Jen: Route 66 Kicks Holbrook

Then, there I stood before officer Jeffers, naked as the day I was born, except for my sandaled feet.

"Now, I want to cop a feel or two, pun intended, honey, before you blow me."

Officer Jeffers stepped up to me and ran both his hands all over my big boobs.

"A hell of a lot better than I got at home."

Officer Jeffers left his right hand to continue his tit play while he took his left down my back to my crack and then dropped that hand down and between my legs to go after my pussy slit from behind.

Though I'd not planned to, I felt my pussy flood with moisture and knew Officer Jeffers was getting me steamed up, sexually that is. I could feel he was getting steamed up also as the bulge in his pants grew larger and larger and pushed up against my pussy from the front. After playing with me like that for some time, he dropped his hands and stepped back a pace.

He unzipped and reeled out a fuck stick that would make any whore cry for joy, it was so large and fat.

"Do me, slut, and do a good job of it!"

I went to my knees in front of him and worked over that big cock of his. Using two hands, I stroked him up and down while I licked that monster bulb of a cock head. I could feel him getting awfully close to shooting his load, so I grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed his jism to a stop.

"Whoa, boy, you got me so worked up now and you're not leaving me with a head of steam and the safety valve locked down!"

I knew he wouldn't want to get his uniform mussed up, so, backing up against the crumbling wall, I said, "Now stick it in, buster, and you had better do a good job of it, too!"

Well, Officer Jeffers did stick that big dick in and he did do a damned good job of it. The problem was it didn't take very long. We were both carrying a super heated head of steam by that time and we both exploded into a messy orgasm before he could give a half dozen thrusts. He backed out pretty fast in order to keep his uniform front from getting wet cum stains all over the front of it. He was still panting pretty hard as he did so.

"Well slut, that was good enough that I'm not going to give you a ticket of any kind, just a verbal warning. Slow Down, especially in a populated area."

With that, Officer Jeffers used my shorts to wipe his big dong clean, the bastard. Then he tucked his cock back into his pants, zipped up, and retreated back to his cruiser.

I scrubbed my shorts in the sand to clean off the cum and dry them out some before I pulled them and my top back on and went back to Swifty. After the cruiser disappeared back towards Joseph City, I racked up the speedo to 100 for the rest of the drive to Winslow.

Winslow lay some twenty-three miles west of Joseph City and is situated 1,642 miles past Go. Once again, the railroad was instrumental in the founding of a community, in this case, the date was 1881. I recalled and reexamined some of my notes as I saw the city appear a few miles ahead.

One Edward F. WInslow was the namesake of the city. He was Vice-President of the Atlantic and Pacific Line, a company later acquired by the Santa Fe Railroad. Since 1908, Winslow's railroad had been working in partnership with the Fred Harvey Company to build luxury hotels in close proximity to the railroad stations. The La Posada Harvey House Hotel in Winslow was the apogee of their success. It would turn out to be the last of the hotels built in this chain.

The Winslow/Santa Fe team built a Spanish Colonial Rancho-style station that was La Posada and a masterpiece. It opened in 1930 and was staffed by the famous Harvey Girls. The establishment was highly successful until the post war slump reduction in rail travel. La Posada was closed in 1957 but rebounded with vigor a few years later with the boom of the motoring tourists.

A dozen miles further west brought me to my main point of interest in Arizona, Meteor City and Meteor Crater south and east of the "city." Meteor city isn't really a city at all, but rather, just a lone trading post, come tourist stop (trap). The trading post does possess some items of interest--a geodesic dome, a vintage truck display, and the world's largest dream catcher. Just past the trading post lies the road south to Meteor Crater, my target.

Meteor Crater lies some twenty-five to thirty miles southeast of Winslow and about six or so miles south of Meteor City. The crater's just over three quarters of a mile in diameter and some five-hundred and fifty feet deep. It was formed, the geologists say, some 50,000 years ago when an iron mass weighing in the neighborhood of 60,000 tons entered the earth's atmosphere and landed in that little piece of Arizona.

Although NASA conducted "moon walks" there with the astronauts in the 1960s, people are not generally allowed down into the crater bottom. Even the path around the circumference has been blocked off to the public except for a short, guided tour section. None-the-less, it has long been one of my fantasies to get fucked at the bottom of that crater. Wouldn't you just know it?

The afternoon was getting on when I got there, and it took me a while to find someone to help me. But eventually, I found a man. I won't say who or how as it might cause him a lot of problems, most likely his job, but late that night, he got me to the crater bottom. The prize for doing so, which was my offer, was to be the one to fuck me silly when we got down there. The guy was older, probably somewhere between forty and fifty-five, maybe more, somewhat paunchy, and beginning to bald. But he wasn't all that bad looking. And he was pathetically eager. I thought I'd make his day. I think this was to be one of, if not the, major highlight of his year.

It was half past midnight, we were on the bottom of the crater, and we were shivering. Though hot during the day, the desert cools quickly at night and the bottom of that big hole was damn well freezing cold. It didn't take long, though, for both of us to get warmed up really good. I will say this for "Ned," as I'll call him, he did have uncommon stamina. We stripped and started rubbing each other to get warm. One thing led to another, quickly, and we were off.

We played for over two hours. Whatever else Ned had or didn't have, he had a decent cock and he most definitely knew how to use it. He fucked me up, down, and sideways--in the mouth, in the pussy, in the ass. He fucked me standing up, missionary, sitting, doggie style, him on top, me on top facing front then facing back cowgirl stye; the guy just wouldn't quit. I don't know if he took a double dose of some aphrodisiac first or what, but he stayed hard the whole damned time and granted me my wish. He fucked me silly, until I thought my brains really would run out. We sure weren't worrying about the cold anymore, I can tell you that!

But finally, Ned said, "We have to quit and get out of here before daylight, or there'll be hell to pay."

So, that's what we did, dressed and got the hell out of there. Once up top again, we parted and went our separate ways. Back in the park lodge, where I'd rented a room the day before, I ran a tub and bathed. Then I drained the water out and refilled the tub, nearly to the top. I added in all sorts of bubbly, sweet smelling things the room was stocked with and soaked/slept until the water was so cold, I had to get out. The time was just shy of 10 a.m. when I stepped out, dried quickly, and jumped into bed to sleep until I woke up hours later at midnight.

There was no way I wanted to get underway again at the hour of the night. Instead, I pulled out my research notes for the rest of the Arizona and the first part of the California sections of Route 66 that I'd be rolling down in the morning. I kept at it until I got sleepy enough to go back to bed. Dawn was some time past breaking when I next opened my eyes.

I went out for breakfast. Just for something to do, I asked the waitress if there was anything of interest around other than the crater.

"Well, if you like ghost towns, there are two nearly atop one another just a few miles west of town (Meteor City) that you could visit. You can't miss them because of the prominent signs."

So, I was off to visit Two Guns and Canyon Diablo, the two old ghost towns. Canyon Diablo, during its heydays of glory, was described thus: "Tombstone, Virginia City, and Abilene could not hold a candle to this end-of-the-rail depravity." Two Guns was built long after Canyon Diablo was already dead and nearly buried in the rocks and drifting sand. Two guns survived long enough to witness the advent of and thrive during the peak years of old Route 66.

The Twin Arrows Trading Post at 1,674 miles past Go, was the next interest site. Drivers can't miss it--not with those colorful, monstrous sized twin advertising arrows towering sixty feet above the ground at a sharp angle just off the roadway. I didn't stop-there wasn't much else to see.

Padre Canyon was next up. The oldest alignment of the road angled northwest, crossing the canyon that dramatically breaks the relatively flat plains of the high desert. Predating Route 66, the 1914 Padre Canyon Bridge, on the old Flagstaff-Winslow highway, was one of the most dangerous bridges with its accompanying approach roads on the whole of Route 66..

Because of the accidents on the bridge and the serpentine roads leading down to it and back up the other side, a realignment of Route 66 along with a new bridge for the new stretch of road, occurred in 1937. Though a little worse for wear by my time, the architecture of the bridge reflects another era when model-T's ruled the highways and byways.

Finally, in the words of Bobby Troup, "don't forget Winona," just sixteen mile east of Flagstaff. It was Troup's song, "Get Your Kicks on Route 66" that made Winona an icon of the road. It is deliberately out of sequence with the other cities in the song because of its near-miss: "Don't forget Winona" as the lyrics of the song read. The name was included in the song only because Troup needed something to rhyme with "Arizona" in the lyrics.

A Mr. Billy Adams returned to what he called the "perfect spot" with his new bride in 1912 or 1913. They promptly built a trading post with living quarters over it and exchanged supplies and groceries with the Navajo and Hopi Indians for native blankets, jewelry, and other crafts.

Route 66 was not established until 1926, but the Model-T's were making their way westward on the old Flagstaff-Winslow Highway, Passing right by the Adams' trading post. Recognizing an opportunity, the couple soon established one of the first tourist camps of the region as well as overnight tent camping for those who couldn't afford the one dollar a night cabin fee.

Winona grew as people began to travel Route 66 in earnest, winding up with a population of just over one-hundred. But the small town's heydays would be short. Already in 1937 still another one of those pre-interstate route realignments took place that routed the highway south of town, bypassing it altogether.

The town would of been just another derelict of history if it hadn't been for Bobby Troup and his song. The town never really prospered like so many other small towns along the Mother Road. There's little left of Route 66 there except another one of those great old bridges.

I had to pee again. So, while stopped in Winona for that call of nature, I also topped of Swifty's fuel tank. She and I had a ways to go yet. Flagstaff was next on the map at 1,700 miles past Go. A young high school age boy was doing the gas pump jockey thing. He flirted with me, but I wasn't yet horny enough to let his flirting succeed.

Before the arrival of highways or railroads, Flagstaff was already an important staging area for wagon trains on route to California. There are several versions of how Flagstaff came by its name, but all versions involve stripping a lone pine tree and making it into a flag pole and position marker that travelers could zero in on from quite some distance away.

Being named the county seat over Williams in 1891, ensured the survival of Flagstaff. The establishment of the University of Northern Arizona in 1899, making Flagstaff the cultural center of northern Arizona also helped. The tourist trade from Route 66 further insured the continued future of the town.

I wanted to do some sight seeing around Flagstaff and I particularly wanted to get a room at the Weatherford Hotel that first opened on January 1, 1900. I asked the young, drooling, pump jockey how to get to the hotel. He managed to give me coherent directions. I purposely gave him an eyefull of my tight cameltoe as I got back into Miss Swifty and drove off. Maybe he'll have wet dreams about me this week.

The hotel was built by, who else but a man called Weatherford, John Weatherford, to be exact, who was one of Flagstaff's influential citizens. He rode into town when Arizona was still a territory and vigilantes ruled the dusty dirt streets and trails. He had a grand vision for the town and his hotel was considered one of the finest hotels in the West. It attracted many famous, V.I.P. types such as newspaper tycoon, William Randolph Hearst, former President Theodore Roosevelt, Old West author Zane Grey, and lawman Wyatt Earp.

The desk clerk on duty was a young college man who attended UNA as a senior. I decided to zero in on him as both a source of information and as a--well, you know what for by now. I was horny again.

His name was Philpot, Bill Philpot. His shift was just ending, so I invited him to have something to drink with me in the coffee shop. He agreed. We got a table and sat eating sweet rolls and drinking coffee.

"So, Bill, are you attached?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?"

"I'm supposed to be engaged, but Sharon has broken it off again for the third time. I'm getting very disgusted with her.'"

That made things easier for me. However, I needed to flirt a little more before striking. I bent over more often than necessary to increase the view of my cleavage, showed some leg, and generally gave him smoldering looks. My actions were having their effect on Bill as we talked.

"By the way, Jen, did you know that the Weatherford has a couple of resident ghosts?"

"Oh, God. Not again."

"Whatda ya mean by that comment?"

So I explained my history of ghost experiences on Route 66 since leaving Chicago. Bill laughed or chuckled several times during my recitation.

"Well, I won't guarantee it, but it's conceivable that you might run into one of ours."

"Please, tell me about your see through residents."

"Ok. The hotel's Zane Grey Ballroom contains stained glass windows and an antique Brunswick bar from Tombstone. It's also reputed to be the site where at least one of our resident ghosts, a woman, is said to appear most often."

"What does 'she' look like, who is she, and have you ever seen her?"

"Whoa, slow down, Jen. No, I've never seen her. She's said to appear, vague featured, and seems to float across the room. Other sightings have her darting from one side of the room to the other. Others have observed different phenomena occurring in that room."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Oh, some people have reported that the light over the pool table seemingly sways of its own accord and the sounds of whispers and voices sometimes emanate from the otherwise empty room."

"And you've never experience any of this, correct?"

"Correct. All I can do is report what I've heard from guests and staff."

"You said a 'pair' of residents, Bill."

"Yes, that's right. Some people have reported the haunting of the hotel by a long ago bride and groom."

"Oh my, tell me about that one."

"According to the legend, a honeymooning couple was murdered in Room 54 of the hotel back in the 1930's. On at least one occasion, an employee who was staying in the hotel, awoke in the middle of the night to find a bride and groom sitting on the foot of the bed."

"That's scary!"

"The story goes on. Today, the room has been turned into a storage room. But that hasn't stopped the ghost sightings of the pair. Various guests have reported seeing the couple entering their former honeymoon room anyway. Also, staff often report hearing their names being called out by an unseen spirit while on the fourth floor as well as feeling a presence standing behind them."

"Wow!"

Bill had been staring at various parts of my anatomy the whole time he was telling me those stories. He knew that I was aware of his stares, but he couldn't help himself. He'd look me in the eyes a bit but would always return to more interesting places such as my cleavage.

"Ah, I need to go the the restroom a minute, Jen."

As he shakily rose from the table, I immediately spotted the big bulge in the front of his pants.

"Uh, Bill..."

"What?"

" Well, to be blunt about it, if you're going to the restroom to take care of that boner you're sportin', I know a better way."

"And just what would that be?"

"Come up to my room with me. I see you lodged me on the floor with the infamous honeymoon room. Maybe we'll both see something."

"I don't know about you, Jen, but I sure know what I want to see."

Bill dropped enough money on the table to pay for our food and drink plus a tip. We immediately decamped for my room. Once safely inside, Bill wasted no time. He must of really worked himself up while we talked as he none-too-gently and quickly got me out of my skimpy clothing.

"God. You're on hell of a piece of womanhood, Jen. Just gorgeous."

"Im sure glad you think so, Bill. Now let me at you."

I dropped his trousers and boxers in a flash and just as quickly dropped myself to my knees. His cock found an immediate home in my mouth. I'd had much bigger, but he'd do nearly as well. While I was working happily away on his pocket rocket, he divested himself of the rest of his clothing. That task completed, I felt his two hands clamp on the back of my head and pull me into his pubic bone.

The action went on for couple of hours: it was a real fuck and suck session. For a college boy, he must of had a lot of experience because he was really good.

In post coital languor, I asked him, "Bill, what will Sharon think about what you've just done?"

"Who cares, Jen. She won't let me do more than just kiss her on the mouth until we're mairried. When she finally makes up her mind, I might have moved on unless she quits stalling. Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy life as it comes at me."

"None-the-less, Bill, I'm going to be around, sight seeing, a day or two. But I think this better be our only session together. No use pushing Sharon too hard, at least I don't want to. But I will say, you sure know what a woman's purpose is. I just hope your Sharon finds out in time to keep you."

Since Bill knew he was shut off after our session, he pushed me into one more good fuck. He didn't have to push very hard. But at last, he kissed me good-bye and left. I slept undisturbed through the night. In fact, by the time I checked out after one more night stay, I'd not seen nor heard hide-nor-hare of any ghosts. Hurrah, maybe I'd dumped my ghost experiences for good.

At any rate, I was back on old Route 66 and headed for points west. I planned another delay though. Williams was next on the map and the Grand Canyon. I had to make the detour to see that. Depending on what time I arrived, I intended to use one or two days to take the tour.

But first, Williams, Arizona.

Williams has remained alive while other small towns died, or nearly so, when Route 66 was realigned or later replaced by I-40 because of its proximity to the south rim of the Grand Canyon. So close, that the town has become famous as the "Gateway to the Grand Canyon."

I planned to stay at the Fay Marcos Hotel and use the Grand Canyon Railway from the depot across the street from the hotel to get to the canyon. By the way, the hotel was the result of another of those collaborations between the Santa Fe Railroad and the Harvey Company. So, my first stop was the hotel to get a room.