The Sidecar Tales 02 - Jane

Sitting on the park bench in Saint Louis, I was about to eat my fast-food lunch, when I looked—really looked—over at my chance-met seat-mate.

At first glance, she looked like any of the homeless folks that grace all of our cities, and I'd been braced for the usual come-on tale of woe, followed by a plea for some 'spare change.' But, as I started to open my box of burger, fries and a shake, the blanket-clad figure looked at me, and I saw a couple of tears form, and drip down her distinctly Asian face.

Yeah, 'her,' and my damsel-in-distress gene kicked in, damnit. Sighing, I passed the box of cheeseburger, fries and vanilla shake over to her, saying, "Go ahead. Have it. No conditions, no strings."

Her hand crept out of the covering blanket, and pulled the box toward her. She was having little tremors, and nearly spilled the fries, and almost lost the shake to the grass at her feet. "Another strung-out druggie," I thought, and reached out to steady her food and the paper cup. She was struggling to get the paper sheath off the straw, and not doing very well at it, so I took the container, pulled off the thin paper, and held it for her, as she sucked at the ice-cold contents.

The burger and fries disappeared in under three minutes, and the shake in under four. I guessed beginning starvation, and I had this helpless feeling you get when you rescue a kitten, only to find that you're obligated to raise a cat for the next fourteen years. Ah, damn-it-all-to-Hell!

Then she looked at me, and clearly said, "Shit. Piss. Fuck. Damn." Her eyes got wide, and she tried again, obviously struggling to say something else, but what emerged from her mouth was, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Shit! Ahhh, damn. Crap. Fuck..." Then she started to cry again, the tears dribbling down her face.

Trying to keep my composure, I said, "I'm Tom Cattus. What's your name?"

She tried again, but said, "Ahhh. Ohhhh, Fuck. Fuck! Ahhh, shit. Fuck!" Then she gestured at herself, and clearly said, "Fuck. Fuck. CUNT!"

Then she started to cry again, this time with big, deep racking sobs, as she whispered to herself, "Ahhh, fuck. Shit. Cunt. Cunt! Fuck, funk, fuck, fuck ..."

She surged up, holding the blanket around herself, took two steps away, and crumpled to the ground. A quick check revealed several things: a steady pulse (and thus, just a faint); a very dirty and smelly body (indicating no bath or shower recently); ribs showing through a thin blouse, under the dirty blanket (indicating ongoing starvation); no purse or ID; and a crumpled letter, in a back pocket.

The letter was just one page from a medical report, dated a couple of months ago, and said something about a stroke, something called 'aphasia,' and a dispassionate cut-off of services, due to continued absence of insurance payments.

What else could I do? I couldn't just leave her—well, yes I could ... but, no, I couldn't—so that left me with just one option, until I could figure how to talk to her. I carried her lightweight and limp body, plus blanket, over to my scooter & sidecar rig, and bundled her into it. She came around just about the time I was buckling the spare three-quarters helmet under her chin.

I looked at her, and loudly said, "We have a date for dinner, right after you take a long, hot shower and get some real rest. Breakfast, too. Lunch and dinner, tomorrow. A regular bed, with sheets, and a warm room. No pervert, no getting forced! I swear that you're safe with me. No conditions. I'm really doing a rescue. OK?"

She didn't struggle or scream, and I just heard a falling series of, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, ahhhh, cunt, fuck, fuck ..." nonsense words.

The trip to the residence inn I was staying at was short, but the air was nippy-cold, and I'd left off my electric gear, not having planned to be out a long time. My 'guest' must have been just as cold, so I said nothing, until I got to my assigned parking space, and helped her out of the side-car.

I started to put on the weather cover, and she tried to help, but she seemed to have a general weakness and coordination problem on her right side. Nevertheless, I let her help, and the job only took about four times as long. For that, I got a tentative smile, which sort of brightened my afternoon. She had a really nice smile, and I liked getting it.

Even so, I kept a little distance from her, as we walked to the inn's entrance, and I carded myself inside. Another walk down a short hallway, and I let her into the two-room suite I'd just rented, that mid-morning. Turning to unpack, I got out my old, raggedy bathrobe, and a couple of other things that might work for a girl. My toiletry supplies were out. I turned, to find her still standing in the center of the room, tightly wrapped in her blanket, and with the helmet still in place. I helped her out of the helmet, but didn't touch the blanket, or her. I pointed to the bathroom, and gently urged her to go inside.

In there, I turned on the water, adjusting the flow to moderate-warm. I pointed out the shampoo, hair conditioner, and the quality soap I had out. Then, kicking myself (because I really wanted a look-see at my Asian rescued-kitten), I backed out of the bathroom, and pointedly closed the door until it clicked.

The water ran for quite a while, as I fixed a bean-and-beef stew in the pressure-cooker, plus a simple salad and some rice. I put out a set of disposable chopsticks, a fork and a big soupspoon, and also set out a couple of small towels, placing them next to the dishes.

When I looked up, there was a pile of very dirty and smelly clothes, and an equally dirty and smelly blanket, just outside the bathroom door. While the pressure cooker was operating, I carried these items down the hall to the coin-operate washer/dryer that the inn provided, and started the hot wash cycle (the blanket was polyester). Coming back, I continued with preparations for 'our' dinner. After twenty minutes, I went back and transferred her washed clothes to the dryer, putting in a dryer sheet for softness.

Eventually, the water stopped in the bathroom, but I heard no noise. I let the pressure-cooker start to decrease by the 'natural method' (just letting it cool by itself). I heard the sink run a few times, and then the hair-dryer ran for a while, too. I swear I heard a couple of giggles, but I couldn't be sure.

About the time I was ready to dish out the food, the bathroom door opened, and a very clean and tidy Asian girl stepped out, wrapped neck to toe in my old bathroom. She pointed at the place where her clothes were, and said, "Fuck? Shit?"

I answered her, saying, "I'm washing everything, in the machines down the hall. I've put everything in the dryer, and you'll have your things in an hour or so. Right now, sit down and we'll eat."

I served her my meal, making sure that her bowl was only half-full, and insisting that she spread one of the towels down her front, and the other across her lap. Even using the spoon, she made some spills, during dinner, and I got a look composed of half-irritation and half-appreciation.

I tried again, asking, "What's your name, pretty girl," but got back only her now-usual, "fuck. Cunt. Cunt! Ahhh, shit. Cunt!"

Knowing that I had to act fast, I just grinned and said, "Well, if that's the case, I'd better be Stud. No force stud! Maybe I'd better be Erectile Dysfunction stud. Or just a retired Stud."

The smile spread across her face, and she laughed out loud, as she pointed to herself, saying, "Cunt. Asshole. Cunt! Stud. Cunt!"

After dinner, I got her clothes from the dryer, and then I tried to ask some questions. But, it quickly became clear that all my lovely Asian girl had available to her were dirty swear words—shit; damn; fuck, fucker, fucking; cunt; piss; asshole; cock; bitch; tit and crap—just uttered with different intonations. I could see that she was utterly embarrassed to hear these foul obscenities coming out of her mouth.

The trouble expanded when I discovered that she couldn't say 'yes' or 'no' reliably. That is, I could say, "Are you a girl?," and she might nod her head, but say, "no." I could then ask, "Is your hair green?", and she'd shake her head, but say, "yes".

I had a flash of inspiration, though, and I took her over to my desk. I took out three sheets of paper, and taped each down to the desk surface. On one sheet, I printed the word NO large, solid, and colored red. On the other sheet, I printed YES equally large and solid, but colored green. On a third sheet of paper, set above the two other sheets, and a little above them, I printed a large question mark, which I outlined in black, with the center of the character still white.

I got it across that she was to put her whole hand on the word that answered my question, or on the question mark if she didn't know the answer ... or if she didn't want to answer. Then I asked some questions, but repeated myself a lot, and I think I got about 70% accuracy in her replies.

An hour later, she started to nod off, and I quickly made up a pillow and blanket bed on the couch. I used the bathroom, and then pointedly went to the bedroom, but left the door open.

Strangely enough, I fell asleep.

About two or three in the morning, I awoke, to find a lovely Asian girl asleep in my arms. She was 'dressed' in the outfit I'd forgotten about, that I'd left in the bathroom. The black open-lace cat-suit I'd bought on impulse: the backless, armless, one-size-fits-all version, which was sitting on the vanity in the bathroom.

The lace outfit that I was completely sure that she was wearing under my robe, when we ate and when we tried to communicate. The open-lace outfit that was totally bare-pussy crotchless, which I saw in the moonlight coming in from the window, reflecting on a completely smooth pussy, and small, pert tits, under the sheer material.

I folded her arms around me again and managed to fall back asleep without committing sex, but my dreams were disordered.

In the morning, I woke, to find my rescued Asian kitten asleep on the pillow beside me, a little smile on her lips. I could see her arms, and the swell of her little, pointed breasts under the black mesh cat-suit. I got up to piss, and to wash off my cock (a habit I'd developed years ago), and then went back to the bed. To sleep some more, I thought.

No way!

My kitten was awake, eyes open, still smiling, laying there on the bed, with the covers pushed down. Arms over her head. One leg drawn up, the other partially straightened out. A seductive pose, if I ever saw one. I stared at her smoothly shaven pussy for a full minute, framed, as it were with the black lace cat-suit's crotch opening. My cock rose to its full length. Since I sleep nude (another habit I developed, years ago), the evidence bobbed only a couple of feet from her face. Her eyes widened, but she still smiled lazily.

Then she said, in a low, half-whisper voice, "Ahhh. Fuck? Cunt!", as she languidly gestured at her pussy opening, clearly visible in the morning sunlight streaming through the window.

I suppose I should have waited until she had more language, so she could clearly give consent. Or maybe I should have tentatively kissed her, and gently caressed her neck and back, and then discreetly discovered if she really was stimulated and wanted me to make gentle love to her. I could have done all those things.

But, of course, we just fucked! I positioned myself between her widely opened thighs, placed my throbbing cock-head into her pussy, and thrust. To my utter delight, I sunk into a very wet well of lubricated female lust, and, after a dozen more thrusts, was completely seated inside my new speech-impaired, Asian fuck-buddy.

She left her arms over her head, stretching out her lovely and lithe body, and pointing her tits straight up at me, arching her back, and groaning wordlessly. Her smile got wider and more radiant, and she licked her lips, as I drove my cock into her rhythmically.

I found that I was pretty big for her size (too tall and heavy, but not too big a cock), so I grasped her hips, and rolled her over so she was on top. Her eyes widened some more, then narrowed, as she matched my thrusts with her downward driving movements. She chanted aloud, "Ahhh. Ohhhh. Yeah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yeah, fuck cunt. Fuck cunt, soooo deeeep. Yeah, fuck cunt. Cunt, love cunt fucked, cunt, cunt, yeah, fuck meeeeee."

I kept thrusting in pleasure, as part of me noted the sudden improvement in language. I reached up and squeezed her small but distinctly shaped breasts and rigid, straining auroleas and nipples. I said, still thrusting into her, "What's your (thrust) name, little (thrust) girl?" She widened her eyes, but struggled, still pushing up and down all over my cock, "Ahhh, fuck me, fuck me cunt, yeah, Jam, no, Jamey, no, ahhh, shit, fuck Jane, yeah, Jane, Plain Jane, Plain Jane, Plain Jane Park, fuck, yeah, fuck Plain Jane Park cunt. Fuck me, fuck Jane Park, fuck cunt, fuck meeeee."

I gasped out, "Hello, Plain Jane Park. Thank you for trusting me. Ahhhh, I'm gonna cum." That's all the warning I gave her, as I hardened, and shot my screaming, power-thrusting load into her. Shot and shot, and subsided.

Then lay there, amazed, as she pulled her pussy off my softening cock with a 'plop,' and then wrapped her lips around my weakening member, gently sucking on it, as I softened further. She avoided my hypersensitive glans, but gently sucked on all the rest, for many minutes, until my limp cock was about an inch long. Then she swirled her tongue around the whole shrunken cock. And then, she looked up at me, and grinned like a maniac, saying, with a laugh, "Ohhhh, fuck cunt. Fuck! Cunt. Suck cunt. Yeah, suck cunt."

She settled down on the bed beside me, and snuggled into my arm, leaving me virtually speechless. I could talk to her, just barely, but only when I was having sex with her, deep inside her.

After resting a while, I went to the other room to fix us some brunch, clean up, and then start looking through the Internet for information on 'aphasia.'

So what my little Asian girl displayed was a fairly pure, but severe, case of expressive aphasia—language loss, due to a stroke. She knew what she wanted to say but just couldn't think of the word or words. She could hear and read OK, but she couldn't speak beyond her obscenities, nor could she write, print or type. She could identify and match pictures, and point out similarities. That's how, along with her name, I discovered that her background was Korean. That is, her parents were Korean, but she'd been raised speaking American English, in the Los Angeles area.

I got the general idea that she'd come to middle-America with her boyfriend and a best-girlfriend, but had a seizure and then a stroke. While she was in the hospital, boyfriend said something like, 'I didn't sign on for this,' and abandoned her, taking her best-friend/girlfriend along, too, and they'd left, taking the car, her clothes, and most of the money. When her own money ran out, she was 'discharged from treatment,' put in an ambulance, and then 'dumped' on the streets, a month ago.

Completely illegal, of course, but who'd care about an obviously crazy, little Asian 'ho' from out-of-town with no money and no friends. She'd been living by her wits, on the street, without any spoken language since then, and slowly starving.

I couldn't find out where the blanket came from.

So I had a new companion—and fuck-buddy—to take care of, who couldn't speak clearly. She could speak a little, but only when being fucked. The challenge was obvious, and we both joyfully embarked on a program of language stimulation by Braille, plus 'speaking-in-tongues.'

One of the first pieces of information I picked up was that both of her parents were dead. I also picked up that, before the stroke, she was something of a free-spirit, and she loved sex, both guys and girls. This was why, on our first evening, when I fed her, she had found the black lace cat-suit after her shower, and she'd flowed into it as soon as she was dry. I also found out that she had awakened before me, and arranged herself on the bed, so that I'd get a 'really good look' at her body, when I came back to bed.

Let me say this about that: Plain Jane Park was a Korean hottie. She loved the feeling of a man's hard penis in her. She loved sex and sexing. She knew it, and she made very sure I knew it.

Often!

A little experiment (three fucks-worth) revealed that just being eaten out didn't have much effect, at first. She had to be penetrated and fucked toward her first orgasm for her language to emerge. Then, if I managed to withdraw from her lovely body, I could lick and suck her, while she screamed and orgasmed, and still listen to her talk. I will say that it became fairly hard to talk back with my mouth and tongue buried in her pussy, and lapping at her clit. At the end, I could re-enter her body, and try to settle in for a steady, long-distance fuck, while we talked.

I tried—I really did try—to last, but eventually, her writhing and cumming would get to me and I'd have to shoot my load into her.

Which she loved, but which decreased her language skills nearly back to their original state. Then, her arms and body wrapped nakedly around me, she'd tell me, "Fuck. Fuck slut cunt! Ahhhh, fuck..."

I took my Plain Jane Part shopping for clothes, since her own mostly dissolved in the wash. I bought the usual stuff (panties, bras, jeans, skirts, blouses and sweaters, and a couple of purses. I got her a bikini bathing suit for the pool (which she insisted, by signs, had to be the loudest, brightest and skimpiest the store had to offer). I also bought her a 'little black dress,' for evening wear, and a real string of pearls for her tiny neck, plus a set of low-heel, strappy, 'fuck-me' sandals, and anther set of low-heel 'fuck-me' boots.

It was when she dragged me to the little sex-shop in the mall, that she made me buy some open cup bras, crotchless panties, and a couple of sheer baby-doll outfits, and I knew I was gonna get laid for a lot of nights to come.

One of the problems that came on rapidly was that she was barely 4' 10" and weighed under 100 lbs., soaking wet. Now, I was about 6' 3" and well over 220 lbs., so there was something of a mis-match in size. I suppose that she could have continued on top forever (I'd have loved it), but she often wanted a deep, powerful, driving, hard-cock penetration of her tiny body, and I have to get on top to satisfy her needs, which left her half-suffocated under my chest, if I wasn't careful.

So, in about a week of steady screwing, I found my fuck-buddy Jane surfing through the net, looking at pictures on porn sites. She'd found a site with several varieties of sex-swings, and she pointed out the one she wanted. Four well-padded straps: one around her back; one under her butt; and one for each leg. The problem was that it hung from the ceiling, and I was renting a suite of rooms in a residence inn: I doubted that they'd want me drilling holes in the ceiling, and I thought the bi-weekly maid service would be sure to see it.

Nevertheless, that was the one she pointed at, and so, 'whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.' Renting a drill and a set of carbide-tipped bits, I carefully drilled a hole in the poured-concrete ceiling, inside the bedroom, over in a corner. Then I slid in a plastic anchor, and twisted a long, high-strength screw-hook into the hole, which expanded the plastic to a point where it would have taken power equipment to pull out.

The swing arrived in a few days (thank you, 2nd day Air delivery), and I was able to attach it to the ceiling hook, which I'd covered with a rough coating of that same caulk material: the hook was just about invisible, if a person wasn't looking for it (and who, after all, looks up at the ceiling?). When I pushed a white cap off a laundry spray-on aerosol can, it was invisible. I figured that a dowel pounded into the hole, and a dab of the white caulking material would disguise the hole, when I moved out.