Ron's Journal 04A

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.

This piece can be appreciated without having read all the previous chapters. But read them anyway.

******************** 7A: Fucking in The City, 1970

I pretty much fucked-up my life in San Francisco.

My little blonde wife MariLyn and I found we were shitty parents and lousy lovers together. I only used her as a sex toy suitable for fast pounding. We didn't really like each other any more, and we knew we weren't mature enough for decent child-rearing. We finally decided to do the only responsible thing: we put our under-two-year-old daughter up for adoption. I would not see our daughter again for almost 30 years.

We moved to a cheap slum room at Fillmore and Grove. City Hall was a few blocks down Grove; Rev Jim Jones' suicidal People's Temple was a few blocks up Fillmore. We called our building The Shithouse. Bugs and lousy sanitation. Junkies everywhere. Schizophrenic fellow tenants. We were not much better, pretty constantly drunk and stoned and fucking around.

I spent much of my time elsewhere. My Cherokee friends Jim and Tahoe ran a commune in a large third-floor apartment at the corner of Haight and Ashbury. They called it The Madhouse. (They later relocated to a coastal rural setting and called that place The Funny Farm.) Ex-Madhouse residents sliding to lower social rungs usually ended up in the Shithouse, before moving on to worse fates.

Dick The Prick slid from the Madhouse to the Shithouse. He and the Shithouse manager Little Dave often shared my wife MariLyn. At the Madhouse, Charly usually shared his wife Suzi with me, and I sometimes joined in with Pat and Jan and Freaky Freddy. Jim and Tahoe didn't share, and they protected shy runaway Cleo. At the Shithouse, Big Kathy (who owned the world's smartest dog) usually shared me with her roommate Thin Lynn, and I sometimes helped Roberto with Joan and Dom. Weren't we all generous?

---

I walked into The Shithouse manager's basement studio apartment. My wife MariLyn was naked on her knees and elbows on the party-size king bed. The manager Little Dave leaned back against the headboard with his cock in MariLyn's mouth. Dick The Prick was on his knees behind MariLyn's butt. His thick cock slid slowly in and out of her cunt, her hanging tits swinging with his rhythm. All were naked except for Dick's red beret.

The room was heavy with smoke of opium and Nepalese rope incense. Ed, the previous manager, a hot-looking blonde gay guy, had lined the room's walls and ceiling with imperfect mirrors. The strobe light flashed through the smoky haze and caught the trio's movements in the wobbly-mirrored surfaces like a nightmare.

Little Dave saw me enter the room, and waved at me.

"Hey Ron, what's happening? You want her back anytime soon?"

"Naw, that's OK, I just gotta tell you that the upstairs toilet broke again."

"OK, I'll fix it in a few minutes." He repaired it three days later.

Little Dave had been a broadcast engineer. He worked on a network crew that covered the 1967 Six-Day War from Lebanon. He stayed behind and wandered around the MidEast. He talked of buying a baseball-size mix of opium and hashish in Afghanistan for a couple bucks. Once he starting kicking Buddha's gong around, the networks didn't want him back. That's how he ended up managing The Shithouse.

[NOTE: "Kicking Buddha's Gong" is ancient slang for being addicted to opium.]

I went to the far end of the first floor, into Big Kathy and Thin Lynn's room. They were 69'ing in bed, with dark Lynn atop blonde Kathy. Calypso The Wonder-Dog, a big black lab, was curled beside the bed.

Calypso looked at me, gave a quiet 'woof', and laid her head down again. Lynn looked at me and smiled.

"Hey Kathy, we have a guest, a really big tall one. Do you want Ron's tongue or cock, and where?"

Lynn raised her pussy from Kathy's mouth to allow her to speak.

"Get over here and stuff that thing into Lynn," Kathy ordered, then pulled Lynn's snatch back to her face.

I undressed, took a big swig of white port, went to their little sink, scrubbed my groin area, and knelt behind Lynn's butt. Kathy grabbed my vasectomized cock, mouthed me deeply a few times, then inserted me into Lynn's cunt. After about every dozen strokes, Kathy swallowed me again. She nearly bit me off when we heard a loud crash out in the little back yard.

Lynn looked up and laughed, "Sounds like Patti threw another TV out the window," then resumed slurping Kathy.

Patti was Cherokee Jim's older sister. They were both US Army VietNam veterans, living on disability checks now. Jim had been a sniper and was sure that his killings meant he was damned and going straight to hell. Patti had been a nurse and was wounded in a VietCong attack. Jim just drank; Patti was on heroin. She got grumpy often. When she did, she tended to throw things through windows. Jim didn't trust her in The Madhouse commune, so she was stuck in The Shithouse.

******************** 7B: Fucking on the Navarro, 1970

I'm not sure whose idea it was, but some of the more ambulatory of our crowd decided to join friends in escaping The City for the summer. The getaway location: a camping area on the Navarro River.

The Navarro runs through the steep Coast Range to the Mendocino Coast a few hours north of "San Narcisco". A lumber company owned the redwood forestland near the river's mouth. A state park is about a dozen miles inland on the river. The coast is often foggy. Just a few miles inland, the sky is often clear.

A couple miles of riverside west of the park comprised a sort of lawless zone that the state and county didn't much bother policing. That's where we camped and played, on sunny open riverbanks, and in cool groves of giant Coast Redwoods, the world's tallest trees. We called it Camp Navarro, or Banana-Slug Flats.

A bunch of us rode in Crazy Dave's ratty Ford Econoline panel van, crowded in among duffels full of camp gear etc. I rode shotgun, facing the dashboard sticker reading REALITY IS A CLUTCH. Charly and Suzi and Dick The Prick and my wife MariLyn were on the floor just behind the front seats, drinking Red Mountain wine and passing a joint. Pat and Jan and Freaky Freddie were slurping and screwing in the back; someone went OUCH whenever the van hit a bump. Grateful Dead music howled from the cassette-deck speakers.

"The Senator was so shit-faced when he staggered out of the bedroom, he nearly fell down the staircase, but the hookers grabbed his belt and pulled his pants down, and he tripped and just puked down the stairs. Our houseboy was so pissed at having to clean that up that he stuck his dick into the Senator's drink whenever he had a chance," Crazy Dave laughed, then took another hit from the joint. He swerved to miss a sea lion laying at the edge of the coast highway.

Crazy Dave was from a politically prominent Southern California family. He told of having to show the ever-changing girlfriends and 'escorts' of visiting Governors and Senators etc where the bathrooms were in his family mansion. Dave didn't like the political life. He worked as a pest exterminator.

We rolled northward unhurriedly along the twisty scenic Pacific Coast Highway, threading the rocky Marin-Sonoma-Mendocino coastline, past Bodega Bay and the Russian River and Sea Ranch, and turned inland at tiny Navarro-By-The-Sea. Seven miles later, we rolled into Camp Navarro.

A village of planned and impromptu shelters nestled into the forest and down to the river south of the highway. Accommodations ranged from large military-style tents, to plastic tarps strung over ropes between the trees, to rusty truck-camper shells set on the ground, to dugout redwood logs. Backhoe trenches in a grove just north of the highway were used as latrines.

---

I pitched my pop-up tent near the main Madhouse tent. Dark lithe Tahoe and pale thin shy Cleo had a kitchen set up on the other side. Folding tables nestled against a redwood stump under a suspended tarp canopy. An iron kettle in a campfire bubbled water for tea, coffee, cocoa, ramen soup, whatever.

"Hey Ron, would you help Jim over to the shitters? His leg's pretty bad today," Tahoe asked, chopping veggies and potatoes and roadkill venison for a stew.

"Sure thing. C'mon, Jim." I leaned his one-foot-shorter body against my 6'5" frame and half-carried him out of the camp and across the narrow highway. He's not heavy, he's my brother.

After I got Jim back to his jungle hammock, I went to my tent, got naked, slipped my feet into tire-tread huarache sandals, and walked into the river. City and road grime sloughed off my long thin body. I rode the flow downstream a couple hundred feet, then pushed to the opposite side and caught the eddy current back to the pool I had entered.

A couple of skinny-dipping girls floated tits-up in the sun-warmed pool. I drifted in their direction. I recognized them from parties on Haight Street.

"Hey Carol, Linda, what's happening?"

Carol's chocolate head topped by a short afro turned towards me, smiled, "Hey Ron, nice day to get wet!"

Red-headed Linda's freckled face and torso twisted my way, grinned, "Glad you made it here, big guy!"

I drifted closer. Carol splashed herself around so her legs pointed at me. She spread her arms and legs so her body formed an X on the water. Linda drifted behind her.

"Ron baby, I seem to have a bad itch. Could you maybe do something about it?" Carol asked demurely.

I swam between Carol's open legs. I put my hands under her bursting butt and raised her midsection out of the water. Linda held Carol's shoulders and head out of the water, cushioned on her own bubbly boobs. I put Carol's legs on my shoulders and licked her inner thighs.

"Oh yeah, that's close."

I kept one hand below Carol's butt and put the other on her bristly black bush, circling her vulva with my fingertips, and continued kissing her thighs. I dragged my fingers along each side of her river-wet slit.

"Oooh, even better, yeah."

I gently spread Carol's labia with my fingers. I peered into her inner beauty. I brought my face directly into her delta and licked the length of her slit, from taint to clit. She twitched and moaned.

"Oh fuck yeah, Ron, right there."

I wrote prescriptions on Carol's pussy with my tongue, punctuated with thrusts into her depths. I looked up to see Linda's pale hands holding Carol's dark breasts, fingers rolling and pinching her ruby nipples.

"Jesus, guys, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh oh..."

I focused my attention and efforts on Carol's clitoris. She writhed in the water. Both my hands grabbed and raised her butt and pulled her vulva into my mouth. I suckled her clit, tongue-lashed her, bit softly.

"Oh, oh, oh fuck, oh Ron, oh Ron, oh, ohhh..."

I sucked harder. Carol thrashed; her body shifted. I looked up and saw that Linda had turned Carol's face into hers and they were kissing deeply, Linda's mouth a seal over Carol's, swallowing Carol's screams.

Carol's body twitched for over a minute, then stilled. I swam out from under her strong thighs, up to Linda. We all embraced. I kissed Linda's face, then Carol's, sharing Carol's juices from my face with them. I frenched Linda again. Carol kissed and smoothed our faces around our lip-lock.

"I think we have our own itches now, Linda," I murmured, standing chest-high in the river pool.

"Fuck yeah!" Linda responded. She wrapped herself around me and slowly moved up and down my torso. Carol reached down to my cock and guided my perpendicular prick into Linda's toasty tunnel. Linda engulfed me, filling her depths with my presence. She slid her clit against my pubic bone and came quietly, softly.

The sensations were wonderful, but nowhere near sufficient for me. Still locked into her wrap-around arms and legs, I held Linda's butt and walked her out of the water, up the riverbank, to a grassy area where Linda and Carol's towels were spread out. I laid Linda down in missionary position and started pounding.

Linda's heels dug into my back. My enraged cock dug into her vagina. Her long red hair spread around her head like a ruddy sunburst. Carol lay beside us, rubbing us, kissing us. My mouth sealed on Linda's. We yelled down each other's throats, shouting our ecstasy. I squirted a river of sterile love into her womb.

Linda stayed wrapped around me for some minutes. I finally rolled off her and lay panting between these two fabulous friendly females. I was hugged from both sides. We shared two- and three-way kisses.

Someone floating by on the river yelled, "Get a tent!"

"That's a good idea," I said. "Are you gals swum-out yet?"

"Mmmm, I could probably use a lie-down now," Carol hinted.

Linda nodded agreement and fondled my now-limp cock. We all stood up somehow. Carol threw the towels into a waterproof bag. I retrieved my huaraches. We made our way across the river, dried off, and sauntered over to my tent. It was a bit cramped, but we managed various three-way connections and further orgasms.

We crawled out of my tent as night was falling. We got bowls of Tahoe's venison stew and gathered around the Madhouse campfire. I grabbed my guitar and leaned back against a redwood log, Linda and Carol nestled on either side of me. I sang some songs. My wife MariLyn sat in Crazy Dave's lap while he played along on a chromatic harmonica. They both had pants on, this time. Suzi had her head in Freaky Freddie's lap. Cleo leaned against Tahoe who leaned against her husband Jim. Other faces ghosted in the flickering firelight.

Joints and wine bottles passed around. Jokes and jests and blather filled the smoky air. Bodies rubbed together. An occasional car or truck passed on the Navarro highway, headlights flashing and bouncing off intervening redwood trunks. Linda and Carol passed messages of reassurance to their group's campsite, and then crawled back into my tent with me for the night.

---

Slippery Steve announced a run into Mendocino and Fort Bragg in his VW MicroBus. Stops at the Co-Op and Safeway for food and wine, at Racine's for art supplies, at Goodwill for old clothes and cookware and books, et cetera. A half-dozen of us rode along.

A sheriff deputy's patrol car pulled us over on the coast highway near Albion. All our papers were in order, baggies of pot were well-hidden, and the wine bottles were unopened. We escaped, this time.

Depending on the day, Camp Navarro was home to maybe fifty people during the week, maybe twice as many over weekends. The populace was in constant flux. People spent the days swimming, reading, hiking in the woods, making music, drawing, carving, weaving, meditating, cooking, drinking, smoking, fucking. Nights were mostly spent drinking, smoking, and fucking, of course.

I went back to The City to work day-labor every couple weeks. The routine: Catch a ride with one of the weekenders on Sunday night. Work for Manpower on Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday. Crash at the Shithouse or Madhouse, depending on who was home where. Cash my check and catch rides back on Thursday. Hang around the river until my money ran out after ten days or so. Repeat as needed.

We went on excursions up and down the coast. We visited communes in the coastal hills. We went to schools and libraries and halls in coastal towns for free or cheap movies or music or plays or whatever. We dealt, shopped, worked, played.

We whiled away the summer. Some folks talked about remaining in Camp Navarro through the autumn and early winter. I looked at the sign mounted about thirty feet above the highway, indicating the high-water mark of the 1964 flood. I thought that staying into the rainy season was not a good idea, y'know?

---

I had thumbed rides into Mendocino. Nothing special; I just liked to walk around town. I was near the weirdly-carved Masonic Hall when I heard a voice call from behind me.

"Ron? Ron Carson? Is that you?"

I turned and saw a tall slender woman dressed in business suit, a blue silk scarf tying-back her long black hair. I recognized her from our hometown encounters.

"Helen? Is that really you, Helen?"

We walked to each other and embraced. Helen was about a decade older than I was, the young aunt of twins a couple years behind me in high school. I hadn't seen her since I left Piedmont HS.

"So what the hell are you doing here, Helen?"

"I couldn't stand the man-heap any more, so I got out, moved up here, got a job. I'm the township office manager now. I bought a house just down the street. And guess what? I have Andy and Angie here for the summer! They really like being here in the redwoods and rocks and rhododendrons."

"Hey Helen, the twins must have graduated then, right?"

"Yes, they'll be going off to different colleges in the fall. This may be the last season they'll have together before life tears them apart. I thought I'd make this summer special for them."

"I've always admired the way you've taken care of them, Helen."

"I hate to say it, but my brother and their mother really haven't been great parents, always focused on careers instead of family. I'm glad I've been able to be a big sister to them. Want to come see them? I'm not really needed at the office this afternoon. C'mon with me, Ron."

Helen took my hand and led me a couple blocks to a filigreed-wood New-England-style house covered with vines and surrounded by masses of colorful flowers. The west coastal climate makes Mendocino look and feel almost Irish. I admired the flashy floral displays.

"Oh, you think this is good? Wait till you see what I have around back!"

We went around the house and into an explosion of cascading floral colors. I stood with Helen, stunned.

We heard a rhythmic sound. We tiptoed through the tulips to a nylon pavilion erected under a blue-gum tree in a back corner of the yard. We peeked inside. The chaise in the pavilion was sweatily occupied.

Angie was cowgirl-riding Andy, slapping her butt up and down on his pubes, sometimes bending back with her nipples pointed skyward, sometimes leaning forward and offering her luscious tits to his hungry mouth. They didn't notice Helen or me, nor anything else besides themselves. Helen and I tiptoed away.

"They've always been very close," Helen whispered, giggling softly.

"Yeah, I can see that," I grinned back.

Helen noticed the erection growing in my jeans. She rubbed me gently.

"Hey Ron, would you like to get close too? I haven't seduced any of their school friends yet."

I responded by pulling Helen to me and frenching her deeply. She moaned into my mouth and rubbed my cock more aggressively. She broke loose, grabbed my hand, said, "C'mon, kid," and led me into the house, to the king bed in her arts-and-crafts bedroom. We undressed each other. We were 69'ing when the twins came to the doorway dressed only in long sweatshirts.

Helen looked up from slurping my cock. "Hey guys, do you remember Ron from school?"

"Hi Ron," the twins said in unison. They came over and rubbed my shoulders.

I dropped away from eating Helen's pussy. "Glad to see you two again! It's been awhile."

Angie bent over and kissed my mouth, wet with her aunt's juices. "Good to see you, too."

Angie kissed me more deeply, then pulled her sweatshirt off and resumed frenching me.

Andy also stripped down, and moved toward my head and Helen's butt. He knee-walked into position and inserted his long dick into Helen's cunt, his balls hanging next to my forehead. "Yeah, good to see you, Ron," he grunted between strokes.

I broke away from Angie's mouth. "Hey kids, this is great, but how about you let us finish what we're doing first, before we have a reunion or whatever, OK?"