Road Trip Pt. 03

After a further half hour of fucking with Nicky, the two of us exploded together. Nicky straddled my body when our orgasms hit; it felt as though I jetted a barrel of cum into her. Her whole body quivered as her final orgasm from me ripped through her body. With my newfound understanding of her body, I held her neck, rubbed across her breasts in the right way, touched her a few places, and then pushed erotically on her rib cage just below her breasts in the right place as she crested in her orgasm. Nicky exploded even further as my cum surged into her. Her eyes rolled up, her eyelids closed, and she passed out. La petite mort. I held her close and showered her with kisses until she came to a couple of minutes later. After we were clearly in our afterglows, we got polite applause from all the others in the room. When we pulled apart, my conjecture about her holding a large volume of man juice proved accurate; we had to scramble to avoid flooding the carpet. Everyone laughed at our antics. Nicky blushed.

* * * * *

Over breakfast, Jed asked me, "How do you do it? You've got to teach me. I watched you go over a half hour each with Nicky and Camille, you made Nicky pass out in ecstasy, and then you fucked both of them again for almost two hours after you took them to your bed. The doors were open; I listened! So, how the hell do you have the stamina and persistence?"

I laughed pointing out that I knew no big secret I could share. I called to his attention that he'd slept with Lena, Sally, and Gail; so he was no slouch himself. After that comparison, I told him what I had learned about Tantric sex, erogenous zones, using different touch pressures on key zones, the relation to mindfulness and meditation during the sex act, the use of control, the awareness of body, mind, and spirit, the funneling of orgasmic energy back into your body and your partner's body instead of losing it during ejaculation, and the use of varying positions to pleasure one's partner while prolonging intercourse. I also talked about the symbolism of the sex act, and how it could fit the goals for growth and development for each person in their group. We covered the concept of merging personalities. Lastly, I suggested several books and articles on the subject; things my friend Kim had me read along my own journey of enlightenment in this area. Jed went directly to his computer and the Internet to order some of the books and see whether he could find the articles I referenced.

The rest of Sunday proved to be an interesting day, partly as I watched the newbies - everyone actually - learn from each other and discover more about themselves. At Gail's urging, she had the group critique the evening before, talking about what we liked and what we would change. I had little to say. She asked each of the women to share and volunteered her own views.

The women tended to self-critique, finding faults with their own acts and performance. Their comments were wide ranging and in the opinion of Jed or me, were irrelevant or we considered their points assets and not liabilities. Camille admitted she feared our thoughts about her plump body in comparison to the other women's trim bodies, and said she had new motivation to change her lifestyle so she would 'reconfigure' herself. Nicky worried about her small size, and the tightness of her pussy. Lena was afraid she'd intervened with the women Jed and I were fucking at the wrong time, and that her carnal acts diverted us from our fuck mates. Gail and Sally were concerned about whether they'd delivered enough pleasure to each other when they were enjoying their sapphic love. The women wanted more time with Jed and me too; "More fuck time," as Gail put it with a grin. I made some suggestions about using sex toys, anal sex, double penetration, and group play. My suggestions were well received, and I was invited to give an 'advanced course' that evening.

The critique turned us all on, and I think Jed and my reassurances reduced the anxiety some had felt. Soon, we were all in Jed's bed doing it all again. At one point, the women were lined up with their butts in the air along the edge of the mattress; Jed and I moved down the line pumping our cocks ten times into each pussy, before moving on to the next. There was a lot of laughter; we made this fun. If the object of our sex game was to last the longest without a wet orgasm, I guess I won, but everyone won. With breaks here and there, the seven of us spent the day in bed making each other feel good.

Monday, during a lull in our activities, I walked over to campus with an envelope of Karen's ashes. From the time I met her and she became my wife, she'd always been partial to a University environment; because of that we lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, a place with over fifty colleges or universities within a thirty-minute drive. Near the center of the beautiful campus is the Fountain of the Four Seasons; I sprinkled Karen's ashes in the fountain, hoping her spirit would be pleased with the pretty campus and the surrounding environs.

I stayed through Friday with Jed, Sally, Gail, Lena, Camille, and Nicky. Several days of that time a major weather front moved through the state: a great excuse to stay with them since motorcycle travel wouldn't have been much fun in the wind and rain. Besides, I constantly made love with five gorgeous women from dawn to midnight.

My last afternoon at Jed's, Sally led me on a long run around the perimeter of the university campus. We'd been making love for two hours, and I could have just as well skipped the extra exercise, but she had gotten exceptionally stimulated by our antics and wanted to run off some of her excess energy.

Sally led me to a beautiful glade beside a small stream, and suggested that we stop there to meditate for a half-hour. I welcomed the opportunity.

I easily slipped into my meditative trance, but slipped out of it ten minutes later because I couldn't seem to quiet my mind sufficiently to meditate. Instead, it wanted to review the past week in terms of old and new value sets and boundaries.

First, I thought about the foursome in Branson, and even before that in Illinois. I'd slipped right into those sexual romps with no a qualms about starting, enjoying, and now remembering the pleasant times. The 'old me' would never have made it out of the starting gate; I would have been shocked to even entertain the idea as anything other than some far out male fantasy.

I had seen Crystal in two other bisexual situations before we got to Illinois, but she distinguished herself with the Binfords and then again with her sister in Branson. She loved the idea of 'going both ways' as she put it; to quote her, 'It doubled her chance for a date on Saturday night.' She remarked about how she loved the feel and texture of a woman's skin, her smell, her touch and the taste of both kisses and pussy.

Seeing Crystal with Paul and Tori made me pause to study the situation and how I felt about someone else fucking my girlfriend: 'old me' would be shocked, flee the scene, and probably end up leaving the girl; 'new me' got aroused and pleased that Crystal had found a new partner that could stimulate her in some way to new pleasures, and wanted to see more of the same.

I thought of Karen and what she would have done, armed now with input from Kim and Lauren. My guess now is that Karen would have been just like Crystal, legs spread in invitation to a new cock, and tongue out to sample every inch of a new female. At this stage, I found the thought exciting and wondered if she'd lived, whether we would have ever made it to that stage.

All that brought my thinking to what had been going on at Jed's home: a continual parade of five beautiful women into my bed (or me to theirs), sometimes two at a time. Kim would have given me 'stud points' for rising to the occasion every time one of the women wanted me to pleasure her. I surprised myself and appreciated more than ever the instruction Kim had given me. I thought of the old adage, 'When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.' I'd been ready for what she had to offer.

The situation at Jed's reminded me of one other transformation I'd made: from discomfort in my nudity in front of other men, particularly when having sex, to comfort and composure in such situations. I had no urge to have a bisexual encounter with another male, but their presence, even up close no longer bothered me. The first time I'd ever touched a man having sex was with Paul when we double-teamed Crystal; we couldn't help but have strategic parts of our anatomy touch, but we both knew it was in the interest of pleasing Crystal and not any overt approach by either of us. I was becoming inured to such situations, and found them most arousing.

I'd been staring into the stream with these thoughts running through my head, when Sally gently kissed me on the cheek and gave me a smile. "Hi Lover. You were deep in thought; everything OK?"

"Oh, yeah. I was just thinking how much I've changed since the beginning of the year."

"Good change or bad change?"

"Bad in that I lost Karen. We've talked about that. Good in that all the fences that represented my relationship and sexual boundaries have been picked up and either tossed away or moved to much better locations." I grinned at Sally.

My mind immediately went to two geographies. First, in Vermont Lauren had blown a fence or two in my mind away by our passion and love. Only weeks earlier, I would never had entertained a sexual relationship with her in anything other than a wild fantasy, yet it happened and I loved what we'd done. Second, California where Anna lived and where a test of one of my long-term boundaries would come; would I ... could I make love with Anna in a way I'd dreamed of? Would she have me?

Sally pulled me to my feet and kissed me. Our meditation time was clearly over, and from the glint in her eye she wanted to make love again. After another more passionate kiss, she said, "Well, let's go and explore a few of those new sexual boundaries before the others get home from classes and work."

Chapter 17

Minnesota

Terry called me one evening just after I'd finished a crappy camp dinner. I'd been spoiled by the superb cuisine at Jed's. I must have been near a cellular tower. Terry's first words to me were, "Jim, where are you?"

I told him I was in southern Minnesota aiming for North Dakota. I could hear a scurry of activity behind him as he passed that information along to Ellen who I could hear talking in the background. I could also hear the rapid click of computer keys. While I waited for Terry to reengage, I thought I might actually get through a new state without having sex.

Terry came back on the line and launched into a long explanation of why he'd called and interrupted the reverie of my motorcycle journey. "Nashville Records wants to put out an album of songs that are just you and they want to do immediately - like yesterday; actually, there'll be two songs you did with Crystal on the album, but the rest will be just you. Anyway, we've sorted through all the photos we have - you know, like from the concerts, and they're unhappy with them. They want more to work with; you know, album cover stuff, and supposedly candid pics for an inside extra."

I heard a further side conversation as I heard Ellen gave Terry some information. Terry came back to me on the phone, "Look, in St. Cloud, turns out there's a photographic outfit we've used in the past. A place called Reber Images; they used to be in LA, and are one of the best in the world for album and PR photos. I'll text you their phone number in a minute."

I said, "So, should I call or drop in for a sitting; do I need an appointment?"

After a minute and more conversation with Ellen on the speaker phone, he said, "I'll set up something for you. Stop by there tomorrow - just after lunch unless you hear from me. I'll get the deck cleared for you for the afternoon. Sorry to eat into your travel time, but believe me you'll appreciate it in the long run. The timing is perfect for this; there's a lot of 'buzz' about you out there." He made a couple of sounds like an old-fashioned cash register ringing.

I agreed, contingent on my not having to hang around St. Cloud for days waiting for a simple photo shoot. Terry and I joshed about the photographs the paparazzi guy got of the two of us screwing Crystal and Ellen under the stars in Branson.

I had a few minutes of affectionate conversation with Ellen, and then we ended the call. I felt a little intruded on - having some 'real work' in the middle of my journey, and I know I could have said 'no,' but I owed Terry for being so forgiving of my cross-country jaunt just when my star seemed to be rising the fastest. By the expectations I had for the trip as I left Dillon, I was behind schedule despite not having to be any particular place by any time.

I used my iPhone to check the weather, and the app informed me that fifty degrees would the peak high temperature in St. Cloud for the next few days, followed by another surge into the eighties. Lows for a few nights were expected in the thirties or high twenties. I rode into St. Cloud on my motorcycle wearing every piece of clothing I owned; I still felt cold even though the sun was out. Wasn't early-September supposed to be warmer than this? I stopped in a pretty park along side the Mississippi River again, and left another envelope of Karen's ashes. I held some pleasant thoughts about our time together, remembering a time when we picnicked on the Boston Common just so we could say we had. We laughed a lot as all the tourists stared at us, and we stared back.

St. Cloud, Minnesota, is a town that only pretends it celebrates summer; in fact, summer is only a short hiatus of a day or two until winter returns. Oh, the store doors are open and people walk down the sidewalks on sunny days in short sleeves, but deep inside everyone in the city is eagerly waiting for cold weather and snow. The town had been designed with winter in mind. Streets are wider to accommodate snow banks. Roofs are steeper to discourage heavy snow accumulations. Some public buildings have places to leave snowshoes or cross-country skis. Saltboxes dot the landscape near small slopes where a pedestrian or car might skid. A huge pile of salt sits ready for use at the edge of town. Many homes have snowplows ready to attach to the owners' trucks. Home and municipal projects are rushed in the 'good' weather because the ground freezes six feet deep from November to May. Clusters of icehouses stand ready to be towed onto nearby lakes to house diehard fishermen. Snowmobiles are evident beside most homes. Many cars show evidence of engine block heaters. Yes, St. Cloud really wants winter weather.

* * * * *

For no particular reason, I decided the head of Reber Images would be an aging, bearded, gray-haired, rustic individualist photographer, strongly resembling the late-Ansel Adams. My mental image proved to be very wrong.

Brite Reber headed Reber Images. My old gray-haired master turned out to be a mid-forties powerhouse of a woman who seemed to be wired to a high voltage power line. Terry confirmed a Monday afternoon photo session starting at twelve-thirty in a text message to me and gave me her address. Brite had a large plot of land that had been a farm just outside St. Cloud, and her studio was in what had been a barn years earlier before renovation. She heard my motorcycle coming up her long driveway and was standing in front of the barn with a large Nikon camera in hand taking a progression of photographs as I pulled up to park in front of the barn. When I'd stopped, she came up and thrust out her hand in greeting.

Brite stood just over five feet tall and had flaming natural red hair. Bright green eyes and lips shiny with gloss that highlighted the best features of her face, including her enigmatic smile. She had a small diamond stud in her nose and an artsy collection of earring studs in one ear. Several tasteful small tattoos were visible on one arm and an ankle.

She cheerfully said, "Jim, Brite. I spent a half-hour on the phone with Terry talking about the look and feel he and the record people wanted in your photos. At first, it was 'just the usual stuff', but as I asked deeper questions, I got more of an idea. We've got a full afternoon's work, so come on, I need to put some makeup on you for starters."

I followed Brite into the barn; amazed at the transformation the place must have undergone to become a fully outfitted photo studio and office. Brite led me to a makeup table and had me sit in a chair. She talked at me as she applied makeup - a rapid staccato of words about my colors, what parts of me needed makeup, shades, how she planned to hide a blemish or two, and so forth. When that didn't occupy her, she talked about the various settings we'd start with for photographs, including my getting back on the motorcycle and riding around outside while she captured my image. She also produced from a large clothing rack a selection of 'country' clothing appropriate, she deemed, for a country music star riding a motorcycle.

At first, Brite was all business and efficiency - makeup, staging, clothing I should wear, and my experience with photo shoots - nil. After the initial barrage of questions and instructions, she slowed and our interaction became friendlier and less controlled. She had me fill in how I'd met Terry and Crystal, what my singing background had been, and a lot of information about myself. She'd read thePeople magazine article, but wanted more details. I expressed my own surprise at my meteoric rise and sudden fame in the country music field. Brite didn't seem the least intimidated with my new status as a star, a point I appreciated in a large way.

I turned the table on her as well, learning about her education in photography, including being tutored in the profession by her late father. She moved to LA to start Reber Images - a last piece of advice he gave her before dying. She did "cheap portfolios for wanna-be actresses and actors," but over time the quality of her clientele rose and so did her reputation. Soon, she had a following and was thought of as the next Annie Liebovitz. Her mother got ill - so she left LA, and moved back home to St. Cloud only to support her mother though her final days and death shortly after she arrived. She didn't mind traveling, so now she lived in St. Cloud but traveled all over the world photographing some of the stars in the entertainment field as well as heads of state and other famous people - always by appointment. After she turned the barn into a huge studio, she could even lure some of the stars to St. Cloud.

We spent two hours outside; a third of the time with me on or around the motorcycle; a third with a guitar she magically produced, sitting on a fence, on the bike, near the barn; and a third lounging under a large tree in front of the century old farm house. At that point, Brite said, "OK, let's go inside and project these on the big screen and see what we've got, and then we'll do some indoor shots."

I followed Brite into the studio, marveling at how well her khaki shorts fit her trim butt. Good things come in small packages. I had a couple of little fantasies as we walked and then let them evaporate into thin air.

Brite loaded the memory cards from the camera into her large MacIntosh computer, and immediately made a backup of the raw shots. Next, she projected them onto a large screen high-definition television. Seeing myself blown up to bigger than real life in some shots was disconcerting. Brite studied every shot, commenting on what she liked or didn't like about the shot, particularly about how I posed or looked. A half-hour later, we were back outside to fill in some 'missing shots' as she called them - poses that might be used but were missing from the portfolio of images she'd already taken.