Ron's Journal 04B

We went through all our combinations that evening. And the next evening. And the next. At one time, Lara and Juana and I were tripling, and Clarita went across the court to Lyn's place and stayed for a couple hours. Clarita came back with a wet face, looking happy. Lyn did not talk about that evening.

All of us, Lyn included, went out Saturday night to a local roller rink with a beer bar and a jukebox loaded with dance music of many genres. No skating; the rink was a dance floor on weekend nights. The crowd was a mix of all cultures and ages, black and brown and white, young and old, funky and country and slick. It was great! And the music did not blast to ear-destroying levels. Talking was actually possible.

The night wound onward. The beer flowed. Toward closing time, Lyn found a young country stud to go home with. Juana found a cute black girl to take home. Clarita took Lara and me home. We fucked and sucked and slurped till dawn. We slept a bit, then woke and showered, and slurped and sucked and fucked most of the rest of Sunday. Clarita said not to worry about her, she usually skipped Mass. So we kept on sinning.

Lyn probably crawled home sometime during the day; I did not notice. Juana showed up in late afternoon, and she DID notice that Lara and Clarita and I were still fucking and sucking and slurping.

Juana closed the door and scowled. "Hey Ron, you trying to steal my girlfriends away?"

Lara looked at her and said, "We stole him, not the other way around."

Clarita chimed in, "Hey girlfriend, get naked and get in here, pronto!"

The naked girls crawled out of bed and tore Juana's clothes off her. They dragged her to bed and assaulted her tits. I crawled between Juana's legs and licked. Hmmm, a bit spicy, but she had pretty much cleaned up, so I licked again, and again. I think Juana stopped scowling about the time she squealed with her first climax. By the third or fourth climax, she seemed pretty happy. She was smiling at dinnertime.

But Juana took Lara away with her that night.

---

Clarita and I biked to our work the next morning. After work, she told me she would be out till late, and I should sleep at Lyn's place. I had only been at my little sister's place to get or wash clothes these last few days. And we had not talked much except on Saturday night. It was time to touch bases again.

I made chiliburgers and salad for dinner, washed down with cheap Burgomeister beer. We sat apart on her couch and chatted.

"So how'd it go with that guy the other night? You have fun? You have trouble?"

"C'mon Ron, I don't ask what you're doing over at Clarita's, don't worry about what I'm up to."

"Hey, you're my little sister, I just want to be sure you're happy and satisfied and safe."

"Well OK, he was alright, not too smart though, I won't bother with him again."

"I know you don't have any other regular guys. How long are you going to stay alone here?"

"I'm not alone, I have my big brother! And I have my friends."

"What friends? I never see anybody over here with you."

"Well, they've been busy lately, and I've been busy, and you're here, and..."

"Am I scaring your friends away? I'll leave if you want."

"No no, you don't have to go! We've all just been busy lately, that's how things are. And I'm tired, I'm going to bed now. Keep it quiet, OK?"

"Yeah OK, you probably won't hear any screams tonight. Pretty boring, huh? Sweet dreams, kid."

I kissed Lyn's forehead and went outside to the hammock on the porch. I watched the stars, and Clarita's dark and empty casita, and I eventually slept.

I did not see Clarita the next morning. I biked to the Manpower job, worked the day, and found Clarita after work to bike home with. Clarita stopped us in a quiet cul-de-sac halfway back to the court.

"Ron, I've got to stop seeing you, I'm sorry. Juana is jealous, afraid she's going to lose me and Lara to you. I really love her, really value our friendship. She said I have to choose. Ron, I've got to choose my love. I'm sorry. You're a great guy, but you'll leave soon, and I'll still be here, and I've got to keep what I have. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Over the years, more than once, I heard "you're a great guy but..." and excuses. The excuse might be, "But you're a drifter," or "But I'm involved," or "But I'm a lesbian," or "But it's just sex," or "But you're weird," or whatever. Have you been there too?

"Can we still bike to work together? It's really good being with you on these rides."

"No, we better not. This should be good-bye."

Clarita rolled her bike next to me, kissed me sweetly, and rode off. I waited till she was a block away, and then slowly rode home on another route. I took my time. I was in no hurry.

Lyn was lying in her shaded hammock when I rolled into the court.

"Hey Ron, how you doing? Have a good day?"

"Oh yeah sure, everything's fine, just great." I headed for the door, and the shower.

"Don't be like that, Ron. I already talked with Clarita. It's the shits, I'm sorry."

I dropped onto the front porch step and sighed.

"At least this cutoff was clean and sharp, not messy, no noise," I grumbled. "But I'll miss biking with Clarita. Hell, I'll miss being with Clarita and the girls. Fuck yeah I'll miss that."

"Ron, you know you can stay here as long as you want. Just don't get too noisy in your bedroom, OK?"

"Yeah, if I want to get noisy, I'll get a trombone." I pulled out a harmonica and blew a blues riff.

Lyn sighed. "Go on Ron, take your shower. I'll fix dinner tonight. How about spaghetti?"

"Sure, that'll be great. Yeah, I'll go de-funk now, before I'm devoured by weevils."

I went inside, drank some wine, showered, drank some more wine, watched Lyn make dinner, drank more wine, ate dinner with wine, had some after-dinner wine, and crawled into the hammock to watch the blurry stars.

I did not go back to Manpower the next morning. I got up early and quietly packed my rucksack. I tuned-up Lyn's bike, leaving it as good as new. I wrote a note: C-YA SOON. I grabbed my guitar and walked to the freeway onramp.

******************** 8B: Fucking around on the desert, 1971

I thumbed north from San Boogaloo over Cajon Pass and into Barstow. I dropped in on my old friend Crazy Dave, who I knew from the Navarro River when we camped there. Dave and his perky new wife Becky lived in a small house (owned by her mother) next to the railroad yards, almost in the floodplain of the usually dry Mojave River.

Dave had swapped his old Econoline for a battleship-size Chrysler Imperial. Good thing gas was cheap then.

Becky was not too short, not too thin, not too pale, not too blonde, not too lazy, and not too inhibited. I had shared my wife MariLyn with Dave at Camp Navarro a year before. Becky was happy to be shared with me, one-on-one or in a threesome. I remember a vaginal-anal double penetration, as well as all the usual double-endings, Becky spitted on dicks, as well as her just sitting on my cumbersome cock.

We had fun for a couple nights. Then I moved on.

---

I thumbed east on Old US 66 to the Amboy Crater and pitched my tarp for a sun-shelter over a nook in the volcanic crags. I stayed for a day and a night, smoking hash, watching the colors change with the hours.

I caught a ride south on the old road to Twentynine Palms, and through into Joshua Tree National Monument. I found a rock pool, water left over from the last winter's rains, nestled amongst huge quartz monzonite boulders far above the old Desert Queen mine. I pitched a simple camp. Coyotes howled. Ground squirrels ate the sweat-stained band from my boogerpicker (baseball cap). I slurped wet fruit I had bought in town.

Midmorning, I just climbed from the rock pool, a basin about thirty by forty feet, unknowably deep in the center, and lay naked on my back on my camp blanket to air- and sun-dry.

I heard voices approach on the twisting trail. Two women in khaki shorts, bright tees, wide hats, and day-hiking boots, appeared over the rounded rocks. They saw me and stopped about twenty feet away. I waved at them, then lay back again, my face half-covered with the mostly-intact remains of my boogerpicker. I played a slow blues on a harmonica.

"Come on in, the water's great," I called, and went back to blowing the boogie-bass figure.

The women conferred quietly, then hiked to a nearby flat boulder shaded by a big juniper. They dropped their packs and leaned back against the juniper trunk, side-by-side. They whispered together again.

"Uh, we hope we aren't disturbing you here. By the way, I'm Kendra," said the long-ponytailed strawberry blonde, "and this is Alyssa," gesturing to the taller woman with a loose chestnut braid. Ah, introductions are good, indicating they are not about to cut and run.

"Hi there, I'm Ron, glad to meet you, and I'm so disturbed already, a little more won't hurt," I joked.

Alyssa unlaced her boots. Kendra removed a notepad from her pack's side pocket and made some notations. Alyssa unrolled wool socks from her feet, hung them on a juniper branch, sat at the edge of the water, and soaked her feet. Kendra pulled off her boots and socks and joined Alyssa for a foot-rinsing. They sighed.

"Ah, this is nice, boy do my feet need this," Alyssa moaned.

"Hell yeah," said Kendra. "Anything dangerous in the water?"

"The only critters living in a pool are eensy-weensy brine shrimp, and they're just in their egg stage now," I replied, fuzzily remembering one of the Park Service nature brochures. "I haven't felt any sharp edges or pokey spikes along the bottom. I've been here yesterday and today and nothing has killed me yet."

Kendra laughed and pulled off her orange-vanilla-striped tee and pale sports bra. "I'd ask if you minded, but you probably don't." She slid out of her shorts and panties, undid her ponytail so her reddish hair hung free, and walked naked into the water.

"Good idea," said Alyssa, and did the same with her loose brown braids and lemon-cream-striped tee. They moved to the center of the pool and floated on their backs, tits-up -- a lovely fleshy floating archipelago.

I stayed where I was and played slow bluesy riffs. No need to rush.

That reminds me of a story: A young bull and an older bull walked a rolling pasture and reached a hilltop. They saw a fenced corral below with a herd of sexy cows. "Hot damn!" said the young bull, "looky there! Let's run down there and jump the fence and fuck one of them babes!" The older, wiser bull said, "No son, that's the wrong approach. Let's mosey on down there slowly, calmly, and slide past the gate, and chat a while, and fuck them ALL."

Both women looked to be maybe a decade older than me, in their mid-thirties, with fine-looking bodies, prime MILF material. They floated and swam until they started to prune-up, then climbed out of the rock pool and pulled towels from their packs. They spread themselves butts-up on a sunny shelf not far away.

"So you've been here a couple days? What's it been like? What have you been doing?" asked Alyssa.

"Yeah, I hiked in late the other night, and I've just been lounging, swimming, reading and thinking since then. It's quiet here and I can hear birds and squirrels and the wind. This is about the best reading-room around," I said, waving my paperback copy of Hermann Hesse's SIDDHARTHA.

"Nice reverberations off the rocks for my music too." I gestured at my makeshift camp, my guitar leaning against a boulder. "Did you just hike up from the Split Rock trailhead? That probably took a while."

"That's right, we drove up from our motel in Twentynine just after dawn and hiked for about three hours. We were hoping to find a spot like this. Damn, you have the best place here!" Kendra said.

"It's been hotter and drier than I expected," Alyssa said, "and I drank more water than I should. Is this water safe?"

"I filter the water into my collapsible water bag, then add a drop of plain bleach and wait a half hour. Hey, are you gals thirsty now? Want a treat?" I walked naked to my rucksack and grabbed a string bag of pink grapefruit I had thought to buy in Twentynine. I rolled two fruits across the rock shelf to the ladies.

Kendra intercepted. "Hey, thanks!" She sat cross-legged, facing me, showing me her reddish pussy, her thin glistening slit, and her lovely full breasts. She reached for her nearby shorts and pulled a penknife from a pocket. She sliced into the peels, then handed one fruit to Alyssa, who also sat, curled on her legs. They neatly stacked the fruit peels.

"Yeah thanks, these are great. They really take the edge off the dryness here," Alyssa said. She also moved into a full-display cross-legged position. Kendra had small pale aureoles and pencil-eraser nipples. Alyssa sported mission-grape-size nipples on wide dark aureoles. All the nipples were stiff. Mine, too.

"Are you just day-hiking, or did you plan to camp somewhere?" I asked, not hiding my rising ramrod.

"We brought camp gear," said Alyssa, "and dried food for a few days, so we thought we'd camp at least one night, hopefully over the weekend if we could find water. Would you mind if we camped around here?"

"Well, you've been pleasant company so far," I said. "Can you sing? I like to hear voices bouncing off the rocks."

"Singing, is that all you want?" Kendra laughed.

"It's a start," I said, smiling oh-so innocently.

"Yes, I can sing, and rather well," Alyssa said. She stood, walked over, sat next to me on my blanket, put my hands on her throat. "Feel my tonsils. Aren't they good?" She hummed loudly.

I moved my hands around her neck and shoulders, covered her ears, stroked her throat. "Excellent," I said.

"Wait, I have a good voice too," Kendra said, moving into place on my other side. "Ahhhh..." she warbled.

"Very nice," I said, "but how is your articulation? Can you tongue notes clearly?"

"Honey, I can tongue just about anything," Kendra whispered, aiming hers at my epiglottis. She put her hands on my head and pulled me close. I put my hands on her breasts and gently counter-rotated.

I felt Alyssa's hands on my thighs. "My tongue's not so bad either," she said, running it along my cock, pointing into my urethral opening, then swallowing me entire.

Yup, just calmly mosey in with them slowly, and chat a while, and fuck'em all. That old bull had it right.

Kendra pushed me onto my back and lowered her strawberry pussy onto my mouth while Alyssa inhaled my cock. Why does this always happen to me? (Luck, I guess. Lucky pheromones.)

I reached for Kendra's breasts again. My tongue worked up her slit, into her vagina, circled and sucked her clit, then strummed her clit hard and fast, with occasional probes back into her depths. I heard her moans. I twisted her nipples. She squealed, her voice echoing nicely in the reverberant space.

Alyssa's mouth left my cock and was replaced by her wet cunt slowly sliding down until I was completely sheathed within her. I felt her reach for Kendra, who turned on my face, my mouth working her clit while my nose probed her juice-bar, drowning in pussy again. I felt Kendra lean into Alyssa, kissing, groping.

Alyssa moved mightily on my engorged erection, up and down and around, up and down faster, with Kendra apparently mouthing and pinching her nipples. My hands were still on Kendra's dangling breasts. Kendra came again, loud and wet.

Alyssa reached down to tweak my nipples. This pushed me into overdrive, my loins pounding upward into her. Alyssa screamed excitement, her cunt contracting and milking my extended climax. I came strongly, not in a sequence of shots, but just a long continuous flow, a surging torrent. Hot damn!

We had the usual one-on-one and two-on-one sexual experiences that day and the next, and that night and the next. The ladies were not shy about 69'ing, with me or with each other. The ladies' fine voices filled the sky, day and night. Coyotes howled at the half-moon in unison with them.

Other than sex, we strolled naked around our vicinity, peering into deep gulches and dark rock-caves, down on hands and knees for close looks at belly-flowers (ya gotta get on yer belly to really see them), back in the water for constant wash-offs and swims and floats.

We chatted. I lied somewhat about my past. They probably did too. Office workers, they said. Thinking of going back to school, I said. I sang rude songs, told rude stories. Nobody mentioned a spouse. Why spoil the fun?

---

I thoroughly kissed Alyssa and Kendra good-bye and hiked back to the paved park road. I caught a ride into Twentynine, then thumbed east to Parker, south of Lake Havasu City on the Colorado River.

This was a long end-of-summer weekend, very hot, very crowded. Seemingly, a fifth of Southern California's overheated population had come to the river to cool off for the weekend. Fat chance. River water was cool, but also filled with manic powerboats. Waders hardly dared get far from the shore.

The whole scene was outrageous. Think, BAKED ORGY.

The riverbanks were lined with little encampments of hot people, nearly naked and mostly drunk and young. I wandered past with my rucksack and guitar, wearing just demim cutoffs and big red Keds and what was left of my red boogerpicker.

I was called into numerous camps to play and sing, to drink cold beer and wine coolers and whatever, to have bare breasts shoved into my mouth, to have my crotch greedily groped. I was dragged into several tents for quick hot sweaty sex.

She saw me walk past her tent. She yelled, "Hey c'mere guitar man!" She was tall, topless, red-haired, red-skinned with peeling sunburn. She poured cold beer down my throat. She said her name was Glad-Ass. She said, "Hot damn, is my ass glad you're here!" as I pounded her doggie-style. She passed out afterwards.

(No, not steady pounding. Changes of pace: long and short, slow and fast, in and around, all like that. But I will admit that I eventually heightened the pace. In field artillery, it's called FIRE FOR EFFECT.)

I crawled from Glad-Ass's tent, straight into the arms of her sisters Shari and Lindy, equally tall and red and topless, with equally glad asses, soon enough. Each stuck a tit in my mouth, and wiggled.

"We heard you in there. Gladys sounded pretty happy. Can you make us happy too?" Shari asked, her hand down the front of my cutoffs. They led me to their adjacent tent and poured me more cold beer. I screwed them side-by-side while they held and frenched each other. When they came, they squealed like hot brakes.

I donated buckets of semen to their cause, the Fill-Me-With-Jiz crusade. Stay tuned for their telethon.

I walked out into the river to cool off, and to send a stream of used beer down to the Sea of Cortez, or more likely to the L.A. water system. A little bit of me is in your Kool-Aid, folks. Enjoy.

My rucksack and guitar and I wandered along the riverside to an encampment sheltered under thick palo verde trees. Someone yelled at me to bring my guitar over. I sang some songs, drank some beer, and enjoyed a naked girl on each side of me, laying their heads on my thighs, blowing into my crotch.

Three mixed couples were already screwing in the shadows. My brown-haired beauties pulled my cutoffs down and double-blew me. Then one sat on my cock while the other sat on my face. I love when that happens.

I dragged into another encampment at dusk, looking to spend the night. A campfire burned high, bright, and hot. Pots of chili and hot-dogs and stew bubbled by the flames. Food was passed around, and wine and beer, and joints, and amyl nitrate, and other thought-altering substances I could not readily identify.

After the eating, drinking, and smoking, came the fucking. Two guys were double-ending a girl and then another girl. Two gals were double-ending a guy, and then another guy, and another. Various girls (and a couple guys) stopped to suck my cock. Various girls sat on my cock. One guy wanted my dick up his ass, but I demurred. Sorry, I just don't stay hard for that.