Ron's Journal 03

Being a wandering minstrel, I never slept alone in that house. I especially remember Monica, a round-faced and -breasted Cree girl with a red rose tattooed around her navel, who sang wordlessly when she came. And her girlfriend Lisa, a short Chinese gal from Vancouver, who loved to eat Monica while being fucked doggy-style.

When Monica's back arched and her belly raised skyward, her rose bloomed. So did Lisa's smile.

We stood naked together. Monica leaned back against my chest, turning her head so we could kiss. I fondled her full-moon breasts from behind, brushing and tweaking her nipples. Lisa kissed Monica's neck, then raised Monica's arm and snuffled her armpit, inhaling deeply, licking and blowing.

Lisa moved across Monica's front, kissing her nipples through my fingers, and snuffled her other armpit. Then Lisa knelt down to bury her face in Monica's celestial cunt, sniffing and licking and humming, and tongue-fucking her meaty hole while reaching between her legs to jerk my stiff cock. Monica sang an erotic aria as she poured ecstatic juice into Lisa's mouth. My semen soon followed.

Monica and I pushed Lisa onto her back on the mattress on the floor, then moved ourselves to Lisa's feet. We each kissed our way up Lisa's calves and knees, then slowly conquered her thighs.

"Yeah," Lisa exhaled.

Monica and I worked together into Lisa's bush, thoroughly licked her labia, tongue-wrestled her clit.

"Oh fuck yeah..."

Monica settled into chewing on Lisa's lissome pussy while I move forward, across her chest, straddled her head, and pushed my stiffening cock into her expectant mouth. I leaned back so my hands could palpate her paps and twist her nutritious nipples. I'm lucky Lisa didn't bite my cock off when she climaxed.

My intact hardon nozzle was looking for a home. Monica pulled Lisa atop her in a 69. On my knees, I moved behind Lisa's butt, carefully lined up, and inserted myself deeply in her cunt. She moaned into Monica's muff. I fucked slowly, my balls bouncing off Monica's forehead as Lisa's mouth vibrated atop Monica's vulva. Then I went faster, harder, the usual, until we all quivered and grunted and groaned at about the same time.

We fell apart, and came back together in a triad daisychain, me eating Lisa eating Monica eating me. Then we switched around. Yum. All our lips were pretty puffy by now. And the fun continued all night.

"Holy fuck, Ron, did you eat Spanish Fly or something? You've been hard for hours!"

"When I've got two beautiful girls like you here, there's just no way I'll go soft."

"Well, you've been screwing Monique for about forever. I want that cock inside ME now."

"Your wish, my command, fair lady," I said as I happily re-entered Lisa, and stroked.

"Oh shit Ron, you feel even bigger than before! I'm gonna have to glue you inside me."

Sure, the sex was fun. But sex was about the only affordable entertainment Winnipeg had to offer me. So I got on the bus and left.

___

I had been on one long bus-ride a couple years before. Grandma put me on a Continental Trailways cruiser to Oklahoma City for a summer session at Oral Roberts University (ORU). I must say that Brother Oral was the slickest, most charismatic person I have EVER encountered, even if he is mental.

I liked ORU. I met kids from all over the world. My best friend there was Masud from Nigeria.

On both legs of the bus ride to and from ORU, I sat with some cute Evangelical girls from Fresno in the back of the bus and we had some nice smooching fun. Too bad we didn't get a chance to be fertile and replenish the Earth. We didn't even get Oral-genital. Darn.

Back to the story: I bussed from Winnipeg to St Louis to San Francisco. I got off in Reno for a 1-hour layover. I had wandered less than a block when a cop stopped me and directed me to return to the bus station and not show my face in Reno again. Wow.

I crashed with friends in Berkeley for a few days, then thumbed down to San Diego and crashed with my older cousin Dane. Whenever he went bar-hopping, he would return with two girls, and share for debauched fun. What a friend!

I was dozing on Dane's couch around 3:00 AM when the condo door crashed open.

"Hey Ron, this here is Suzy, and that's Lucy, and they're both hotter'n'hell!"

"Is that the little cousin you were talking about? Lordy, he's a big one!"

"C'mon Lucy, let's get naked, and I'll bet he gets even bigger!"

And they did. And I did. Drunk chicks are fun, while they last.

We had the girls bent over the couch back, side-by-side. Dane and I were behind them, him pounding redhead Suzy while I pistoned in blond Lucy. We swapped every few minutes. Their squeals devolved into continued groaning. They may both have been unconscious when we came our last times.

Yeah, drunk girls are easy.

I stayed at Dane's, and worked in a Christmas tree lot for a month, saving up money. I became sensitized to conifer sap. Too many evergreens, dripping sap. I hated the smell of pine resin for years afterward.

I hit the road again. In mid-winter, I hitchhiked eastward, towards Boston, for more life in the rough. I ended up stuck in the East Village in New York City. And everything changed again.

NEXT: New York's a lonely town.

******************** 6: East Village, N.Y.C. -- Up Against the Wall, MoFo

I was in for another hitchhiking marathon, with surprises. I wanted to thumb eastward along a southern route, but my rides went elsewhere.

Long rides took me the length of the unfinished I-15 highway from San Diego to Havre, Montana on the Canadian border. I saw the northern lights. I shivered.

I warmed up a little in Milwaukee, froze again in Cleveland, and finally set foot on the corner of Bleecker and MacDougal in N.Y.C. Green-Witch Village! The folk-singer's Mecca! Yeah, well, stuff happens.

___

After various mis-steps and rip-offs and other bothers that kept me confined to N.Y.C., I found myself residing in an X-flat off Tompkins Square, heart of the East Village. X-flats are condemned buildings, with a big X painted over each window. Water and power still run, there is no rent, and anybody who dares can stay.

I dared to stay, in a sixth-floor walk-up. A front room with a fire escape overlooking noxious East 10th Street; a kitchen with a covered bathtub; a small back room, my private space. The only furnishings were whatever we could find at the Free Store or abandoned on street corners, and haul upstairs.

For a while, I ran the place as a crashpad. For a while, it seemed like every damn underage runaway from Morristown NJ was crashed on my floor. I avoided sex with those kids; they all had lice, or worse. A guy in another flat in the back of the building had a pet howler monkey. Shit, what a stink, and what noise!

Two sweet gals, in their early 20s, lived across the hall from me.

Linda was a little taller than Dale, whose head almost came up to my shoulders. Both had long straight black hair and hazel eyes, and both favored wearing paisley silk scarves and little else when at home. Their open door was a portal into a magical sensual world.

I was often invited for evening kama sutra yoga sessions.

Candles lit, incense burning, passing a hashish pipe, we all sat naked in semi or full lotus position on the padded floor, clustered together, knees touching, hands holding hands, a holy triangle.

We moved into each other's laps, and kissed and palpated and fondled, and eventually shifted to the next lap. Ommm...

I seem to recall a bunch of 69s and daisychains and other triplings too. Linda on her back with my cock lodged in her cunt and Dale sitting on Linda's face while kissing me -- then switch. Dale mounted on me reverse-cowgirl while Linda lay prone between our outstretched legs, licking our holy junction. The hash was great so my memory is a little fuzzy now.

I was very sad when they received their paychecks from their new jobs a couple weeks later, and moved out, taking their huge 27-pound orange cat (Omar The Bear) with them.

___

I eventually tired of the crashers, and of panhandling. I cleared the runaways out, cleaned up the place, and looked for work. What I found was casual day labor: digging ditches, hauling garbage, toting huge rolls of fabric in Hell-like garment shops, and demolition work.

I needed to drink a lot of cheap strong wine in order to endure the backbreaking labor. But I only had to work on the days I wanted or needed to, and I sure built up my muscles.

Some assignments were less exhausting. I was sent to a warehouse in Brooklyn to fill cans of specialty paints and lacquers on a sparse assembly line for a couple weeks. The bookkeeper, a young milk-chocolate woman from Jamaica, took a liking to me. We screwed on the dayroom table while Aretha sang RESPECT from the radio.

I forget where or how I encountered Clem The Chemist -- short-haired, mid-sized, mid-20s, slick, gay, Jewish, and a brilliant underground chemist. He always dressed in dark blue turtlenecks under black casual suits.

Clem helped develop a number of the designer drugs of the era, mostly hallucinogenic analogs of amphetamines like MDA and that stuff. For some reason, he adopted me as a friend, not a sex partner, and constantly brought me treats of food and vitamins and drugs and tools. He really liked to hear me play guitar.

I kept in contact with Clem for many years, even after I later joined the Army and he was sent to various federal prisons.

___

Clem also inadvertently changed my life totally. It happened because he sometimes stored precursor chemicals in my flat.

Police arrived one day, a whole task force of city and state and federal cops. They did not find Clem, and none of the chemicals were actually illegal. But some were volatile. So I was charged with possession of explosives.

I spent a night in The Tombs, the ancient noxious city prison. I was arraigned and released on my recognizance, provided I did not try to leave N.Y.C. So I was stuck there, with the prospect of a LONG prison term. Oh fuck.

I had been exchanging letters with little blonde MariLyn Hermann of my high-school sextapades. Yeah, she became a pen-pal too. I told her of my situation, of the strong chance I could be locked up for a long long time and never see the outside world again.

MariLyn took action. The Hermanns' summer vacation plans included a family cross-country drive to Pennsylvania. Bethany would stay behind for a university summer session, but the rest would motor eastward. MariLyn insisted they would bring her to my door and leave her with me for the rest of my days of freedom.

The Hermanns were appalled by my living conditions but kept quiet about it. She waved at her parents and brother as they left. She would not see them again for a long time, we thought.

We climbed back up the six flights of stairs, collapsed on my mattress, and we screwed for the very first time. And we screwed again and again. And then we sat up for 18 hours, talking. And then we screwed again, and again, and yet again. I had just popped my very first virgin.

We soon found she was off the Pill and fertile, and I was shooting live ammo, and she was pregnant. We married one evening in the parsonage of a very liberal Methodist church in the West Village, officiated by the sandal-clad pastor, his wife the only witness. The wedding ring was cheap. Our future was cloudy.

I kept working day labor, and drinking lots of cheap wine for pain relief. We moved to various cheap rooms, one on Cooper Square, one in an ancient hotel on lower Broadway near NYU that later collapsed.

Fellow tenants included Holocaust survivors who screamed all night, and male hustlers, and bikers who robbed graves to sell skulls to Satanists. Nice neighbors, hey?

I kept going to court. Every hearing was delayed, recessed, held over another week, whatever. Then, finally, miraculously, it was all over. The arresting officer never showed up. The judge learned that this officer had gone on vacation rather than appear for hearings. The case was thrown out.

I was free! But now I was married. Oh fuck.

NEXT: California, here I cum.