An Untimely Rip

Those were freer times back then. Everybody did their own thing, and we respected that. I was crashing in a pad with a bunch of people and they were groovy; everybody put in a little for rent and we came and went when we wanted. The day I'm talking about was a gorgeous spring morning, a little before noon, and I felt like hitchhiking up to the mountains. We used to do stuff like that, get an idea and go do it, and we weren't afraid of our fellow human beings. I didn't think to bring anything to eat or drink, didn't tell anybody where I was going. I didn't think about what I was wearing, just a t-shirt and the same old worn-out jeans covered with patches as always, some old cowboy boots and a straw hat. No underwear, no sunscreen, no jacket or sweatshirt in case it got cold, I figured if I needed something while I was out, karma would bring it to me.

I walked out of the house into the sunshine and stuck out my thumb on Quarry Road. It was good conditions to get picked up: plenty of traffic, stop light half a block away, sure enough a guy stopped in about three minutes.

"Where ya going, man?"

"Mount Rankin, I guess," I said.

"You guess?"

"Yeah well that's where I'm planning to go."

"I'm going as far as Watson's."

"Far out, man."

The guy was a little older than me, I guess, driving a mud-splattered, rusty Catalina. He pulled out a joint and we shared it as he drove. Things were like that then. The underground radio station was playing a new Airplane song, the desert was green and happy-looking.

"Hey man, how long did it take your hair to get like that?" he asked me as we drove along.

"I don't know," I said, "Since high school, I guess. They made me cut it to graduate. Three years, almost exactly."

"Yeah, fuckin' high school," he said. "Well I gotta cut my hair or my boss would have a shit-fit. Same thing, fuckin' job, it's as bad as high school."

I guess that was his way to tell me he wasn't actually as straight as he looked. That's got to be bad, some boss telling you how you have to look. The cat was okay, we rapped about music and chicks and dope and then he dropped me off at Watson's.

I don't why it was called Watson's, or why it had a name at all. It was just a crossroads out past the last neighborhood, kind of the boundary between the civilization of the city and the wild uncertainty of the desert. Amsterdam Highway was a little-used two-lane that went straight to the top of Rankin, if you wanted to go that far. I figured I'd go up to Springville, hang out, hike a little, maybe get naked back in a canyon and swim in the creek, soak up some sun, hitch back before dark. I didn't really have a plan, just enjoy the day.

I stuck out my thumb and it was about one minute before three chicks in a Chevy picked me up, headed toward the mountain. Except they weren't going up, they were just going a couple of miles. Cool. They were friendly and we had a nice ride, I sat in the back with one of them and we all talked and passed around a joint. See, this is where it's at, man, everybody was feeling groovy. When they pulled over to let me out we sat and talked for a couple more minutes, no hurry. I felt like the one in the back was interested in me but, you know, there'll be another time and another chick. They tore off down a dirt road, leaving a trail of dust that hung in the dry air like fog.

It was a pretty good spot, room to pull off, easy to see, and in a few minutes a pickup truck pulled over, with some people in the back. One guy in the cab, driving; he leaned over and rolled the window down, "Where you going, man?"

"Springville, I guess," I said.

"Far out," he said. "Hop on into the back."

This is where fate took a sharp, unexpected turn. These were some old blue jeans, I guess I didn't realize how old. Maybe I'd had them since high school, a long time ago. They were covered with patches, you know, patches on top of patches basically, and I just hadn't thought about it. I threw my leg over the side of the truck and those jeans ripped from one knee to the other, through the crotch, with a sound like a power transformer blowing up, z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-p! Wide open. I pulled myself up and heard the sound and looked down to see my dick hanging out, and I looked up and there were three young women sitting there staring at me. They were not looking at my face, they were staring at my crotch.

Dig it, man, I was cool, but this was a little awkward no matter how you look at it.

I pulled myself over into the back of the truck and sat with my back against the cab. My hair didn't blow into my face too much if I was up against the front of the pickup bed. Two chicks were sitting on the wheel wells and the other was sitting across from me. They were all about my age, twenty or twenty-one, and foxes, each in her way. They were all grinning at me like their faces were going to split open. I casually tried to arrange myself so I wasn't exposed to the whole world.

"Howdy ladies," I said. "Uh, I guess my pants ripped."

"Oh?" said one. "I didn't notice. Did you, girls?"

"No." "Nope." I definitely felt like they were making fun of me. It was like they say, we're not laughing with you, we're laughing at you. But I couldn't tell.

"Did they rip bad?" asked a brunette sitting on a wheel well, a sweet chick with straight hair hanging down from a straw cowboy hat that had a curled-down brim, kind of like Pigpen or that cat in Doctor Hook.

"Yeah," I said. "They're totally trashed." The truck got back onto the highway and we were rolling along. We had not come to the grade yet, the ride was pretty level.

"Are you going to be able to fix them?" another asked me, with a hint of a New York accent.

"Not till I get back home," I said. "Probably later tonight."

They sat silently, looking me over. I had my hands in my lap, trying to keep the fabric covering me, but I don't know how successful I was. They had already seen the whole thing, it's not like it mattered, really. "Where are y'all going?" I asked them.

"Oh, we're going to the Spring Jubilee church camp up past Springville a little ways. We're counselors there. We are actually the officers of the Young Adults Worship Circle. President, vice president and, uh, what are you again, Sally?"

"Secretary," the one across from me said.

"Church camp, huh?" I said. "So I guess y'all are real religious and everything."

"Oh yes," the second one said. She was wearing a t-shirt that clung tightly to her body, it said "One Way" with an arrow pointing upward, weaving crookedly between a pair of big, hard tits, well you had to see this. "We are very religious."

The third one spoke up. "Extremely religious. We pray all the time and everything."

I'm looking from one to the other. I had the feeling they were trying not to laugh but of course I didn't know what the joke was, or if there was one. Maybe they were just happy. Maybe they were laughing at me accidentally exposing myself to them, or maybe they hadn't noticed, or maybe they didn't care. We were rolling along, not fast, starting to climb a little bit. I was a little high but not bad.

The first one spoke. "Let's see those pants. Maybe there's something we could do for them."

"Oh, I don't think there's anything to do. They're totally torn out."

"Maybe we can do something."

"Well," I said. "I hate to say it, but I am not wearing any underwear, and if I showed you my torn pants you're going to see the rest of me, too. You see what the problem is?"

We bumped along the road for half a minute. The New York one said, "Actually, I don't see what the problem is. God made you, and He loves you. We won't judge you, if that's what you're worried about." The others murmured agreement.

And you know what was going on, right? I'm looking at these three very foxy chicks, and the little guy started growing down there. Making the situation even worse.

"No, I'm good," I said again.

They were smiling at me. "Maybe we can help."

They started just about begging me, so, I don't know what I was thinking. "Look, ladies, I don't want to flash you, but if you want to see what happened to my jeans, well here you are." I lifted my hands and shifted my legs so the tear was visible.

It would be great to go back and see a picture of their faces at that moment. I had thought I was just swelling a little bit but in fact my dick was hard as a rock. I didn't look down but I could feel it spring up when the pressure was removed, and I could see their faces.

"Oh my," said the brown-haired cutie in a baseball cap and pony tail sitting across from me, against the cab. She looked at the others. "I hadn't really expected that."

"I tried to tell you," I said.

The three of them were staring at my cock. The one in the cowboy hat said, "I don't see any way we can fix those pants. They're pretty much ruined."

After a minute, New York said, "It kind of looks like you might be in an aroused state, right?" They glanced at each other; again, they weren't laughing, were they?

"Well, I wouldn't really say that," I said. "I'm just trying to get out to the mountains, do a little hiking and stuff. This is an unusual situation, that's all. I'll be okay."

The fresh desert wind was blowing around in the pickup bed as we headed up the mountainside, clear sunshine, a gorgeous day. I felt a little weird sitting there with my hard-on being examined by three women.

The one with the ponytail sitting next to me said, "Can I touch that?"

"Touch what? Touch me?"

"Yes," she said. "Your erect penis."

"Do you know what happens when you touch it?"

"No. What?"

"I get more aroused," I said. "Right now I am mostly just embarrassed, sitting there exposed to three very groovy chicks. If you were to touch it, I would start feeling, you know, horny."

They looked at each other in alarm. The bold one with the ponytail spoke again. "Can you please try not to feel horny while I touch that?"

"Look," I said. "Being horny feels good to me, I like being horny. Of course it makes me feel like balling, so I'm just telling you, if you touch it you're going to make me horny. There's nothing I can do about that."

"I'd like to try touching it, too," said the brunette in the cowboy hat.

"Me, too," said the New Yorker.

"You chicks are too much, man," I said.

"Is that bad?" asked the one with the ponytail.

"Depends. Who's the cat up front?"

"Oh him, that's Fred. He works for the church or something. He's not paying any attention to us."

The one in the baseball cap had been leaning against the cab, across from me. Now she scooted across the bed of the truck, close beside me. "I'm going to touch it," she said.

I froze as she reached her hand across through a million miles of space in slow motion with an intergalactic chorus singing a cosmic timeless chord like the end of A Day in the Life. Boom, her fingers reached me. She poked my dick with her fingertip and watched it bounce, then looked around at the other interested faces. She poked it again.

"That is amazing," she said.

The New Yorker said, "Let me try." And she hopped down from her wheel-well to sit in front of me. Her face was about a foot from the tip of my erection, and she stared at it with an expression of curiosity. "Wow," she said. "That really is amazing." She reached out and pushed on it with her finger. "Oh wow, man" she said as it bounced around. I think she was trying to stop its bouncing; she wrapped her fingers around it and held it.

"That feels real good when you do that," I said.

"Really?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "You may or may not want me to experience pleasure, but if you do, you're on the right track."

"You're our guest, and we would want you to feel good while you're among us," she replied.

"Okay," I said. "You want me to feel good? Try tugging on it a little bit."

"Like this?" She yanked on it.

"No, not exactly," I said. "Pull on it so you can feel the skin moving but not the part inside."

She pumped it with her hand. "Oh, I see," she said. "Wow, that's a trip."

"That's good," I said. "See, when you do that, it feels good to me." I turned to the New Yorker. "Did you want to try?"

"I think so," she said. She knelt beside my knee, staring at my quivering cock. She put her hand on it and gave it a gentle pull.

"There ya go," I said, "That was good. Try it again."

Now the three of them had to try to improve their technique, taking turns. We're rolling along a quiet desert road through the beautiful mountain scenery, with palo verde trees and cactuses of various sorts, mesquite along the arroyos, I am about halfway high from some Mexican grass and these curious chicks are trying to figure out what they can do to my cock to make it feel good. See, you don't have days like that any more.

"Oh," one said, "What's this?"

"What's what?" I asked.

"It's dripping."

"Oh, yeah, that's a good thing. When it drips that means you're doing it right."

"But what is that stuff? It's not pee, is it?"

"No," I said, "It's not pee. I don't really know what you call it. At first, a little bit of juice comes out, it's kind of slippery and sticky." I touched the tip of my penis and showed them how the liquid would form a long strand as I pulled my finger away. "And then later, if you're really doing it right, eventually there will be kind of a lot of creamy fluid that shoots out, I think it's different stuff but I'm not sure." I touched my finger to my mouth and licked the juice off it.

They stared at me in amazement. "Did you just put that in your mouth?" one of them said.

"Sure."

"What did it taste like?"

"I guess it's a little salty, I don't know," I said.

"Wow," the ponytailed one with the hard tits said. Then she touched her fingertip to the tip of my penis and watched a strand form. "Should I taste it?" she asked the others. They stared silently, in awe. "I'm gonna," she said, and she put her fingertip between her lips and sucked the fluid off it. She smacked her lips, testing, and said, "It's not bad."

New York went next, she touched me with her finger and looked at a drop of the stuff. I said, "You know, if you pump it with your hand like you were doing a minute ago, you can probably get more juice out of it." She looked at me as if that were impossible, but the ponytailed one said, "I'll do that, you get the drop," and she began, well I don't know how else to put it, she began jacking me off while the other chick coated her fingertip with precum and took a taste.

"Oh wow," she said. "That is actually kind of tasty."

The one with the cowboy hat had been watching all this. She said, "What would happen if somebody just sipped the stuff directly from there," pointing at my dick.

"What do you mean, 'what would happen?'" I said.

"Well," she said, looking at my penis. "It looks like it would work. You shouldn't need to lick it off your finger when it's coming out right there."

I said, "That's a good point, you could get it fresh, like drinking from a spring."

She leaned forward, studying the situation. "It shouldn't take two people to do this."

I had to agree with her.

"Looking at it, I bet I could probably do it all myself with no hands, if I just use my lips to do what Lisa's hand was doing while I get a taste, directly. Like, I might be able to pump it like that but with my lips, and taste that stuff, all at once." She looked at me curiously. "Would that hurt?" she asked. "I mean, would that be okay with you, if I tried that?"

"What she was doing with her hand was far out," I said. "I would think lips would be softer and smoother and nicer, even."

She took off her cowboy hat and placed it under her knee where the wind wouldn't blow it away. "Okay," she said, looking at her friends. "Here goes nothing. I'm going to try it." The others were frozen in anticipation.

She dipped her head forward and reached out with her tongue to lap up a drop of my juice. She pulled back and the strand stretched out and finally broke, leaving a thin line across her t-shirt. "Was that okay?" she asked me.

"I could barely feel that," I said.

"Oh, okay, so it didn't hurt you?"

"No it didn't hurt. It would actually be better for me if I could feel it."

"Oh okay, far out." She stared at my erection, which now and then would bounce up and down on its own. "Let me try again."

Now she stuck out her tongue and wrapped it around the head of my cock, licking and lapping at me.

"See? That feels very groovy," I said. "It turns me on."

"Okay, good," she said, "Now let me try that other thing that she was doing with her hand, but with my lips."

She leaned forward and put her lips around my cock and moved them about halfway down my shaft. Then she brought her mouth to the tip again, and then down on it, trying to imitate what she had seen her friend doing with her hand, that is, she was jacking me off with her mouth.

She lifted her head up and licked her lips. "Did you get some juice that time?" I asked her.

"Huh," she said, "I didn't really notice. I can taste it, I guess I got some."

The New Yorker asked me, "So honestly, did that feel okay when she did that?"

"For me?" I asked.

"Yes, for you. Was that okay?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," I said. "That was definitely groovy. In fact, if she had kept doing that, then in a little while that other kind of juice would come spurting out of there, maybe six or ten shots of it. And that juice is different, it is creamier and thicker, and probably tastes a little different, too."

Ponytail asked, "From doing that with her mouth? That would make it spurt out stuff?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "For me that is the very best thing. But when that happens, if someone is sucking on it and it shoots like that, it can be kind of challenging to swallow it all, because every time you swallow there is another shot of it. Some people can't get it all. But some can."

They all looked at my face very seriously. "Has anyone every done that to you?" New York asked.

"Oh sure," I said, "I have friends who do this with me all the time." I was somewhat afraid I would say the wrong thing here, but they seemed to take it as a challenge, as I had hoped. "All the time" was an exaggeration, of course.

"And there is a lot of juice and they swallow it?"

"Yep. Every drop, well sometimes they spill some, it's not the end of the world."

Now Ponytail said, "I have to try that." She turned her cap backwards so it would not be in the way and knelt in front of me. Tentatively she tried tapping her tongue on my dripping hard-on, and introspectively savored the taste before she seemed to decide it was all right. Then she leaned in and wrapped her lips around my cock and took me into her mouth.

"Sometimes it's better if you take it deeper," I said, "But some people gag and can't do it."

She gave it a good try. In fact, an excellent try. In fact, she didn't gag at all. Her lips began working their way down my shaft with all of us watching intently. When she got up against my stomach she seemed to be reaching for more, her lips and tongue were working against the base of my penis, rhythmically sweeping over me. Her tongue reached out of her mouth and lapped my balls. She withdrew her mouth and looked at me, "Was that okay?" she asked.

"Actually," I said, "That was really impressive. A few of those and I would be shooting my whole load."

"Shooting your load, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what some people call it," I said. "There is a lot of cream and it shoots like a squirt gun, sort of."

"I'd like to try that," the one with the New York accent said.

"Okay," I said. "Come on."

"Do you think I could make it shoot its load?" she asked me.

"I don't know," I said. "Sometimes it happens, sometimes not, I don't know until it's about to happen."

New York took her place in front of me with a determined look on her face. She had curly, thick blondish hair and heavy full lips, and freckles. She took my penis bravely in her hand and gave it a couple of tugs. Some fluid began to drip from the tip and she leaned over and lapped it up and swallowed it. "Good," she said. "That's a nice taste."