The Cure for the Summertime Blues

"Go, go, go, go, go, mister, go," she said, looking over her shoulder out the back window of my car.

I pulled out into the road, accelerating a little faster than I might normally, but not really fast.

Not fast enough. The 4x4 with the huge tires slammed into the back of my BMW with his fat, thick bumper guards and jolted us forward. My head hit the headrest and I glanced into my rear view. All I could see was grill.

"Go, go, go, please, go mister," the girl implored me.

I went. Slamming through the gears and pushing the BMW coupe as fast as it would go down that two lane country road.

Wait, wait, wait. Rewind this story about ten minutes back. You would find me driving down a rural back road listening to the radio, bored out of my mind. The song was apropos.

'Well I'm a gonna raise a fuss, I'm a gonna raise a holler, About a working all summer just to try to earn a dollar. Every time I call my baby, try to get a date, My boss says, no dice, son, you gotta work late. Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do, But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues.'

No shit. I'd been driving three hours back from some godforsaken backwoods burg where I'd just spent another three hours doing an estimate for a job we probably wouldn't get anyway. And my girlfriend, that is my ex gf, was off at the beach. 'You work too much,' she told me, 'for summertime.' And off she sashayed.

And now this. What the fuck. As if my life wasn't fucked up enough right now. What a dumb ass thing to do, pick up a hitchhiker. But as I floored my Beam, I was too damn busy to regret having pulled over for her. I don't normally pick up hitchhikers, but this one was kind of frantic, more or less flagging me down, looking quite desperate.

And, she was cute as hell.

"Who the fuck is that?" I yelled, focused on that massive truck grill slowly getting smaller in my mirror.

"It's my boyfriend," she spat out, "no, no, not my boyfriend, a guy who thinks he fucking owns me."

Fuck. That was ten grand in body work he'd just done. And he was still on my tail, looking to do more. But he was losing ground. He'd lose more in the curves ahead.

I glanced over at her. She looked about eighteen. Blonde, naturally. One of those country cuties you find in any small town. Homecoming queen. Prom princess. Healthy, well built, effortlessly sexy. She was a living American Summertime Dream, the girl you'd most like to raft down the river with, go water skiing with, spend a day at the beach drinking beers with. She was wearing blue jean short shorts, a button up white shirt with the tails tied in a knot to show off her flat tummy and the collar unbuttoned to a precipitously deep cleavage, sporting a pony tail and bare feet.

The kind of hometown girl who drove the boys crazy through high school.

And the one behind us was clearly insane.

"I'll drop you off at the police station," I said through gritted teeth.

"Got no police station in Pine Tree," she replied, all the while keeping her eyes glued to the rear view mirror on her side.

"Sheriff's office?" I tried.

"Yeah," she said, "but his daddy's the sheriff."

She had that country twang that is normally very sexy on a girl like her. But I was too busy to really think of it that way. It sounded like country hick in the present circumstances.

"You got family? Can I drop you off at your father's or something?"

She looked over at me. "Got a mom," she said, kind of flatly, "at the trailer park."

"Why the fuck is he so fucking pissed?"

"He was born pissed, Mister."

The BMW loved the curves, and his truck was falling farther behind.

"Well," I said, getting exasperated, "where can I drop you off?"

"New York City."

We were 500 miles from New York.

She saw my look, then added, "Can we drive right through Pine Tree? Go on down to Hudson Falls?"

That was another two hours down the highway.

"I gotta get gas in Pine Tree," I said.

"We're fucked." She looked out the window.

"Why?"

"I'm sure he called ahead to his buddies. They'll be waitin' on us."

"Maybe I can talk to him."

She looked at me again. I guess she was sizing me up. "Sure you can. And maybe have a beer and shoot the shit awhile too," she said, then she dropped the other shoe. "Them boys ain't the talkin' type."

I took stock of my situation. The low gas light was already on. My smashed rear end was like a big neon sign; there was no way they wouldn't see me in a tiny town like Pine Tree. I'm not armed. My phone wasn't currently getting a signal, but even if I could call the cops they'd send the sheriff.

And the sheriff was his daddy.

"What if I left you off on this corner coming up?" I tried.

"Well, then, he might not kill you," she offered back, "but he'd sure as shit fuck you up bad. Probably me too."

"Fuck."

A sign said we were coming up to the town of Pine Tree. Population 460.

"Turn off at the first dirt road we come to," she said. 'Bubba' was so far back we could turn in without being seen. "I got a friend who lives out there."

"Does she have a twelve gauge?"

"I don't know, but we can borrow her car."

Well, not her car, exactly. Her other car. The 1964 Valiant her father was restoring. As we drove it through the two stop lights that comprised the township of Pine Tree, she ducked down in the front seat, putting her head in my lap, or, very close.

It was a nice head. And under almost any other circumstance, those luscious teeny lips lingering so close to my rocket man would have set him up on the launch pad. But fear outranks lust.

Driving down the main street I didn't see Bubba, but I saw several trucks and a couple of hot rods that looked like Bubba's friends and I kept my eyes peeled for trouble. But I guess she didn't have as much to look at as I did. And so, she put her hand on the rocket, sort of like she was seeing if it was real.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry mister," she said all sweet and perky, "you can't expect me to have my face this close to that monster and not look."

"You're doing more than looking."

"I'm a normal teenage girl."

"No shit. What part about this situation seems normal to you?"

"My lips being kissing distance from a large cock," she asserted from down there, then, "oh my!" Then added, in her cute twang, "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!"

The rocket had twitched.

She was clearly delighted. "Do you think the big guy could hear me talking about him?" She poked a finger at it.

Well, the big guy was definitely aware of a 'normal' teenage girl being within kissing distance of his big stupid head.

But we'd come to the outskirts of town. "You can sit up now," I said, not without a slight twinge of regret. She sat up and looked in the rear view.

"Oh shit."

"What?"

"He's on to us," she said, "I knew he'd check Elma Jean's." Sure enough, I saw them in my rear view, way back there, several headlights picking up speed coming out of Pine Tree.

"Turn here," she said quickly as we rounded a curve out of sight of Bubba and the boys. I whipped the Valiant to the right and we began winding down a dirt road. The sun was dipping below the horizon and it was settling into one of those long, slow, hot Summer evenings.

We drove for about fifteen minutes and came out of the woods to an overlook with a great view of a small lake below. There must have been fifteen cars out there, all parked to enjoy the view.

But I realized pretty quickly that they weren't there for the scenery. It was a make out spot.

"Where do all these cars come from?" I asked.

"Ain't much to do hereabouts, mister," she said, "and school just got out last week. All the kids come up here. Some adults too."

And indeed, in every car a couple was smooching. In several, the windows were fogged up and their suspensions were being tested.

"Do you think this is safe?"

"For at least an hour, I'd guess," she said. "Take him at least a half hour to figure out we turned off."

I held up my phone. No signal.

"What do you think we should do?" I asked. She looked me over, sizing me up. I realized what she was looking at.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked her.

"Wasn't thinking 'kidding,' exactly," she drawled, "more like, um, adulting."

"Really? Really?" I said, incredulous.

"Well, hell, mister," she blurted out, "Ain't nobody comes up here to sit and enjoy the view. If we don't kiss, it's going to look mighty suspicious." She said it 'spishous.'

She scooted across the seat and scrunched her hips next to mine. "Don't you like me?" she pouted.

Well, there wasn't much to not like. She was grade A US certified American teenage girl from the pure blonde roots of her hair to her pink painted toenails. And in between was a lot of smooth, bare, tanned skin and a fine, tight body as sweet and wild and ripe and dangerous as black berries on the vine in the middle of a hot Summer. She smelled like honeysuckle and Tennessee whiskey combined.

"Can we at least kiss some," she pleaded, "just to keep folks from thinking we come up here to spy on 'em?" She moved her lips close to mine.

It was a nice kiss, no tongue, light lip contact, our arms by our sides. But it went right to my head. Well, both heads. As our lips parted, I dived right back into her and this time she sent her tongue up to meet mine. My cock, even as blind and stupid as it is, was definitely aware that something was up.

I mean, the moon was rising out over the lake. It was a summer evening like you read about in books. I was making out with the homecoming queen. The night was young. The world was glowing. Venus beckoned over the western horizon.

A pack of crazed country hicks wanted to fuck me up bad.

She could kiss. Soft, full lips, hands in my hair, those big teenage tits smashed hard against my arm and torso, threatening to bust out of her bra, a bare foot rubbing my leg.

"Mister," she whispered, "I'm sorry you got into this. I'd like to make it up to you," she pulled back a bit, and looked down at the rocket in full launch position now, "somehow."

Her lips closed around the big dumb head. She did things with her tongue no city girl ever did. She was actually humming a song as she fellated me. Just a simple country girl enjoying herself as she worked. She took her time, licking the length up and down, tickling my balls with the tip of her tongue, then spitting on the helmeted head and swallowing it down to its base. She used one hand to stroke it and with the other she, of all things, reached up to put the index finger into my mouth. I sucked on it. Presently she removed it and snaked it down into her shorts and began stroking herself.

I wasn't going to last long. But just as she began to seriously fuck me with her face, three trucks and a hot rod pulled into the parking lot, screaming to a dusty, loud stop not fifty feet behind us.

We barely had time to get ourselves out the car. She pulled me toward the edge and we jumped the guard rail and began running, stumbling, and careening down a steep hill toward the lake. I had one hand holding up my shorts with my cock wagging around. She was whooping like it was all a lot of fun.

We made it down to a short bluff and I could hear a roar of male anger behind us. I didn't turn to look, I just ran. And I followed her as she dove off a rock into the water about thirty feet below. I can't remember the last time I dived thirty feet into a lake, because it was never, but somehow, without thinking about it, I did a perfect dive and was up and swimming away immediately. My shorts didn't make it. I lay back in the water and looked at the boys on the rock. They had not dived in. They were yelling something. One guy had my shorts in his hands.

"Kiss my ass, you dingle dicks!" she yelled and whooped again. She was leading us out to the middle of the lake, all relaxed and gorgeously wet, just like we were some happy couple enjoying our first day of a lovely country vacation.

She was even cuter in the water. She shed her shirt and shorts and swam in her bra and panties. She did the back stroke and those tits stood up like two islands of perfect teeny flesh. I kicked off my shoes. That left me in just a t shirt. When she noticed this, she whooped a loud and joyous call that echoed off the bluffs on the far shore.

"Here," she said, "let's do the rescue stroke." She got in front of me, lay back in the water, put her straight arms on my shoulders and spread her legs around my torso. As I did the breast stroke, almost literally so, I propelled us both along.

"You're awfully sweet for a city boy, mister," she said and let her feet dangle beneath us, playing footsie with my cock.

She started to sing: 'Yeah when that summer sun starts to beatin' down And you don't know what to do Just go and grab someone you wanna see in a bathing suit And drive until the map turns blue'

"Where we going?" I asked.

"Crazy," she sang, loudly, "for thinking my love could hold you. Crazy for trying, crazy for crying, and I'm crazy for loving yoooou." Then she let go my shoulders which drifted her right to me. She wrapped her legs and arms around me and kissed me deeply as we sank in the cool clear waters of Pine Tree Lake.

Pine Tree Lake Resort was on the far side. And it had boats. Well, not motor boats, thank god, because it wasn't really big enough for that. It had those touristy kind of peddle boats you can rent by the hour.

Bubba and the boys were in two such boats peddling as fast as their testosterone driven legs would peddle. In our direction. Which wasn't actually very fast. They hadn't spotted us yet, but she saw them. So we dove and swam under water for the shore. We found a reedy section where we could get out without being noticed, then lay low in some tall grass.

She wasn't one to lay around doing nothing for very long, though. Seeing me almost naked she resumed what she was doing when we were so rudely interrupted.

And so, as Bubba and boys pedaled by as menacingly as they could while, like, pedaling in a pedal boat, she slowly, lazily, with a great deal of slobbery affection, brought the rocket to full blast off readiness.

But Bubba was just yards away, flapping by, even as she began to seriously face fuck my monster. And just then he said something about going ashore to have a look around. That alerted us both. She led me through the reeds back out into the lake and we silently, in the darkening dusk, eased our way back across the shore to the parking spot where the Valiant was parked.

But at the top of the hill, she made me sit on the guard rail, being as how I was all but naked. She went over and knocked on a car door, a piece of shit old sedan. A girl opened the window and they talked. They laughed. They squealed in delight. Then the girl and her date got out of the piece of shit, went over and got in the Valiant. They started it up and drove away.

She motioned for me to get in the sedan with her. Once inside we both sort of hunched down and looked around. "We'll be safe here," she said and sort of absent mindedly took hold of the rocket, as if it was her very own personal popsicle.

And so she resumed what she had been doing when we were so rudely interrupted twice before. This time she was even slower, even lazier. You'd have thought she was working on an ice cream sundae without a spoon, licking up and down in a relaxed and easy way, sucking the head like it was a big fat straw on a man shaped milkshake, mouthing and tonguing the full length at her exquisitely slow pace, very purposely making these obscene slurping sounds as she plunged her face down and occasionally gagging as it bottomed out down her throat.

She pulled her head back, spit on the head with a large loogey of saliva and said, "Fuck my face," then as if I needed encouragement, "please?"

I grabbed her ears and slowly began humping my cock into her mouth. She made a point of gagging and slobbering, the spit leaking out her fat red lips. When I came she took her mouth away, continued to stroke it with both hands and aimed my spunk at her pretty face. She purred and hummed, "mmmmmmm."

Then she wiped some of my jiz off her nose and onto her finger and stuck it in her mouth. She sat back in that large front seat, finger in her mouth and slowly tried to pull her panties down with one hand. I had to help her, marveling at the feel of her rose petal smooth skin as I pulled them off. When she lay back and spread her legs I was looking at the very picture of perfection, an eighteen year old pussy, trimmed with a triangle of blonde hair. The delicate folds of skin looked like some sort of white petaled flower, framed by two firm supple thighs, and supported by two fat moon-round ass cheeks.

"Are you hungry, mister?" she whispered.

I was. And I intended to go as slowly on her as she did on me. I started at her toes, holding up her foot and tonguing each little piggy.

"This little piggy went to market," I started with her big toe. "This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef." I put that little piggy against my cock. "This little piggy had none." Then I licked her little toe and I walked my fingers down her leg toward her crotch as I said, "And this little piggy went wee wee wee wee all the way home."

I placed my face up to her pussy. "And this little piggy," I said to her clit, pulling back it's fleshy hood and poking it with the tip of my tongue, "tried to hide away in her little blanket, but she got kissed and sucked and licked until she went mmmmmmmm, mmm, mm, m, all the way to the ice cream store."

She was giggling and whining at the same time. She released her breasts from her bra, was caressing and squeezing them, pinching her nipples.

I mouthed her entire vagina, then said in a low voice, "And then the big bad wolf came along. First he sent two of his little bad wolfs to try to get into the last little piggy's cave." I pushed two fingers up her pussy channel, amazed at the smooth wet grip of it.

"Bad wittle wolfies," she pouted.

"Bad, bad wolfs," I said, and I put both fingers in her mouth. "They need to get a lickin'." She sucked them in and sort of fellated my two fingers.

"And the biggest, baddest wolf himself decided to take a look in the cavern." I lowered my head and placed my mouth against her pussy lips. "Is anybody home in there?" I growled. "I'm going to eat you all up." And I began to devour her pussy, snarling and munching and stroking those two fingers in and out until she was squealing with laughter. She was squirming around and huffing and yes, yes, yessing in that too cute teeny voice of hers.

Her voice alone could launch a thousand rockets. It was a mixture of full womanly huskiness and little girl innocence.

"Oh, oh, oh, Mr. Wolfy," she whisper panted, as she held my head against her crotch, "I'm going to give you a present now. Some creamy love juice for your wolfy tongue." And she came as I worked over her clit, oozing a viscous moon-colored goo out her crack, coating my tongue and lips.

After, she pulled my ears and lifted my head to hers, kissing me deeply and sucking her cum from my mouth. She reached down and placed the head of the rocket an inch deep inside her sloppy soft cunt.

"Oh, Mr. Big Bad Wolf," she whispered in my ear, "you better see what's inside my hot little cave."

But just then we heard a very loud car motor being revved angrily. Then several more. I froze. They seemed to be just yards away. But she pulled me back down to her.

"Mm-mm," she murmured, "If they knew we were here, they'd a kicked out the windows. So, fuck this bad little girl's pussy, Mr. Wolf man."

And I did, with the motors screaming outside, Bubba and boys yelling obscenities, I slowly sank the full rocket into the tightest, wettest, warmest, most wonderfully alive and most fuckable perfect pussy sex I ever hope to meet. And we began fucking oh so slowly, so lazily, so nastily, even as the world outside went nuts.