Jen: Route 66 Kicks-Springfield

"And somebody else fucked her, right?"

"Ah, yeah, three other guys, to be exact. I fucked her first, but I passed out. She must've kept going."

"So now you don't know which one of you is the father. How'd you find out about the other three?"

"Two of them bragged the hell all about nailing her that night and mentioned the third guy. But, yeah, that's the problem. We were a couple, but I don't love her to the extent I want to marry her. If the kid's mine, I'd do what's right by her, even though it would end my university career. But that's not the basis for a solid marriage. Besides, the kid may not be mine anyway."

I noticed Rex got a good grope of the sides of both my boobs as he applied the oil on the side of my rib cage. By the time he reached my sitting ass, he was copping a real feel of that portion of my exposed cheeks he could reach. Yep, he wasn't ready to settle down yet.

Maybe I could give him something else to think about for a while. Kinda take his mind off his problem for now. Besides, that damned trucker had all the pleasure. I never got off and was horny as hell yet, despite the manhandling he'd given me.

I leaned forward and lay prone with my legs spread wide.

"Put some oil down my ass and on my pussy, Rex, I wouldn't like to get a sunburn there. Just be gentle, ok?"

He was very gentle. He made a show of dabbing a little oil on his fingers as I watched, but most of what he spread around on my quim was my own natural honey. Lying naked on my stomach in front of him and his caresses with the oil in my ass cheeks and elsewhere, definitely had its effect on me. I was really wet by the time his fingers first touched my nether lips.

His gentle caress of my labia had me going, "mmmmm" continuously almost immediately. He definitely knew how to stroke a pussy.

"Don't forget the backs of my legs and my thighs with that oil."

I had two orgasms while he worked. When he pushed his middle finger into my gate of heaven and then his thumb into my rosette, I crashed into a really good third climax.

After coming down some from that last high, I came up to my knees and turned to face him on his knees.

"Get out of your clothes, Rex, I want some of your cock."

He disrobed quickly. While he was still standing, I knee walked into him and grabbed hold of his dick. It was average, I guess, for length, but nice and fat. A very good handful to play with.

I wasted little time. I started playing. His precum and my spit lubricated him for a slow, steady stroking I administered. I loved to watch the helmet head of his uncut cock pop free on the down stroke. Each time it did, I put my mouth around it and sucked hard. I also gave it a one eighty with my tongue before releasing my mouth to do the upstroke. Then repeat.

Naturally, it didn't take much of this before I felt his balls strain and his cock swell and pulse harder, indicating a near explosion. He erupted in a copious flood of cum, shooting several ropy strings into my face before I could I could get my mouth around him to swallow the rest of his load.

"Now, Rex, I really need you to fuck me. But again, slow and gentle boy, slow and gentle."

After I got him hard again, we did a missionary fuck to start off. His fat cock was a tight fit, but he eased it in slowly and then stroked slowly in and out. He held back his passion admirably for me.

I rolled him over, losing his cock in the process, only to remount him face to face for a cowgirl ride where I could set the pace. I really think his fat cock felt much better and fuller in me than one that could knock my cervix a foot back into my insides. Rex could play to his heart's content on my boobs in this position. He took full advantage to do so.

Fuck but I dearly liked this college stud's style of fucking. I popped off his dick and got on all fours, dropping my head and shoulders to the blanket.

"Take me from behind, doggie style, Rex. Fill me full of your fat cock. Before you cum, stick your pole up my ass and unload in me there."

I frigged my clit while Rex pumped my ass after some difficulty getting in. What a fucking rapturous climax we both got from that fuck.

Because he'd just dumped a huge load of cum into me and because of his slow gentle pumping, it took a deliciously long time before either of us approached climax again.

When we finally did climax, it was extremely satisfying for both of us. My pain was minimal, thanks to the gentleness of Rex.

When we finally rejoined the world around us, we found dusk had arrived. In fact, it was getting damned dark. What an afternoon! I wasn't ready for it to end quite yet, though. Sore as i was getting again, I couldn't resist.

"Rex, if you've nothing better to do tonight, come back to my motel with me. I'm not quite ready yet to give up your cock or your talented tongue."

Well, he followed me in his car. I pulled into the motel lot, locked up Swifty, and waited for Rex to catch up with me. I handed him my room key and he jogged up the outside stairs to the balcony. It took me a bit longer to get up those damned steps.

Once in the room, we shed our clothes and I pulled Rex by his stiff cock to the bathroom and the shower. We fucked in the shower. We fucked on the floor before we could get to the bed. We fucked on the bed. We fucked in the chair. What a fucking damned night! We finally dozed off a couple of hours before dawn.

I awoke late morning from the laving tongue on my boobs and the finger in my pussy. At length, I pushed rex back and cried, "UNCLE." I'd had all I could take.

"I don' know if I can get out of bed, let alone walk, Rex. No more. I need to clean up and get moving, if I can. You shower first, while I see if I can move. Then, unfortunately, we'll have to part."

I was sitting naked on the edge of the bed when Rex, freshly showered, stepped equally naked back into the room. He had some trouble stuffing his hardon back into his clothes as he dressed. Looking at my nakedness as he dressed probably didn't help him any.

"I don't know what you'll decided about your girl, but I wish you the best and hope it works out for you. All I can say is, follow your gut feeling."

A passionate good-bye kiss followed and I bid him a fond farewell.

It was a struggle for me to get to the bathroom to get the water running in the tub. I sat on the throne to pee and had a hell of a time getting back up. I climbed unsteadily into the tub and soaked for two hours. I drained half the water and refilled with more hot water three times. Finally, I drained the tub and stood under the hot shower for another thirty minutes.

I could walk, barely, as I ambled out to get lunch next door. When I got back to room, I was exhausted. So much for today's sight seeing. I stripped and crawled into bed. It was about two in the afternoon. When I next opened my eyes, my travel alarm read three in the morning.

I was too wide awake to sleep any more, so I spent an hour or so planning my delayed sight seeing agenda and studying my trip notes. Then I watched a little late night or was it early morning tv. By then it was well past six. I packed up my few belongings, checked out, and headed Miss Swifty out to find a good breakfast.

At least I could walk again, even if it was still just a bit bowlegged. Ah well, I guess nothing is really free whether it be "free" gas station air, "free" coupons, or "free" love.

The plan I laid out a few hours earlier, covered the day and two more. First, I would spend as much of the morning I needed in Oakridge Cemetery north of town and the afternoon twenty or so miles to the north and west of that at New Salem. The remaining two days would be used to wander and peruse the downtown Lincoln sites: his house, the capital, the old state capital building, the state library, and others.

There was one, non-Lincoln site I also wanted to see. I have long been intrigued by the architect, Frank Lloyd Wright and just had to see the Dana Thomas House.

Ahhhh, that big, fuel injected V-8, at idle, purred through her twin pipes and glass pacs like a big kitten. Once on the road, I wanted to listen to Swifty some more. So, I decided to drive on to New Salem first and hit Oak Ridge Cemetery on my way back into town.

Under throttle as I pulled her onto the road to New Salem, she roared like an angry lion--a pack of them. Yeah, as I indicated, I changed my mind (just like a woman, huh!) and decided to go to New Salem first and Oak Ridge Cemetery second. I was feeling good anyway, so I kept my foot on the throttle and laid a strip of rubber in first gear and got lots of rubber with each of the three remaining up shifts, including fourth gear.

New Salem Village. It lies some twenty miles north and west of Springfieldjon the Sangamon River and State Route 97. It's the site of where Abe started out on his own and grew from a youth into manhood between the years 1831 and 1837.

In this small, frontier like village, Abe Lincoln clerked in a store, enlisted in the Militia for the Black Hawk War (though he saw no combat), served as postmaster and deputy surveyor, studied law, and was elected to the state legislature.

The village, situated on the very high north bank of the Sangamon River, consists of a scattering of cabins, stores, and two mills loosely connected, now, by an asphalt drive. In Abe's day, it was no more than a dirt trail. One building, the Onstot Cooper Shop, is a restored original, the remainder are expert reconstructions.

The little village was established in 1828 and grew rapidly for nearly a decade. By the mid to late 1830s, New Salem could boast a combination saw and grist mill down below on the river, a carding mill run by oxen walking uphill on a wheel and located in the village proper, a tavern, several general stores, a post office, a stagecoach stop, and several craftsmen such as the hatter, the cooper and the blacksmith, among others.

But, after nearby Petersburg secured the county seat, New Salem died as quickly as it grew and was essentially dead by 1840. The village slowly rotted away until restoration began in the middle of the twentieth century.

I wandered down the line of buildings, marveling at the grit it must have taken to live in such near frontier conditions. Since it was a week day and not the week end, the place was nearly deserted. I saw only a few couples, several families, and two small tour groups.

One of the tour groups appeared to be a school field trip. As luck would have it, my bladder suddenly decided to let me know that it required emptying. The walk to the nearest rest room was just too far for the urgency of the situation.

Shit! I thought, just what I needed at this particular point and place in time.

I was in front of the Martin Waddell Cabin. He was a hatter by trade, but there was a small outbuilding, probably used to house the family milk cow or something, that was open on one side. I stepped into the small, somewhat dark shelter and hoped to be alone.

I dropped my shorts, no panties as usual, around my ankles and squatted. Just as I started to pee a good stream, I was startled by a gentle voice from the entrance.

"Well now, what do we have here?"

A good looking stud stepped forward into partial view in the doorway with a big grin on his face.

Without batting an eye, I replied, "Either come further out into the light and join me, or get lost--fast, buster."

With no further urging, "buster" said, "Don't mind if I do!" and stepped into the lean-to.

He quickly whipped out hid baseball bat like cock and commenced to pee a long, forceful stream. I had a front row seat to his performance and what a bat he produced--a real Louisville Slugger--and then some! I stared with eager eyes. Naturally, he noticed. After he finished, he turned fully in my direction and stepped over to me.

A new, fast pitch ball game commenced. First, second, and third base whizzed by almost unnoticed as with little foreplay, "Buster" stood me against a wall and rammed his cock into me, scoring home runs with his cock, frenzied home runs--one after another, after another, after... you get the picture, I'm sure.

When we finally broke away, "Buster's" cock dropping out of me with a satisfying pop, satiated at last, he said, "I have to get back to my group. Thanks for a great piece of ass!" And off he sped at a fast walk. I never did get his name.

There had been no place to sit or lay down, so it had been, as I have said, a standing room only ball game--up against the semi smooth, hewn or squared log walls. Somehow, I had managed to unknowingly acquire a fair size splinter in my butt during the ball game.

I managed to get the splinter out and pulled some tissues from my bag. I cleaned up as best I could without any water. With my shorts and tube top back in place, I was ready to resume my own solitary tour of the village.

My tour took until well after lunch time, but I managed to grab a couple of hot dogs and whatever at the concession stand before I got back into Miss Swifty for the return to Springfield and a visit to Oak Ridge Cemetery and Lincoln's tomb.

Back in Springfield and driving up Monument Avenue, I entered the gates of Oak Ridge Cemetery and its 340 acres, twelve miles of roads, and the final resting place of not only Abraham Lincoln, but of numerous other notables as well, such as the likes of labor leader John L. Lewis, poet Vachel Lindsay, four former Illinois governors, and lawyer William Herndon, one time law partner of Lincoln, among many, many others.

Lincoln's Tomb is a magnificent edifice. Buried inside are Lincoln, wife Mary, and three of their four children: Willie, Eddie, and Tad. The fourth son, Robert, Who outlived them all, is buried in Arlington National Cemetery by his request.

The interior of the tomb appeared very cathedral like and awe inspiring. The silence was deafening. A bronze head of Lincoln is outside, near the entrance and the nose is very highly polished and shiny--a result of the custom of visitors rubbing the nose to bring good luck.

The burial and the many subsequent reburials of Lincoln's remains is a long and interesting story that I won't go into here in any detail. Because of the attempted kidnapping of Lincoln's body for ransom, he was reburied in September of 1901 in the vault room after the structurally unsound building had been rebuilt between 1899 and 1901.

His five-hundred pound, lead lined coffin lies ten feet deep under the marble floor. The casket lies inside a custom built wooden box. Surrounding the wooden box is an enclosure of heavy, flat steel bars bolted together and encased in Portland cement. A monster marble memorial sarcophagus sits on that same marble floor directly over the burial site. Very impressive.

One of the grounds keepers at the time allowed his thirteen year old boy, Fleetwood Lindley, to stay home from school so he could witness this burial. He was one of twenty-three witnesses and the last living person to view the remains when the casket was opened for the last time to ensure that the body was indeed that of Lincoln.

Lincoln's remains had been moved and consequently re-embalmed so many times that the body was perfectly preserved and recognizable. Three days before he died on February 1, 1963, Fleetwood was interviewed and said, "Yes, the face was chalky white. His clothes were mildewed..." but there was no question of the identity of the remains.

I spent a long time inside the tomb and on the parapet top outside, looking at all the memorials and memorabilia displayed. I spent an equally long time, cruising the myriad of lanes within the cemetery, prowling for the graves of the famous and near famous with Miss Swifty growling along under me. Dusk was descending as I decided the time had come to return to the motel and some supper.

My day had been long and tiring. I was really looking forward to a long, soak and shower. So, my food stop was a quick sandwich. Back at my motel, I retreated to the bathroom and slowly stripped. Once again admiring my naked reflection as I stood momentarily before the large door mounted mirror.

I was so tired, I didn't even lament the fact that I would be sleeping alone that night. All I really wanted to do was sleep anyway. HA HA Ha!

I stepped into the warm cascade of water falling from the shower head and began to soak my tired and aching body.

God. that water felt almost orgasmic! There's nothing like a hot shower to wash away fatigue as well as the dirt and grime.

I stepped back out of the spray and began to soap myself. I was doing fine. I was relaxed and my mind was floating almost fee as I rubbed and soaped myself. Therein lay the "rub," pun intended. The more I rubbed and soaped, the more the erotic feelings began to rise.

Soaping over my torso and especially my chest really added fuel to the fire. But I really lost it when Irubbed and soaped between my legs. In a frenzy of motions, I brought myself to a climax.

I collapsed onto my butt and let the water cascade over my body. Apparently my body had decided that sleeping alone was ok, but it was not to be denied at least some form of pleasure. Clean and scrubbed, I filled the tub with hot water to soak some more.

At long last, I crawled out of the water, toweled off, and crawled into bed, au natural, as usual. I drifted off into a deep and restful sleep.

I awoke just ahead of the nine o'clock alarm, instantly wide awake and fully refreshed for a change. Dressing was quick and painless as I once again slipped into my summer dress of as few, and skimpy items as possible. In the dining room, I had a huge, truck driver breakfast.

Day two! I decided to concentrate my time viewing the downtown Lincoln sites. I started with the Lincoln home at 8th and Jackson Streets, the only home the Lincolns ever owned. The Lincoln family lived in this home for only seventeen years, from 1844 until 1861 when they left for Washington, D.C. and the White House. The home has been beautifully restored with some of the original furnishings.

I next went to 6th and Adams Streets to visit the former law offices of Lincoln and Herndon above Tinsley's Store. The two partners practiced law from this building between 1843 and 1852.

It was only a short hop away to visit the Old State Capital Building. This building held nearly all the state government offices of Lincoln's day. It was from here that Lincoln tried several hundred cases before the State Supreme Court, borrowed books from the state library, and used the law library.

The building also contained Representatives Hall in which Lincoln served as a state legislator, gave his "House Divided" speech, and, at the end, was the place in which Lincoln's body lay in state May 3 and 4, 1865.

While I was still downtown, I decided I would take the time to visit the train depot, now known as the Lincoln Depot, at 10th and Monroe Streets. This is the depot from which Lincoln departed Springfield in 1861 for Washington, D.C. and the one to which his body returned in May of 1865. The depot contains restored waiting rooms, one for women with a second one for luggage and tobacco spitting men.

By the end of my visit to the train depot, it was once again well past lunch time. I motored Swifty to the nearest eatery I could find and had a very late and light lunch. I thought I might as well take in the Dana Thomas House in the time left in the afternoon.

So, after paying for my lunch, Miss Swifty and I found our way over to 301 East Lawrence street. The year was 1902, and local socialite, the youngish widow Susan Lawrence Dana, hired a new and rising young architect from Chicago by the name of Frank Lloyd Wright, to remodel her family home.

What remains today in fully restored form, is a prime example of one of Wright's finest Prairie Style buildings, complete with original furniture, art glass doors, windows, light fixtures, and on the lower level of the three levels, a single lane bowling alley. It was a delightful tour of a delightful house.