Ron's Journal 03A

"All I got was teasing, so yeah, I pretty much ignored all their friends. Even the ones with nice tits and legs. I stayed away from the house as much as I could. Wow, Whisper, what are you doing here, all the way across the country? Where you going?"

"I'm just thumbing around. Right now, I'm headed for Cleveland, to see friends. Where are YOU going?"

"Buffalo is next, then Toronto. But first I gotta get a ride. This has been a bad place to be stuck."

"You said you were about to give up. Were you going to crash around here?"

"I was checking out that grove of trees over there. They look like they'll provide enough cover."

"I've had a pretty weary day too. Mind if I crash with you? We can try thumbing in the morning."

We hid ourselves in a clearing in the underbrush behind the grove of trees, a little ways away from the highway. I rigged my tarp overhead. We spread blankets and sleeping bags. We dined on jerky and crackers and dried fruit and nuts and cheap bad Mad Dog 20-20 wine. We snuggled together and chatted -- barely acquaintances, far from home. But we were building a tentative friendship.

"I remember you fairly well from when I was at your house. I never crushed on you, but I thought you were kinda cute, even if a bit weird and hyper and stuff. Those weren't very good times for you, were they?"

"I can't tell you how lousy it was there," I sighed. "I couldn't wait to escape."

Whisper snuggled closer and kissed me. "Hey Ron, I... do you wanna fuck, Ron?"

"Yeah, Whisper, I'd like that," I said, pulling her closer, kissing her harder.

We peeled each other's clothes off and snuggled closer under our sleeping bags. Neither of us was really clean enough for oral-genital joy, so we kissed faces and chests, and used our hands well. Whisper came three times under my fingers, moaning and squirming and leaking, my thumb on her clit, my mouth and my other hand on her stiff freckled nipples.

After her third juicy orgasm, I thought, "Fuck it!" and shoved my mouth into her messy but happy pussy. She got even happier. After the first handjob spurt-o-rama, Whisper evidently reached the same "fuck it!" conclusion. She pulled herself atop me in an energetic 69 and slurped my slimy cock. We feasted forever, at least until she came a few more times and I fiercely spurted again. We lay together, gasping.

"Wow Ron, I wish I'd gotten you alone a couple years ago!" Whisper stroked my flaccid fucktoy.

"I probably wouldn't have been much fun then. But this is pretty nice now." I rubbed her breasts.

We drank more lousy strong wine, kissed some more, fucked some more, snuggled closely, and slept. I woke around oh-dark-thirty hours and quietly watered a tree, then crawled back in for more zeees. I almost woke again sometime later when Whisper crawled out and back in again. We spooned together, and snored softly.

We woke sometime after sunrise, kissed again, fucked again, snuggled again, then roused ourselves to pee and dress and pool our food resources. Together, we had (among other stuff) a can of Sterno, some dried milk, instant coffee, water, granola, and raisins -- enough for a fairly festive breakfast, road-wise.

Thumbing together did the trick. We got fast rides all the way to Erie, the last fork in our roads. Our parting was bittersweet. We expected to never meet again. But we did, eight years later, at a Rainbow Festival in New Mexico. I'll tell that story in another chapter.

Whisper thumbed westward. I thumbed northeast. I found myself in Buffalo on a stormy day.

NEXT: Buffalo and Beyond.