JEN: GETTING HER KICKS ON ROUTE 66
SANTA MONICA, CA ©
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MF+FF+masturbation+oral+incest
[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
NOTE: This is number nine in a series. Readers won't know the background or carry-over from previous installments unless installments are read chronologically from number one, CHICAGO.
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Only three-hundred and twenty miles to go across California.
My goal's insight! The ride sure has been one humdinger. Miss Swifty, carrying Sue Ellen and I crossed the Arizona-California state line at Needles which lies 1,941 miles past Go. Can't say as I felt any different for arriving in California except for feeling very warm--more like hot. I was, at that point, entering the Mohave Desert. Miss Swifty's air conditioning was a Godsend. Sue Ellen and I rode along in peaceful silence for some time.
"Jen?"
"What, Sue Ellen?"
"Where are we or what's out there in the dark.
"Desert and ghost towns. Nearly ghost towns in some cases."
"Oh."
"Well,Sue Ellen, west of the Colorado River, leaving Topock, Arizona for for Needles, California and points west, Route 66 runs through the very dry and hot Mojave Desert that I just mentioned. Although hot, the road is good. By 1934, the entire stretch of Route 66 across California had been paved."
"So why are we crossing in the dark?"
"Let me put it this way, Sue Ellen. The Joads, in John Stenbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, chose to cross it at night to avoid, "[getting] the livin' daylights burned outa us if we go in daylight."
"Oh, yeah, dumb me."
Duh!
"The desert is a bleak plateau cut by scores of untillable valleys, shimmering in the scorching sunlight by day and a dark, shadowy, erie, and, not to mention, cold place in the pale moonlight. The road climbs and drops in and out of those sinks. If you could see it in daylight, Sue Ellen, the desert is unrelieved in its desolation except after rare rains,"
"What happens when it rains?"
"Then Sue Ellen, the desert become a thing of absolute beauty. That's when a thorny mantle of delicate colored vegetation of every possible hue literally blazes into flower."
"Desert sand turns into a garden of delight. Is that it?"
"You got it, Sue Ellen. You got it."
Silence for a while again.
Far ahead of us, we see the rise of the blue bulk of the San Gabriel Mountains. The highway runs steadily toward them between hills of jumbled beauty, passing through widely spaced, "towns," mere groups of tourist cabins or motels grouped around gas stations and lunchrooms--to the desert city of Barstow.
And that's what I planned to do, pass on through. My ultimate destination, ever since I left Grant Park in Chicago was to tool down this old Mother Road in Miss Swifty, has been Santa Monica, California, at the other end of the road. My ultimate goal is to get fucked silly at twilight in the surf at Santa Monica much like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in the movie, From Here To Eternity. I know, they were in Halona Cove on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, but at least Santa Monica is a Pacific beach.
Needles, California was only some twelve miles away and I planned to hold up there until about midnight before making the one hundred sixty seven miles across the Mojave Desert to Barstow. It was August and boiling hot to try to make that trip in the light of day--even with air conditioning in the car.
The clock read three in the afternoon when Sue Ellen and I pulled into needles, fueled my Vette and had her checked over. I found us a room in the 66 motel, another of those landmarks of the Mother Road. I set my travel alarm for ten p.m. and promptly conked out on my side of the bed, clothes and all, dead asleep in less than two minutes. I think Sue followed pretty close behind me, but I was already out.
The loud yammering of the alarm woke me precisely at ten. I was groggy, and even with air conditioning, I was sweaty and needed freshening up. I had to shake Sue Ellen to get her up and started. I trooped into the bathroom and stripped naked. When I stepped out to dry, Sue Ellen took her shower.
I stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and admired my reflection. Back then I was twenty-three, with natural, flaming red hair, top and bottom, and in those days, still sported a full but neatly trimmed bush. My boobs measured a swinging 38C and I had an athletically fit and honed body to match. I'd been driving hard for some time without sex and was horny as hell.
Thinking about sex got me even more horny and my left hand drifted to my pussy and slowly caressed the soft folds of skin that it found there. My right hand found my boobs and also moved in soft caresses. My nipples hardened into erection, poking stiffly out about a quarter of an inch. My boobs tingled at my touch and my hand moved faster on them. Tweaking my nipples sent electric sparks into my core to meet the electric sparks coming up from my pussy.
My left hand had gotten my pussy wet and slick. My middle finger was cruising up and down my slit, getting very wet and sticky. A I emitted a loud moan, my finger slipped into my cunt canal and disappeared to the joint at its base. I curled my finger and drug it along the top of my canal until I hit my G-Spot. That got another, deep moan out of me and I tickled that spot mercilessly.
Well, that did it. I let go, squirting in orgasm, spraying the door mirror. I grabbed my big dildo off the counter and plunged it into my pussy as deep as it would go. What more could a girl ask? Maybe a real cock? Yeeeaaaaahhhh, if only I had one in front of me.
Damn, now I'll need another shower. But that sure felt good, anyway. It was worth it.
"Jen, what're you doing out there? As if I didn't know."
The shower curtain was opaque, not transparent but it certainly wasn't soundproof. Undoubtedly, my groans and squeals gave me away.
"Why don't you come in and join me, Jen. I need some TLC, too."
I did. And we did. Express some TLC that is. God, did we ever.
However, by that time, more than an hour had passed and we needed to get going. At the coffee bar, I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and two sweet rolls. Sue Ellen right behind me. The middle aged waitress came over and sat down.
"Mind if I join you two for some coffee. Business is slow right now and I could use a little chat with some coffee. Name's Grace."
"No, not at all, please do, but it'll cost you. My name's Jen, by the way. My friend her is Sue Ellen."
"Cost me? Whada ya tallinn' about?" Grace had started back to her feet.
"Just some information, Grace, so please sit back down. I'd like to know about the area around Needles, its history and such."
Grace sat back down.
"That's not difficult for me. I moved here with my husband over forty years ago and learned a lot in that time."
"Where's your husband now? What's he do?"
"Oh, he died five years ago. Heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Grace."
"Oh, that's ok, ole Ed wasn't much of husband anyway. Always gone 'prospecting' in the hills, he was."
"So, Grace, what can you tell me about Needles and the area?"
This was going to cost us some darkness time to get across the Mohave, but I really did like to get the local flavor of information I'd already accumulated in my pre-trip research. I just relaxed, sat back, and listened. Sue Ellen hadn't said a word--yet.
"Well, Jen, to begin with, Needles was named for the sharp pointed peaks of the nearby Mojave Mountain Range. A railroad tent city grew into solid buildings when the Southern Pacific Railroad when through in 1883."
"I noticed the silhouette of those sharp points when I arrived yesterday afternoon. I can see the connection with the naming of Needles."
"The railroad again," said Sue Ellen. It sure seems to have played a significant part in the founding of many a western town. Was that true of Needles as well?"
"Yes, it was. When the original depot burned down, it was replaced by the El Garces Harvey House and Depot, named in honor of Father Francisco Garces, a missionary who visited the area in 1776. Do you know what the Harvey Houses were, Jen."
"Yes, I'm quite familiar with those chain hotel/restaurants established by Mr. Harvey. His imported and highly chaperoned waitresses became known as the Harvey Girls. I think it was a Fred Harvey that built those all along the Santa Fe right-of-way. in fact, I believe he was in partnership with the. railroad."
"Ah, you do indeed know."
"And was this one as grand as some of his other ones?" Sue Ellen again.
"Oh, for sure. By some, it was considered the "Crown Jewel" of the entire Harvey chain. Management and the Harvey Girls lived in quarters upstairs above the restaurant. Legend has it that many a railroader of the early part of this century would climb atop the rail cars during late afternoon stops at the El Garces, hoping they could spot some of the girls relaxing in their nightgowns outside their living quarters."
"What a bunch of pervert Peeping Toms!"
"Whatever, but Needles was around before Route 66 took over the old road and assumed the new name and it's still around today. It will likely be here for quite some time to come."
"I see the time's gettin on, Grace. Let me take your tab along with ours. If we're going to get across the Mojave before daylight, we'd best get moving. It sure was nice chatting with you."
"Sure was, Jen. Sue Ellen, Hope to see you again."
"You never can tell, one or both of us just might get back this way again some time. Bye."
"Bye," added Sue Ellen.
"Bye, Jen. Sue Ellen."
Back on the road, Miss Swifty purred in the coolness of the night. we would drive through several wide spots in the road, some of which, were already ghost towns or nearly so. Goffs, just thirty miles west was on the original route of the Mother Road but already bypassed in 1931 by one of those realignments on the way to Essex (another wide spot). We needed to keep going.
Next up was Amboy at 2,018 miles past Go. Same story. But, just a few miles past Amboy, the road passes the crater of an extinct volcano. It continues on through the desert and a little place called, Bagdad, on its way to Ludlow. Little remains of Bagdad, just a railroad sign post with the name of the town and a few pieces of broken concrete.
Ludlow at 2,047 miles past Go, in its day, was a hard rock mining center and loading point on the railroad for that ore. Beyond Ludlow, lies Newberry Springs at 2,080 miles past Go. This latter town was the location for filming of the movie Bagdad Cafe in 1987. I saw the movie and recall that I'd once driven through the place.
Twelve miles later, we went through Daggett at 2,092 miles past Go. Ahead, we saw the glow cast by the lights of Barstow. Dawn was still several hours away.
"Is Barstow famous for anything, Jen?"
"Some. But let's pull in for some coffee. Besides, I gotta pee again."
so, we stopped to stretch and pee. We ambled over to a nearby all night cafe and stepped into the small eatery for coffee and food (I decided I was hungry after all) and sat at a table for four. We sat in peaceful silence while we waited for our order.
A real studly type ambled over to our table and said, "I saw you pull in and I'm looking for a ride, so I wondered where you're headed."
