tagGroup SexRon's Journal 07

Ron's Journal 07


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.

I highly recommend that you read all previous chapters before starting on this piece.

******************** 14: I Live And Die For Chance Encounters

I had bought a big old Plymouth station wagon from my platoon sergeant. I filled it to overflowing with my belongings: a break-down photo lab, cameras, boxes full of books and charts, my current acoustic guitar, my few clothes. Even the front passenger seat was stacked full.

I drove westward across Kansas though torrential rains from the edge of a Pacific hurricane. The storm cleared by the time I rolled over the Rockies into Taos, New Mexico. I poked around quaint old photogenic Taos for a couple days, and then drove the High Road into Santa Fe.

I had plotted various options for my post-Fort-Bumfuck life. Since I was officially on active duty for almost two more months, I had thought to stash my stuff at Dad's in southern California and catch free military transport flights around the world. Spain and Greece attracted me; I wanted to see Sevilla, and Santorini. Then I wanted college, maybe a music school in Boston or the art school in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.

But Santa Fe killed those plans. I found Mir again. Mir, my old Hollywood High lover.

I was driving in slow constant traffic just off the Plaza when I saw her -- older, leaner, more beautiful than ever, wearing sports shoes and a short black skirt and a fitted white blouse, pacing down the sidewalk. I stopped in traffic and burst from my door.

"Mir! Mir! MIR!!!"

She turned and saw me. She looked puzzled. Somebody honked.

"Mir! Wait right there till I park. I'll be right back," I called over the annoyed honking.

A city parking structure was on the next block. I ran back to Mir.

I stood in front of her, panting. She stood with her arms crossed, staring into my face.

"Ron? Is it really you?"

Mir hugged me, held me. I laughed and almost cried.

"C'mon Ron," she said, leading me to a coffee shop.

Mir filled me in on her last few years. She had just graduated. She would stay in Santa Fe until the winter semester started at Duke for post-grad work in Anthropology. She waitressed in this very coffee shop. She shared an apartment near the plaza with her... steady girlfriend.

"Ron, I'm really glad to see you, but you can't stay with me and Cecile. We're a team."

"Mir, I'll get a room here, I'll be nearby for you, whenever and wherever you want."

Mir shook her head and said, "Do what you want but I can't be with you sexually. We're over now."

I did not beg. I held her hand and thanked her and walked out.

I found a tiny casita not far from the Plaza, available for weekly rental. I moved in. I took coffee in Mir's cafe every day, but she made it clear that we only had a waitress-customer relationship now. I suspect she feared that if we were any closer, she wouldn't be able to escape me.

I still spent many days in the Plaza with my guitar, singing for tips and comestibles again, and for companionship. I was still a minstrel singing seductive songs. My baritone-tenor voice and fingerpicking skills were still aphrodisiacs.

I found Anita living in a casita near mine, a wild girl with Old Spanish blood, with an insatiable desire for rough sex. I provided that. We probably frightened the mice. I found Elena in a campground in the mountains above town. I moved this not-tall Greek girl into my room for intricate fun that we sometimes shared with Anita. I found other girls, brought them to my room to play with, or they took me to theirs.

But I never found my way back into Mir's heart. After a month and a half, I drove on, back to California.

NEXT: Diminished expectations.

******************** 15: California Dreaming: Mountain and Desert

My six-week Santa Fe layover had killed my quest for free overseas flights, and had also smothered my other ambitions somewhat. I switched into hang-around-and-see-what-happens mode.

Two important things happened rather quickly. I joined the Army Reserves. And I reconnected with my fuck-friends Will and Cassie Sykes.

I was somewhat coerced into the Reserves. I was in a park near my old hometown, a park where in earlier years I'd watched a AAA baseball team's spring training, and heard live music by big-name surf bands.

The park also contained a Reserves armory housing a medical unit. With nothing else to do, I wandered in.

The only occupant was a trimly uniformed woman. Valerie was shoulder-height to me, maybe a little older, cropped brown hair, nicely curved, a Spec 6 medic working full-time in administration. We exchanged pleasantries. She said I could have fun if I joined the Reserves. She poured me some wine. We chatted. She poured more wine. The afternoon passed.

She closed the office. I asked if she would like to go for a bite to eat. We munched the dinner specials at a decent taqueria, drank a few Modelo Negro beers, and a few more. After we drained our liquids, she took me home to her apartment. She nearly fucked me to death. And such a happy death!

Valerie liked to spin around on my cock. She laid me back. She impaled herself cowgirl style and humped frantically. She turned right by 90 degrees, her legs pointing to my left and humped some more. Then another quarter-turn, to reverse-cowgirl, and more humping. Then another twist, legs to my right, and further humping. And back to cowgirl. She said she liked different viewpoints. I didn't argue.

"Oh geez Ron, if you go in any deeper, I'll just fucking split apart!"

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? To explode into little gooey pieces?"

"Shit, does your cock run all the way up to my lungs? I can hardly breathe!"

"Baby, I'll cum right inside your skull. Here comes the brain fuck!"

I signed up for a four year commitment the next day. See what thinking with the little head causes? What the hell, I could sure use the money. And the pussy.

I looked up my ex-sex-toy and now ex-sister-in-law Bethany Hermann. She had recently published her first fantasy trilogy and was about to move to England. She told me that Will and Cassie Sykes had moved to the nearby mountains. I found them at the bookstore they managed near Lake Arrowhead. They invited me to move into their tiny three-story log cabin, owned of his parents. I accepted.

We went at it with about the same style as we had in Boston, without all the driving. I often shared the bed in their top-floor loft. Colder nights, we would cavort on blankets piled in front of the middle-floor wood fireplace. For privacy, I retreated to my unheated bed on the bottom floor, almost a basement, and boiled lots of tea with an electric immersion heater.

Will and I usually tag-teamed Cassie. I got adventurous one night and proposed a daisychain triad. Will was a little reluctant but Cassie dragged his face to her cunt and inhaled my stiff dick, and I took Will's long uncircumcised cock into my mouth. I finally learned what he tasted like. Not too bad.

I love triads. We always pulse and glow. This was my first as a cocksucker, and also Will's. He stayed reluctant. He did not really like switching and sucking cock. We only pulled these triads a couple times. Will started getting testy and sarcastic.

Things really broke down when my sister Lyn's old roommate Gwen found me. I drove her to the cabin. Will and Cassie suggested a four-way. Gwen begged off, saying she was still in a relationship with her young son's father. Will complained I was not contributing enough to our gatherings.

I took the hint and moved out.

(FAST FORWARD: Will died of Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma a couple years later, some time after a farewell three-way fuck. Cassie went back to Boston. I have not heard from her since.)

I was tired of living close to others. I wanted space. I found a cheap rental, a tiny cinderblock shack far out on the high desert near Joshua Tree, California. I slept on the shack's flat roof under impossibly bright stars on hot nights. Roadrunners ran across the roof (and me) at sunrise, a unique alarm clock.

Paved roads on the high desert were straight and long with mostly gentle grades. I pedaled my cheap 10-speed great distances out there. I ate too little, drank too much, but kept my body trim and tight.

The county's junior college had a branch campus nearby. I enrolled for classes in Desert Botany, Rock Climbing And Backcountry Rescue, Photography (advanced), a batch of required subjects, and to train as an EMT to supplement my Army Reserves medic training. Later semesters saw me in pre-med courses. The Reserves promised to pay my way through medical school if I qualified.

I took Spanish classes with a plump Cubana teacher, a physician's wife. They were of the elites that left after Castro's revolution. Mexicans laughed at my accent.

I practiced Spanish with fellow student Jenny, a couple years younger than me, a freckled Scandinavian girl-next-door. We lay on the town park's shaded lawn with flash cards, memorizing vocabulary. We practiced other oral skills in my bed. She had obviously practiced a great deal already. Jenny was too insatiable for me alone. She moved in with five Marine Corps cooks from the nearby base.

Felice was on my cat-dissection team in Anatomy class. Four students shared each preserved cat, taken to a different home on alternate days. Felice smelled much better than a dead cat. She was also married to a Marine Corps lieutenant, an aggressive guy who did not really like seeing his wife hanging around with an Army puke like me. Felice and I came close, but not quite close enough.

That summer, a major corporation recruited a few Desert Botany students for a three-week survey of the landscape, looking for jojoba bushes, whose oil could replace expensive whale oils. Our workdays lasted from five in the morning till noon, when the heat was too great. We wore as little clothing as possible.

Octavia was one of my Jojoba Survey teammates. Only tough boots, and a skimpy bikini under a loose light long shirt, covered her delicious well-tanned body as we hiked up dry washes together looking for fertile jojoba specimens suitable for commercial cultivation. We always retired to my shack in the afternoon for a quick shower and some not-so-quick sucking and fucking with no danger of human fertility. My vasectomy was still in place.

"Ron, the sun is behind the mountains. Let's go out back and fuck like dogs."

"I'll be your hound, baby, and you can be my bitch. Let's howl at the moon."

"And what did the kid say when he saw his folks fucking missionary-style?"

"'Roll her over, Daddy, I want puppies.' Now get down on your hands and knees."

I drove to a Rainbow People's gathering in a wilderness in southwest New Mexico later that summer. Once again, thousands of naked people lived, ate, shat, fucked, etc out in the open for over a week. Once again, my guitar was a workable aphrodisiac. I drove lithe young Naomi home with me from the gathering but she did not stay long, preferring her old boyfriend in San Diego. She took her Buffalo Springfield tapes with her.

My unemployment and separation pay from the Army ran out. I needed money; the local ambulance service hired me as an EMT. I was sometimes on-call 24/7, waiting with a portable VHF radio for emergency calls. Being one of the few EMTs around brought me well-needed community appreciation but not much sex.

Sex came elsewhere. Mabs was a park ranger and one of my perennial Desert Botany classmates. Her tasty daughter Leonie, about to leave for university, was as cute (and as hot) as a bunny. Leonie and I had many intensive botanical discussions; at least that's what we called them. My stamen was glabrous for Leonie.

Linda, ten years my senior, organized benefit events. Her stepdaughter Connie, seven years my junior, loved to ride behind me on the Kawasaki 650 I would borrowed from Dad. Linda and Connie split their time between an apartment in Santa Monica, a cabin at Lake Arrowhead, another cabin at Joshua Tree.

Linda and I fucked at a local hot spring whenever she was around. Connie and I fucked wherever we could. Too bad I never got them together. That would have been a juice-fest!

But almost as good: I knocked on the Joshua Tree cabin door when Linda was elsewhere. The door opened on Connie and her friend Sara naked in bed. Yes, they invited me in. Yes, we had fun fun fun. And my mouth work impressed them both.

"Connie, where the fuck did you find this guy?"

"Mom brought him by one day. He started playing harmonica. I could tell he had a talented mouth. I was right. Mmmm, eat me some more, Ron..."

"You just keep him right there, I want his cock."

Sara hummed and buzzed so strongly when sucking my cock that it nearly fell apart. She hummed and buzzed into Connie's pussy too, and Connie nearly fell apart. I learned a few oral tricks from Sara, and threw them right back at her. We were all happy. Bzzzzz...

Army Reserves kept me busy one weekend each month. I drove to a training base on the coast for a few months, usually crashing with another trainee. Jennifer and Ramona were especially good for overnights, individually or together.

When that training was done, I settled in to my local unit.

A couple Army Reserves medic gals got close to me, very close, like naked-in-a-hot-tub close, like slurp-whatever-protrudes close. One, lanky light-brown Leah, preferred underwater fucks. Another Linda, short and dark and intense, knew all the Reserves medevac chopper pilots, and arranged thrill-flights in Hueys out as far as Hearst Castle and Death Valley and the Grand Canyon. Yes, I have buzzed Hearst Castle at night. Fun.

I had further training at the Army's medical center in San Antonio, Texas. I walked all over town, saw the sights, and fraternized with fellow trainees. Yes, 'fraternized' means 'fucked'. I wasn't impressed by the Alamo, a monument to slavers. On my return flight, I sat next to the President's mother, no shit. She spilled my wine, bought me several more, and taught me how to cheat at Tic-Tac-Toe.

When I graduated the junior college with a 3.8 GPA and a worthless AA degree, I knew I had to leave Joshua Tree. I headed for a coastal university town south of San Francisco. I was on the periphery of my old stomping grounds again.

NEXT: Grinding to a conclusion.

******************** 16: Northward Bound: The End of the Trail

I hadn't enough of the right credits for university so I enrolled in more pre-med courses at the junior college a dozen miles away. With my only income being GI Bill and my Reserves pay, I hadn't much money for gas, so I pedaled my old 10-speed on the hilly route to school, back and forth, twice daily because my classes had a four-hour gap.

Thus I biked over two centuries every week, and more on weekends, along the coast or up into the hills. I was fit: 28 years old, 6'5" tall, 165 pounds, zero fat on my body. With my military short hair and my usual shirtless and cutoff-jeans-clad body, I was probably every gay guy's wet dream, except bear-lovers.

I found a room in an old Victorian house on the edge of downtown. I also found two girls named Margaret. To avoid confusion, I will call them Peg and Marg.

I volunteered to teach First Aid and CPR for the local Red Cross chapter. That is where I met Peg, a chestnut-haired beauty, nose-high to me, quite curvy, and half-wild. She came to the class with her guy Lars and insisted on Frenching during CPR practice.

I later found that she was scion of a prominent and quite wealthy Central Valley ranching family, from a town named after her grandfather. I also found that her full juicy breasts bore absolutely flat nipples, with no protrusion at all.

I saw Peg's juicy breasts right away. Peg and Lars invited me to join them in a naked sauna after class. Peg kept 'practicing' CPR by Frenching us alternately.

Peg removed her mouth from mine and asked, "Am I doing it right yet?"

I pulled her back and said, "Let's try it again and make sure."

Peg moved to Lars, worked her tongue in his mouth, then said, "See what I've learned already!"

Lars grinned.

Peg later drove to my house by herself, pushed open my door, stripped off her tee and shorts (nothing underneath), and plopped in my extra chair.

"So, Sergeant Ron, what are you doing this evening? Eating out, maybe?"

Peg spread her legs wide.

"You probably have excellent taste in dining, but I should check first to be sure," I replied.

Yes, she tasted great. Everywhere. That's when I first found her puffless non-nipples. Dollar-pancake sized and colored aureoles, dime-like nipples. Getting them as thick as a dime meant she was very very excited.

I ate her. She ate me. We ate each other, fingers flying furiously. My cum overflowed her mouth and coated her long hair. We fucked missionary-style, cowgirl-style, doggie-style, panda-style, wolverine-style, back to 69ing, and then with my cock in her cunt in various bodily orientations, our legs wrapped for penetration, et cetera. She came often. I came enough.

I told Peg she was beautiful, because she was, whether she believed it or not. She told me I was handsome, and I felt flattered. Most of our conversation involved giving directions, and grunting loudly.

Peg became a great friend, not just for the sex, but because she was a cashier at the college cafeteria. I ate many big sandwiches for which she did not charge me. She was a lifeline of survival. And she offered me much more: her life. We were very close for the two semesters I was there. Very close. Almost permanent. Almost.

Marg was very different, a short Filipina with butt-length straight black hair. She was an Army Reserves medic in the Bay Area company I had transferred to. When I first saw her hair I *had* to run my fingers through it repeatedly. She took this as a proposition. She led me out to her van and fucked me half to death. Her slight buckteeth always seemed to imperil the integrity of my cock when she blew me, but I survived.

Marg and I tended to fuck wherever we were, including public beaches and parks and roadsides. She liked to be in control so she rode me like a cowgirl a lot. She left salacious notes under my door, in my locker, in my field jacket pockets. She mailed me nude photos of herself and her sisters.

At home one day, I heard Marg's familiar honk. I looked out my window and saw her van, with her standing beside it. And most of her family was with her, all staring up at the big Gringo she thought she had snagged. I was expecting another fuckfest so I had to dress rather quickly. Oops.

My room was at the front of the old Victorian house near downtown, next to the stairs from the street, my windows overlooking the street. A sticky sliding door opened from my room to the hallway. I usually left it open, with a curtain hanging over the doorway for visual privacy and easy access.

Behind my room was David's. David was a jerk, but the house lease was in his name, so nothing much could be done. Behind David's room was Michelle's, a tall fleshy (and flashy) redheaded aerobics instructor and a fairly committed lesbian.

Two straight Nam vets, Jerry and Jim, shared an upstairs room. They were gone most nights. Turns out, they were tending their pot plantation off in the woods. They brought home a harvest most mornings and kept the house high.

Another upstairs room belonged to Quentin, a grad student and teaching assistant at the university, and Nicole, his short big-titted English girlfriend. Quentin was gone about 22 hours each day. Nicole sunbathed topless in the backyard garden. Yes, she was quite pneumatic.

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