The Yosemite Shoplifter

My wife and I lived and worked in a national park decades ago. The park was world famous and visited by millions each year. Lots of people from every walk of life -- including some real characters. This is the story about one of them we met and what happened when we took him home to party.

My wife, Sherry, worked in one of the higher end retail stores in the village, and I worked in accounting. You'd think that would make me safe from most of the crazier assignments -- but as happens I was on the short list to handle problems whenever my boss was out of town, which was often. A common one was keeping track of shoplifters at our stores whenever the local law enforcement got busy and couldn't pick someone up promptly. It happened at least once a week.

I hated this part of the job. The shoplifters were mostly just kids trying to lift candy bars or free-spirited hippie types who lived out of their backpacks and found themselves low on cash. Shoplifting in the park was a federal offense since we were on federal land. They treated it very seriously and a lot of these people fucked up their lives pretty good because they tried to steal a six pack of beer or stupid little souvenir.

Which brings us to Charlie, a shoplifter. Charlie was one of those free spirits living out of a backpack.

We met Charlie because he tried to steal an expensive bottle of liquor from a store where my wife was working overtime in the stock room. He got caught on the closed-circuit cameras and pretty much gave up immediately when they nabbed him. He humbly followed the clerk back to the backroom where my wife was prepping some stock and took his place on a chair where he was told not to move. (Amazingly, the offenders almost never did.)

When a shoplifter was caught, it was the clerks' habit to fuck with them a bit while they waited to be carted off to the clink. They were cruel, but the company lost a lot of money to shoplifters each year and the retail people got a lot of shit for it, so they could pretty mean to them.

The standard banter was that the shoplifter person would be transferred to lock-up down in the central valley and that they would be promptly beaten up and raped by the local gangs members. Reminding these petty criminals not to drop the soap, to sleep with one eye open, make sure to only go bitch for the biggest and baddest hombre lest you get passed around, etc.

You get it. Nothing too original. Totally fucked up though.

When the clerks started doing this to Charlie, he listened to it all and he acted like he was terrified. So much so that they weren't sure if he was just fucking with them. They poked at him, but it ceased to be fun quick as he got more animated and theatrical. He wept. He prayed for salvation. He delivered long dramatic monologues about how his life was ruined because of the evils of liquor and the unfairness of life itself. No one was sure if he was serious or crazy but thought possibly both.

His whole "poor me" act was completely over the top and he made a big deal of begging for mercy to anyone who was walking by. It was funny, but also just bizarre and slightly spooky. Since my wife was working in the stock room that day, she caught the whole show. She found it all amusing and Charlie to be intriguing and funny.

At closing time, Charlie was still waiting for his pick-up. Sherry called me and I called the local park office, who first told me they had no record that there was even a pick up planned, then promptly put me on hold and never came back.

When I called back Sherry, she asked if since there was no record of a pick-up, they had recovered the stolen goods, etc. would it possibly be cool if we all gave Charlie a break?

I could lose my job for that, but I was tired after a long day. Just forgetting the problem seemed like the best solution as I wouldn't have to figure out logistics and paperwork to get the guy formally arrested. It was a mess that would take hours to fix and that I wouldn't get paid overtime for. So I said fuck it.

I wasn't going to just let him go though. I decided I'd pick Sherry up at work, give this young man a stern talking to, then drive him down to a small town outside the park where we would dump his ass on the side of the highway. I'd give him instructions not to come back to the park and he'd be left to fend for himself. I'd done it a few times before.

It didn't work out that way. What happened is that I got there and began talking to Charlie and before I knew It, he had both Sherry and I laughing. His humor was sharp and his attitude contagious. There was just something about the guy that defied description. I quickly understood why Sherry was looking to cut him a break. He was instantly likable and he just had this vibe. He was a mall man but with something bold and beautiful about him. Very hard to describe.

The decision made, Sherry felt better, but I still felt like I needed to escort him out of the park, so we loaded up in my jeep and hit the road. It was a long way -- more than an hour of slow mountain roads -- and Charlie asked all kinds of questions about what town would be like, whether he could catch a bus with his very limited few dollars, etc.

I didn't have a lot of hopeful things to say about any of that. He'd probably end up sleeping outdoors in the cold. He'd need to hitchhike, beg or find odd jobs to get back on his feet. Charlie was stoic about it -- even had some funny things to say as we talked -- but I have to say I wasn't feeling good about what I was doing.

Anyway, as we drove through the night, Sherry started playing tour guide, pointing out the sights to Charlie as we made our way down HWY 49 towards exit to the park. Being locals, we knew a lot of things they don't tell the tourists, and she spilled secrets on party places, swimming holes, and hiking trails that weren't on any maps up to where the pot plants grew on the sides of the mountains.

There was a small sign that pointed to the little village we lived in -- the only such place in the park -- and she pointed it out to Charlie. True to form, Charlie surprised us with an offer that would change our whole evening.

"You seem like cool people, you don't want to do this I can tell. Let's party! You do shrooms? I have some." Like a good salesman he added "They are good...Smooth and clean. I'll share."

It was a very bad idea for us to do this. If my boss ever found out he'd shit an anvil, but Sherry and I consulted with each other and a temporary vacation courtesy of magic mushrooms sounded pretty good. It had been a long high season and we were ready for something fun. As happened we were both scheduled for work with an afternoon start the next day so plenty of time to sleep them off -- and the idea of hanging out with this impish crazy man while tripping sounded like fun.

We took the turn off the highway into our little workers village and we arrived at our little cabin. Sherry and Charlie made the tea with the mushrooms while I built a fire, and within an hour we were sitting down on the couch to drink up the cups of nasty tasting brew.

If you haven't done mushrooms, I don't even know how to tell you how it all works and feels. It's not really like in the movies where suddenly the trees and rocks start talking to you and colors explode while a rainbow shoots out your ass or anything. You mostly just feel kind of intimate with everything and everyone around you.

Mushrooms take a while to kick-in, but pretty soon we were loudly chatting, talking over each other, laughing and just having a good time. Every part of the conversation seemed so important and profound. Part of it was the drugs, but there was something just hypnotic about Charlie.

As it got later in the evening, the conversation got more intimate. We turned down the lights as they just seemed to bright and took off some clothing as the fire was getting very hot. (I was feeding logs into the wood stove much too fast -- but I was digging playing with the flames as I was tripping balls.)

If you think you know where this is all going, well that was what my hope was too. I kind of figured that Charlie might make a move on Sherry or vice versa and I was fine with it. Sherry and I were pretty free sexually. The idea of some freaky sex while we were all tripping was something I was up for.

Unfortunately, Sherry had a very physical job then and had worked a lot of hours that day. She had a big burst of buzz at first and rode it out pretty good, but then turned mellow and blissed out on the couch. She fell asleep. It was a bummer.

Sherry had traded her work clothing for a tee and some long underwear bottoms which was kind of her favorite lounging outfit for evenings in the cabin. Not exactly silk lingerie - but it was a good look for her. A curvy girl with big boobs, her nipples were like big dnts in that thin shirt, and the long underwear was cotton, form-fitting and low on her hips. If she'd have had pubes, they would have been peeking above the waistband and when she stood, there was like 3 inches of ass crack showing in the back.

Seeing her stretched out on that couch was tempting. Charlie and I joked that perhaps it might be fun to slide her out of those longies and help ourselves to her charms, but it was just two stoned men talking -- I didn't seriously think anything would happen. Still it was stimulating as we were looking at her as we talked. It was a sight to make a man yearn.

I pointed out that taking advantage of my passed-out wife might not be the best idea, We Charlie persisted in talking up the idea of having sex with what he referred to as a "silent partner." Charlie even volunteered to me that his very first time was with a "Sleeping Sally he'd pissed up."

Charlie was from New Zealand and had used a lot of slang I didn't understand, I could work out that a Sally was a woman, so I took a guess on what the rest meant.

"You mean you liquored her up?"

"You got that right mate. I licked her up good. She got slippery as shit. I could slip it right in and she didn't wake up!"

We laughed at that -- but by the way he said it, I sensed he was telling me more than a rude joke. Charlie was telling me his first sex had been with a drunken girl that he had "kind of" taken advantage of. (Nowadays that might be called date rape. Back then it was called "high school." The world has changed for the better.) It was weird, but I let it pass. He was foreign and it was a different time.

Anyway, that small story started an avalanche of other intimate stories. Mostly from me as I was buzzed, out of my gourd, and feeling talkative.

I told him about my first time with a high school sweetheart, and about how Sherry and I had met at a church service but that we were together in bed within hours. Two of my very fondest memories. (I have a story on Literotica about the first of these events. I should probably really write a story about the second. It was highly amusing.)

Charles enjoyed my stories and I think recognized their honesty. He attempted to return the favor with as much seriousness as he was capable of. His own tale of the love of his life and the one that got away. She was a "village girl and the daughter of a merchant." A "healthy wench who had read up and knew the ways of the world, bringing to bed with her many fantastic tricks and pleasures" that quite took his heart.

He tried hard, but just a short time into his epic, he began to sprinkle his tale with graphic details that just had to be exaggerations and sound effects that had me laughing out loud. There was only just a touch of longing and regret at the end as his voice trailed off at the stories end.

"The bitch took my heart she did and kept it. No wonder I just think with my dick these days. No heart so no love for me. Just a whole lot of fucking." It wasn't bragging. It was a closing line dripping with loneliness and self pity.

We got quiet for a while and watched the fire. Sherry shifted and one of her boobs slid down in her shirt, reminding us that while we were telling tales there was a half-naked woman laying right there before us.

Again, Charlie provided a pretty graphic description of what he'd like to do with that body. It included some things that I thought Sherry might like and at least one that I knew she wasn't into, and a few that were just plain uncomfortable but might be fun to watch.

When I reminded him that he was talking about my wife, he said he was a gentleman and that of course he'd let me go first.

That he kept a straight face delivering that line made me laugh all the harder.

The stories continued, but our high had peaked and we were drifting into an edgy funk. Somehow 3AM had come and gone. Many of my neighbors would be waking up for their shifts soon. Breakfast at the food services concessions and the bus services started at 6.

Charles looked at Sherry one more time and said "You sure you won't let me have a go at her Jay? It'll be just our secret. I'll let you watch if you promise to be quiet and hold the camera right."

It was said as a joke, but just a hint of a plea underneath.

I told him no, that I had no doubt that watching his fumbling attempts would be entertaining, but I'd probably never be able to live with myself.

I was horny and stoned, so I did volunteer that Sherry hated waking up on the couch, which was completely true. She did it on occasion and always woke up with a sore neck.

"We should probably carry her into bed."

It was an idea that we both agreed was a good one.

It was awkward of course but also horny and fun. We were both so wasted we practically couldn't stand up ourselves. Pulling her off the couch and navigating the furniture and the narrow hallway was chaotic and almost comical.

Somehow her shirt got pushed up above her breasts at one point, and Charlie had some funny things to say about how boobs looked as they swung free and bounced around. It was kind of hot watching the man lust after my wife. I admit that.

As we dragged her down the hall, her legs dragged behind us and her long underwear pants slid down almost to her knees. A completely shaved beaver "wasn't found in nature in New Zealand yet," and Charlie had to stop to get a closer look. He got so close he could have licked it and probably would have had I not been standing there.

The body contact of the fumbling was exhilarating. I watched as Charlie copped a few feels along the way -- and I enjoyed watching. I touched a few parts too I'm embarrassed to say. (I felt bad about that part later.)

Soon enough, a worse for wear Sherry was on the bed and under the covers. She had woken briefly as we had laid her down and she showed neither alarm nor surprise that Charlie was there as we poured her into bed, but was out again instantly, which was not what I had hoped for.

We stood back and viewed our accomplishment, and I couldn't help but notice that under his pants, Charlie was hard as a rock. He was impressive.

I have mentioned in prior stories I've written that I have done some things with men over the years. Just like a lot of women at the time would do things with other women so their boyfriends or husbands could watch, I had played with a handful of men. Sherry encouraged it -- even delighted in the way that I would reluctantly go along after she goaded me into things.

Looking back, I understand now that this was all part of the way Sherry sought to dominate others sexually by getting people into sexual situations that they enjoyed in the moment but might find shameful by the light of the morning. I had seen her do it with others, but never realized at the time how expertly she did it with me.

Anyway, I briefly thought about the idea that maybe Charlie and I might engage in something more than story swap. We were both tripping and horny but while there was a heavy vibe that he would be into it, I didn't go there. Sherry and I had a kind of rule that while we were open to playing with others, I was only to do it with her permission.

But he still had a raging hard-on and was making no attempt to make a secret of it. Social decorum about hiding your erection from a man after you've basically molested his wife for the last few minutes isn't a thing when you're tripping I guess.

It was almost like he was presenting his erection as a problem I was supposed to solve. He wasn't shy about it at all, and in fact seemed to be a bit proud.

I asked Charlie if he'd like to wind down his high by watching some movies on the VCR, and he was excited by the idea of seeing what a video tape player could do. This was so long ago that in his country they weren't in most homes yet. He'd never been close to one of them before.

Since we had no cable or regular broadcast television in the national park, along with the VCR we had a good collection of mostly bootlegged tapes, including more than a few adult movies. I showed him how it all worked which was easy, and then showed him my tape collection, not especially promoting nor hiding that a few of the titles had names like "First Time Teen Swingers", "Taboo 2" and "Amanda by Night."

I didn't wait for him to make his selection of what film to watch - I was afraid I'd want to watch with him. I just said my good nights and left him to his own devices. I figured he could take care of himself from there,

(I know, I know. The idea of leaving someone alone in your house you've just met -- someone you were supposed to be taking to jail a few hours before -- is insane. I was stoned and not making good decisions.)

The crisis of Charlie and his boner taken care of, I went and laid down with Sherry.

Though I was tired as shit, there was still the residual energy that comes at the end of a mushroom high. I had trouble sleeping. It was cold, but that wasn't the reason I was getting closer to my wife under the covers. I even took the bold step of putting her sleeping hand on my cock hoping she'd get the message, but she was out pretty much cold. I was never much for masturbation - a hang up because how I was raised I guess - so I finally nodded off, horny and frustrated.

When I woke back up, the sun was up but it was still early in the morning. Sherry was not in bed with me. I figured she was probably in the bathroom or maybe up making coffee. I didn't even think about how I'd left Charlie to take care of himself in the living room, but it dawned on me after a few minutes.

My mind filled with a million scenarios of all the bad things that could happen when you invite a stranger of questionable background into your home, fill that person's brain with psychedelic drugs, then put your amazingly fuckable wife in on display.

Would I walk out to find my stuff was all stolen? My car keys gone? My wife's freshly murdered corpse naked and on display on the dining table with her severed head placed over her freshly fucked pussy? My drug addled brain took the possibilities to alternatively sexy and horrendous extremes. (I was still under the influence.) I scrambled out of bed and rushed into the hall to see what kind of horny or horror fate was in store for me.

There was Charlie watching a film. A bootleg of a more tasteful porno that he'd selected from the collection. I knew the film -- he had been watching it for at least an hour. Quite attentively by the looks of things.

Charlie had his pants down at his knees, his cock in his hands and he was slowly stroking, blissfully not giving a shit that he was sitting in a strangers' living room.

He also ignored that the lady of the house was sitting in a chair maybe 4 feet away. Yes, there was Sherry, sitting there watching him working his cock while not saying a word. She seemed to be in almost a trance watching his hand go up and down.

Early mornings where we lived could be amazingly, almost hypnotically, quiet. No traffic or city noises. Even the birds wouldn't make noise as the towering cliffs on all sides of the valley hid the sun from the animals even though it was light outside. Charlie had thoughtfully turned off the sound on the movie so it was deadly quiet.