tagNovels and NovellasRon's Journal 03B

Ron's Journal 03B

byHypoxia©

Author's note: My uncle Ron died recently. While sifting through his files, I found journal folders marked MY STORY, writings about his life. I have edited these accounts and will post them when I can. These stories include bisexuality, incest, interracial and mature and group sex, etc. All sexual activity depicted here involves persons at least 18 years old.

This is a somewhat standalone story, but I highly recommend that you read all other chapters anyway.


******************** 6A: San Diego to Milwaukee, winter 1968-69

I stayed at my cousin Dane's place in San Diego and worked in a nearby Christmas tree lot for a month, saving money for cheap travel. The tree-lot job had long-term consequences. I became sensitized to conifer resin. Too many evergreens, oozing volatile sap, yuck. I hated the smell of pine resin for years after.

Dane was a little older than me, and a great buddy. I have never cared much for bar scenes. Dane would go out bar-hopping on his own, and bring home multiple drunken girls for us to share. What a pal!

Dane's condo door slammed open a bit earlier than usual, only about 1:30 instead of 3:00 AM. He had more women than usual with him. I groggily awoke, and stretched on the couch, and scratched my balls through my black briefs, and peered at the intruders.

"Hey Ron, wake up, you gotta help me with Rhonda here."

Dane had a very drunk and snoring little redhead slung over his shoulder. Two tanned bra-less brunettes staggered behind him, giggling. Dane dumped the coma-toasted redhead on the couch I had just vacated.

"Wow Dane, is she gonna be alright there? You don't want her to puke on your furniture."

"Naw, she already unloaded at the last bar, and again in the street. She should be empty now."

One of the brunettes chortled, "Lisa shouldn't have drunk both Ripple and vodka after eating a pizza. Shit, she left that bar bathroom looking like a 3-D Jackson Pollack painting."

The other woman said, "Forget about her, June. You must be Ron. Dane said you have a big dick. Show me! I want some real meat!" How could I refuse her?

June shoved Dane into his favorite stuffed chair and knelt before him. She quickly had her blouse off and his pants down and was slurping his thick schlong like a caramel-dipped banana. Tilly dropped her skirt and panties, peeled off her USCD tee, and strode toward me with the feline grace and insouciance of a leopardess, her half-lidded eyes locked on mine. I felt like a lemur about to be devoured.

Tilly reached into my briefs and palpated my nearly-full erection. "Hmmm, not bad." She put her other hand on my chest and pushed me backwards toward Dane's bedroom door, then onto Dane's bed. I flopped back. She pulled my briefs off and bent between my knees, taking a quick mouthful of my engorged manhood. "Yeah, not bad." She straddled my hips and lowered her pussy fully onto my cock. "Hey, nice fit, too."

Yes, Dane and I both passed the meat inspection with flying colors. We energetically filled all of June and Tilly's various bodily orifices. I swear, if one of those girls wore an eye-patch, Dane would have fucked the empty eye socket, and I would have gone next. As it was, Lisa eventually regained some semblance of consciousness, so we drilled her too, six ways from Sunday. And nobody puked!

---

I had fun at Dane's. But I had itchy feet. I hit the road again. In mid-winter, I hitchhiked east, toward Boston, for more adventures. I ended up stuck in the East Village in New York City. More about that later.

I was in for another hitchhiking marathon, with surprises. I wanted to thumb eastward along a southern route. My rides went elsewhere. Long rides took me the length of the unfinished I-15 highway from San Diego to Sweetgrass, Montana on the Canadian border. I saw the northern lights. I shivered.

The trip started well, with a LONG ride, five hundred miles, to the turnoff to Zion National Park, with a speed demon in a Corvette, wow. We did that run in six and a half hours. You do the math.

I did not have to wait too long that late afternoon for the next ride, a college girl in a VW bug driving less than an hour to her off-campus room in Cedar City. LaVerne was maybe a little older than I was. We chatted and flirted. She thought I was cute. Her roommate was gone for the weekend. She invited me in for a student-quality spaghetti dinner and cheap red jug wine. I sang for my meal. She poured more wine.

"I'll have you know, I imported this Gallo burgundy all the way from Nevada! Nobody there cares who buys anything, as long as you pay cash. Dollars, pesos, yen, sterling, whatever. A five-year-old could buy a bazooka if she had a Gold Card." LaVerne refilled our glasses from the jug.

I played and sang Tom Paxton's BOTTLE OF WINE, then hung a harmonica in my neck rack and played TEQUILA. LaVerne laughed, her long red-brown hair shimmering around her heart-shaped face, her large-ish boobs jiggling. She leaned against me on the sofa, pushing my fingerpicking arm away from the guitar strings.

"You're pretty fun, Ron. How would you like to stay the night?"

"Well, OK, just as long as you'll still respect me in the morning."

"How about if we don't have leftover spaghetti for breakfast? Will a Denver omelet be respectable enough?"

"As long as you cook with your clothes off, sure. I could even stay for a naked lunch."

She slapped my shoulder. "Hey, I'm an American Lit major, I know what that means."

"OK, I'll stay the night. When does the night begin?"

"It starts right about now," LaVerne said, pulling off her sweater and bra. "Now put down that damn guitar, and the fucking harmonica rack, and put your fingers and mouth to better use."

My flannel shirt and tee came off quickly. We rubbed our naked torsos together, and our mouths, and the other bits that were exposed as we shed the rest of our clothes.

LaVerne's full lips and snaky tongue and rosy nipples were delicious. Her Brazil-nut-red muff was the same shade as her head hair. Her cunt was delicious also, and pretty juicy by the time my tongue intruded.

I worked two fingers in and out, my right thumb brushing her clit when I was not sucking that luscious nub, my lips moving from kissing her inner thighs to engulfing her vulva. My left hand was under her butt, raising her pussy for better access, until she reached down and intertwined her fingers with mine.

LaVerne's left hand was firmly on my head with her fingers locked into my hair. She nearly ripped some hair out by the roots as she pulled my face tighter into her soggy pussy. Her right hand released my left; both those hands moved to her nipples, pulling and twisting.

LaVerne pulled my hair tighter, twitched and jumped like an electrified spaz, and screamed. And screamed. And screamed. For over a minute, non-stop. I gripped both her boobs in my hands and lodged my tongue deep in her vagina. My nose tickled her clit and prompted further screams, then five or ten minutes of rolling and loud moaning. She finally pushed my head away but held onto my hair.

"Holy fucking gila monsters, Ron, I have *never* felt anything like that before! I can't even sit up now! What the fuck did you do to me? Damn, if your fingers and tongue are that good, what's your cock like? Put that thing in me, NOW!"

With my head and body attached, she pulled my hair towards her. My body followed, sliding north between her widespread raised knees. I slid my pulsing penis into her vacuuming vagina without a trace of friction.

My blood was up. I was in no mood for gentle lovemaking. I fucked LaVerne to within an inch of her life, and mine, all our muscles on fire. She screamed twice more. I roared, and fired a long searing blast into her depths, splattering her innards with jiz. I forced my mouth onto hers. Our tongues mated. We breathed heavily into each other's lungs. The word 'soul' truly means 'breath'. We became one breath, one soul.

I stayed with LaVerne that night, and the next night. We spent the weekend doing little but fucking. Too bad she didn't have a sister there; I would have gone Mormon, with the right incentives.

NOTE: Polygamist Mormon houses are pretty obvious in some southern Utah towns. Look for a 10,000 square foot house with numerous front doors. Each front door probably belongs to a different heterosexual wife. If polygamous Mormon men accepted and encouraged bisexuality, they would not need as much carpentry, right?

---

Monday morning arrived. The roommate returned. LaVerne had classes. I hit the road again.

I got a couple short rides as far as Provo, and then I hit a jackpot: a LONG ride, all the way to Canada, with another go-fast guy in a muscle car, heading for Calgary. Provo to the Canadian border: 750 miles!

And that is as far as I got. The steely-eyes at the border did not like my looks, and refused me entry. Fortunately, my driver drove me back to US Highway 2. I was stuck under the late January night sky with northern lights swirling over the horizon.

Rather like the summer before (except for the snow and ice), I thumbed along the below-the-border highway, and cut around the Mississippi River's north end rather than crossing it. I got a bunch of unremarkable rides across Montana and North Dakota, then a long ride across Minnesota to Duluth with two sisters.

Eva and Dora were respectively one and two years older than I was, tall cute freckled blondes wearing nicely filled jeans and thin fuzzy sweaters. My guitar and I fit well in the back of their big old Dodge station wagon, the kind with big wide padded bench seats, like a rolling living room. I leaned against the passenger-side door, my back cushioned by their bundled parkas. I sang for my ride that afternoon.

The sisters stopped every hour to stretch sore muscles and trade-off driving. After one stop, Eva drove and I rode up front, while Dora sat in back and played my guitar, a big red Kay with a dreadnought body. Like me, she greatly admired Buffy Sainte-Marie. Dora sang PINEY WOOD HILLS and TIMELESS LOVE much slower than I usually did. I loved her bluesy rendition of POOR MAN'S DAUGHTER:

I was born a poor man's daughter, I've been a ragamuffin all my life... I'll live my life on the Mexican border, I'll be happy as a poor man's wife.

"I've been to the 'dirty little border town' in that song," I said. "It's in Sonora, out east of Nogales. It's a grubby place, sure, but the people are great and the surrounding area is spectacular. Some years, it even gets a little snow." I blew a refrain on harmonica, then sang from a different song:

Spanish is a loving tongue, Soft as music, bright as day, 'Twas a girl I learned it from, Living down Sonora way...

Eva glanced over at me. "What the fuck are you doing way up here, Ron? How come you're not down in the warm country, practicing your loving tongue on some steamy Mexican girls?"

I sighed. "Y'know, that's a good question. It's just how the rides went. Boston is my goal this time. I could have gone straight east from San Diego and stayed near Mexico. But the rides went north fast. So here I am. Maybe you girls would like to try my loving tongue?" I teased.

They giggled together. "Y'know Ron, Eva and I were discussing that," Dora said. "You piqued our interest. You're cute, and you're nice, and you're strong, and you smell pretty clean. Yeah, I think we're willing to risk your tongue or whatever. Eva, stop for a second so Ron can get back here with me." Dora was already stripping off her jeans.

Dora was naked except for socks and her knees were spread open when I closed the passenger-side door and pulled off my own clothes. I kissed my way up her shapely legs, nuzzled her lemon muff, kissed her navel, paid brief homage to her spectacular breasts, then held her face and kissed her mouth, long and slow and fully engaged. She sighed deeply and returned my kiss passionately.

I kissed Dora's throat, and her breasts. Oh wow, did I kiss her breasts! Dora moaned heavily. My hand on her vulva may have been a contributing factor. I slid down and replaced my hand with my tongue. Dora's moaning increased, and more when I slowly finger-fucked her vagina while kissing her inner thighs, and more when I licked her clit. Some fierce tongue-strumming brought her first wet scream.

"Oh Ron Ron RON RONNN!! OHHH... Oh fuck that's good! ARRRGHH! Oh shit Ron, fuck me now, FUCK ME! FUCK ME!"

Who was I to refuse? I pulled Dora down on the seat, slid myself up her sweat-slick body, and smoothly pushed my dickhead between her lower lips and into her streaming-wet cunt. Holy fuck, she was like a blast furnace! Dora arched her back and bucked her pelvis up, slamming my cock fully into her, again and again.

We pounded our anxious pubes together. We both groaned constantly. I felt the car sway a bit; Eva was drifting across the highway lanes as she turned her attention from driving to eyeballing us. When Dora screamed again, we almost left the road, but I was too busy to notice then, what with Dora's legs locked around my back and her heels shoving me deeper inside her. And she screamed yet again. What a voice!

Ah, the sounds of orgasms I have caused are sweet music to my ears! I came into Dora like a water cannon, blasting away on full power, only stopping when I was drained dry. I collapsed on Dora. She wheezed, and finally squirmed out and lay on top of me. The car seat was rather wet. So were our faces.

"I think you guys could use this," Eva said, passing a can of 7-Up. We gratefully shared the cold soda.

"Dora, it's almost your turn to drive again, so you better get dressed now. And Ron, don't you DARE get dressed! D'you guys know how hard it was for me keep driving, to not just pull over and jump back with you? Damn fucking hard, I tell ya! I want my turn!"

Eva got her turns. And when we reached their home outside Duluth, their mother Marcie had her turns, too. Yes, I splattered all their wombs and throats with my messy but nutritious cocktails.

Marcie looked much like her daughters. She was around forty, with a tight well-exercised body, a prime MILF. She had a sharp sense of scent. She smelled her daughters and me when we came into their house. She knew exactly what was what. As soon as I set my rucksack and guitar down in the house, Marcie hooked a finger in my shirt collar and led me off to the master bedroom.

"You kids all smell of sweat and sex, lots of sex. Everybody needs a shower. Right now. No arguments."

Eva and Dora dutifully followed. All our clothes were stuffed into a laundry basket. All our bodies were stuffed into a good-sized shower enclosure. All our scalps were carefully sudsed and kneaded. All our skin surfaces were thoroughly scrubbed. All three vaginas were filled from behind before we left the shower. The process was repeated when we all were in the super-king bed. Then I slept, drained, exhausted.

The ladies persuaded me to stay a day and another night. The kicker: a promise of all the food and sex I could handle, all my clothes laundered, and a ride all the way to Milwaukee the following day.

"All the sex I could handle" went a little further than I expected. Marcie called some friends. Carl and Louie were big, black, muscular dockworkers. Their 'little' sister Lucille, from Marcie's realty office, was not much shorter or weaker than her big brothers.

Various alcohols and herbs and pills and powders were consumed, to adjust our attitudes. Libidos were stoked to incandescence. Blood vessels were engorged. Apertures dripped and oozed. Muscles contracted.

I seem to recall everybody fucking and sucking and slurping everybody else. I know I remember twosomes and threesomes and foursomes and moresomes. Each woman took at least one triple penetration. Everybody 69'd and daisychained and more. I recall tasting a seemingly infinite variety of mixtures of sweat and semen and girlcum and who knows what else. I recall more showers, and rest breaks, and attitude adjustments.

I recall my white cock buried in the pink core of Lucille's black pussy. Her red tongue and lips worked Eva's pale cunt atop her face as Eva and I frenched, our attention sometimes drawn to the tableau of Marcie and her eldest daughter Dora 69'ing while Carl's fat black dick filled Marcie's well-worn tunnel and Louie's monster stuffed Dora's ass.

I recall being on my back, with Lucille on her hand and knees, licking and swallowing my cock, while her brother Carl screwed her from behind. Eva sat on my mouth and wiggled, while her mother Marcie knelt just behind my head and mouthed Eva's lovely face and tits. My hands were busy between Marcie's thighs. Louie was still reaming Dora's anus. They kept going for a long time. Dora screamed a lot. We were all noisy.

Marcie and I were both still bleary when she drove me to Milwaukee the following day in her new Toronado. We only stopped to fuck three times on what would have been a nine-hour drive if we had not stopped to get thoroughly fucked three times. Marcie gave me a goodbye blowjob and dropped me off downtown.

******************** 6B: Milwaukee to New York, early 1969

Weather in Milwaukee was not too cold. Chicago was worse. Cleveland was an icy hell. I thumbed south a bit, to get away from the Great-Lakes-effect weather misery.

I stood at a lonely crossroads below wooded hills with the FURTHUR sign visible. The air was thick and cold. A black-and-tan International Harvester Scout rolled through the crossing and stopped next to me.

The woman driving alone leaned to the passenger window and said, "I don't know no place called Furthur but I can get you over to Wheeling at least."

I threw my stuff in back and crawled in. We introduced ourselves.

Lily was a medium-size brown-haired mountain girl with thin features wearing a long grey dress and (when I looked beyond her shapely calves encased in black stockings) grey sneakers. I was my usual tall thin ponytailed Goldwater-glasses self in heavy jeans, thick sweater, a Navy pea coat, and red Keds.

"You're from San Francisco, Ron? You one of them flower-power sissy-boys I hear about?"

"No Lily, not really. Any flower that was ever near me, died. And I do tend to like girls."

"Yeah, boy? You got a girlfriend somewhere? Maybe a basketball groupie"

I thought back on the girls and women with whom I had rubbed mouths and genitals in high school and on the road over the last couple years. Most were just lustful interactions. A couple involved love, now lost.

"I've had girlfriends. Nobody is waiting for me anywhere right now."

"More than one girlfriend, then? Just one at a time, or have you ganged up?"

I thought back on some of the group action I had experienced, and grinned.

"Well, there were times when a couple or a few girls shared me, and times when I shared a girl or more with buddies, so yeah, it's been more than one at a time."

"By shared, you mean fucked, don't you, Ron?"

"Well, yeah."

"A few at a time? Like a pile of cooters, then?"

I was fairly well-read. I was aware that the term 'cooter' could refer either to various snapping turtles, or to a woman's vagina. I saw her use of the word as a signal.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You been in lots of orgies back there in California?"

"Oh, some. But I haven't had a good orgy for a few days; that was in Minnesota, yeah."

We rode in silence a ways down this backroad. Lily kept glancing at me as she drove. I glanced back.

"How about you, Lily? Got any boyfriends here, or girlfriends maybe?"

"Oh, you'd probably like that," she smiled. "Oh, I have a husband somewhere. Ain't seen him for a while. Last I heard, he'd gone to Alaska. Guess it got too warm for him around here. Might have something to do with him screwing around with a deputy's wife. That ain't a safe practice hereabouts."

"You been in any good orgies lately, Lily?"

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