Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Santa Monica

JEN: GETTING HER KICKS ON ROUTE 66

SANTA MONICA, CA ©

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MF+FF+masturbation+oral+incest

[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]

NOTE: This is number nine in a series. Readers won't know the background or carry-over from previous installments unless installments are read chronologically from number one, CHICAGO.

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Only three-hundred and twenty miles to go across California.

My goal's insight! The ride sure has been one humdinger. Miss Swifty, carrying Sue Ellen and I crossed the Arizona-California state line at Needles which lies 1,941 miles past Go. Can't say as I felt any different for arriving in California except for feeling very warm--more like hot. I was, at that point, entering the Mohave Desert. Miss Swifty's air conditioning was a Godsend. Sue Ellen and I rode along in peaceful silence for some time.

"Jen?"

"What, Sue Ellen?"

"Where are we or what's out there in the dark.

"Desert and ghost towns. Nearly ghost towns in some cases."

"Oh."

"Well,Sue Ellen, west of the Colorado River, leaving Topock, Arizona for for Needles, California and points west, Route 66 runs through the very dry and hot Mojave Desert that I just mentioned. Although hot, the road is good. By 1934, the entire stretch of Route 66 across California had been paved."

"So why are we crossing in the dark?"

"Let me put it this way, Sue Ellen. The Joads, in John Stenbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, chose to cross it at night to avoid, "[getting] the livin' daylights burned outa us if we go in daylight."

"Oh, yeah, dumb me."

Duh!

"The desert is a bleak plateau cut by scores of untillable valleys, shimmering in the scorching sunlight by day and a dark, shadowy, erie, and, not to mention, cold place in the pale moonlight. The road climbs and drops in and out of those sinks. If you could see it in daylight, Sue Ellen, the desert is unrelieved in its desolation except after rare rains,"

"What happens when it rains?"

"Then Sue Ellen, the desert become a thing of absolute beauty. That's when a thorny mantle of delicate colored vegetation of every possible hue literally blazes into flower."

"Desert sand turns into a garden of delight. Is that it?"

"You got it, Sue Ellen. You got it."

Silence for a while again.

Far ahead of us, we see the rise of the blue bulk of the San Gabriel Mountains. The highway runs steadily toward them between hills of jumbled beauty, passing through widely spaced, "towns," mere groups of tourist cabins or motels grouped around gas stations and lunchrooms--to the desert city of Barstow.

And that's what I planned to do, pass on through. My ultimate destination, ever since I left Grant Park in Chicago was to tool down this old Mother Road in Miss Swifty, has been Santa Monica, California, at the other end of the road. My ultimate goal is to get fucked silly at twilight in the surf at Santa Monica much like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in the movie, From Here To Eternity. I know, they were in Halona Cove on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, but at least Santa Monica is a Pacific beach.

Needles, California was only some twelve miles away and I planned to hold up there until about midnight before making the one hundred sixty seven miles across the Mojave Desert to Barstow. It was August and boiling hot to try to make that trip in the light of day--even with air conditioning in the car.

The clock read three in the afternoon when Sue Ellen and I pulled into needles, fueled my Vette and had her checked over. I found us a room in the 66 motel, another of those landmarks of the Mother Road. I set my travel alarm for ten p.m. and promptly conked out on my side of the bed, clothes and all, dead asleep in less than two minutes. I think Sue followed pretty close behind me, but I was already out.

The loud yammering of the alarm woke me precisely at ten. I was groggy, and even with air conditioning, I was sweaty and needed freshening up. I had to shake Sue Ellen to get her up and started. I trooped into the bathroom and stripped naked. When I stepped out to dry, Sue Ellen took her shower.

I stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and admired my reflection. Back then I was twenty-three, with natural, flaming red hair, top and bottom, and in those days, still sported a full but neatly trimmed bush. My boobs measured a swinging 38C and I had an athletically fit and honed body to match. I'd been driving hard for some time without sex and was horny as hell.

Thinking about sex got me even more horny and my left hand drifted to my pussy and slowly caressed the soft folds of skin that it found there. My right hand found my boobs and also moved in soft caresses. My nipples hardened into erection, poking stiffly out about a quarter of an inch. My boobs tingled at my touch and my hand moved faster on them. Tweaking my nipples sent electric sparks into my core to meet the electric sparks coming up from my pussy.

My left hand had gotten my pussy wet and slick. My middle finger was cruising up and down my slit, getting very wet and sticky. A I emitted a loud moan, my finger slipped into my cunt canal and disappeared to the joint at its base. I curled my finger and drug it along the top of my canal until I hit my G-Spot. That got another, deep moan out of me and I tickled that spot mercilessly.

Well, that did it. I let go, squirting in orgasm, spraying the door mirror. I grabbed my big dildo off the counter and plunged it into my pussy as deep as it would go. What more could a girl ask? Maybe a real cock? Yeeeaaaaahhhh, if only I had one in front of me.

Damn, now I'll need another shower. But that sure felt good, anyway. It was worth it.

"Jen, what're you doing out there? As if I didn't know."

The shower curtain was opaque, not transparent but it certainly wasn't soundproof. Undoubtedly, my groans and squeals gave me away.

"Why don't you come in and join me, Jen. I need some TLC, too."

I did. And we did. Express some TLC that is. God, did we ever.

However, by that time, more than an hour had passed and we needed to get going. At the coffee bar, I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and two sweet rolls. Sue Ellen right behind me. The middle aged waitress came over and sat down.

"Mind if I join you two for some coffee. Business is slow right now and I could use a little chat with some coffee. Name's Grace."

"No, not at all, please do, but it'll cost you. My name's Jen, by the way. My friend her is Sue Ellen."

"Cost me? Whada ya tallinn' about?" Grace had started back to her feet.

"Just some information, Grace, so please sit back down. I'd like to know about the area around Needles, its history and such."

Grace sat back down.

"That's not difficult for me. I moved here with my husband over forty years ago and learned a lot in that time."

"Where's your husband now? What's he do?"

"Oh, he died five years ago. Heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Grace."

"Oh, that's ok, ole Ed wasn't much of husband anyway. Always gone 'prospecting' in the hills, he was."

"So, Grace, what can you tell me about Needles and the area?"

This was going to cost us some darkness time to get across the Mohave, but I really did like to get the local flavor of information I'd already accumulated in my pre-trip research. I just relaxed, sat back, and listened. Sue Ellen hadn't said a word--yet.

"Well, Jen, to begin with, Needles was named for the sharp pointed peaks of the nearby Mojave Mountain Range. A railroad tent city grew into solid buildings when the Southern Pacific Railroad when through in 1883."

"I noticed the silhouette of those sharp points when I arrived yesterday afternoon. I can see the connection with the naming of Needles."

"The railroad again," said Sue Ellen. It sure seems to have played a significant part in the founding of many a western town. Was that true of Needles as well?"

"Yes, it was. When the original depot burned down, it was replaced by the El Garces Harvey House and Depot, named in honor of Father Francisco Garces, a missionary who visited the area in 1776. Do you know what the Harvey Houses were, Jen."

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with those chain hotel/restaurants established by Mr. Harvey. His imported and highly chaperoned waitresses became known as the Harvey Girls. I think it was a Fred Harvey that built those all along the Santa Fe right-of-way. in fact, I believe he was in partnership with the. railroad."

"Ah, you do indeed know."

"And was this one as grand as some of his other ones?" Sue Ellen again.

"Oh, for sure. By some, it was considered the "Crown Jewel" of the entire Harvey chain. Management and the Harvey Girls lived in quarters upstairs above the restaurant. Legend has it that many a railroader of the early part of this century would climb atop the rail cars during late afternoon stops at the El Garces, hoping they could spot some of the girls relaxing in their nightgowns outside their living quarters."

"What a bunch of pervert Peeping Toms!"

"Whatever, but Needles was around before Route 66 took over the old road and assumed the new name and it's still around today. It will likely be here for quite some time to come."

"I see the time's gettin on, Grace. Let me take your tab along with ours. If we're going to get across the Mojave before daylight, we'd best get moving. It sure was nice chatting with you."

"Sure was, Jen. Sue Ellen, Hope to see you again."

"You never can tell, one or both of us just might get back this way again some time. Bye."

"Bye," added Sue Ellen.

"Bye, Jen. Sue Ellen."

Back on the road, Miss Swifty purred in the coolness of the night. we would drive through several wide spots in the road, some of which, were already ghost towns or nearly so. Goffs, just thirty miles west was on the original route of the Mother Road but already bypassed in 1931 by one of those realignments on the way to Essex (another wide spot). We needed to keep going.

Next up was Amboy at 2,018 miles past Go. Same story. But, just a few miles past Amboy, the road passes the crater of an extinct volcano. It continues on through the desert and a little place called, Bagdad, on its way to Ludlow. Little remains of Bagdad, just a railroad sign post with the name of the town and a few pieces of broken concrete.

Ludlow at 2,047 miles past Go, in its day, was a hard rock mining center and loading point on the railroad for that ore. Beyond Ludlow, lies Newberry Springs at 2,080 miles past Go. This latter town was the location for filming of the movie Bagdad Cafe in 1987. I saw the movie and recall that I'd once driven through the place.

Twelve miles later, we went through Daggett at 2,092 miles past Go. Ahead, we saw the glow cast by the lights of Barstow. Dawn was still several hours away.

"Is Barstow famous for anything, Jen?"

"Some. But let's pull in for some coffee. Besides, I gotta pee again."

so, we stopped to stretch and pee. We ambled over to a nearby all night cafe and stepped into the small eatery for coffee and food (I decided I was hungry after all) and sat at a table for four. We sat in peaceful silence while we waited for our order.

A real studly type ambled over to our table and said, "I saw you pull in and I'm looking for a ride, so I wondered where you're headed."

He looked interesting enough for me to tell him, "Have a seat and we can talk."

This guy was the tall, dark, and handsome type with those so called, "smoldering brown eyes," who could easily pass as a college football player. The bulge in the front of his pants also told me he was hung pretty well.

I was dressed in my usual traveling outfit of sandals, tight short shorts, and loose halter top. That probably had something to do with the bulge in his pants. Sue Ellen, as usual, was dressed a bit more conservatively than I.

I asked him, "Where're you headed?"

"I'm going to Cucamonga to my sister's place before going back to UCLA for my senior year."

"That's, uh what," I paused looking at my unfolded map itinerary for a moment, "about a hundred miles from here?"

"Yeah, about that, I guess." "Well, you're in luck, stud, in two ways. First, I'm going your way. In fact, I'll be going right through Cucamonga on my way to the end of Route 66 at Santa Monica. Second, you're in luck in that my fee to take you along is to service me on demand. In other words, fuck my brains out when I want you to!"

"Holy Shit," he replied, "Who'd be foolish enough to turn down that offer? You're on," he said.

"Hold on a minute," I said, "There is one BIG catch and one little catch.

"I knew your offer was too good to be true. What's the BIG catch?"

"Me." That was Sue Ellen, who up to that point had been silent.

"Oh, yeah, I didn't stop to think."

Sue Ellen's reposte was quick. "That's because any thinking you were doing was with your little head and not your big head."

"Sue Ellen!" That was me.

"No, She's right, Jen. I was totally shoving her out of the picture by simply ignoring her presence."

"Well, she has been unusually quiet, even moody for the last several hours."

"It's oK, Jen. What I've been quietly mulling over in my mind since we left this morning was this. I've an old boyfriend a short drive away from here. I've been trying to decide if I should try to get in touch with him again. If I did, I'd be leaving you and I didn't want to just run out on you."

"Why don't you use the pay phone over there and give him a call. You still got his number?"

"Yeah, the number's still in my little book. But call him at this late hour?"

"Was he a really close boyfriend?"

"We fucked a lot, if that's what you mean. But yeah, we were really close. we didn't really want to part--it was just circumstances that forced us in different directions."

"Go call him, he won't mind you gettin' him up. He doesn't have a live in woman with him, does he?"

"Not that I know of, Jen."

"Go call him."

"OK."

Jen left for the phone booth.

"Now, where were we, stud?"

"I don't mind you callin' me 'Stud,' but my name's Jay."

"I'd rather call you Stud."

"And I gather from the conversation you had with Sue Ellen that your name's Jen."

"Yes, so I guess all that part's settled."

"So, you mentioned a big catch and a little catch. What's the little catch?"

"The little catch is, I want you to accompany me all the way to Santa Monica to fulfill a fantasy of mine. If you're really good, I might drive you back to Cucamonga. Do you think you could give up your visit with your sister to ride along with me?"

"Just out of curiosity, what's the fantasy?"

"To fuck my brains out on the surf at Santa Monica a la Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here To Eternity!"

"In that case, I see no problem. I'm really 'good' as you put it and I can see my sister another time. I'm more than game."

"OOOH, that sounds so hip, Jen." That was Sue Ellen who had rejoined us, standing quietly to the side, but within listening distance."

"So, girl, how'd you make out with the boyfriend?"

"He'll be here to pick me up in half an hour. Care for some more coffee or are you in too big a hurry to get to that surf?"

"More coffee sounds fine to me," said Jay.

"Great," said Sue.

"Well, I guess you can pour me another cup then," said I.

The three of us chatted quietly and steadily over our coffee. The time passed swiftly. Before we knew it, a gorgeous hunk of maleness came in, looked around, and beat a direct line to our table. Sue Ellen's eyes lit up so brightly, the table nearly glowed. Oh, that girl had it bad for that man.

Introductions were made all 'round, but little time was wasted before Sue Ellen and her beau were out the door and gone.

"Wow, who swept who off their feet in that one, Jay?"

"Jay? What happened to Stud?"

"I'll save stud for when you've proven it and when we're alone if you deserve it."

"Fine with me. Do we have any reason to hang around here any longer?"

"None that I know, Jay."

So, Jay paid the bill before we went outside and climbed into Miss Swifty, Jay behind the wheel at my gesture, and took off for San Bernadino some eighty miles south.

We had the windows all down, enjoying the cool air rushing through. I decided to make things interesting by dropping my halter top. Of course, Jay noticed immediately as my swinging 38s popped free. Likewise, I noticed an instant bulge growing between his legs.

"Just be sure you watch the road at least some of the time, big boy, this is no time to bang up Miss Swifty?.

"Maybe not, but I'd sure like to bang you up, Jen."

"In due time, boy, in due time."

We were moving through Barstow on Route 66. Not much to see in the darkness and we'd be well out of town after sunrise.

"Know anything about this town, Jay?"

"Not much, how 'bout you?"

"Some. It got its name to honor William Barstow Strong."

"Who was he, Jen."

"He was a former president of the Santa Fe Railroad."

"Figures."

"The area, including nearby settlements of Daggett and Calico, had already become a thriving mining center when silver was discovered in the Calico Mountains. That was, uh, in 1882, I think. The town was founded in 1888, when the Santa Fe tracks were laid through the area. When the silver played out, it was the railroad that saved Barstow while the other settlements around became ghost towns or simply melted back into the desert."

"That figures as well, Jen."

"The coming of Route 66 further extended the life of Barstow. The town's Harvey Hotel, the Casa Del Desierto, was another help. It boasted a huge ball room and hosted many a local dance or other social event in addition to catering to the Model T travelers of the day--just like so many other places along the route of the Santa Fe Railroad."

"Good ole Route 66, eh Jen?"

"That's right, Jay. I also know that Barstow, or in reality, a point just east of Barstow, was the historic big fork of Route 66"

"Whada ya mean by, 'fork'?"

"I mean that a lot of the travelers headed to California continued west from here and on to Bakersfield. The 'Oakies" like the Judds in Stienbeck's book, for example. Those people would end up in central California. But they no longer traveled on Route 66."

"Why not, Jen?"

"Because Route 66 didn't go that way. The Mother Road turned south-southwest out of Barstow to head for Victorville and the ultimate drop down to Los Angeles. That's why."

"I never knew that Jen. I always just assumed, I guess, that Route 66 continued straight west all the way through to the middle of the state."

"That's a common misconception. Most of the Oakies were looking for the supposedly readily available jobs in the central valley and the legends of the road are misleading as to the road's actual route within California. Los Angeles always was the intended start/end for Route 66 and Chicago the other end. All the way from Chicago to L.A. or vise versa."

"Well, I guess you learn something new everyday."

Reaching the end of the main drag, Jay reversed our course on my instructions so we could head back east of town to the "fork." Our route then lay south/southwest along the meandering course of the Mohave River, taking in Lenwood, Helendale, and Oro Grande on a leisurely way to Victorville. Only the last named had anything of note left to see.

"The route were taking through here, the so called Oro Grande Route of 66, has been familiar to travelers for literally hundreds of years."