through that either Terry or I would hear the room phone ring, and could tell which room he was in. The call came ninety seconds later than expected, and Terry heard the call. He listened at the doors a second to be sure. He also listened to Crystal's side of the call on his cell. He pointed frantically to the door to room 119, and then, as agreed, headed off across the parking lot to his car. I sauntered past the room's large window and heard the muffled ending sounds of a 'wrong number' call. The call reminded me to turn off my own cell phone's ringer.

I joined Terry in the darkness of the fast food restaurant. The two of us just looked like friends who had stopped to chat, should anyone question at our presence. We had a short cover story that we never had to use.

I jogged behind the motel to see what might be back there by way of access. I figured out which window was 119 and listened carefully outside the bathroom window that conveniently was cracked open for ventilation. I heard the television, but no other sounds. After about twenty minutes, Kenesis came into the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and peed. The man was going to bed; a good sign for me. The lights went out, and the television sound went off at eleven-seventeen. In the background, I could hear the noisy hum of the room's air conditioner; white noise like that was good too.

I hoofed it back to Terry. "He's gone to bed. I'll give him an hour to get into deeper sleep, and then start my entry. It'll take a while to do it right."

Terry looked shocked, "You mean you're going to break into his room?"

"Maybe, but you will not be near here. If I get caught, no need for both of us to end up in jail. I'll need someone to bail me out." I laughed and added, "My arrest would make good press about your newest country music star, wouldn't it?"

Even Terry chuckled. Before he drove away, I raided my saddlebags and the trunk of Terry's car to assemble a toolkit for what I planned. I ended with a collection of several screwdrivers, two towels, a knife, and a roll of duct tape. Not much, but it would have to do.

After Terry left, I took time to conceal my motorcycle in some brush behind the fast food eatery. I also dirtied myself up, rubbing dirt and mud on my face and other skin surfaces so my white skin wouldn't show up so much in dim light. I knew I not only would be hard to identify, I also looked mean and like someone you'd least like to tangle with. Even with the dirt, I wrapped a black bandana from my saddlebag around my hair, folded in a way I could quickly pull it down to cover my nose and mouth. I cut the duct tape into various lengths and stuck the pieces to my belt.

I took a deep breath and moved to our suspect's bathroom window. I thought I heard light snoring from deep inside the room, but I didn't count on that being the fact. Using the screwdriver I started a slit in the window screening; I slowly sawed my way around the screening with the knife until the entire panel of screening fell into my hands. I removed the frame for the screen and threw it far from the motel. I didn't want there to be any obvious signs of a break-in.

I tested whether the window would open more than the two-inch crack that had been left there. Silently celebrating a break in my favor, the window sash slid all the way open without a sound. With the window wide open, I waited five long minutes, frozen in place and listening for any sound. In my Special Ops training, we'd learned that most people will move to reveal themselves in at most three or four minutes if they think stealth is required; thus, waiting five minutes allowed a margin of safety if Bart Kenesis or someone else had heard my entry efforts and got roused from their sleep.

I hefted my body up so I could start through the window. My clothes made a slight rustling sound against the window frame, and I froze again – half in and half out of the window. After a few minutes, I slowly slithered down into the bathroom walking on my hands, as my feet were the last to come through the window. After I was 'in, ' I returned the window to its nearly shut state. Just in case, I took a washcloth and wiped my fingerprints from the sill and floor area.

In the dim light, I planned an escape route and a hiding place should I need either. I knew I could dive out the bathroom window and not hurt myself; and crouching in the shower could be a temporary hiding place if the lights remained off.

I peered into the bedroom area of the motel room. Nearest the bathroom door stood a table with a pint of Jack Daniel's on it. The pint was empty; another possible break in my favor. Alcohol could help our 'paparazzi baby' sleep that much sounder. Beyond the table was a king-size bed with a large lump in it, the man's face turned to one side. I watched the lump for five minutes, and other than heavy breathing saw no other signs of consciousness from Bart Kenesis.

At the other end of the room was the door to the motel room. A desk just inside the door was littered with clutter, and my quest: the camera with the large lens still attached. I also thought I saw a laptop computer on the desk; however, the device was closed.

When I was sure Kenesis slept soundly, I started my soundless traverse of the room. I'd practiced moves like this a thousand times in my Ops training, but that had been fifteen years earlier. One thing I remembered is that most people fool themselves into believing that they will awaken if someone is in the room with them; that's not true. Once asleep, a thief or prowler can move around with almost impunity and not awaken the subject so long as they are noiseless. But, one always had to be sure.

Kenesis slept soundly, even making little snoring sounds, as I reached the desk. I got a good look at his face. I picked up the camera and a laptop computer. I wanted both; I couldn't take the chance that he hadn't already downloaded the pictures he took on his camera to the computer. If he had, I had to hope that he hadn't uploaded them to someone else over the Internet.

I slid the computer down in the front of my pants, and slung the camera around my neck. Using both hands and in stealth mode, I unlocked the main door, opening the dead bolt, and turning the latch until the door opened. I used one of my towels to muffle the sounds of the lock turning. I put duct tape over the striker plate on the jamb, and slid out the door. I wiped down the area for fingerprints again as I left.